by Rhys Bowen
I wanted to write back sooner, but it seems they are even depriving me of writing materials now. I’m afraid their aim is to make my life as miserable as possible. I had to demand to see my attorney and finally got some writing paper out of him—about all he is good for, useless specimen of humanity.
You asked if there are any fellow police officers I could trust—there are many I can cite as being straight fellows and true-blue. My own two junior detectives, Quigley and McIver, are both good men, but also ambitious. They may well not want to side themselves with me because of the possible harm to their own careers. I can understand that. I’d probably have acted in a similar fashion.
The one name that does spring to mind is old O’Hallaran. You lodged with him on Twelfth Street. He is one who cannot be bought or bribed and is about as good a Catholic as you’ll find. Having said that, he has no power in the department and is marking time until retirement.
I don’t know what good any of these men could do you. Frankly, I don’t know what good anyone can do me now. It seems I am caught up in a veritable web of lies and deceit.
Take care and don’t take any personal risks on my behalf. I think of you every moment. Your Daniel.
I sat at the kitchen table with the letter in front of me for a good long while. Why did someone want Daniel Sullivan in jail? Had he offended someone in a mortally big way for them to want such terrible revenge? If it was only a case of a rivalry within the police department, then his demotion or dismissal would have been enough. No, this was something tinged with venomous hate; someone wanting Daniel’s complete destruction.
I should write back to him with questions about his relationship with the commissioner, who was my best bet so far. As I opened the kitchen drawer for notepaper and pen, I was conscious of how much time was being wasted waiting for the delivery of letters. I needed to see Daniel for myself, ask him all the questions I needed to ask, and eliminate suspicions from my own mind. Well, at least I had one thing I hadn’t possessed before—his lawyer’s name and address. I’d go and bully him into getting me into The Tombs. Maybe I’d even discover whether he was someone’s puppet and was dancing to their tune.
I sank my head onto my hands and sat there at the kitchen table with the sun shining in on me. It was good to feel safe for a while. “Just a few moments and then I’ll get on with what I have to do next,” I murmured to myself. My eyes closed and I fell sound asleep.
The next thing I knew, the kitchen was bathed in rosy twilight, and the clock was chiming eight. My face felt stiff and misshapen from falling asleep against the hard wood of the table. Whatever plans I might have had for the rest of the day, it was now too late. I was also ravenously hungry.
I got up and found some slices of tongue and cold potatoes in the larder. By the third mouthful my stomach rebelled. I had to settle for bread and cheese instead. It seemed that was to be my staple diet at the moment. I managed to get that down. It wouldn’t be dark for at least another half hour. Maybe I should pay a visit to Sergeant O’Hallaran when he was likely to be home. I washed my face, brushed my hair, and set out to walk to East Twelfth Street.
Now that the fierce sun had gone down, life was spilling out onto the streets. Men and women sat on their stoops, old ladies fanning themselves, young women with babies on their laps. Children played hopscotch on sidewalks. From open windows came the sounds of the city—babies crying, pianos being played, arguments, laughter. Usually I relished these great affirmations of life around me. Tonight they only reminded me sharply that I was alone. I had no family with whom to fight or laugh. I would come back to an empty house. I really missed the O’Connor children. Then, of course, I remembered what I had been keeping locked away at the back of my mind: I would soon have a family of my own. A picture swam into my mind of a chubby baby with dark curls and Daniel’s alarmingly blue eyes, its little head safe against my shoulder as I sang it to sleep with a lullaby. I had not allowed myself to imagine it before, as if not making it real would somehow make it go away. Now I felt a little jolt of excitement in the pit of my gut, and what I supposed was a rush of maternal feeling. I stood there, imagining the feel of its soft warmth against my cheek, and I had to admit that part of me wanted this baby very much.
A ball came bouncing in my direction. I sent it back with a mighty kick.
“Thanks, missus,” voices called, and the boys went on with their game. I went on my way, content to have been part of that game for just a moment.
I was still in pensive mood when I knocked on Sergeant O’Hallaran’s door. What a lot had happened since I had stood there last. I remembered arriving there over a year ago, as a fresh young immigrant, as Daniel Sullivan’s sweetheart. Or at least that was what I had thought at the time. It had taken awhile to find out that his sweetheart was someone quite different from me.
He’s brought me nothing but heartache since the moment I met him, I thought.
The door opened and Sergeant O’Hallaran himself was standing there, minus his uniform jacket but in his braces.
“Why, Miss Murphy,” he said, a big smile spreading across his face. “What a nice surprise. Come on in, do. What brings you to this neck of the woods? Come back to your old haunts, have you?”
“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant,” I said, following him into the hallway, which smelled of well-polished wood. I remembered that Mrs. O’Hallaran had been a meticulous housekeeper, if a little too nosy for my taste. “Are you keeping well? And Mrs. O’Hallaran?”
“Can’t complain.” He smiled at me. “Mrs. O’Hallaran has just popped out to visit a sick neighbor. Was it herself you were wanting to visit?”
“No, it was you I came to see. I need your help, Sergeant. I’ve come about Daniel.”
