All Waiting Is Long

by Barbara J. Taylor

  “It’s Honor thy father and thy mother. The only Commandment that pertains to marriage is the one about adultery,” replied Violet.

  “I have to hand it to you, you still know your Bible. Even after all those years out of the church.”

  The desk sergeant nodded as a tall man in a brown wool suit entered the room. “I’ll be at my post if you need me,” the man said, clicking his way back down the hallway.

  “George Sherman.”

  “Jonesy. Good to see you.” George stood up, slapped the man on the back with one arm, and shook hands with the other. “I haven’t seen you since the election.”

  “What a night,” Jonesy said. “the wife couldn’t have been too pleased when she saw the shape you were in.”

  “Just celebrating my investment,” George replied. “It’s always good to have a friend in the DA’s office.”

  “Well, someone has to clean up this town.”

  George laughed and the DA joined in. After a moment, George scratched his head. “Someone must’ve set the courthouse on fire. How else could they get you down here?”

  “When the mayor asks for a favor . . .” The DA finished his sentence with a shrug.

  “The mayor?” The widow refused to be excluded from the conversation any longer.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Sam Jones, district attorney.”

  The man looked over and smiled at the women. “And you are?”

  Violet answered: “Mrs. Davies and Mrs. Lankowski.”

  “You’re Stanley’s mother.” Jonesy nodded. “The desk sergeant said you were here. What can I do for you?”

  “Why is the mayor involved?” the widow asked again.

  “He wants to expedite matters. This Peters fellow was some kind of favorite son in Philadelphia.” The DA looked at his notes and nodded. “The same city where Mr. Adamski studied law.”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen, ladies.” A strawberry-blonde whose ample cleavage strained the buttons on her dress appeared in the doorway. “Miss Merino, stenographer.”

  The desk sergeant walked in behind Miss Merino, carrying a heavy black stenotype machine. “Where do you want it?”

  Miss Merino nodded toward a small table in the corner. “Set it down gentle. Otherwise the keys’ll stick.”

  “Well, ladies, looks like it’s time to get the wheels of justice moving,” the DA said. “I’ll have someone from my office keep you posted on your son’s situation.” He extended his hand to the widow. “A pleasure to meet you.” When she did not return the gesture, he rubbed his palms together as if that had been his intention all along. He turned to the policeman who was a little too interested in a lesson from Miss Merino on QWERTY keyboards. “Sergeant?”

  “Yes sir.” The man shot to attention.

  “Arrange to have an officer drive these ladies home.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The widow looked at the district attorney. “We’re not leaving without Stanley.”

  “Mrs. Lankowski,” the DA said, walking to the door, “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Your son is in serious trouble. He won’t be released anytime soon.” When she didn’t budge, he addressed Violet: “This is no place for her.”

  Violet did not say anything and remained seated.

  “Mrs. Lankowski, I must insist.” Jonesy pointed to George. “Mr. Sherman is here to give his statement, and you can’t interfere with that.”

  “Off the record,” George said quietly, winking at the DA.

  Jonesy nodded at Miss Merino, who looked at her stenotype machine with uncertainty. “Take a long lunch. I’ll keep an eye on it for you.” He watched as she exited.

  “Mr. Sherman won’t mind indulging an old woman.” The widow pulled out her rosary beads.

  “Mrs. Davies,” the DA said, “a little help?”

  “I’d like to hear Mr. Sherman’s statement.” Violet stared at George, and all other eyes followed hers. “Off the record, of course.”

  “I’ll have you removed if I must,” the DA said.

  Violet continued staring at George.

  He smiled, lit his cigarette, and inhaled deeply. “Let them stay. If that’s what it takes to move this process along, so be it.” He blew a line of smoke into the air and watched as it disappeared.

  The DA’s mouth dropped open. “This case is highly sensitive. The mayor would not approve.”

  “Relax, Jonesy. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Still, I must object. This request is highly unorthodox.”

  “So are these proceedings,” said Violet.

