"Who is this man we call The Eagle, also known as the lovely Leteisha Swann?" Santos was enjoying his moment in the spotlight and milking it for everything he could get. "Apparently, he is Rodney Combs, a not very productive member of society who comes to New York via Los Angeles where, by the way, he left behind two dead friends, five outstanding felony warrants and a record as long as your nose, Miss Hubbert. Which is saying a lot. He is not a nice man and, apparently, an even nastier woman. He works for himself, so to speak, to pick up pocket change. He also does some very odd jobs for his landlord and part-time employer, Mr. Lance Worthington.
"Now, who is Lance Worthington?" The detective sipped at his coffee while he stared at some notes. "This is a more difficult question. He has no record and appears to be a legitimate, if marginally successful, producer of plays. He made a bit of money fifteen years ago on some Oh, Calcutta! rip-off that had actors disrobing all over the stage. He's spent the last decade or so trying to emulate his one success. From what we can piece together, he has lately turned to some very creative methods of financing."
"Blackmail," Herbert Wong interjected quietly.
Detective Santos confirmed this with a nod. "Very effective blackmail, it appears. And, by the way, he is, indeed, 'the big man.' His methods were very simple. Once he identified a potential investor, he did his damnedest to land the poor sucker in a compromising position. With some of his targets, particularly the married ones, his cooperative girlfriend and her highly acrobatic friends were enough. I will leave out the details of some of the adventures described to me by Miss St. Claire, as you would find them difficult to believe, anyway. Other marks were not so easy, but quite a few usually succumbed to the lure of the unknown and exotic. Specifically, a transvestite here and there. Or a young boy."
Lilah sputtered on her coffee and T.S. patted her gallantly on the back. "I wonder what he had in mind for me?" she asked.
"No telling," Santos answered drily. "But I can guarantee you that you'll never get the chance to find out." He shuffled his notes and continued. "People being as stupid as they are, his victims would apparently oblige him in his schemes by drinking so much that they could hardly see and were begging to be compromised. With their judgment drowned in booze and party drugs, it was an easy matter to gain evidence of some sort of sexual misconduct against them. Photographs were taken or, in the case of the apartment on West Forty-Sixth, videotapes. Which he has probably turned around and copied for sale to voyeurs, if he's the kind of guy I think he is." The detective looked up. "He had the remarkable ability to sniff out investors with a penchant for these kinds of things. You, Mr. Hubbert, eluded his radar. According to Miss St. Claire, he couldn't quite figure out what you wanted."
"Thank God for that," T.S. interjected. The other stared at him curiously. Well, that didn't quite come out right, he thought.
"Once he had blackmail material," Santos explained, "he tightened the screws. Potential investors were told to put up a certain amount or risk exposure. The amount was carefully chosen to hurt, but not hurt too much. It was the perfect scam. Anxious to protect their reputations, investors would hand over tens of thousands of dollars. In return, Worthington kept quiet and, in some cases, kept feeding their nasty habits. Plus, the schmucks could always hold out the hope, however rare, that they might actually make some profits or, at least, get a few tax deductions. It wasn't a far-fetched scheme at all. In fact, Miss St. Claire maintains that he's financed three flops so far in this manner."
"Three?" T.S. asked incredulously.
"Yes." Santos consulted his notes. "A musical version of the McCarthy hearings, a drama based on Fatty Arbuckle's life and something entitled Mr. Bojangles Goes to Washington. Would you like to hear the details?"
"No!" they all chorused.
"At any rate, all three efforts bombed. But the financing was always there to try something new."
"Albert," Lilah said suddenly. She looked at T.S. and he shrugged. He didn't even want to speculate on what Lance Worthington might have on the illustrious Albert. As the victor, he could afford to be gracious.
