The Rogue of Fifth Avenue

by Joanna Shupe

  Frank Tripp was a bona fide New York City celebrity.

  While this surprised Mamie, it shouldn’t have. She read the newspapers, knew of his reputation both in court and out of it. He was part of a law firm, but Frank was the lawyer all men—guilty or innocent—wished to hire. However, she hadn’t realized how this affected his everyday life, how average men would scrape and bow for his notice.

  It was . . . disconcerting.

  He politely held on to her elbow as they entered the building. A woman here was unusual, unless in irons. The Chicago Police had recently allowed a woman in their ranks, but the New York Metropolitan Police remained entirely male, other than a few matrons to assist with the female inmates. So Mamie ignored the strange looks thrown her way and kept her chin high. Nothing mattered but obtaining Mrs. Porter’s release.

  Once inside, activity buzzed around them. People from all walks of life and backgrounds were there, a testament to the diverse population of the city. Much more diverse than Upper Fifth Avenue.

  They stepped to the main counter. An older policeman with bushy auburn sideburns sat behind the high wooden partition. When he glanced up, his mouth hitched. “Well, if it ain’t Frank Tripp comin’ down here tonight to bless us all with his presence. How are you, Frank? It’s been a while.” He had the hint of an Irish accent when he spoke.

  “Hello, McDermott.” Frank was all smiles as he leaned a hip against the counter. “How’s that wife of yours? Feeling better?”

  The man’s expression sobered. “She is, most definitely. Got her sister stayin’ with us to care for her, but doctors say she’s on the mend, thank God.”

  “That is good news, then. Please send her all the best from me. Now, the lady and I”—he gestured toward Mamie—“are here to see a Mrs. Porter of Bayard Street. She was brought in earlier today on suspicion of murder charges.” Mamie had filled him in on the carriage ride.

  “Miss,” the attendant said to Mamie before turning back to Frank. “You aren’t representin’ her, are you? Bit of a step down, ain’t it?”

  Mamie opened her mouth to tell the man exactly what she thought of that disparaging comment, but Frank squeezed her arm. She clenched her jaw and remained silent, though it irked her.

  “I am Mrs. Porter’s attorney,” Frank said. “I made a promise and I do intend to see it through.”

  McDermott slowly shook his head. “I suppose you know your business.” Glancing down, he flipped through a registry book on the counter. “Mrs. Porter . . . let’s see. She was brought in around one o’clock this afternoon. I’ll have one of the matrons fetch her from the other building.”

  “Excellent, thank you. We’ll sit over here and wait.” Frank pointed at a bench against the wall.

  McDermott waved an officer over while still speaking to Mamie and Frank. “No, no, no. Head to an empty room in the back. It’s not as if you don’t know the way. We’ll have her sent there for you.”

  Frank shook McDermott’s hand, thanked him and led Mamie through a series of corridors. “In you go,” Frank said as he pulled open a door. “This is where they bring suspects to question them. We’ll wait here for Mrs. Porter.”

  A windowless room with dirty white walls surrounded her. There were two small wooden chairs, one on either side of a table. Mamie lowered herself into one of the chairs. Exhaustion tugged at her like a physical weight she was carrying. The day had been long and stressful. Considering how terrible she felt, she could only imagine how poor Mrs. Porter was holding up. The woman must be frightened beyond belief.

  “When Mrs. Porter arrives, we’ll try to get her side of what happened,” Frank said quietly. “At her arraignment I’ll ask the judge to release her on bail. However, this is a capital offense, so bail is at the judge’s discretion.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Because you must manage your expectations. This is a long process and much of it is out of our control.”

  “Not out of your control,” she couldn’t help but put in. “Considering your reputation.”

  He put up his hands, palms out. “I’ll do my best, Mamie. But she killed her husband.”

  “Allegedly.”

  Frank slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and shook his head. “Based on what you’ve told me, it looks grim. Not to mention it’s almost always the spouse in a situation such as this.”

