“Yes. They succeeded with Barclay, and if they had waited another month or two, they might have gotten away with Farrell as well. It was only Huber’s suicide that got Perkins to start paying attention. But he would have forgotten about it at some point.”
“Why do you think they waited until after Barclay’s claim was paid to sign up others? To make sure they could get away with it?”
“I imagine so,” I said. “Maybe that’s when they got Donigan involved, figuring he could get the other claims approved without eliciting notice.”
“But Huber’s death put the kibosh on it,” Emmie said. “I suppose we can infer then that his death was unplanned—even if it was murder.”
“Why do you say murder?”
“Well, if he wrote these other policies after Barclay was dead, he had to know the nature of the scheme. Which makes the idea he was misled unlikely.”
“Yes. Though he may have been doing it under duress.”
“Perhaps.”
After lunch Emmie insisted we tally all the other clues we had, for our own purposes.
“Well, we know Mrs. Warner gambled,” I began. “And Mrs. Barclay, according to Elizabeth.”
“And Mrs. Marquisee.”
“That was just a rumor I heard.”
“Don’t you remember, Harry? I told you last night. One of my colleagues at the Frauenverein told me she had seen Mrs. Marquisee there several times.”
“I don’t remember much of last night. Did you tell me anything else?”
“Not that I recall.”
“Was there anything you didn’t tell me?”
“That’s rather vague, Harry.”
“I was just curious why you were so willing to leave your post as bookkeeper.”
“Oh. Well, the truth is, I was fired. Bannon saw me in his office.”
“That was taking a risk, Emmie. You told me you’d be careful.”
“Well, he didn’t become violent or anything. He just suggested I wasn’t cut out for the work.”
“Amenable fellow. But back to the matter at hand: William Huber also gambled. And according to one rumor, he owed a lot.”
“And Mr. Minden also seems connected.”
“Yes, his places feature prominently. And there’s one other clue there.”
“What’s that?”
“His faro banker played the part of the bartender who claimed Demming was on First Avenue. Given Tibbitts’s part in that, I assume he’s under the influence of Minden, at least indirectly.”
“I imagine,” Emmie said, “that Minden, or Bannon, might have come up with the scheme to clear up debts.”
“I don’t think so. It would have been too risky for them to have involved themselves. The cops and the politicians can be bribed to turn a blind eye to all the poolrooms and casinos. But murder is something else.”
“Well, what if they found one of the debtors was in a position to orchestrate the scheme?”
“Huber?”
“He may not be the innocent you seem to believe he is, Harry.”
“I guess that’s possible.”
“And perhaps Donigan was also a debtor, and among the other debtors there’s someone willing to perform the murders to clear his own debt.”
“Yes, all that’s possible.”
“And then there’s Koestler,” she said. “Mr. Keegan seems to suspect he’s involved.”
“I’m not sure what exactly Keegan suspects. These pillars of finance seem to stand for all sorts of behavior, things anyone else would find reprehensible. Then every once in a while they jump on one fellow as having gone beyond the pale. But his machinations rarely seem any different from those of his accusers.”
“But setting aside all that,” Emmie said, “Koestler will have gained the most?”
“Yes. And there are other clues that point his way. For instance, his daughter was a childhood friend of Huber’s, which means he must have lived in Williamsburg and known the Hubers. And perhaps the Marquisees as well.”
“That might just mean he heard about the scheme and exploited it.”
“There’s something else. The description Mrs. Warner gave of her visitor, the woman we thought might be Elizabeth, also describes Sally’s stepmother, the current Mrs. Koestler.”
“She’s that young?”
“Maybe thirty-five. But she speaks in the same manner. And just as caustically. And remember, Mrs. Warner sees people as a blur.”
We arrived in Newport about four and immediately set to work procuring provisions. Then we hired a wagon and went off to locate Keegan’s cottage. It’s important to keep in mind that a cottage in Newport is not the three-room affair you might be picturing. It was more like a large suburban house. But compared to the opulence of the local mansions, it ranked as just a cottage.
