“Sit over there,” she said gruffly. “I have my work to do, and it doesn’t stop just because a policeman comes in.”
Muldoon sat. The woman sent the little scullery maid to find the butler, then turned back to the pile of vegetables at one end of the table. Expertly, she swung the knife and chopped potatoes, carrots, and onions into small portions. Looking at her, Muldoon reflected on the woman’s size and obvious strength, the muscles in her forearms rippled as she worked. She was large enough to take on Muldoon himself, if she had the skill. And a lesser man would be an easy target for a woman her size… let alone a girl like Margaret. But why? What would the motive be? He couldn’t easily see one. How much did she owe her employer? Would she kill for him?
“Have you been here long? I mean in the Colonel’s employ?” he asked
“Yah.” She said. “I have been here for fifteen years.”
Most of Margaret’s life, he thought. “So, you must have known the first Mrs. Hamm?”
A smile lit up her rigid expression. “She was so wonderful. She hired me, you know. I was just new to this country. That was back in ‘51. My father and mother had died, from the yellow fever. I was all alone, and I had no job. But I was a skilled cook, so I answered the advertisement. And then I stood in the line for so long, waiting for my turn to come in. And I was afraid that when she sees me, and I am not from America, that she would say no. But she didn’t. She asked that I come again, and that I prepare my best meal for her. I had to wait almost a week. She had other cooks who were to come before me, and I was the last one on her list.
“So, I waited, and my money was running out. Then when I came back here, I cooked a roast leg of lamb. I remember that, because she told me lamb was her favorite. And then I got the job.”
Muldoon digested the information. So, her main sense of loyalty was to the first Mrs. Hamm, not to the Colonel. But, that didn’t mean it hadn’t changed over the years. She may easily have transferred her regard to the man. But, would she have killed the only daughter of her beloved mistress?
“Where did you come from? In Germany?” He tried a different angle.
“Oh, I was a farm girl first. I grew up on a dairy.”
“Must have been hard work.”
“Yah!” she smiled at the memory. “It was very hard. When I was younger, I milked the cows with my sisters. But when I got bigger, I had to deliver the milk. I had to load the milk cans on a wagon, and then the dog would pull it. My father liked the best dogs, strong dogs. He got the first one from Switzerland. They were big black dogs, with short fur. Grosser Shvietzer Sennenhunds, they were. That is one thing I miss in this house. The dogs.
“And then my mother sent me to school. To learn to cook. She wanted a better life for me. So, I went to Berlin and I learned to cook. But then they were talking about making one united Germany. My father, he didn’t like that idea. See, we lived in a small region, called Oldenburg. My father, he didn’t want to be part of one country. He said Berlin would be the capital. So, he said we leave before it was too late. But, my mother, she said it would never happen. And look, they are still talking about it, so she was right. And now my parents are dead. I think we could have stayed, and been better for it. But, I have my job, and I am happy.”
She smiled as she spoke. The memories were good ones, it seemed, except the loss of her parents. She scooped up the pile of vegetables and poured them into a dish of water, where she swished them about, giving them a final cleaning. Then, she placed them in a pot of fresh water for boiling.
Just then, the butler entered the big kitchen. Muldoon swung around to look at him as he spoke.
“Ah, so you have met Mrs. Grossman, our cook. I am Thomas Burnes, the butler. I have been asked to aid you in questioning the staff.” The man was tall and thin, exactly the type of butler Muldoon suspected worked in every house on 5th avenue. They seemed to like a particular sort of person as butler, one who had probably once been a footman. That meant good looking, thin, with long legs—a man who looked good in tails. And, that’s just what Mr. Burnes wore—a clean, fastidiously well kept black suit, the coat’s long tails draping behind. Muldoon was glad he was too big to look like a butler when he dressed in his finery several days previous. His suit, and this man’s, looked an awful lot alike.
“If you would care to follow me,” said the butler, and turning on his heel, he walked stiffly away.