  While that may be true, she wasn’t about to leap to conclusions. “Circumstantial at best. We have no idea if there is proof.”

  “Mamie, most murderers are convicted on circumstantial evidence.” When Mamie started to argue, Frank leaned down closer and placed his hands on the scarred table. “Listen, I don’t care if she did it or not. My client’s innocence or guilt is hardly relevant. My job is to represent her in court.”

  “Then how do you choose your clients?”

  He straightened, his lips twisting into a smirk. “If I say it’s money will you think less of me?”

  She’d expected the answer, but it had a whole new meaning for her now. A woman’s life was on the line, a good woman with three small children to raise. “So only those who have a lot of money can afford great lawyers?” Like her father.

  “You act as though you’re unaware of the privilege money brings in this city. You cannot be that innocent. I found you picking pockets in a casino, for God’s sake.”

  Oh, that again.

  “Not to mention you are Duncan Greene’s daughter,” he continued. “There’s a whole city out there that you’ve never experienced, with people of all kinds.”

  She opened her mouth to tell him what she knew of those less fortunate, but the door parted. A police matron in a plain gray dress led in a pale and disheveled Mrs. Porter. Mamie shot to her feet and clasped her hands to keep from running over and hugging the woman. The matron unlocked the manacles around Mrs. Porter’s wrists and brought her to the table. “Sit here,” the matron ordered.

  After Mrs. Porter sat, the matron told Frank, “I’ll wait in the hall. Let me know when you’re finished.”

  “Thank you.”

  When they were alone, Mamie reached across the table and clutched the other woman’s hand. “Are you all right? Have you been mistreated?”

  Mrs. Porter swallowed. “I’m fine. How are my babies?”

  “With your neighbor. She said between her and the other women in the building they’ll be well cared for.”

  “But they don’t have enough money to—”

  “Do not concern yourself with that. I’ve taken care of it. Whatever they need they shall have, I promise.”

  Mrs. Porter’s eyes welled up with tears. “Thank you, Miss Greene. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay this kindness on top of everything else you’ve done for us over the past year.”

  Mamie squeezed her hand. “No repayment is necessary. I know how hard you work. We’re going to get you through this.” Pulling her hands free, she gestured toward Frank. “Mrs. Porter, meet your lawyer, Mr. Frank Tripp.”

  Mamie had clearly not lied about this woman being a friend. However, this was more than friendship. Mamie offered Mrs. Porter . . . financial assistance and support. Had arranged for the neighbors to look after the Porter children.

  I don’t know how I’ll ever repay this kindness on top of everything else you’ve done for us over the past year.

  What had that meant? What had Mamie done for her over the past year?

  And would Frank ever understand this woman?

  He reached out to shake Mrs. Porter’s hand. “Hello, Mrs. Porter. I am Mr. Tripp, an attorney here in the city. I need to ask you a few questions. Would that be all right?”

  She nodded but didn’t speak, her eyes wary. Frank had represented only two women in criminal cases over the years, neither in a murder trial. He was suddenly grateful for Mamie’s presence here, her ability to put people at ease. It would save him time in building trust with an unknown client. “First, I want you to understand that everything you share with me is priv
ileged information. Meaning, I cannot ever tell anyone. Whatever you say cannot be used against you in court. Miss Greene is here in my employ, so the same rules apply. You may be totally honest with us.”

  “But I have no money for a lawyer. They said someone from the state would represent me.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Mamie said before Frank could comment. “Mr. Tripp is a friend of mine. I will see that he’s compensated for taking your case.”

  Oh, Christ. The myriad of prurient thoughts that went through Frank’s brain was positively shameful. Had she any idea of how she affected him?

  Likely not, else she’d certainly never discuss compensating him ever again.

  “Oh, Miss Greene—”

  Mamie held up her hand. “Please, I insist. If not for yourself, then please accept my help for the sake of your children.”

  Mrs. Porter’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. Another nod.

  Frank took this as his cue. “Now, what happened earlier today?”