We prepared the house, ate a simple supper, and then ventured forth. Emmie’s taste ran toward the lively, so of course we had to go down to the harbor. We entered the most congenial-looking place on the Long Wharf. But just as I had hoped, five minutes was enough to satisfy even Emmie. It’s an established fact that saloons near naval stations attract excessively rambunctious crowds and the White Swan was no exception to the rule. I suggested we go back to the cottage and open a bottle of Keegan’s wine. But before I could convince Emmie, we ran into Mr. Cobb, the oysterman whose wagon we had hired that afternoon. He was headed to a party at one of the lesser mansions to replenish stocks. Emmie insisted we accompany him, for the ride, she said.
I was not at all surprised that when we arrived at our destination she broached the idea of entering the house uninvited. She was not dissuaded by my protests, or Mr. Cobb’s. But when she failed to coax the kitchen help into collusion, and had eyed the large fellow manning the main entrance, she agreed something could be said for a quiet evening at Keegan’s.
He showed up about 9:30 the next morning and immediately put us to work preparing for the luncheon party. I knew Keegan was an epicure, but until then I never knew he could cook. The three gentlemen meeting Keegan arrived with their wives about one, two having come by yacht from Boston. Emmie and I served, and ate our own meal in the kitchen. I can’t say I enjoyed playing servant, but the meal was a noteworthy one. Afterwards, the women separated themselves and I sat with the men to give my synopsis. While I recited my chronology, Keegan interjected with the dates of Koestler’s trades. He must have learned of others not on Ratigan’s list, as there were many more trades, through several brokers. But there were several sizeable trades that were notably well-informed, or at least appeared so. Though Koestler was already short Sovereign before the first of the year, his first large trade occurred on March 15th. This was just two days after Huber’s death, and simultaneous with Perkins’ initial investigation of Huber’s policies. Then there was another trade on March 22nd, the day Farrell’s body was found, and a very large one on the 25th, the day Perkins learned of the claim. The day Keegan was called in, April 2nd, there was another large trade. The last, and largest, occurred on the morning Osborne’s body was found.
“Well, we can assume he had someone working on the inside at Sovereign,” one gentleman pointed out. They all agreed this was a certainty, but saw nothing particularly improper about it.
“Yes, apparently whenever this Perkins fellow raised his concerns with his superiors, one of them was giving Koestler that information promptly,” Keegan summarized. “That would explain all the trades but the one on March 22nd. Can you come up with an explanation for that, Reese?”
“No, I don’t see how anyone would know the significance of Farrell’s death until Perkins saw the claim.”
Emmie had just entered with a tray of port and immediately joined the conversation. “Perhaps Mr. Perkins was the informer, and he recalled seeing the name when he looked through Huber’s files.”
Our guests seemed rather taken aback. “Ah, my wife, gentlemen.”
“I imagine Mrs. Reese may be right,” Keegan said. “But perhaps she’d like to join th
e ladies?”
She left the room, but I doubted sincerely she’d gone off to commiserate with the other wives about the servant problem.
“It is possible Perkins read about the death in the morning papers and remembered the name. But in my notes, I have that he learned of it when the claim came in.”
“But is that simply what he told you?” gentleman number two asked.
“Yes, that’s true,” I admitted.
“Let me ask you this, Reese,” gentleman number three began, “does it seem plausible Koestler was involved in this episode? Or merely an observer? You see the distinction?”
“If I needed to guess, I would say he merely made use of it. But there are some curious coincidences.”
As I was speaking, Emmie had entered with a tray of coffee. In leaving, she passed near me and whispered, but loud enough for the others to hear, “Don’t forget to mention Mrs. Koestler.”
Of course I had no intention of mentioning Mrs. Koestler. That would necessitate explaining all about Mrs. Warner and was a matter of pure conjecture.
