by Allan Levine
“I’m sorry, we haven’t,” one of them responded.
“What about you?” Sarah said, turning to another woman holding her infant and standing close by.
The woman shook her head.
“Niecee, Niecee, where are you?” Sarah shouted.
Seeing her panic, a young mother carrying her son approached. “Excuse me, ma’am, are you looking for a little girl wearing a sailor dress with a bow tie, a yellow dress?” the woman asked Sarah.
“That’s right. She’s my daughter. Do you know where she went?”
“A man took her by the hand and led her into a car that was stopped over on the street there,” she said, pointing to Portage Avenue. “She wasn’t crying or anything so I thought it must’ve been her father.”
Sarah dropped to her knees on the sidewalk. “Oh my God, oh my God. Niecee,” she cried.
A fleet of police automobiles were parked in front of the Klein home. Groups of neighbours stood outside as rumours swirled about what was going on.
“Little Mel was hit by a car,” one woman said.
“No, it was Freda and it was a horse, not a car,” said another.
“You’re both wrong,” said one of the women’s husbands. “I heard from a constable that Sam’s been arrested. They say he robbed a bank!”
Across the street, Mrs. Gertie Fester’s wide nose was naturally pushed up against her front window as she watched the scene unfold with tremendous interest.
An hour earlier, two constables had tracked down Klein on Selkirk Avenue and brought him to his house. Sarah had rushed to him, crying inconsolably. It took fifteen minutes before he could grasp the full story, or as much as she was able to tell him through her tears. Detectives Allard, Nash, and McCreary showed up shortly after. They briefed him further on the series of events that had led to Bernice’s possible kidnapping. He was beside himself.
Allard had questioned Molly and David at the Central Police Station and constables had spoken to several witnesses including the young mother who told Sarah about the man who drove away with Bernice in his car. Yet the woman and the other Eaton’s shoppers who were questioned did not agree on much. The mother said the car was a green auto, perhaps a Buick. Another witness insisted it was a black Model-T and that the man was tall with dark skin. Yet a third witness said the man was white, short, and stout and driving a red Cadillac. In short, the police did not have much to go on. There was a chance, Allard had reassured Klein, that if she was kidnapped the perpetrator would contact the family soon for a ransom payment. But after hearing Sarah’s story of the day’s events, he was skeptical.
“Shailek, where is she? What if they hurt her?” Sarah cried.
For some reason that she could not entirely understand, she had not told Sam or the police about Saul Sugarman’s involvement in rescuing her. Or her suspicions that he may have known the two men. Her first thought was that, given Klein’s hostility towards Sugarman, if she did tell him, he might do something rash and she could not risk that. She decided, even in the state of mind she was in, that it would be best if she made a personal plea to Sugarman. If he truly knew something about Bernice’s abduction or knew where the two men were hiding out, then the chances were much better that he’d tell her. An altercation with Klein or the police would surely be much worse.
“I’ll find her. I swear to you, I’ll find her,” Klein said, trying to comfort her. But he, too, feared the worst.
“Those two thugs have her,” Klein told Allard. “I told you they were here the other day. They warned me about investigating Roter’s murder and the shootings and now they’ve acted. It’s the only answer.”
“Why take your little girl?” asked Nash. “What does it get them? I’m sorry, Sam, but it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“Me neither. If this is about money and booze then why snatch your kid?” said McCreary. “There’s something we’re missing here.”
“Anyone think Vivian has something to do with this?” asked Allard.
McCreary shook his head. “Vivian’s after Sugarman, so he gains nothing from going after Klein.”
“I agree. The reverend may be linked to the shootings, but I doubt very much he’d stoop to kidnapping a child,” said Nash.
Klein knew that there were other possibilities, but he could not discuss them in front of Sarah. They were too terrible to contemplate.
