“Do you think Sennett will be any help?” I asked.
“He’ll talk, he knows what he’s facing. Let’s see if he comes up with Howell, too.”
Then I told him about the boat idea.
“If I were going to run off and didn’t want to be found, I’d use something anonymous,” he said. “I’d take a crowded train to a crowded city.”
“But maybe the boat was a necessary lure for the girl. I don’t think she’d elope with someone just to slink off to a Philadelphia flophouse.”
I hung up and then Ratigan took a call.
“That was one of the boys at Howell’s. They found something. It sounds like someone was blackmailing Eliza Barclay. I told them you’d be over.”
I went back up to the Howells’ and was shown a crudely printed letter.
Mrs. Barclay,
I know your husband was killed. You will receive your claim. I only want a little part of it. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. I will contact you again.
They had found it in a book in the Howells’ bedroom, but nothing else. I took the letter back down to show Ratigan.
“It must have been from Donigan,” he said. “He just made a guess it was murder.”
“Maybe he recognized Barclay’s name from the bucket shop fiasco. It must have made the papers. Or maybe he was a patron. That combined with the recent policy and the convenient accident was enough to give him the idea that Barclay was murdered for the insurance money.”
The girl came in and handed Ratigan another slip of paper.
“The telegram delivered to the Howells’ Saturday came from Liverpool. It read: ‘Returning on Etruria New York on fourth.’”
“Why would that have caused him to run off?” I asked.
“Maybe he hated his wife. It happens. I’ve checked, the boat’s due in tomorrow, late afternoon or evening.”
“But she was only coming because he wired her.”
“Maybe he wasn’t the one who wired her. Is there anyone else who might have?”
Unfortunately, someone else did come to mind, but I was damned if I was going to say as much to Ratigan. “I’ll have to think about that.”
I headed home and found Emmie making dinner. We were alone. Mrs. Warner had decided to move back to First Avenue, Elizabeth was out, and Mary had asked leave to visit her sister in Paterson.
“Have you learned anything, Harry?”
“Yes, several things. For instance, why you seemed to think Mrs. Barclay and her sister might be returning soon.”
“So it worked? I knew it was a good idea.”
“I’m sure you did, Emmie. But do you mind telling me just what you wired?”
“Well, it was the day you came back from visiting Mrs. Warner with Elizabeth. I’d been thinking of the likelihood of the mystery woman being either Mrs. Barclay or possibly Mrs. Howell. So I thought I’d find out.”
“How did you know they were in London?”
“Elizabeth. Apparently Howell had told her his wife’s plans for an extended stay there.”
“What exactly did your wire say?”
“‘Situation dire. Return soon.’”
“How did you sign it?”
“I didn’t. You see, even if I had guessed correctly they were involved, I couldn’t be sure who else was.”
“Well, you succeeded in inducing their return. But there were consequences you didn’t anticipate.”
“Howell’s wire was from his wife?”
“Yes, they arrive tomorrow. It seems as soon as he heard about her return, he took off with Sally.”
“I was afraid that’s what it was,” she said. “But he must have already planned to leave before she returned. He told Elizabeth he didn’t want to see his wife again.”
“I imagine most married men in dalliances say something similar,” I said. “Might I ask, Emmie, that before you embark on any other initiatives, we consult?”
“All right, Harry. At least as far as this case is concerned. But you need to confide in me as well. What else did you learn today?”
I told her of the note and our suspicion it was from Donigan.
“But why would she leave that lying about?” Emmie asked.
“I was thinking about it on the way home. I wonder if she saved it to return the favor. Donigan thought it was anonymous, but who else would have seen the claim and could assure her it would be approved?”
“So she wanted to be able to blackmail him in turn. We are speaking of Mrs. Howell, I assume?”
“Yes. I think she has to be the one behind it. Dear Eliza isn’t clever enough, and Edward Howell’s reaction to her telegram would seem to indicate he’s either running from her or following her instructions.”
“Couldn’t William Huber have been running the scheme? At least in the beginning?”
“If he was running it, he had no reason for suicide at all. I think it had to be someone else’s plan. Mrs. Howell wanted to extract her sister from the sorry match to Barclay. Eliza was willing to go along. Huber must have taken some convincing, but he wanted Eliza.”
“Why are you sure Huber would require convincing?”
“Well, if for no other reason, because of the suspicion it would arouse. And apparently it did, hence the note from Donigan.”
“But having gotten away with it, why not just give some money to Donigan and be done with it? Why the other policies?”
“Greed. I imagine they thought Donigan could be used to their advantage. If they had someone on the inside who could make sure the claims went through, they could do the same thing again. I think she convinced Donigan he would make more money by joining the conspiracy than from blackmail.”
“That still leaves the question of how they got the names of Missuses Farrell, Warner, and Marquisee,” Emmie said.
“If Eliza had a large debt, that was both an impetus for the scheme and a conduit to the person who managed the debt. Maybe the same debt collector who visited Mrs. Warner.”
“And having successfully used the insurance scheme once, they thought they could use it again to help others to clear up their own debts?”