Muldoon followed him as they entered the man’s office, just up the hall. It wasn’t a large room, but it was well furnished. The desk and single guest chair were old, but highly polished. He could imagine them moved out of the Colonel’s office upstairs and placed here when the Master purchased something new.
“You may use the desk,” said the butler, though he sat down behind it. He waved toward an empty chair and indicated that Muldoon should sit. “I have asked the staff to line up outside the door as their duties allow. I, of course, shall remain here while you question them.”
Nodding, Muldoon pulled out his small notebook and stubby pencil. He dragged the chair over and sat. Resting his elbow on the desk, and facing the door, he said he was ready to begin. Really, he thought, there was little use in questioning them. Aside from the cook, he didn’t think he would find anyone here large enough to take on Schneider, nor with a motive. But, he still must go through the motions. He may find something he didn’t expect, especially where the footman was concerned. He thought he could get that information from the butler.
The first servant entered the room tentatively. She was the young scullery maid from the kitchen.
“Sit.” Muldoon pointed at the chair just inside the door.
She smiled at him, shakily. He knew there would be little she could tell him. He couldn’t ask questions about the family. The butler would never allow that, so he had to steer clear of anything that might shed light on the condition of Miss Margaret Hamm and her relationship to the missing footman. As he expected, the girl’s answers to his questions did not help him.
The next several people he questioned were all kitchen staff. He needed to thank Mrs. Grossman for her help. But a tiny corner of his mind wondered if she feigned cooperation to throw him off her as a suspect. No, he thought. She had no way of knowing he was looking for a large man… or woman.
Next was Mrs. Hamm’s maid. She was a pretty woman of about twenty-five. Muldoon surveyed her with appreciation. Even in her demure outfit, she glowed with a natural sort of beauty. Her blonde hair was neatly pulled back into a bun, a cap atop her head. She bobbed a little curtsy, then stood quietly, waiting.
“This is Mary Stephens,” said the butler. “She is personal maid to the Mistress.”
“How long have you been in the household?” Muldoon said.
“Not too long, sir.”
“She came when the mistress’s former maid retired.” The butler leaned forward in his chair. “That’s been almost two years.”
Muldoon nodded, and noted it in his book.
“Did you notice any particular attitude toward the young lady, Miss Margaret, from any of the staff?” Muldoon asked carefully.
“Oh, no sir! Everyone was always very respectful like.”
“Can you tell me about the other staff members?” He tried again. “Anybody you didn’t particularly care for?”
The butler cleared his throat, and the maid looked up from her hands, which she clasped tightly before her. “Um, no sir. Everyone is quite wonderful.”
“How about the footmen? You’re a particularly lovely woman. Have you suffered from any unwanted advances?”
She blushed prettily, her gaze dropping again. “No, sir. I… I mean, not recently. Not since Martin left us.”
Muldoon hid his interest, writing carefully in his book for a moment. “Tell me about Martin,” he said quietly.
“He… he was very handsome, but… I believe he thought too much of himself. He always tried to get the girls to go for him. But he should have known we are proper girls, we don’t do things that
… that he wanted us to do.”
“Like what?” Muldoon asked. He knew she responded so properly, not because she was virtuous, but because Mr. Burnes sat at his side. It would be hard to get the full measure of the footman with witnesses who couldn’t speak freely.
“Well, he would come up behind me when I was working, and put his arms around me, and try… and try… to kiss me.”
Muldoon nodded with what he hoped was an understanding expression on his face. “And other girls had the same trouble?” he asked.
The maid nodded. “Some more than others.” He could sense the pride in her voice as she said it, and he knew the man’s attentions weren’t altogether unappreciated.
“Thank you,” Muldoon said. “That will be all.”
The story was the same with each of the younger servant girls. Several were less proper than Mary Stephens had been, but each was mindful of the butler sitting beside Muldoon.