"Can't help you there," Santos told her. "Though Mr. Hubbert here told me the story about Albert and it sounds like he is a victim. But I doubt your Albert or any of the other blackmail victims will be very forthcoming. To continue—Worthington does own the building on Forty-Sixth Street. He bought it about three years ago. Some of his tenants were uninvolved in his activities, but about a year ago he started driving out as many of them as he could and replacing them with struggling actresses and actors who, in exchange for free or low-cost rent, performed small favors for him." He raised his eyebrows. "Details anyone?" They shook their heads vigorously. "Good. You don't want to know. One of the tenants, who calls himself Gregory Rogers, was involved in your kidnapping last night, Miss Hubbert. He has no prior record and your story matches his. He appears to be no more successful as a villain than he was as an actor."
"Please go easy on him. He didn't want to harm me," Auntie Lil pointed out again.
"He didn't particularly want to help you, either," the detective countered.
"What about Emily? Where does she come into it?" T.S. asked.
Santos sighed. "Here it gets sketchy, because Worthington isn't talking, but it seems that she first became involved simply through the misfortune of having rented an apartment in a building that was soon after bought by Worthington. First, she refused to move out when he embarked on his campaign to rid the building of anyone but his cronies. Then, when she noticed the activities taking place next door, she turned out to be a whole hell of a lot sharper than he had bargained for. She became particularly disturbed when she saw that children were involved. Being a decent woman, unlike so many others in this story, she still considered the two boys as children. She made friends with them, according to Little Pete, and tried to get them off the streets. When that failed, she caused Worthington trouble in some way and he ordered Rodney Combs to kill her in as anonymous a fashion as possible. We believe this was to deflect attention away from his building and to make it difficult for us to track her movements. Worthington was, in fact, hoping her death would be ascribed to a heart attack or stroke. And he felt sure that, without an identity, no family would ever step forward to ask for an autopsy or investigation. It was very important that Emily's identity be concealed, Miss St. Claire tells me. But she is vague as to why this is so. Rodney tells a similar story. Neither one of them seemed to care why Worthington wanted Emily dead. They just went along."
"Why do you think she had to die anonymously?" Herbert asked Detective Santos.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "I think maybe your friend, Emily, started calling city agencies and complaining about the use of the young boys. She probably got ignored because our agencies are so overworked and the kids aren't in a home situation and enforcement is pretty much impossible. So maybe she went too far, tried to get photos or some other kind of evidence on Worthington. Or, she may have threatened him with an old law still on the books from the early 1900s that authorizes New York City to seize a building used for 'bawdy' purposes. I don't know for sure. But I suspect that she probably made the mistake of directly confronting Worthington or, even more foolishly, informing him that she had tried to turn him in to every department and official she could think of. She may even have said that she was going to start warning potential backers away."
"Or said she would go public," Auntie Lil chimed in. "We found clippings of Margo McGregor's columns in her pocketbook."
Santos stared at her. "In that case, I'll have to have a word with Miss McGregor." He did not sound entirely displeased at the prospect. "At any rate, any one of these reasons could have triggered the order for her death. Worthington had a lucrative gig going and he didn't want it threatened."
"She had to die without a name in case her name rang a bell with people in those city agencies. As may have happened if her name had been widely reported with her death," Auntie Lil realized. "That would have
raised the possibility of a connection to him and the chance that her death was not entirely natural. That's why he had The Eagle remove all traces of her identity from her apartment—just in case they traced her back to there. And then, of course, he moved one of Sally's friends into her apartment as a cover. So far as they were concerned, Emily never existed."
"Probably," Santos agreed. "In fact, I don't think they had even counted on anyone knowing Emily's stage name, either. I don't think he realized that she had friends. She kept to herself so much, except for the soup kitchen. He underestimated her life. And her friends." He complimented them with a small nod of his head.
"I hope you're calling around the agencies, now," Auntie Lil pointed out. "She may have used her real name to report his activities."
"We' re on it," Santos confirmed patiently. "Believe me, we're already on it."
"But how does Bob Fleming tie into Worthington?" T.S. asked.