Seventy miles away in Vera, a black Ford drove slowly down Railway Avenue and pulled up in front of Grace Tillsdale’s rooming house. The driver wiped his sweaty palms and in the darkness glanced at his sleeping cargo in the back seat. At eleven o’clock, the town was silent. Still, he ensured as best as he could that there was no one in sight. He then exited the auto, opened the back door, and carefully picked up the little girl. Fortunately for him, the chloroform that had knocked her out in Winnipeg had yet to wear off. Reaching the front door, he kicked it gently. A second later, Grace Tillsdale opened it.
“Come in, come in,” she said. “And who do we have here?”
“This is the little girl I told you about, Mrs. Tillsdale. She needs a place to sleep for about three days. But it’s very important that she not go outside at all. She must stay in the house at all times. Do you understand?”
“Of course, I understood the first time you told me. I haven’t lost my memory yet, you know.”
“I know that. I was just making certain,” said Jack Smythe. “And please don’t tell anyone about this. It shall be our secret. There’s no one else staying here, is that right?”
“No one. And with all of the money you gave me earlier, you’ve bought all the rooms for a few days. So she’ll have the place to herself.”
“That’s good,” said Smythe, panting slightly. “The girl’s parents asked me to help them out. They had to leave the city for a few days. But they left these firm instructions that I would like to honour.” He wiped his brow.
“That seems rather odd. Why didn’t she just stay with you and Joannie? And to stay inside, especially with the beautiful weather we’ve been having, seems foolish.”
“Please, Mrs. Tillsdale, no more questions. Can you do what I am asking?”
“Now don’t go getting testy, Jack. If that’s what you’d like, then yes, I can do what you wish. Now, I see that she’s sleeping. You can carry her into the bedroom at the top of the stairs on the right. One more thing, Jack. What’s her name?”
“Bernice. Her name’s Bernice.”
19
Melinda was shocked by the phone call she received from Klein. His dear little daughter, Bernice, was missing. And she may have been abducted by those two gangsters, Paulie and Richie, who had been at her house. It seemed impossible but, of course, in her line of work, Melinda had seen all sorts of disturbing tragedies: husbands and wives murdering their respective spouses, fathers abusing their daughters, and parents treating their children like animals. But while not much surprised her, she could not bear to think about poor little Bernice suffering alone and scared, or the heartache this was causing Sam and Sarah. Pouring herself a full glass of whisky, she swigged it down in one long gulp.
She left her back room office and spoke quietly to Devlin, a hulking, twenty-five-year-old, Irish immigrant from Cork, whom she had hired a few months ago to keep an eye on things. He was a bit rough around the edges and wasn’t quite as adept as Klein had been when he had minded the brothel a decade ago. But Melinda had noted that the resourceful young man possessed useful skills. Last weekend, when three drunken clients got into a loud and physical argument over which one of them was going to visit Nell’s bedroom first, Devlin stepped in and quickly resolved the dispute. Not that the rowdies had much of a choice: he pushed all three of them up against the wall and threatened to break every bone in their bodies if they did not stop fighting and resolve their argument over Nell. They did so by taking turns rolling a die; the one who rolled the high
er number went first, and that was that.
Devlin had not been working the other night when Paulie and Richie had first visited, but Melinda had filled him in and given him an order: if anyone fitting their descriptions—and Richie with his eyepatch was impossible to miss—asked for Martha and Lulu, he was to notify her at once.
It was a typical Monday evening. A few farmers, regulars, who were in the city to purchase supplies, stopped by as they usually did. As Melinda liked to put it, “They were in and out quickly, so to speak.” Their pockets were full of cash and they were always polite to the ladies. They paid for all the whisky they drank, bought a round for everyone in the parlour, and generously tipped Tom, her aging black piano player, who entertained at the brothel three times a week.
Also visiting was one of Lulu’s standing customers, a middle-aged accountant who liked to be spanked, and a virginal young man from River Heights named Leon, whose friends had purchased him a night at Melinda’s as a birthday present. After spending time with Martha and Gracie, he left with as wide a grin as Melinda had ever seen on a satisfied customer.