He got much the same from the rest of the staff—the older women, the less comely girls, and the men—each thinking Martin Shelby a bit full of himself. After the last one left the room, Muldoon turned to the butler.
“It seems they are unanimous in one thing,” he said. “Their opinion of Martin Shelby.”
The butler nodded silently.
“He was fired?” Muldoon asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Yes.”
“When, exactly?”
“On the first day of the month,” the butler said.
“And who did the firing? Yourself… or the Master?”
“The Master,” Burnes studied his fingers where they lay on the desk.
“Was that unusual?” Muldoon asked. “Who normally tends to the hiring and the firing in this house?”
“I do, except for the kitchen staff. That would be Mrs. Grossman. But the Colonel was angry that day. He called for Martin, and the fellow just strode into the Master’s office like he owned the world. And then we could hear the yelling. The Colonel shouted at him, and he back at the Colonel. It was scandalous. To think of a servant speaking like that to his employer. So, he was fired.”
Muldoon studied the man as he spoke. He knew it reflected badly on Burnes. He had hired the man, and as it turned out, the footman was far less than suitable.
“Thank you for your help today,” Muldoon said. “If you think of anything further, you can contact me at Police Headquarters on Mulberry.”
“I’m certain that won’t be necessary,” Burnes said as he showed Muldoon to the door.
CHAPTER 38
Colonel
Hamm had little to add when Muldoon returned to question him later in the evening. “Martin Shelby seemed quite acceptable, at least in the beginning,” the Colonel said. “And then the man began pestering the maids. They became increasingly agitated, and had a hard time completing their work. The whole household was in disarray.”
“And that’s why you fired him?” Muldoon asked.
“Yes. He just wasn’t working out,” answered the Colonel, sitting behind his large desk.
The Colonel’s office was one any man would envy. The desk was a large, dark walnut, with polished slate inlay. Its sides were ornately decorated, matching the carving on the fireplace. His chair was dark leather, the same as the chair opposite, and a long sofa sat at a slight angle before the hearth. A small table stood on its other side, an African mask lying on top. A lion skin rug graced the floor, and zebra hung over the sofa back. Several animal heads adorned the walls—gazelle, tiger, and various African fauna. This was a man who thought of himself as a conqueror, an adventurer, a controller, he thought. Or one who wanted to be. Muldoon watched the Colonel as he fiddled with a small sculpture.
“Did he make these same advances toward your daughter?” Muldoon asked.
Colonel Hamm jerked back as though hit. “No! How could you suggest such a thing?” But, something in his manner told Muldoon that was untrue, at least as the Colonel believed it.
“I am merely looking for a motive, if indeed your footman is the murderer.”
The Colonel sat back again, the blood returning to his face. “Yes. Yes, I see. Well then, perhaps he did look at her in some manner. But, he never went so far as to touch her. Not like he did with the staff.”
“When did you become aware of these unwanted attentions?”
“I can’t say that I did. But, it’s logical, isn’t it? That what he wanted from the maids, he also may have wanted from my daughter.”
Muldoon thought so, too. “And, you were angry?”
“Angry enough to fire the bastard!”
Muldoon nodded, writing again in his book. “Were you angry at the girls, as well?”
“Of course,” the Colonel replied. He set a match to his pipe, and slowly puffed. Smoke curled upward, as if creating a blind behind which the Colonel hid. But Muldoon was a hunter, too. “He might not have gotten so carried away if the girls hadn’t encouraged him,” he said between puffs. Pulling up their dresses so he could see their ankles, and then bending over provocatively. A man might not be able to help himself.”
Was he angry with his daughter, too? Angry enough to kill? But, why send the very footman who had caused the problem in the first place?
“One more thing,” Muldoon said, thoughtfully. “Have you ever seen a man with the appearance of red eyes at night?”
For the second time the Colonel looked as if he’d been hit. He sat back hard in his seat, and Muldoon thought he could see a slight tremor in the hands resting on the desk. “No.” The single word contradicted Colonel Hamm’s demeanor.