“What about Mrs. Koestler?” Keegan asked.
“It’s nothing, really. One of Emmie’s fancies,” I said. Then I forced her bodily from the room.
The meeting broke up not long afterward and the gentlemen and their wives went off to enjoy the afternoon on their yachts. Emmie and I spent the remainder of the afternoon cleaning up while Keegan read the newspapers.
“Why didn’t you tell them, Harry?”
“What was I going to say, Emmie? ‘I think Mrs. Koestler may be part of a ring that murdered men for their life insurance. I base this on the fact she bears an auditory resemblance to a woman described by an eccentric I met on a dairy farm.’ I believe that’s known as slander.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded.
But that evening, when we sat down to another meal of Keegan’s preparation, Emmie told him all about it.
“I think Harry was right to leave it unmentioned, my dear.”
“Well, we’ll know one way or another soon enough,” Emmie said.
“I hope you aren’t planning to kidnap Mrs. Koestler and take her to the Warners’ farm,” I pleaded.
“Oh, it won’t require anything as silly as that,” she said.
The evening was spent with me reading and Emmie teaching Keegan how to cheat at cards. On the train back to New York the next day, they formed a syndicate and found some others to play bridge with. The firm’s financial statement revealed just how lethal a team they were.
19
We arrived at the apartment shortly after five Sunday afternoon and found it empty—not just empty of people, but completely empty.
“I didn’t realize they’d finish the move this quickly,” Emmie said.
Then we trooped down to the Margaret. Just before we were to enter the new apartment, Emmie stopped.
“Harry, there’s something I haven’t told you.”
I was back in Emmie-land. “There’s much you haven’t told me, isn’t there, Emmie?”
“Yes, perhaps. But I’m referring to something in particular. Do you remember admonishing Dorothy about her little amorous adventure?”
“Did I admonish her?”
“Well, you made some reference to intentions,” she said. “You see, it seems both Dorothy and Jim wanted desperately to marry.”
“Emmie, I’m sure it’s a romance worthy of Laura Jean herself, but is there a reason I should hear about it out in the hall?”
“If you’ll allow me to finish. As I said, they wanted desperately to marry, but they had nowhere in which to set up house.”
“They’re living in our new apartment?”
“In the servant’s room,” Emmie clarified. “We had no use for it.”
“All right, Emmie. Can we go in now?”
We did so, and found ourselves amidst chaos. Elizabeth and Dorothy were unpacking boxes and Jim was moving things about as instructed. Emmie introduced him to me and he seemed like a nice fellow. Not someone I’d invite to share my home, but a nice fellow. Emmie and I put our things away, and when we came out, Jim was leaving for his work on the night shift at the Atlantic Avenue ferry docks.
“There’s something I’d like to speak with you about, Mr. Reese. Tomorrow, when all the women aren’t about.”
His tone wasn’t particularly friendly now. I wouldn’t call it menacing exactly, but leaning in that direction.
“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said, looking after him.
“Oh, dear?” I asked.
“I’m afraid young Jim is anxious about leaving his wife here with you home.”
“Me? He’d never even met me before.”
“No, but he has read your literary effort. And that was quite enough.”
“What literary effort?”
“Your little notebook listing the attributes and abilities of various young women.”
“I’d forgotten about that.” This was the bit of reading I had prepared for Emmie’s snooping eyes. I’d lost track of it a couple weeks back and assumed Emmie had it.
“You really shouldn’t have left that about, Harry,” Emmie said.
“Well, you can explain to Dorothy that it was simply a joke,” I suggested.
“How would I know that, Harry?”
“Mr. Bagley also seemed to have been concerned by it,” Elizabeth said.
“Who on earth is Mr. Bagley?” I asked.
“Your new janitor.”
“Oh, yes. How did he come by it?”
“Well, when the movers came across it, they wanted to share it.”
“Where is it now?” I asked.
“Safe with me,” Elizabeth said. “You need no longer worry about it.”
