An Orphan of Hell's Kitchen

by Liz Freeland

  I nodded. “I’ve been in it.”

  “Yes, of course. Well, I went up, and she offered me another drink. I took it more out of politeness than anything else. I saw her children. There were two of them, and she’d just left them there—she said she didn’t trust anyone else to take care of them. One was normal, but the other, I remembered, couldn’t make a sound. She called him Eddie. Well, children or no children, I began to understand what she was. I was shocked, to be honest. I was going to give her money, not for services but out of kindness. But the next thing I knew I was barely able to keep my eyes open. It was worse than when you hit me with that ham.”

  “You think she slipped something into your drink?”

  “I’m sure of it now.”

  I remembered something. “Do you recall a sweet smell from when you were at Ruthie’s?”

  He frowned in thought, then shook his head. “No. I think it was something in my drink. Later, she either pushed me out of the flat, or I escaped on my own. I was awakened later on a park bench by one of your police brethren poking me with a stick. It was only when I was trying to catch a taxi back to my hotel that I realized that my money and my passport were gone.”

  “You carried it with you?”

  “I thought it was safer that way. Before I came to America, someone warned me of hotel maids stealing.”

  I’d have to make sure Lena never heard that.

  “I was so groggy,” he continued. “I walked to the hotel, rested, and looked for the passport. It took me a little time to piece what had happened all together, but when I went to confront the woman—Ruthie—of course she denied it.”

  “And you were too embarrassed to tell the police.”

  “Oh no. I went to them straightaway.”

  His answer set me back on my heels.

  “It was embarrassing,” he explained, “but I thought it my duty to try to keep others from becoming victims. Evidently I needn’t have bothered. They said I had no evidence of anything.”

  “Where did you make this report?”

  “At a station the desk clerk at the hotel directed me to. It wasn’t far. On Thirtieth Street, I believe?”

  My heart felt heavy in my chest. “Do you remember which officer you spoke to?”

  “I don’t think so. He didn’t give me much hope of retrieving the money.”

  “Can you remember what he looked like?”

  “He had a sort of long face. Perfectly friendly, if a little supercilious. He had an odd name.” His face tensed in concentration as he tried to remember it.

  “Jenks.”

  “That’s it.”

  I felt like the biggest fool in the world. Jenks had been right in front of me all along, as big as a Times Square billboard. I should have been investigating him, not Gerald.

  “Doesn’t my going to the police show I didn’t harm that woman?” Gerald asked. “I was trying to help her and I was taken advantage of. Is being robbed a crime?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Maybe the police should find out what they already know before persecuting innocent people.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  It was entirely possible, of course, that Jenks had told King and Stevens about the incident of Ruthie stealing Gerald Hughes’s passport. Maybe the stolen passport incident was the reason Ruthie’s neighbor saw Jenks going to Ruthie’s apartment.

  Except she said she saw him on more than one occasion.

  A more sinister scenario was forming in my mind: Jenks and Ruthie working in tandem, with Jenks at the nearby police precinct to absorb any complaints about her and make them disappear. He could also steer other officers’ investigations away. Even when it came to Ruthie’s murder.

  Terrible thoughts entered my mind. A policeman would have known how to kill someone to make it look like a suicide. But why would Jenks have killed Ruthie? A mundane lover’s tiff? A business disagreement? Had she threatened to expose him to the brass?

  The possibility that I’d stumbled on a case of police corruption made me feel ill. I already believed one of my colleagues was in league with Cain, even if I didn’t know his identity. And now I suspected Jenks of the vilest murder I’d been a witness to, and I didn’t know how many others were complicit in his crime. Whom could I go to with this information about Jenks? Was anyone at the Thirtieth Street station trustworthy?

  “Well?” My silence had made Gerald anxious. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  Luckily for me, he seemed to have forgotten who assaulted whom this evening. “No.”

  “I’m sorry about that woman. She drugged and robbed me, but she was someone’s daughter.”

  “Someone’s,” I echoed. “I wasn’t able to track down her family.”

  He thought about this, but finally shrugged. It wasn’t his problem. “Then am I free to go?”

  “Of course.” I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from me as soon as possible. There was no covering the awkwardness of the parting. “Good-bye, Mr. Hughes. Good luck.”

  As he hobbled away, it felt as if something had cracked inside me. A piece of me was broken, too. I wouldn’t have a limp. No one but myself would know that I’d become so comfortable with trickery and lies that I’d driven a man to follow me down dark streets, hurling accusations of blackmail at me. He hadn’t deserved deceit, and my double dealings with him seemed even worse in retrospect, now that I knew he’d done nothing.

  On the other hand, I had gleaned information. I was closer to knowing the truth. My clumsy investigation hadn’t produced the result I’d expected, but facts weren’t always convenient. Now I worried I would have to create another antagonist in my own precinct. How was I going to handle that?

  * * *

  “I just need to screw up my courage.”

  No one had ever looked less like a man summoning courage. Otto resembled a cornered rabbit so much, he was almost twitching.