Close to eleven o’clock, Devlin was having a cigarette and speaking with Lulu when the door swung opened and in sauntered Paulie and Richie. They were chuckling and appeared relaxed and happy to be there. As soon as Richie saw Lulu, he nodded to her.
“I’m back for seconds,” he said.
“You can have as much as you like,” said Lulu, “as long as you’re paying.”
“And where would Martha be?” Paulie demanded.
As soon as Devlin saw them, he knew these were the two Melinda had told him about.
“If you two gentlemen would step this way for a moment, the madam would like a word,” said Devlin.
“Is this really necessary?” asked Richie. He let go of Lulu’s arm. “You go keep the bed warm. I’ll join you shortly.”
Richie and Paulie followed Devlin into the kitchen, where Melinda was sitting smoking a cigarette and nursing another glass of whisky.
“So why’d you do it?” she asked. Her voice was barely audible, though she enunciated the syllables of each word with a determined deliberation. Her eyes were piercing and narrowly focused.
Richie and Paulie looked at each other. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Why did you take Klein’s daughter?”
“Take Klein’s daughter? I think you’ve had too much of that hooch, lady.”
Melinda stood up. “You don’t have the little girl? You didn’t kidnap her?”
“As I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here to go the limit. And that’s what I’m going to do. Come on, Paulie.”
Melinda was dumbfounded. Klein had been so certain that they were involved in the kidnapping, but seeing their genuine incredulity, she now didn’t think that was the case. She judged Richie unpredictable, even dangerous, yet she was certain he really had no idea what she was talking about. But if they were not involved in taking Bernice, then who was?
Outside on Annabella Street, the same black Model-T that had passed the house last night pulled up and stopped. The driver fixed his fedora and reached for his shotgun. This would have to be done fast, but with precision, he thought. He wasn’t about to disappoint the boss again.
He walked casually to the front door and knocked. When Devlin opened it, he hit the young bouncer hard on the side of his head with the butt of the gun. Devlin’s knees buckled and he fell to the floor, momentarily stunned.
Ahead of him, the intruder could see Paulie and Richie in the parlour; both had women on their arms. He moved closer and before either of them could react, he raised his gun and shot, first Richie and then Paulie. The shells hit them in the middle of their chests. It happened so quickly, the few people in the room were in shock. Both men fell over, blood pouring from the holes in their torsos.
Martha screamed as if she had been awoken from a terrible nightmare, while Lulu, whose face was splattered with Richie’s blood, stumbled backward. The shots and curdling screams brought Melinda to the parlour, but it was too late. The gunman was already back in his car and roaring down the street.
Sarah, exhausted from crying, finally fell asleep sitting in a chair by the front window at about eleven thirty. She said she’d stay there until Bernice was found. But Klein was still wide awake. He got up, checked on Freda and Mel who were also fast asleep, and went downstairs for a cigarette. Earlier, Freda had kept asking him why so many police constables were in the house and why Bernice was not there. Klein had done his best to reassure her that Bernice would be home soon. Yet his eight-year-old daughter was no fool. She had heard her mother sobbing and from the anguished look on her own face, he knew that she was as worried as they were.
The entire evening had passed in a haze of commotion. By ten o’clock there still had been no call or message about who had Bernice and what they wanted. Reporters from the Free Press and Tribune had tried entering the house asking to speak with Klein. He refused to talk with them. Instead, Allard gave the journalists a statement about Bernice’s possible kidnapping and a request that anyone with information about the girl’s whereabouts should contact the police at once.
A friendly police constable at the hospital had driven Rivka to the house. She was distraught and in disbelief. Klein had tried to reassure her as well that Bernice would be found, though she was not entirely convinced. Sarah’s friend Betty Kingston had rushed over and said that in the event a ransom was demanded, she and her husband, Nicholas, would provide the Kleins with as much money as they needed. Sarah was grateful, while Sam wasn’t certain how to react. He made it a habit of never taking a gift of money from anyone, though in this case, if it came down to Bernice’s safe return, he knew he would make an exception.