  The woman’s gaze darted between him and Mamie, then she stared at the table. He raised his brows at Mamie meaningfully and jerked his chin toward the other woman. Help her.

  Mamie touched Mrs. Porter’s arm. “It’s all right. You may trust—”

  “I killed him.”

  Frank stilled at the abrupt confession but quickly masked his outward reaction. God knew it wasn’t the worst thing he’d heard confessed in one of these rooms. Mamie was a different story, however. Eyes wide, she rocked back in her chair, so he put a palm on her knee to steady her.

  “Tell us what happened.” He kept his voice even, nonjudgmental.

  Mrs. Porter nodded and wiped at a tear sliding down her cheek. “He . . . was not a nice man. Not to me. There were times—” She stopped abruptly and let out a shuddering breath.

  Mamie reached out once more, soothing the other woman by stroking her arm. “There were times . . . ?”

  “When he would use his fists on me. In front of the children. I came to expect it, you know. After he returned home from the gin holes, at least. I didn’t mind so much, unless I had to take to my bed to recover.” She locked eyes with Mamie. “You see, I made him mad, always after him to stop drinking and help more around the house. I nagged him.”

  “That does not excuse physical violence,” Mamie told her softly. “Nothing excuses anyone hitting you.”

  Mrs. Porter lifted a shoulder. “He works—worked—hard on the docks. When he came home he wished to be left alone. Sometimes that was hard for me.”

  Mamie swiped at her own face with her free hand, brushing away tears at learning these details of Mrs. Porter’s home life. Frank hated to tell her how common this was, how often some men believed it their right to hit their wives and how often the wives excused it. His own mother, in fact, always defended their father and his violent tendencies. She had chosen that bastard every time, instead of herself or her children.

  Shaking off those long-buried memories, he returned his focus to the conversation. “And this morning?”

  “He’d been gone all night, came home drunk. I . . . I couldn’t stop them from crying.” Tears fell in earnest now, misery etched in her expression. “I did everything I could think to keep them quiet. He . . .”

  Mamie continued to hold on to Mrs. Porter, giving her strength. They waited, no one speaking, until the other woman was able to go on.

  “He started in on our eldest, Katie. She’s five. She was crying in the kitchen and I tried to tell her to hush. I begged her.” Mrs. Porter’s eyes were dazed, the horror returning as she recounted the morning. “When she kept carrying on Roy told her to shut up or there would be consequences. But she still made noise. He raised his fist to her. I . . . I didn’t think. I just . . .”

  Frank could almost picture it, the scene so vivid in his mind. How many times had it happened in the Murphy household? Fifty? A hundred? Always those big meaty fists raining down violence and shame.

  “And so you were defending Katie?” Mamie asked.

  He caught her attention and shook his head. The last thing they should do is put words in a client’s mouth. It was best if Mrs. Porter struggled through her story, no matter how long it took.

  “I had no choice,” Mrs. Porter said, her eyes pleading, willing them to understand. “He would’ve killed her. He was thrice her size, at least. I couldn’t let him hit her.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “I grabbed the heaviest pan on the stove and hit him in the back of the head with it. He stumbled, went down on one knee, and that’s when I hit him again. Then he fell.”

  “This was in the kitchen?”

  She brushed away more tears. “Yes, sir. Sort of right in the middle of the apartment.”

  Frank hadn’t visited the scene of the crime, but he didn’t need to. He’d been in more tenements growing up than he could count. They were all one or two rooms, everyone cooking, eating, sleeping together. “Did your husband rise up again?”

  “No, sir. He just lay there. Cops showed up not long after.”

  That was odd. A domestic disturbance wouldn’t generally trigger a visit by the police. So how would anyone have known to fetch the police? He’d need to speak with the neighbors. Establishing a pattern of violence requiring self-defense was their best chance at acquittal.

  “What have you said to the police? Did you tell them what you just told us?”

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. “No, sir. I was too scared, even when they yelled at me.”

