“But you hold your cigar, you touch your walking stick. Why can you do that and not be able to knock on my door?”
“I think it's because those items are my personal possessions. Like my jacket and my hat. They're not real to others; however they are real to me. It's always the same cigar, freshly clipped, never more and never less. I can smoke it or put it in my pocket, but I can't leave it behind.”
“And doorways?” Peggy’s curiosity of the unknown is stronger than her fear. “Do you walk through walls?”
“I prefer to cling to the conventions of normalcy and use doorways. I was raised in a different era, Mrs. Barnes, and I still appreciate good manners such as last night and this morning when you held the door for me. It’s a comfort but not a requirement. And I think you may be more comfortable with me entering a room rather than suddenly appearing in it.”
“Boo?” Peggy jests and then regrets it when she sees the reaction on the Inspector’s face. This is no joking matter to him. How would I deal with this spectral existence? How strange to incorporate the extraordinary into day to day practice.
Their conversation has been punctuated with silences, the radio, turned low, providing cover for their soft voices.
Peggy speaks more with it than over it. “Have you ever thought that maybe it’s like radio waves? I can’t see a frequency. I don’t understand the science, but I can enjoy listening to the music. As the bard said, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’ Maybe we don’t need to understand everything to know that it exists?”
“You have a very open mind. A characteristic that I admire, and could perhaps benefit from. You are close to the missing boy’s family, and your son is distraught over his disappearance. Would you consider assisting me? In the investigation?”
“Oh no, Inspector. I’m not sure what is happening with all of this.” She waves her hand through the air. “Maybe this whole experience is a very realistic dream, and I’m actually snuggled in my bed upstairs, asleep. But I do know that not even in my dreams would I ever contemplate helping a phantom Inspector with a police investigation.”
“But Mrs. Barnes, if you don’t help, who will? We need to find Oskar and return him to his family. The police will do nothing more. Are we going to turn our backs on a little boy who is counting on the adults to look after him?”
“Inspector, the police themselves could produce no leads. For goodness sakes, I’m a widow and a homemaker. I have no investigative skills or experience. You must realize that it is beyond my capacity to assist you.”
“You underestimate yourself and what you could bring to an investigation. A very great man once said ‘there is no strength without justice.' I believe that, Mrs. Barnes. And I also believe that there can be no justice without strength. There is no justice for Oskar or his mother if we abandon them. I believe that you have the inner strength and fortitude to be of great assistance in this case.”
“Inspector, let’s be honest with each other. You need me because you have no other options. Under normal circumstances, we would not be having this conversation.”
“It’s not useful to deal with what might have been or should have been. As abnormal as it is, and for reasons beyond our understanding, we are sitting here together, having a conversation, considering the options. There is a reason for it. I believe we need to accept the situation and take advantage of it. We have been called to a higher purpose,” Frank says with force and conviction.
Peggy regards the Inspector thoughtfully. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. “I need someone to be my voice, Mrs. Barnes. I can guide you through the investigative process. I assure you that you will be utterly safe. I won’t ask you to take on any aspect of the investigation that you are uncomfortable with. Please consider it, won’t you?”
“Oh Inspector, I just can’t. A woman, especially one who is a mother, can’t traipse around town, going into hotels and accosting desk clerks about missing boys. What would people say?”
“But why not? You could pretend to be Oskar’s mother. There would be nothing more natural than a mother searching for her son. Nothing more compelling. And I know you’re not concerned about what others may say. You told me yourself that you’re an independent woman, one of the new generation who makes her own decisions and manages her own life,” says the Inspector.
Peggy sits quietly a few moments, lost in her thoughts. “Inspector, I need a minute or two to think. Excuse me while I go make another pot of coffee.”
Peggy leans against the sink, looking out the window at a perfectly normal day. Behind her in her living room, a ghost has just proposed a crime-solving partnership. She grips the edge of the sink.
Perhaps being Inspector Geyer’s assistant could work. I made a promise to Alicja to keep looking for Oskar. Certainly, the police have made their position clear. Tommy would be so proud of me. The people in the neighborhood would admire me, too. We’d all be safe because a threat has been removed. I can see it now: ‘widowed mother brings criminal to justice, young boy safely returned to his family’s warm embrace’.
Turning to face the direction of the living room, Peggy takes a deep breath. Ghost or not, crazy or not, he is an experienced policeman, and we need that. I was reckless once and ran off with Jack and, as difficult as it is some days, it was one of the best decisions I ever made. Am I still that girl who takes risks? Is she in here somewhere?
Peggy carries the coffee pot back into the living room.
“All right, I'll assist you, Inspector. But I have conditions,” she says. “Firstly, if I am uncomfortable in any way, I will stop.”
“Certainly, I wouldn't go forward without such an understanding.”