“And make a sound profit for themselves,” I said. “But how could they know which women might be willing to do in their own husbands?”
“Well, both Mrs. Farrell and Mrs. Marquisee had seemed to dislike their husbands enough, and Mrs. Warner gave that impression.”
“But how could anyone have counted on that?”
“Yes, I imagine there are some women, even among those with gambling debts, who would resist the idea,” Emmie agreed. “That note from Donigan wouldn’t be enough to convict someone, would it?”
“I can’t see how. All it proves is someone was trying to blackmail Eliza Barclay. They’ve left very little evidence at all.”
“You forget, we have Mrs. Warner, Harry.”
“Mrs. Warner was perfectly willing to name Elizabeth as the mystery woman until she protested. I imagine a reasonably talented defense attorney could convince her his client is innocent as well.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Then we need someone to confess.” She thought a bit. “The gentleman debt collector?”
“It’s too bad you didn’t learn anything about him during your time at the Frauenverein.”
“We could try again,” Emmie said. “If we go in while they’re busy, I’m sure I can get back into Bannon’s office.”
I wasn’t particularly keen on the idea, but I would have been even less so if Emmie had tried to execute it on her own, which I knew she would do if I declined. We arrived at the Frauenverein sometime after ten and found that business was brisk.
“This is perfect, Harry.”
“What do you have in mind, Emmie?”
“Well, now everyone upstairs knows me. I’ll just go in as if I’m working and look around.”
“But you already looked around and didn’t find anything. And what if Bannon sees you again?”
“I thought you could handle that.”
“I
’m not sure Bannon is anxious to renew my acquaintance, either.”
“You’ll think of something.”
We went upstairs and Emmie peeked into the bookkeeping room. “Bannon’s not there now. Just keep him from going in, Harry.” And then she vanished inside.
I bought some chips and made some small bets at the craps table and then moved on to roulette. It’d been half an hour when Bannon showed up. I stopped him.
“I was wondering if I could have a word,” I said. He wasn’t looking particularly conversational, but I tried to kindle his interest. “It’s about your debt collection agency.”
He just waved a thumb: “Out.”
When I didn’t make a move, he snapped his fingers and pointed to me. Two fellows showed up. Big fellows. Big enough, anyways. They turned me around, but I looked back and saw Bannon headed toward the bookkeeping room. Action was called for.
“This roulette wheel is rigged!” I yelled. “Turn it over and show them, Mr. Bannon.”
Well, as I had mentioned, the place was crowded, and I had everyone’s attention, including Bannon’s. His fellows were becoming increasingly unfriendly, but I had aroused a certain curiosity in the crowd and a couple of patrons had managed to get to the wheel and overturn it. From the underside, the mechanism for reducing and enlarging the slots was readily apparent. There were three distinct reactions among the patrons: the majority, who had no idea what the underside of a roulette wheel was meant to look like, found it all bewildering. The next largest segment, who had always assumed the game was rigged, were merely amused. And then there were the ladies of the Frauenverein, who were shocked at my bad manners. Outnumbered and without friends, I was forced to retreat down a fire escape and into the street.
“There you are, Harry.”
Emmie was standing just beside me.
“When did you get out here?” I asked.
“A while ago, while you were speaking to Bannon. Didn’t you see me leaving?”
“No, perhaps you could have said something.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. Why’d you leave by the fire escape?”
“Oh, I wanted some air.”
Emmie patted her chatelaine. “Well, I found it.”
“What, exactly?”
“A reference to a Brooklyn collection agency on Broadway.” As we walked she pulled out a slip of paper and read from it: “The Sumner Johnson Agency.”
“What was the reference?”
“It was a copy of a receipt. The Johnson Agency paid $1,750 on April 30th.”
We went home and there found Elizabeth reading. Emmie couldn’t keep from telling her what she had found.
“Where were you this evening, dear?” Emmie asked her.
“Oh, arranging my next endeavor.”
She said no more than that, but it was enough to give me a feeling of unease.
23
The next morning, Emmie and I headed off to the Johnson Agency. It was a small office on the second floor of an auction house on Broadway, just a few blocks from the river. There was a girl at the counter reading a dime novel.
“Making a payment?” she asked.
“No, we’d like to speak with Mr. Johnson.”
“Junior or senior?”
“Senior.”
“He’s dead, I’m afraid.”
“Then not him. Is junior still healthy?”
“Too healthy.” She got off her stool and went into a little back office, then came out with a fellow about thirty years old. He had a head too big for his body and a bushy head of hair that accentuated the fact.
“How can I help you, sir? And madam, of course.” He gave Emmie a particularly unctuous smile.
“We wanted to speak with you about your arrangement with Mr. Bannon,” Emmie told him.
“Well, let me see, Bannon, you say. I don’t believe I remember a Mr. Bannon. Do you, Kate?” he said to the girl.
“Do I what?”
“Look, we were hoping to avoid having the police involved,” I said. “We’re only looking for a name. Couldn’t we just talk?”
“All right, come back to my office. But I’m not sure what I can tell you.”
The three of us entered a tiny room and he closed the door.