"Well, frankly, that appears to be Miss Hubbert's fault." Santos looked at her sternly from over the top of his notes. "Worthington was already pretty pissed at Fleming because he sometimes took kids off the street that Worthington needed for his own purposes. But he was willing to live and let live, as I understand he loves to say, until he heard that Fleming was trying to make contact with Timmy and wanted to ask him some questions about Emily. That led him to believe that Fleming knew more than he did. He had to take him out of the picture so, instead of murdering him, he ruined his reputation."
"Pretty effectively, I'd say," T.S. added.
Santos nodded. "Worthington was smart about it, too. He had the kid go to a local priest about Fleming, and told Timmy to pretend to be confused and unsure of what to do. It would help establish his credibility, Worthington explained to the kid, if anyone questioned his story. Timmy did as he was told. And the priest, of course, did as he was taught to do and urged the boy to go to the police, never knowing the story was false."
"So Father Stebbins is only guilty of being gullible?" Auntie Lil said incredulously.
"So far as I can tell," Santos conceded.
"Father Stebbins told you about Timmy?" T.S. asked. "Whatever happened to the sanctity of the confessional?"
"He didn't tell me. He spoke in all sorts of cryptic mumbo jumbo clichés. But his, um, companion, filled us in on the details."
"Fran?" Herbert asked.
"I knew there was something going on between those two," Auntie Lil declared.
"Now, I didn't say that," Detective Santos protested. "In fact, I consider that definitely out of my jurisdiction. But I did get the feeling that she sticks pretty close to the padre. When she saw the boy, Timmy, approach him a couple of times, she made it a point to be around in case he came back. Without admitting it in so many words, I got this picture of her lurking behind the pews and by the confessional pretending to dust, if you know what I mean. But she was doing it for a good reason. She didn't trust the kid and thought he was a liar. She thought maybe he was setting Father Stebbins up for something. She came right out and told the priest so, but he didn't believe her. They had a falling out. And she still looks like she wants to wring his neck."
"But after Timmy went to Father Stebbins and lied about Bob Fleming, Annie O'Day found him and convinced him to change his mind?" Auntie Lil asked.
Santos nodded. "Timmy is a street kid. He'll blow with the wind. I think that when Annie reached him and made him feel bad about lying, he truly got confused and went back to see the same priest to sort it out. He doesn't sound like a bad kid at heart, just mixed up and frightened at Emily's death. He told the priest the truth and admitted that Worthington had put him up to lying about Fleming. Father Stebbins was pretty broken up about it—after all, he had counseled the kid to destroy a man's life—so he did his best to convince the kid that he had to retract his statements as soon as possible. He even had the kid halfway talked into ditching New York and going back to Texas. Timmy wouldn't agree to go home but he did agree to retract his accusations. That's when he went to Homefront."
"And said he would only talk to me," Auntie Lil added.
Santos shrugged. "Well, there's no accounting for taste, Miss Hubbert." His eyes twinkled and he located another piece of paper, checked his notes and finished his summary. "The kid was being followed, of course, by Rodney—who had been parading around exclusively as Leteisha ever since he'd poisoned Emily. Rodney puts two and two together when he sees Timmy heading for Homefront, calls Worthington, and gets his orders. As Leteisha, he tells Little Pete that the man has a way for them to make some really big money that night, but that he and Timmy will have to do a job together. Little Pete is sent to get Timmy at Homefront before he can retract the allegations against Fleming. They were told to meet Leteisha at the piano warehouse for instructions and part payment. But, of course, by the time the kids got there, Leteisha was back to being Rodney again and beat the crap out of Timmy to teach him a lesson. And, if you ask me, to kill him as well. But he lived and Rodney will probably eventually be sorry for that. Rodney didn't hurt Little Pete because they needed him that night for one of Worthington's investing scams." He eyed T.S. "The rest of the story, I think you know." He looked up at them expectantly.
"So even in the middle of all this, Worthington was still trying to get something on me?" T.S. asked. "That's why he doped me and tried to set me up with Little Pete?"