He turned back to me. “Ah, yes. A bad business. I never thought Daniel would take money from the gangs. He was as straight as his father used to be.”
“It was a setup, Sergeant O’Hallaran. The envelope he received was supposed to contain a list of names. Somebody put money in it. Somebody made darned sure that the commissioner was there to witness the transaction.”
“You don’t say? You’d better come on through.”
He ushered me into the unused splendor of the front parlor. I thought that Mrs. O’Hallaran would probably have wanted me in the back parlor or even the kitchen, but I perched on the edge of one of the velvet upholstered chairs.
“So it’s up to me to find out who is out for Daniel’s blood. I wondered if you had any thoughts on the subject yourself. Daniel says you’re one of the few men he trusts completely. Most of his fellow officers seem to have turned against him.”
“Well, you can understand why, can’t you?” O’Hallaran said, pulling up a chair beside me. “After old Whitey’s death in that brawl—men at HQ are saying that it was Daniel who tipped off the gang to the police raid. Our men don’t take kindly to being betrayed by one of their own.”
“But Daniel swears he had nothing to do with that. He’s not in the pay of the Eastmans either. He was trying to help his pal, Jack Brady, by setting up a prizefight for him. And yes, I know it’s illegal these days, but that’s a far cry from being in Monk Eastman’s pocket.”
O’Hallaran nodded, digesting this. “Then who’s been spreading the rumors?”
“How did you hear?”
“I can’t say. You know what rumors are like—like a jar full of moths. Once they escape, they’re all over the place.”
“Is there anyone you’ve noticed who seems to take a particular delight in these rumors?”
He shook his head. “Most of the men are real sorry this had to happen to Daniel. He was generally respected, you know. A good captain. Always put his men’s welfare first.”
“Could someone be jealous of him?”
“It seems a long way to go over a little matter of jealousy. I can’t think of anybody he’s particularly slighted or upset—other than most of the criminals in the city.” He glanced up at me and grinned. “My bet would b
e on Monk Eastman himself to have planted the money and started the rumors, you know. There’s always been little love lost between him and Daniel. In fact, I was surprised when I heard they were in this together.”
“It wasn’t Monk,” I said. “I asked him.”
The old sergeant’s eyes shot open. “You went looking for Monk Eastman? That was a very foolish thing to do, young lady.”
“I didn’t have much choice. I sent Jack Brady to ask the questions, and he disappeared. Monk seems to know where he is, but I don’t know if he’s alive and well or not. So now I’m all that Daniel’s got. If I don’t find out the truth, nobody will.”
“You’ve got spunk, I’ll say that for you,” he said. “So it wasn’t Monk.”
“I’m wondering if it was the police commissioner himself,” I ventured. “He seemed so pleased that he’d caught Daniel.”
“You went to see him, too?”
I nodded. “Again, I had no choice. He claimed he just happened to be in the area, and it was completely fortuitous that he witnessed the bribe being passed.”
“But why would the commissioner want Daniel out of the way?” O’Hallaran asked. “You don’t get rid of well-respected officers if you want your department to run smoothly. And it would be the commissioner’s own head that would roll if the department doesn’t run smoothly.”
“Maybe it’s a personal grudge. A vendetta we know nothing about.”
“Possible, I suppose.” He stroked his chin as if half expecting to find a beard there. “Seems to me there are three possibilities—a grudge in his professional life, a grudge in his personal life, or”—he paused and looked up at me—“a case he was working on that somebody didn’t want to be solved.”
“That’s an interesting thought,” I said, digesting this new suggestion. “I never asked him what he was working on. But then that wouldn’t make sense. If Daniel was taken off a case, another officer would be put in his place and the investigation would go on.”
“Daniel was good, Miss Murphy. Better than the average cop. Maybe somebody wants the investigation to drag out until we lose interest.”
“Could you find out for me which of your men were accompanying the commissioner when he stumbled upon Daniel accepting the bribe?”
The sergeant nodded. “Yes, I can do that. And if you let me know what Daniel was working on, I can tell you who has been put in to replace him. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Someone else entirely could be pulling the strings in the background.”
“Somebody would really have to be desperate to go to those lengths,” I said.
He nodded. “Desperate people do desperate things. Give me your address, Miss Murphy. I’ll do what I can for you.”
I got to my feet. “I much appreciate it, Sergeant O’Hallaran. To tell you the truth, I’ve started feeling it’s a hopeless case. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing and if I don’t get Daniel out soon…” I had to look away, horrified that I might start crying again.
He put a clumsy hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you worry yourself, my dear. I’ll do my very best for you and Captain Sullivan. It will all come out right in the end. Truth will out, don’t they say?”
I nodded as he escorted me to the front door. It doesn’t always come out right in the end, I thought as I walked away. Sometimes there is no justice. Sometimes good people die and villains go free.
THIRTEEN
I could tell, as I climbed the stairs to the legal offices of J. P. Atkinson, that a top-notch lawyer had not been selected for Daniel. The office was on the fifth floor of a building on the corner of Lower Broadway and Wall Street, the other floors being taken up by a tailor’s shop, a dentist’s office (J. BLOGGETT. PAIN-FREE DENTISTRY. WE PULL ’EM—YOU WALK AWAY SMILING), and various types of small commerce. There was no elevator. The floors were covered in worn linoleum, and I was quite out of breath by the time I reached the top landing.