“Secondly, any information that we discover, we turn over to the police. They may have suspended their investigations into Oskar's disappearance, but they are still responsible for the safety and well-being of this community.”
“Of course. I am still a policeman, madam, and an officer of the court. The criminals must be brought to justice, but I’m certain that won’t happen if we do not augment police resources with our own efforts.”
Peggy squares her shoulders and takes a deep breath to steady herself. “And finally, we must have a clear understanding. I am not an assistant, to fetch and carry. Nor am I a ventriloquist’s doll. I expect to be treated as a legitimate and full partner. If I have ideas about what might have happened to Oskar, I want you to consider them equally in our investigation.”
“An equal partner? Mrs. Barnes, this may be the 1920s, but women do not serve on the police force. You’re a woman. Investigations are cold and clinical, no place for a woman’s tender heart. And you have no experience. You don’t know the first thing about investigations or police procedure.”
“Which you said you’d teach me, Inspector. Now, you’re arguing against your own case. These are the very objections that I raised earlier and which you said were surmountable.”
Peggy smiles, recognizing the gumption she’d thought she’d lost forever. Yup, that girl Jack fell in love with is still here. I can be a detective. “Of course you'll have senior rank, Inspector, and will be leading the investigation. Surely you can compromise on some authority in order to acquire a voice and physical presence, can't you?”
I can do this. After Jack’s death I held on to this house, and I continued to raise Tommy. I’ve started a rooming-house business. I’m no silent helpmate, only capable of transcription. I have a voice of my own and the strength to use it. Oh, please agree to this, Inspector Geyer.
It is now Frank’s turn to sit silently while Peggy leans forward. “I realize that it is unorthodox. But here we sit, a woman and a ghost and, if I join the investigation, I don’t know which of us would shock people more. Surely you see that the whole situation is very unorthodox,” Peggy says.
“Unorthodox, indeed. You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Barnes, but I think that I can live with this.”
“Ver
y good, Inspector. Although ‘live’ with it may be a bit ironic, don’t you think? Shall we shake on it?” She extends her hand. Forgetting himself, Inspector Geyer reaches for it, to confirm their new partnership.
“Oh dear,” says Peggy, as his hand passes right through hers.
“We’ll start training right away,” says Frank.
Chapter 14
T he cutlery scrapes and clinks as everyone eats. Frank leans against the dining room archway.
Earlier, Frank had suggested to Peggy that she try out some questioning techniques over dinner. Initially, she had been reluctant to appear rude or nosy. It required several attempts at coaching before she picked up some confidence to break a lifetime of her mother’s conditioning regarding good manners.
“Tell me, Constable Kelly, how was your day?” she asks.
Joe has become the most popular raconteur around the table. His stories of gangsters and crooked politicians are vastly entertaining for a housewife, a clerk, a math teacher, and a seven-year-old boy.
Joe looks up from his stew. “It was busy, Mrs. Barnes. Our squad led raids today on a couple of cover-up houses.”
“Cover what?” Peggy asks.
“Cover-up houses. Those are places, like barbershops and beauty salons that have licenses for products with alcohol. Bootleggers use these businesses as a place to sell booze disguised as hair tonic and perfume.”
Peggy is fascinated. She has no idea that ordinary, legitimate businesses could be part of bootlegging. I take Tommy to a barbershop.
“But surely you can’t sell too much out of a barbershop? The hair tonic bottles are rather small and there is only so much hair tonic a man can use,” Archie Mansfield says.
“Oh, you'd be surprised, Mr. Mansfield. There's a small village of about fifty people outside of Philadelphia that has gone through 500 gallons of hair tonic in the last twelve months,” Joe says, chuckling.
Peggy laughs with him. “That’s a very busy barbershop.”
“There’s a serious side to it as well, ma’am. Sometimes, the denatured industrial alcohol in the tonic is improperly distilled. Customers who drink the stuff get very sick. I overheard a doctor talking with Colonel Butler, and he said that Philadelphia has ten to twelve deaths from alcohol poisoning every day,” Joe says. “And that doesn’t count the blindness that can sometimes happen.”
“Billy says his pa—” Tommy catches his mother’s frown. “Sorry, Mother. Billy says his father was blind drunk on the weekend. Did that mean he was drinking hair tonic, do you think?”
“That’s dreadful, Tommy,” Peggy says. “It’s appalling how this language around Prohibition is becoming part of our children’s lives.”
Archie Mansfield nods in agreement. “You know, Constable, the public doesn’t like Prohibition, and hasn’t stopped drinking despite the efforts of the police, and of the ‘Drys’ who are leading the charge on Prohibition. Philadelphia is sopping wet, ma’am,” Archie says. “And there are more speakeasies than statues of Ben Franklin. Up and down Broad Street, along Market, and just around the corner: thirst-relief stations.”