  George waved off the DA’s continued protest. “Let’s get started.” He looked directly into Violet’s eyes. “It might do her some good to see what St. Stanley is really made of.”

  * * *

  “According to the officer you spoke to earlier this morning,” DA Jones thumbed through the folder containing notes and photographs, “you witnessed the events at Hunold’s Beer Garden on the evening of Monday the eighteenth, the night before the murder.”

  “That I did.” George pushed his chair back from the table, grabbed hold of his left wrist, and stretched his arms overhead.

  “And you witnessed Mr. Adamski, and I’m using your word here, ‘slug’ Dr. Peters in the eye and threaten to kill him?”

  “I’d say it was more of a sucker-punch, but yes. The poor fellow never saw it coming. Seemed like a decent sort too.”

  “Any idea what caused the altercation?”

  “The usual.” When the DA looked confused, George added, “A girl . . . a woman of questionable character.” He stared across the table at Violet. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  She nodded. “I’d like to know how a married man like yourself, a deacon in the church, ended up at a beer garden.”

  “Had some mine business to take care of.” George smiled. “Takes you into some pretty unsavory places.”

  The widow gave George a sidelong look. “You conduct mine business in the Alleys?”

  The two men glanced at each other at the mention of the Alleys. They’d probably never heard the expression pass the lips of a decent woman.

  “Mrs. Lankowski,” the DA said, “if you continue to interrupt these proceedings, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  “I go where my men go,” George explained. “Try to help them reform.”

  The DA stifled a chuckle. “Of course.” He glanced at his notes again. “And did Mr. Adamski appear to know the woman in question?”

  “She’s a firecracker, that one. Ruby.” George closed his eyes and smiled.

  The DA scattered several photographs on the table and pushed the top one in front of George. “That her?”

  Violet resisted the urge to gasp when she saw the picture of Muriel.

  “Mug shot’s about a year old,” the DA said.

  George opened his eyes. “She’s better looking than most of the girls at Catherine’s.”

  “And you’ve seen this woman in Mr. Adamski’s company?”

  “Sure have. Stanley’s one of her regulars. I see them at Hunold’s from time to time.” George laughed. “I suppose catting around is thirsty work.”

  “And on that evening?”

  “I guess you could say the good doctor showed a little too much interest in her.”

  So they knew about Muriel, Violet thought. But did they know she’d been at the hotel that night? She glanced at the DA’s folder. And did they know about Lily? A photograph of the hotel lay on top. It had obviously been taken last night, after the murder. A police wagon was parked in front, and several policemen stood at the entrance. “But how would Stanley know where he was staying?” Violet asked.

  “Announced it at Hunold’s. Said something about bringing company back to the Mayfair.”

  “None of this makes Stanley guilty of murder,” the widow said.

  The DA looked at the woman as if wondering whether to reprimand her. “Your son threatened to kill the good doctor, and unfortunately, he has no alibi for five o’clock yest
erday when witnesses heard the gunshot.”

  “I know where he was.” All eyes turned to Violet.

  “You do?” George smirked.

  “Yes.” Looking down at her hands, Violet twirled her gold wedding band. “I went down to Hunold’s yesterday. I needed to talk to him.”

  “So you went to Mr. Adamski’s room?” The DA took out his notebook and started to write.

  “Yes. So we could speak in private.” She looked at the widow. “Nothing happened. We just talked.”

  “That’s quite a story,” George said, “but I don’t buy it.” He looked at Jonesy. “Stanley and Violet go way back. She’s lying to help him.”

  “Let me get this straight,” the DA said. “You’re saying that you’re willing to swear that you were with Stanley Adamski at the time of Dr. Peters’s murder?”

  “I am.”

  “And were there any witnesses?” the DA asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Violet, don’t.” Stanley stood in the door, his lip split, a bruise forming over his left eye.

  “What happened?” The widow started up from her seat but the DA motioned her to sit down. “What did you do to my boy?”

  “What is Mr. Adamski doing here?” the DA asked the officer standing alongside Stanley.