“I’ll see if Mr. Atkinson can see you,” a rather slatternly woman receptionist said, although through the half-open inner door, I could already see that Mr. Atkinson was not with a client. She went through to the office, a low conversation took place, then I was ushered in. The inner office was no more comfortable than the outer one had been. It had the austerity of a schoolroom.
Mr. Atkinson looked almost painfully young and skinny, straight out of some college in a suit that could have been passed down from his big brother. He had a rather fishlike expression, and the hand that shook mine felt equally cold and fishlike.
“I understand you have come about Captain Daniel Sullivan? You are a friend of his? Obviously you are concerned. We all are. But I’m not sure what exactly I can do for you.”
I had managed to keep my frustration and fear in check until now. But everyone has a breaking point, and I’ve never been known for my even temper at the best of times. His unctuous smile and limp handshake were too much.
“Do for me? More to the point, what are you doing for him?” I shouted. “If he hasn’t yet been charged with a crime, then why in heaven’s name isn’t he out on bail? Why aren’t you doing more to prove his innocence?”
He stepped back, eyeing me warily. “I assure you, my dear Miss Murphy, that I am doing everything within my powers. And as to bail—bail would have been granted, except that the captain’s assets have been frozen until it can be proven that they are not the proceeds of gang payoffs. All we can hope for is a speedy trial.”
“He’s already been in jail over a week with no charge. I don’t call that speedy. Why aren’t you doing something about it?”
He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “It’s summertime. Many of the judges leave the city for the worst of the summer heat. Cases pile up, and we just have to wait our turn.”
I noticed that he hadn’t invited me to sit. I sat anyway.
“I have to tell you, Miss Murphy,” he said, resuming his own place at his desk, “that the captain could make it much easier on himself if he were more cooperative.”
“You mean if he pleaded guilty to a lesser offence.”
“That is exactly what I mean. Captain Sullivan doesn’t seem to realize the severity of the case against him. Accepting a bribe is one thing. Being in the pay of a known gang, betraying fellow officers—they’ll throw the book at him for those.”
“And what if he is innocent of all the charges against him? What if the money in the envelope was planted and the commissioner deliberately brought to witness the transaction? What if this whole thing were orchestrated with one thing in mind—Daniel Sullivan’s ruin?”
“That’s what he has tried to tell me.”
“Because it’s the truth.”
He smiled again—that patronizing smile made me want to punch him in the nose. “You’re a pretty young girl and the captain is a good-looking man who has a way with women. Of course you’d believe anything he told you.”
“And so should you, if you’re being paid to represent him. If you don’t start off with the belief that he’s innocent, Mr. Atkinson, then who does he have on his side? If you believe he’s guilty, then for God’s sake find him another lawyer who does believe him.”
“You’ve no doubt heard the phrase ‘beggars can’t be choosers,’ Miss Murphy? I’m doing the best I can with the limited resources given to a court-appointed defense counsel.”
“So who hired you? Were you given instructions to try and make Daniel plead guilty?”
“As to who hired me—I’m part of a pool. My name came to the top of the list. I was assigned to his case. And nobody has suggested that I make him plead guilty. I am just trying to get him off as lightly as possible.”
“So you don’t believe that he could be entirely innocent?”
“That would mean that somebody went to extraordinary trouble—that somebody managed to slip money into an envelope being carried by a gang member, that they managed to bring the commissioner of police himself onto the scene at exactly the right moment—”
“
That’s exactly what I mean.”
“And why would somebody go to all that trouble?”
“You’re his lawyer. You’re supposed to be looking into it.”
He swallowed hard, making a large Adam’s apple dance up and down on a scrawny neck. “If somebody was out to destroy him, then it would most likely be the gang members themselves; and you’d never get the truth out of them in a month of Sundays.”
“I’ve already asked the gang in question, and they deny that they had anything to do with it,” I said, relishing the look of astonishment in those fishy eyes.
“You went to the Eastman gang?”
“Yes, and I spoke with Monk Eastman himself.”
“Good heavens.”
“So you see, things can be done. I’m doing my very best, but I need help. Right now I need to speak with Daniel himself. They won’t let me into the prison again, so you’ll have to get me in.”
“Impossible. It’s hard enough for me to gain entrance.”
“They can’t deny an uncharged man the right to see his lawyer.”
“No, but ‘reasonable access,’ I believe, is the terminology….”
“This is reasonable access. You have new information for him.”
“New information?”
“Information that is vital to his case.”
“But I—”
“Use your imagination, for God’s sake, man,” I snapped. “And you’ll bring me along as your assistant. You are taking me along to record the whole thing in shorthand—being a very modern sort of office.”
“Oh, right. Shorthand. Do you write shorthand?”
“No, but I can give a good imitation.”
“I don’t really like deception, Miss Murphy. If it came to light that I was smuggling you in, it wouldn’t do my career any good.”