“We know that you took on some of Bannon’s debts, and that you made payments to him,” I said. “We’re just interested in four cases: Eliza Barclay, Anna Farrell, Kathryn Warner, and Clara Marquisee.”
“I’m not sure those names are familiar to me. And I need to leave to make collections shortly.”
“Please, Mr. Johnson,” Emmie said. “For your own sake. There’s someone very important involved. His daughter is missing. Bannon will not be able to protect you.”
“Or the local precinct.”
“How can I be sure I can I trust your discretion?” he asked.
“Well, we could have brought the police now,” Emmie pointed out. “But why make things unpleasant?”
“Why, indeed,” he said. “Okay. Yes, I had those ladies on my roll.”
“How much did they owe?”
“I can’t remember precisely. Farrell and Marquisee, about two or three hundred each. That Mrs. Warner something more, maybe four hundred. As I was saying, they were making little payments, not even covering the interest.”
“What about Eliza Barclay?”
“Well, she was of another class. I believe her debt was upwards of three thousand dollars,” he said. “And, of course, that’s how I met the other lady.”
“What other lady?” Emmie asked.
“She never gave me a name.”
“What did she look like?”
“Oh, she was a stunner. A blonde. Looked like a Gibson girl.”
“Wasn’t that Eliza Barclay?” I asked.
“Oh, she was, too. Indeed. I met her, went around to collect a few times. Then the last time, she paid it in full. Didn’t even ask for a discount.”
“Then this other lady called on you?”
“The very next day, I believe. She told me she was a friend of Mrs. Barclay’s and had helped arrange her payment. Then she asked me if I had many ladies in a situation similar to Mrs. Barclay’s—owing money they didn’t want their husbands to know about. I said I did have some. And she said her idea would only work if the lady in question didn’t get on well with her husband.
“I said, that’s most women I see. But she asked me for the names only of ladies I was quite sure didn’t care for their husbands. I do speak to my clients, of course, so I was able to give her three names I felt very certain about.”
“Missuses Farrell, Warner, and Marquisee?” I asked.
“That’s right.”
“What did you think this woman’s plan was?” I asked.
“Well, she was quite attractive. She would have had no trouble drawing the interest of these women’s husbands. Especially if things weren’t good at home.”
“Blackmail?”
“I didn’t use the word.”
“But it is what you were thinking?”
“Yes. And then I read about poor Mrs. Marquisee killing herself. I thought, she must have changed her mind and felt bad. But when I read they’d arrested her husband, I was much relieved.”
“Relieved?”
“Sorry the poor woman’s dead, of course. But relieved it had nothing to do with me.”
“You would, of course, recognize this woman who visited you,” Emmie said. “Was she tall?”
“Oh, yes. But I would be reluctant to implicate her. She lived up to her side of the bargain, paid off all the debts.”
“All of them?” I asked.
“Yes, all of them. She said each of the situations had been resolved satisfactorily and asked that I forget all about the women, and herself. I assured her I would.”
“When was this?”
“Well, let me check my records.” He went into the larger room and through some files, then came back with a page. “They were all paid April 13th.”
“A Sat
urday?”
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“What time of day?” Emmie asked.
“Well, certainly after I did the collecting. But I believe it was later still. Yes, after lunch.”
We thanked Mr. Johnson and again assured him of our discretion. Then we walked up Broadway and caught a car home.
“Well, now we know Mrs. Warner was right,” I said. “There is a tall, blonde woman involved.”
“But not Mrs. Barclay,” Emmie said. “I suppose you’re thinking of Elizabeth again?”
“It’s hard not to. She knew Eliza Barclay. And there’s nothing really exonerating her. She may have just bullied Mrs. Warner into clearing her.”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t Elizabeth.”
“All we need to do is invite Mr. Johnson to tea.”
“No, I’d feel as if I was betraying her.”
We arrived back at the apartment, where Elizabeth informed me Tibbitts had phoned. I found him in.
“You were right about Sennett seeing the girl with Howell,” he said. “He told me he saw them together twice, the last time on Monday morning.”
“Where were they?”
“Leaving Manhattan. On the ferry to Hunter’s Point. And they both had bags with them.”
Then I told him about Johnson.
“Huh,” was his only comment. Then he quickly changed the subject. “Here’s another strange bit you might want to know. Marquisee has confessed to killing his wife, but says it was someone else who gave her the poison.”
“Who?”
“Some woman. That’s all I heard. An assistant D.A. is going to interview him this afternoon. I can set it up if you want to be there.”
I said I did and he told me to meet Sergeant Corwin at the Raymond Street jail at two o’clock. I phoned Ratigan and told him about Sennett’s seeing the missing pair on the ferry.
“I doubt it was just an excursion to Queens,” he said. “Probably headed to the depot there.”
“To take a train out on Long Island?”
“Lots of harbors, lots of boats.”
I hung up and the three of us sat down to lunch. Emmie related the morning’s events and we both watched Elizabeth’s reaction.
“So it was Cynthia Howell,” she said.
“I didn’t think her particularly tall,” Emmie said.
Crossings (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 2) Page 22