  “Be honest with her.” I hunched deeper in my coat. Light flurries floated through the air and were beginning to dust the sidewalk around Pennsylvania Station. I peered ahead to see if Ziggy’s line was moving and noticed the men in front of us. One of them was a man with startlingly clear blue eyes. He and his companion were speaking in what sounded like German, from the few snatches I caught.

  “That’s what you said last time we talked,” Otto said. “You must think I’m an awful coward.”

  “I think you don’t want to disappoint her because you’re still infatuated.”

  His mouth dropped open, but no denial came forth. “What difference does it make? She’s in love with Teddy.”

  “Teddy’s off to England.”

  “That’s even worse. Teddy, here, she might have gotten tired of eventually. Now he can be her romantic ideal—the one who dashed off on an adventure.”

  Maybe Callie was going to romanticize Teddy now. “She was cooped up in her room last night, knitting.”

  “Probably socks for Teddy.” He looked even more discouraged. “He’s her new Belgium.”

  I laughed but then became distracted by the two in front of us. They were an odd pair. The blue-eyed man was tall, with a strong, clean-cut jaw. Blond hair peeked out from under his homburg, and he wore a mink-brown cashmere coat. His companion was stouter, and sloppier looking, with a belly that pushed against his overcoat. The two were speaking German at a clip difficult for me to keep up with. One phrase caught my ear, though. Die Reisepasses.

  Passports.

  Were my ears playing tricks on me?

  “Jimmy was pointing out that there was a lulu of a part that Callie would knock ’em cold in,” Otto said.

  My attention ricocheted back to my friend. “What part?”

  “Agnes, the chambermaid. She has a fun novelty song in the second act. ‘Dust Away Your Troubles.’ ”

  I rubbed my gloved hands together for warmth. “Give me warning before you tell Callie she’s being demoted from the title role to Agnes the chambermaid. I want to remove any breakab
le valuables from the apartment.”

  “You don’t think she’ll go for it?”

  Ahead of me, I heard the words mehr beschaffen.

  Procure more . . . what? It was all I could do to keep my body from tilting forward to eavesdrop.

  “I can’t do everything myself,” the plump one said. “I need help.”

  “Louise?” Otto prompted.

  I tried to focus on his problem. “I don’t want to speak for anyone when a job’s in the offing, but I doubt she’s going to be tickled pink.”

  “Oh.” He drooped.

  “A person expecting champagne doesn’t jump for joy over a bottle of beer.”

  “You’re right.” He sighed. “I just wish you weren’t.”

  “Then again, she might think beer is better than nothing.”

  When we got to the front of the line and placed our orders, I questioned Ziggy while he loaded our brats. “That man who was just here . . . the one with the blue eyes . . . is he a regular customer of yours?”

  “More faithful than you two,” Ziggy said.

  “I like that. Otto and I are here every week—even in the snow.”

  “That is nothing. Herr Neumann comes twice a week.” He winked at me. “A handsome man, ja?”

  I made a show of fluttering and hoped Otto wasn’t staring at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Is he? I didn’t notice.”

  “Sure, you notice nothing—only his blue eyes.” Ziggy laughed and tilted his head toward Otto. “Your taste in men is improving, fräulein.”

  I smiled as Otto and I each handed over our fifteen cents in exchange for our food. It had taken me years to get Otto used to going dutch. Ziggy didn’t approve.

  “What was that all about?” Otto said, bristling a little as we walked toward Pennsylvania Station to get out of the snow.

  “Ziggy was just needling you.”

  “I know that. But why were you simpering over some fellow in the bratwurst line?”

  “Didn’t you hear the two men in front of us?” I asked.

  “No, and I’m surprised you did, either. I thought we were having a conversation.”

  “I can’t help it if my ears pick up snatches of what other people are saying. You can hardly blame me. They were talking about passports.”

  “So?”

  “They were keeping their voices very low, like they didn’t want anyone else to hear. Even so, I caught the phrase procure more.”

  “That could mean anything.”

  “Procure more passports? Who does that?”

  “Government officials?” Otto guessed. “Consulate workers?”

  “Passport thieves?” I added.

  Otto chewed, shaking his head.

  “Those two looked shady,” I said.

  “Up until yesterday, you thought Gerald Hughes was shady,” he reminded me. I’d given him the whole story about Gerald. “Turned out he was just a luckless salesman who’d been fleeced.”

  True. “I’m glad he wasn’t a murderer.”

  “Ziggy’s blue-eyed customer probably isn’t a murderer, either.”

  I forced myself to take a little of my own medicine and really listened to what Otto was saying. He was right, of course. There were almost five million people in New York City. What were the chances that I would bump into another man who’d known Ruthie Jones? From snatches of probably innocent conversation, I was imagining conspiracies.

  But what else could the men have been talking about? Passports . . . procure more . . .

  Resignation settled into Otto’s gaze. “You’re not going to let it go, are you?”

  “I’ll have to file it away for a later date,” I said. “I have other matters to contend with this afternoon.”

  Namely, Jenks. I wasn’t fool enough to think I could handle him on my own, though.

  CHAPTER 16

  When I pushed through the doors of the station house, Muldoon was there, having his ear talked off by Schultzie. He caught my gaze and raised a hand in a way that let me know he’d been watching the door for me. I hurried over.