Alec Geller was there, too. He told Klein that he would do whatever he wanted. Klein had insisted that he tell him what had transpired with Joannie Smythe. Geller reported that she had spent the day wandering up and down Portage Avenue. She had had no contact with Vivian and as a result, Geller still had no idea where Dickens might be hiding. The only possible lead Geller had was Sid Sharp, whom he suggested they question.
“Sharp was in her room so he might know what she’s been up to,” Alec had said.
Klein told Geller to resume his investigation of Mrs. Smythe tomorrow. And despite Alec’s protestations that he should be searching for Bernice instead, he reluctantly agreed.
Klein butted out the cigarette he was smoking and immediately lit another one. He poured himself a shot of whisky and downed it. Why, he wondered, would a woman like Joannie Smythe have anything to do with a mule like Sid Sharp, who worked for Saul Sugarman, the enemy of Reverend Vivian? Unless Mrs. Smythe’s relationship was part of Vivian’s scheme to target the Sugarmans. Who knew what the hell was going on? And at that moment, he had to admit he didn’t care. All he wanted was his little girl back. How frightened she must be. The image tore at his heart.
A few minutes before midnight, the phone rang and he jumped up. So did Sarah, who bolted from the chair and ran towards the phone. Klein was there first and picked up the receiver.
“Sam, it’s Melinda. You need to get to my place right away. The police will be here in a minute.”
“What’s happened, Melinda?”
“Those two men you told me to watch out for, Paulie and Richie…”
“Yeah, what about them?” asked Klein, his heart racing. “Do they know anything about Bernice?”
“They’ve been shot. Sam, they’re dead.”
20
Klein waited for Rivka to arrive back at the house so that Sarah and the children would not be by themselves. Sarah had asked him who had called and he had told her. Yet when she pressed him for details, all he said was that there had been a shooting at Melinda’s and that he didn’t know if it had anything to do with Bernice’s disappearance or not—which was more or less
true. This hardly placated his distraught wife.
“Shailek, do you think I’m a fool,” said Sarah through her tears. “Bernice is missing and I’m sure it has something to do with those two men who were at the house and this case you’re involved in. Is that it? Do they have Niecee? Were they involved in the shooting?” She was speaking rapidly.
Klein couldn’t lie to her. “I don’t know if they took her or not. But…” he said, reaching for her hand. “They were the ones who were shot. They’re both dead.”
Sarah held her hands up to her mouth. “Oh my God, I don’t understand. If they took Niecee, how will we find her? How will we find her, Shailek?” Her knees buckled and Klein grabbed her and hugged her.
By this time, Freda and Mel, who had awoken from the commotion, were standing at the top of the stairs, both crying as well.
Rivka looked at Klein. “I’ll look after her and them,” she said, taking Sarah into her arms. “Now, go do what you have to do to bring Bernice back safe.”
Usually the two mile walk from his house to Melinda’s took Klein about forty minutes. But with his adrenalin surging, he made it in under twenty-five, taking a shortcut down Burrows Avenue and then onto Rover Avenue. As he turned from Rover to Annabella, he could see several police automobiles parked in front of Melinda’s. His heart sank. Sarah might have been right: if Paulie and Richie had Bernice and now they were dead, they might never find her.
He started walking up the path to the front door when a rookie constable, who didn’t recognize him, told him to stop.
“I’m Sam Klein, let me through.”
“I don’t care if you’re Prime Minister Mackenzie King, I have orders not to permit anyone but police or the ambulance attendants from the hospital in. Understand?”
Klein looked at the young constable. He wasn’t an especially big man, though Klein did not doubt that he could take care of himself. At the same time, Klein’s anger was boiling over and he knew he wasn’t thinking rationally. Before the constable knew what had happened, Klein had grabbed his arm forward and threw him to the ground.