  “Sorry, sir. We’re on our way from processing. I took the back way to avoid that fellow from the newspaper.”

  “You can’t get yourself involved in this.” Stanley started toward Violet, but the officer gripped his shoulder and pulled him into the hall.

  “Too late,” Violet said.

  “Are we supposed to believe this malarkey?” George pushed his chair back, away from the table.

  “I’ve never known her to lie,” the widow said and patted Violet’s hand.

  The DA excused himself, went out into the hallway, and proceeded to reprimand the officer loudly.

  Violet caught George’s eye. She peeled a photograph of the hotel off the pile and pushed it over to him, pointing at the bottom. The front of his LaSalle, including its torpedo hood ornament and part of his license plate, had made it into the picture. Violet whispered, “I’d hate to see your good name dragged through the mud.”

  George lowered his face, squinted at the photo, and turned pale. “What the hell?” he mumbled. “You know who had my car.”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind,” Violet said.

  “How is Lily mixed up in this?”

  “Maybe if you spent less time on ‘mine business’ and more time with your wife, you’d know what she was doing.”

  The DA came back in the room and sat down. “Where were we?”

  George peered at Violet and gritted his teeth. “We’re finished.”

  The DA turned his attention to George. “Excuse me?”

  “Violet’s word is good enough for me,” George said, slapping the table and standing.

  “But you said . . .”

  “I said he’d had a fight with the good doctor the night before, nothing more. Now that I think about it, the guy probably had it coming.”

  “He was an evil man,” Violet said. “Look into the matter, you’ll find he did unspeakable things to women.”

  “So you knew the victim?” The DA settled back in his seat. “How?”

  “From the infant asylum.” Violet dropped her head.

  “I’m inclined to believe Mrs. Davies.” George looked at the DA. “If I were a gambling man, I’d bet you’re going to find out that his wound was self-inflicted. Probably couldn’t live with his sins anymore. This investigation is closed.”

  “I don’t understand . . .” the DA started.

  “Well, Jonesy,” George looked menacingly at the man, “you don’t have to. You just have to go along. That’s the deal. That was always the deal.”

  “Looks like my Stanley is free to go,” the widow said.

  Jonesy ignored the woman and continued his conversation with George. “So I’m supposed to set that communist loose, just like that?”

  George thought for a moment. “Where did you pick him up?”

  Jonesy looked at his notes. “Hunold’s Beer Garden.”

  “And I assume public drunkenness is still a crime in Scranton?” George glared at Violet as if daring her to object.

  “So it is,” Jonesy said.

  “Then let him cool his heels inside for a day or two.” George looked at Violet and mouthed the words, You’ll pay for this, and headed out of the interrogation room.

  * * *

  With the murder charges dropped, the district attorney allowed Officer Fowler to take the women back to see Stanley in his cell. The widow hugged him as best she could, through the iron bars. “Thanks be to God,” she said. “And to this one.” She looked back at Violet, standing against the bars of the empty cell across from him.

  Stanley kissed the widow’s cheek and nodded at Violet. “Can I talk to her, Babcia? Alone?”

  The widow looked from one to the other. “Two souls,” she shook her head, “burdened with love.” She squeezed Violet’s hand. “Take your time,” she said. “Come find me at St. Peter’s. I’m going to walk over to offer up a prayer for thanks.”

  “Fowler,” Stanley tipped his head toward Violet, “can we have a minute?”

  The officer glanced at the locked door to Stanley’s cell. “I’ll go make myself useful,” he said.

  Stanley stood at the front corner of his cell, straining to see down the hallway. “Is he gone?”

  Violet stepped closer and watched as the officer disappeared from her sight. “Yes.”

  When she turned back around, Stanley looked at her straight on and broke into a smile. “You still love me.”

  “You didn’t kill him.” She lowered her voice and her eyes, hoping Stanley would do the same. “That’s all there is to it.”