“You’re certain?”
“Like a… like an albino? No. I’ve never seen anyone with red eyes. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve matters I must attend to.”
Muldoon thanked the Colonel and took his leave. He slowly walked back over to Fourth Avenue and the streetcar. The rain fell full force now, but he didn’t notice it. He reflected on what he had learned from the master of the house. In the morning, he would have to go looking for Martin Shelby. He had put out some feelers, but hadn’t yet heard any replies. The man had simply vanished. Perhaps he had left the City, but somehow Muldoon didn’t think so. And why had Colonel Hamm refused to speak of the crimson eyed man? His behavior betrayed him. He’d most definitely seen the man. Probably knew his identity. Martin Shelby. Red eyes. Are they just one man?
CHAPTER 39
Aiming
for an empty table against the wall, Muldoon threaded his way through McSorley’s Saloon. He checked his pocket watch. Not too long until Barney MacDougal should arrive. He sat with his back to the wall, and kept his eye on the door.
Where the hell is Martin Shelby? He hoped MacDougal had more luck looking for the man than he had. He couldn’t see a connection between the footman and Schneider. Shelby could easily kill the girl and her maid, but even without seeing him, Muldoon didn’t figure he was big enough to take care of Schneider. Footmen generally weren’t. Once he found the man, he’d find out what the link was. Maybe jealousy? Had he hired someone to do the killing for him?
The door opened and the two gas lamps flickering above the bar sputtered wildly. A small, greasy man slipped into the seat across from him. Muldoon raised his hand and signaled to the servant girl across the room. She nodded, left the room, and returned just moments later with two thick beef sandwiches and bowls of split pea soup. She set them in front of Muldoon, accepting a few coins in payment.
“We’ll eat first, you think?” Muldoon pushed a plate and bowl toward MacDougal.
The man licked his thin lips, and bobbed his head several times. Snatching the spoon, MacDougal sucked down great scoops of soup, followed by huge mouthfuls of torn bread and beef. Muldoon carefully chewed his own meal, keeping an eye on the snitch. The girl returned with two tankards of ale. The man grabbed his, and thirstily poured its contents down his throat. At long last, he leaned back, and swiped the back of one dirty hand across his lips, a loud belch escaping his mouth. It was probably th
e first decent meal he’d had in days, Muldoon thought.
“You treat me right,” the man squeaked in a thin little voice.
“So, MacDougal,” Muldoon gazed at him, head cocked slightly to one side. “What’ve you found for me?”
MacDougal was one of the best informants he had. But, the man liked to bide his time, stretching the story. He suspected the snitch thought he earned more that way.
“Weeellllll… ” MacDougal drew out that one syllable, long and thoughtfully. His accent was raw, the hard sound of America’s native poor. “I done looked all over this town. It was hard work, it was. I had to walk all across it, because I ain’t got any ochre for a cab, nor the streetcar.” He looked expectantly at Muldoon, as though listening for the clink of coins in his pocket.
“I checked all down here, because that’s where a fella would expect to find someone trying to hide out from the law. But, it wasn’t no good. So, I went down to the wharf. I thought maybe as he’d caught a boat, and he was gone-like. But, no one recalled as he’d seen a guy that matched his description. So, I crossed town again, and checked in the village.”
Muldoon knew the man hadn’t gone to all these places himself. Barney MacDougal had a gang of kids. They were thieves and beggars, the lot of them. Like something out of one of the Charles Dickens stories the paper ran. No doubt, MacDougal assigned each a district where the “kiddies” would ask for help finding a missing father, or sister, or puppy. They brought in odd lots of coins and trinkets expertly removed from men’s pockets, or off women’s wrists. “For the cause,” as MacDougal said. And they brought information.
He shifted his eyes greedily toward Muldoon’s unseen pocket, below the level of the table between them. “There wasn’t a clue where the fella could’ve got to,” he continued.
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