  “Excellent. That is good news,” he said. “Do not speak to them without me present. They may try to coerce you into an admission of guilt.”

  “But I am guilty.”

  “Only because you were defending yourself and your daughter,” Mamie said. “Mr. Tripp is the very best attorney in the city. He’ll get you acquitted, I promise.”

  While he appreciated Mamie’s faith in his abilities, it was always better to prepare clients for the worst. “Mrs. Porter, the next step is your arraignment. We’ll go before the judge, hear the charges and try to get you released on bail. That should happen in the next few hours.”

  “And if I’m not released? What about my children?”

  “I’ll see to them,” Mamie said before he could comment.

  Frank walked around to the other side of the table and helped Mrs. Porter to her feet. She was a small woman, with not much meat on her bones. Her face was still swollen with two ugly cuts that had barely scabbed over. Presumably Porter’s handiwork. Gentling his expression, Frank said, “Remember, don’t speak to anyone but me about your case. I’ll ask the matron to come in and get you now. Then they’ll bring you to the courtroom later. Have you any questions for me?”

  She shook her head. Mamie was suddenly there, knocking him out of the way to take Mrs. Porter into her arms for a hug. He couldn’t hear everything Mamie whispered but he heard an apology and a string of reassurances. She promised a quick release from jail. Frank hoped he could deliver on that promise.

  First, however, Mamie had some explaining to do.

  Chapter Six

  Immediately after Mrs. Porter was escorted out, Mamie watched as Frank strolled to the chair on the other side of the table and sat. He leaned back and placed his feet on the table, legs crossed at the ankle. “The very best attorney, is it?”

  Oh, he’d heard that, had he? Well, she wasn’t about to expound on the comment. The man’s opinion of himself was high enough.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I said that for her benefit—not yours.”

  He brushed his trousers, flicking imaginary lint off the dark blue wool. “Still, these words were said. They cannot be taken back. Hell, Mamie. I had no idea how much you respected and admired me.”

  Lord, he was insufferable. And handsome. Though the second observation was hardly relevant, it was top of mind after watching and listening to him for the past few minutes with Mrs. Porter. “Do you expect for me to continue to flatter you now that we’
re alone?”

  His lids lowered slightly, lashes sweeping down to partially cloak his bright blue eyes. “That depends. How badly do you want my help?”

  She swallowed. The man was potent. Seductive. A living, breathing temptation in a bespoke three-piece suit.

  Dropping into the other vacant chair, she adjusted her skirts and tried to calm her racing heart. “Be serious, Frank. You’ve already committed yourself to Mrs. Porter’s cause. It’s clear she acted in self-defense.”

  “Nothing is clear and nothing is committed . . . not until I get some answers out of you.”

  This was what she’d feared, that he would insist on discovering more about her secret life and how she came to meet Mrs. Porter. Yet she’d gladly suffer Frank’s questions to secure assistance for Mrs. Porter. Without a good attorney God knew what would happen to the mother of three in the city’s courts.

  “You already have my word that I’ll play billiards with you at your home one night. What more could you possibly want?”

  “Quite a lot, actually. Let’s start with how you met Mrs. Porter.”

  “A friend of a friend.”

  His lips quirked and he shook his head. “Mamie, my dear. You seem to think evasion and lies will still work, but they won’t. Not with me. Not after I have met Mrs. Porter and heard what she had to say. So how about you are honest with me for once in your overprivileged life?”

  “I wasn’t lying. Evading, perhaps, but not lying.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table, not uttering a word. Apprehension crawled over her skin at his silence. Would he really withdraw his support for Mrs. Porter if he didn’t hear the truth? Mamie didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be certain. The risk was not worth it.

  If spilling her secrets gained Mrs. Porter’s release then Mamie had no choice.

  “Fine. One of my sisters knew of a charity organization downtown. About a year and a half ago I learned that some women who seek help are turned away because they refuse religious conversion. I asked for a few names of those refused help so that I might offer it instead. I visit them once or twice a month and bring money.”