  “I love you too.” Stanley threaded his hand through the bars, toward Violet’s face, bending his fingers to mimic the curve of her reddening cheek.

  She swallowed her breath and remained still. “I couldn’t let you go to prison for something you didn’t do.”

  “We were meant to be together.” He pressed his fingers lightly into the pillow of her cheek.

  Violet took a step back, where Stanley could no longer reach her. “No,” she said. “I came here because of the widow. And because I knew you were innocent. That’s all.”

  “Say that you love me.” Stanley extended his arm again, but Violet remained out of reach.

  “I love Tommy, and that’s the truth.”

  “Tell me you don’t love me,” Stanley said.

  Violet remained silent.

  “You love me.” Stanley’s face brightened. “Another truth.”

  “Some truths matter more than others,” Violet said. “I’m sorry.”

  “So that’s it?” Stanley ran his foot along the bars of his cell.

  “Yes.”

  “Does he make you happy?”

  “Yes.” Violet stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry.”

  Stanley eyed her for a moment. “Be happy, then.” He dropped his head and Violet stood there, holding his hand a moment longer. When she finally let go, she turned and saw Tommy heading toward her. “I can explain,” she said, letting go of Stanley’s hand.

  “Something’s happened.” He pulled Violet by the shoulders, his voice cracking. “Daisy’s gone.”

  Chapter thirty-four

  VIOLET FELT AS IF SHE’D MISSED NOT ONE STEP, but a thousand. Her heart stopped; the blood drained from her head. Her hands and feet prickled, then numbed. Her breath caught at the back of her throat and choked her.

  Daisy’s gone.

  Her thoughts, like wild dogs, pounded forward without regard for reason. Is she warm enough? Think. Where can she be? Falling. Falling. Lily. Something about Lily. And Mother. Was Daisy next door with her? Concentrate. She caught the end of a “No” on Tommy’s oval lips. Had she asked that question aloud? And Frankie. What was i
t Lily had said about Frankie? His name charged ahead briefly, then settled back into the pack. Daisy’s gone. Her coat sleeves need to be let down. All arms and legs lately. Her arms and legs would get so cold. Falling. Falling. Must look for her. Grab hold of something. Anything.

  Tommy pulled Violet into him. “I’ll find her. Don’t you worry.” His embrace absorbed her tears.

  Violet buried her face in the front of his red and black–plaid hunting coat, catching a whiff of tobacco from the breast pocket. Tommy’s Chesterfields. Familiarity pinned her in place. “Lily,” she finally said, the name landing as an accusation.

  “Yes.” Tommy spoke as calmly as he would to a child, but the veins and arteries in his neck bulged red and blue. He nodded. “Lily. We have to find her. Them.” Still holding on, he took a step back and studied Violet’s expression. “Where could they be?”

  “Do you think she’s scared?” Violet struggled to order her mind.

  “I think she needs her mother,” Tommy said with gentle firmness. “Someone has to know something. What about George? A friend?” When Violet didn’t answer, he held her at arm’s length. “I’m going to talk to the police.”

  “Won’t do any good.” Stanley walked to the front of his cell. “Sherman’s got the chief in his pocket.

  “Then I won’t go to the chief,” Tommy said, not taking his eyes off Violet. “There are a dozen other men out there who will help us.”

  “They’re all beholden to your brother-in-law,” Stanley said. “Even the honest ones have wives and kids to support.”

  Tommy’s head snapped toward Stanley. “I’m not afraid of Sherman.”

  “You should be. What do you think will happen if you go off half-cocked,” Stanley lowered his volume to a whisper, “and accuse his wife of kidnapping?”

  “He doesn’t give a damn about Lily,” Tommy said.

  “But he does give a damn about his reputation. And his pride.” Stanley paused for a moment as if considering whether or not to speak what he was thinking. He finally said, “He’s already licking his wounds over that alibi your wife gave me.”

  A quick twitch pinched Tommy’s cheek. “I’m sure Violet has her reasons, whatever they are. But Daisy is the only thing that matters right now.”