“May I have it back?”
“I think not. It may come in useful.”
“Is there anyone who’s not party to it?”
“Well, I don’t believe Mrs. Warner’s seen it.”
“Mrs. Warner?”
“Oh, has Mrs. Warner arrived?” Emmie interjected.
“Yes, yesterday evening,” Elizabeth answered. “She wasn’t feeling well, so she’s lying down in your third bedroom.”
“Emmie, why is Mrs. Warner resting in our third bedroom?”
“I asked her to come down for a visit. We’ll need her to be nearby if she’s to help us spot the mystery woman. And you couldn’t expect her to stay alone over on First Avenue.”
“It’s convenient we rented such a large apartment,” I said.
“Yes, isn’t it, dear?”
Emmie suggested I dine out that evening, as things were so disordered at home. I concurred and went off to the Carleton. There weren’t many of the fellows about when I arrived, but a few stopped in during the course of the evening. I never found the opportunity to mention the expansion of my harem, but someone else brought up the subject of William Huber’s love life.
“I never learned his secret,” one fellow confessed. “I mean, he was good looking, I guess, but it was something more. He knew how to charm them.”
“Yes, but he worked at it,” another fellow pointed out. “I overheard him on the telephone to a girl once. You should have heard him crooning, ‘Oh, Eliizaaa, I miss you so.’ Seemed a lot to suffer for a woman.”
“Was the name definitely Eliza?” I asked.
“No, more like Eliizaaa,” he smiled.
“Did you hear her last name?”
“No, he seemed past that point with her. Why are you so interested in the girl?”
“I think I might know her,” I said.
“Well, if you have to speak to her like that to get anywhere, I’d stay away.”
We all laughed, and the only thing else I learned is that the conversation on the phone had taken place quite a while back, the previous fall, he thought. Even in my partially inebriated state, the idea that the Eliza Huber was wooing was Eliza Barclay seemed unlikely. At the time, she was carrying on with Howell. And from what I’d heard of Huber, he was qui
te the Lothario, and probably had the roll of names well covered. Eliza wasn’t particularly unusual.
When I went into our room that night, after first mistaking Mrs. Warner’s for ours, I told Emmie about the episode.
“Harry, that changes everything. It means Huber had a reason for wanting Barclay dead.”
“You’re jumping to the conclusion it’s the same Eliza.”
“And you’re resisting the idea because it would mean Huber wasn’t as innocent as you imagined.”
“Well, there’s also the fact Huber’s dead, and Koestler has taken us off the case.”
But I knew she was right, and by morning I had to agree there could be something to it.
“I have to go in to the Bureau, Emmie. But I suppose you could try to check the story,” I said.
“I’m glad you agree, Harry. I thought I might see if I can find out anything from the Howells’ maid, or the people who work in the building.”
“We tried that, remember?”
“Yes, but I thought I’d come with greater resources this time. What sort of bribe do you think they’d be expecting?”
“We already know the doorman is bribable, but the price for intimate details may run high.”
“I’m willing to pay what the market demands. But I’ll need Huber’s photograph.”
I found it for her, then we joined our guests for breakfast.
“You know, it smells just like the country here,” Mrs. Warner observed.
“A farm, you mean,” Elizabeth said. “Harry rented an apartment across from those giant stables.”
“Elizabeth dear, the residents of the Margaret request that you not refer to the Riding and Driving Club as stables,” Emmie told her friend. “It usually isn’t this bad, but they had their big show last weekend. The cleaning up seems to be taking some time.”
There wasn’t a lot of eating after that. Emmie and I agreed to meet for lunch and then I went in to the Bureau. Little and Cranston felt our tome was ready for the printer and I was in no position to argue the point. Cranston was heading to a new job in Boston the next morning and they had planned a dinner to celebrate the event. We spent the morning on some final preparations and sent off our manuscript just before noon. Then I went to meet Emmie.
Crossings (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 2) Page 18