"You got it. Like I say, he found you hard to please."
"I should think so." T.S. sat back with great dignity. "How utterly sordid."
"Murder usually is," the detective reminded him.
"And Eva?" Herbert asked almost fearfully. "She was killed because of mistaken identity?"
Here, Santos softened. "Not really," he admitted with a kindly nod toward Auntie Lil. "Don't forget, as Leteisha, Rodney was a real working girl and had coworkers who were always happy to contribute information in exchange for a buck here and there. People, if you want to go so far as to call them that, had been telling The Eagle about you, Miss Hubbert, for a number of days. You'd been seen having dinner with Little Pete. And you apparently met the super of Worthington's building? Funny how that little detail slipped your mind when you gave your statement. Anyway, the descriptions of you weren't very exact. For one thing, they left out your big mouth—" He smiled again, loving every minute of his revenge. "All The Eagle knew was that an old lady was snooping around, and he might have mistaken Eva for you. But I think that Eva was probably killed because she'd put two and two together and had figured out that The Eagle was also Leteisha Swann. She'd been hanging around the stoop as a bag lady or something." He stared at the assembled group. "A curious fact that I'm sure you'll eventually enlighten me on. And she made the mistake of letting The Eagle know he'd been found. I think it was just a matter of hours for her after that."
"She should have told us right away," Auntie Lil protested. "Oh, those women. Always trying to upstage each other."
"Or you," Santos pointed out and she fell silent. "At any rate, after Eva was killed, Worthington figured out that there was more than one little old lady snooping around."
"Many more than one!" Herbert interjected, the memory of being trapped in a street opera still fresh in his mind.
"He was waiting with Sally St. Claire in his car outside Homefront today when Little Pete came for Timmy. He didn't want any more screw-ups and was personally supervising Timmy's removal. He saw you arrive and he saw Bob Fleming rush in after you. Sally says that they went back to the super and asked for a better description of the old lady who'd been asking about Emily. That's when he realized you were the one who'd come around asking questions. And that you were still alive. When they saw you again at the hospital, it was easy to pick you up after that. Since you weren't paying attention like I had warned you to."
The constant undercurrent of jousting between Detective Santos and Auntie Lil was tactfully ignored by the others.
"And the ladies from the soup kitchen?" Herbert asked. "Were they involved in any way? I'm
speaking of Miss Adelle and the others."
"The ladies from the soup kitchen are a royal pain in the ass and they turned this place into a zoo last night. But other than that, they are uninvolved. So far as we can tell."
Auntie Lil looked a bit disappointed. "What about Nellie?" she asked. “The woman who runs the Jamaican restaurant?”
T.S. rolled his eyes. Auntie Lil loved conspiracy stories. Even when she had to make them up.
"Certainly she's involved," Santos said. "But only so far as the kid, Little Pete, is concerned. Seems she's had her eye on him for a while. Seen him around the streets. Wants to get him off them. Looks to me like she's going to do it by force, if necessary. She marched him in here and, by God, he told us just about everything. You would have, too, if you had seen the look on that woman's face."
"She's going to try and get custody of him?" Lilah asked.
Santos shook his head. "So far as I'm concerned, it's out of official channels. I have a feeling we should just let things take their course on their own."
"Well, what do you think? Is there enough to get Worthington?" T.S. knew the system and was not convinced. He'd seen worse people get off for more.
Santos nodded slowly. "Yeah, we'll get him. At least on blackmail and ordering Eva's death and endangering the welfare of minors and a handful of other charges."
"But what about Emily's death?" Auntie Lil said indignantly. "That's what started this whole thing."
Santos shrugged. "It's hard. There's not much to tie The Eagle into that murder, much less Worthington. And Rodney Combs knows the system. He hasn't come right out and said he did it. He probably never will. He knows we don't have much on him. I don't think we'll get him on Emily and we certainly won't get him to roll over on Worthington for Emily's murder. Not without a witness to hold over his head."
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