  Looking from Muldoon’s face to mine, Schultzie smiled. “The lieutenant here was asking about you in a way that would’ve made me jealous if I didn’t already know that you are dedicated to our humble precinct.” He poked me in the side. “Don’t let these downtown dandies steal you away from us.”

  The idea of anyone calling Muldoon a dandy made me smile. “No need to worry about that.”

  Muldoon steered me downstairs. Curious at the lack of anyone else down there, I peeked around to the cells. There was just Sleeping Myrtle conked out in the back of one. A slow day, which is how Myrtle liked it. When her rooming house got too rough, or she just didn’t have any money, she’d arrange to get picked up and stay for a day.

  A slow day was fortunate for me, too.

  “You got my note?” I asked Muldoon.

  He nodded. “I was on my way here anyway. I could’ve sworn you said you were going to hand over those passports to the detectives on the Ruthie Jones case.”

  “I did.”

  “King told me he didn’t know the first thing about them. Never saw them.”

  “Why were you asking him about the passports?”

  “A man was found stabbed in the Bowery. His description matched one of the men I remembered from the passports you brought to my house.”

  It felt as if someone had plugged me into a socket. “Lars Holmgren, the Swede?”

  “Might be. The victim had krona in his pockets, and a piece of paper with Swedish writing. But nothing else very helpful in identifying him. That passport was a long shot, but I thought I’d check.”

  Could it really be him? I’d just been assuming he’d caught a ship and was half a world away by now.

  “I gave the passports to Jenks, who said he’d pass them along to King and Stevens.”

  “Must’ve slipped his mind.”

  “Accidentally on purpose.” I related the confrontation I’d had with Gerald Hughes the night before. “Jenks has been obstructing us from the very beginning. He knew Ruthie. Eileen, the neighbor on the first floor, said she saw a cop who matches his description visiting Ruthie. I’ll bet he knew about the scam Ruthie was running. He might even have put her up to it.”

  “What scam?”

  “A man outside the Swedish Immigrant Home told me there’s a black market for passports. He offered to buy one from me. That could explain how Ruthie accumulated so much cash before she died. Well, for a woman living in a dump like that building she and her kids were in. And then, when she was killed—”

  “Found dead,” Muldoon corrected.

  He could think that if he wanted to. “Maybe Ruthie and Jenks were in on a passport-stealing-and-selling scheme together, but she started to hold out on him. Could’ve been why he killed her.”

  “We don’t know she was killed.”

  “A cop would’ve known how to make her death look like a suicide. Even the coroner said she hadn’t bled much. He was trying to float all kinds of reasons like the cold, but isn’t the more obvious answer that she was already dead?”

  “Your mind certainly wanders down some gruesome trails.” He sighed. “I need to have a word with Jenks. Could be we’re jumping the gun. I don’t want to accuse the man of covering up something if it was just a thoughtless oversight.”

  “That’s what he’ll probably tell you.” Prudence might be Muldoon’s watchword, but my inclination was to scare the daylights out of Jenks and make him confess. “We’ll both talk to him. Otherwise he’ll just hand you a load of malarkey. Besides, I know how to get him down here so we can ask him a few questions in private, with the benefit of surprise.”

  It didn’t take much. Upstairs, I spotted Jenks and waited until he was heading down a corridor to a room where old files were kept. It was secluded enough that no one could hear me call out, “Hello, Melvin.”

  He turned, surprised, and then a little suspicious.

  “You don’t mind my calling you by y
our Christian name in private, do you?” I asked, sidling closer.

  One of his eyebrows shot up. “Why would you?”

  “It’s only fair. You call me Two.”

  “Sure . . . but everybody does.” He eyed me warily. “What do you want?”

  I put my hand on his forearm sleeve. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  He looked into my eyes a moment, then glanced around the hallway to see if anyone else was around. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, which didn’t make my siren-of-the-precinct act any easier.

  “You were pretty high-hat about my offer that time,” he recalled.

  I cast my eyes to the floor. “I didn’t expect a man like you to give up so easily.”

  I was afraid to look up—afraid I’d see that he was seeing right through me. But keeping an eye on him probably would’ve been wise, because the next thing I knew he’d pounced and I was shoved up against the wall by my forearms. At first gasp I thought this must be anger, but no, this was apparently Jenks’s way of expressing passion. His groin ground into me and his mouth, which seemed to be buried in my hair, blew hot breath against my scalp.

  His action summoned an unwanted memory, one I’d tried to bury. Every muscle in my body exploded with unexpected energy. I pushed him away, harder than I intended, and smoothed my hair, which felt as if a spaniel had licked it. What was the matter with men? “Not here, for Pete’s sake.”

  He was breathing hard. “Where?”

  I kept my voice low, confidential. “The women’s cells are practically empty today.” Feathering my fingers across his palm, I added, “Just give me a little head start.”

  For a moment, I worried he’d attack me again. I broke away and hurried downstairs, biting my lip. Callie might be the actress, but it was shocking how easily lying was starting to come to me.

  “Well?” Muldoon asked when I came downstairs.