Joe snorts at the term.
Archie continues: “Yes, thirst-relief stations: people selling booze on street corners. They’re stacked one on top of the other. There might be a quarter mile between nightclubs and speakeasies, but there’s always a drink within a funnel’s throw where someone can fill his hip flask for the trip.” Archie waves his butter knife around like he would use chalk on a blackboard, underscoring his point. “They have women on the streets, canisters of alcohol with a funnel or a cup under their coat, selling the stuff one drink at a time.”
Peggy notices that there is still chalk dust on the sleeves of Mr. Mansfield’s jacket. Perhaps I should include laundry services for an additional charge? That bit of extra money would be handy. I’ll ask them tomorrow.
“It sounds like you might be speaking from personal experience, Mr. Mansfield,” Joe says.
“Of course not. But I’m not as blind as some police are.”
With the tension rising, Peggy speaks. “And how was your day, Mr. Smith?”
“Nothing nearly so interesting as Constable Kelly’s. Just adding columns of numbers, writing balances, sending out reports. Just me and some dusty old ledgers. I’d much rather hear more about what Constable Kelly’s been up to than talk about my boring, uneventful day. Do you have any raids planned for tomorrow, Constable?” He butters his bread.
“I mustn’t say, Mr. Smith. Everything is hush hush. There’s a big problem with leaks right now. Saloons and moonshine still operators are getting the heads up before we even get there. Colonel Butler is really cracking down,” says Joe.
Peggy hears the Inspector groan. He’s mentioned his contempt over the current level of police corruption to her many times. She watches him walk away, and knows he’s gone to find a comfortable spot in the living room.
“That’s good,” says Eugene. “We wouldn’t want information falling into the wrong hands. What are you doing about it? The leaks, I mean.”
“Well,” says Joe around another mouthful of stew, “One of the things we’re doing is we’ve got ginks; you know, undercover cops, watching other cops.”
“In my day, you didn’t need coppers to watch coppers.” Frank’s statement reaches Peggy.
“Really?” says Eugene. “That sounds like a poor use of manpower. Surely the problem isn’t all that bad?”
Everyone at the table stops eating and stares at Eugene. Even Tommy’s mouth falls open. It’s an astounding bit of naivety from someone who lives in a city where it’s common knowledge that most cops pad their salaries with kickbacks and bribes.
“I’d like to hear more about the barbershops,” interrupts Tommy. “I get my haircut at Tony’s. Do you think that he’s selling alky hair tonic?”
“I really can’t say, Tommy. But Eddie’s Barbershop on Bainbridge was raided late this afternoon. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow, so I guess I can tell you about that.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Smith?” asks Peggy. He has started to choke.
“Yes, ma’am. A bit of beef just went down the wrong pipe,” answers a shaken Eugene.
Joe resumes his tale. “Anyway, we confiscated boxes of that coffin varnish. Eddie’s Barbershop has been a cover-up house for Mickey Duffy for a couple of years. We arrested the barber and two other people. And they're just the tip of the iceberg. We've got long lists of known cover-up houses that we'll be checking out.”
“I wish you’d tell us about whether Tony’s was safe. Tommy’s got to get his hair cut next week and I’d hate to think that we’d be in the middle of a raid,” Peggy says.
“Tell you what, Mrs. Barnes. I’ll check into it and see if it’ll be okay to take Tommy to Tony’s Barbershop. You know, Tommy is looking a bit woolly, now that you mention it.”
Tommy sticks his tongue out at Joe, earning another frown from his mother.
Frank watches it all from his vantage point, sitting on the sofa in the living room. Peggy checks, from time to time, looking for his approval at her questioning technique, trying to see what he sees. He seems to be observing Eugene quite closely.
“My, you are certainly curious about all this criminal activity, Mrs. Barnes,” Eugene says. “Perhaps you should read one of those lurid police detective novels that they sell in drugstores. Constable Kelly has barely had a chance to eat his dinner with all the chatter. I, for one, have had a long day and would like to retire. With your permission, Mrs. Barnes?”
“Oh. Uh, why yes, of course,” says Peggy, flustered. His footsteps heading to his room off the kitchen drive a wedge into the conversation.
“My apologies, Constable. Has your dinner gone cold? Can I get you another plate?”
“No, I’m fine ma’am. And dinner is delicious.”
Peggy looks questioningly at the Inspector. He nods in the direction of the kitchen. She gathers a few plates as an excuse to leave the room, and he follows her through.
Even though she checks to make sure Eugene’s door off the kitchen is closed, she speaks quietly. “I’m not sure I’m going to be any good at this interrogation thing. I certainly can't be chasing lodgers from my table or serving them cold stew, Inspector. That was a disaster, and we didn't learn anything at all."
“You’re questioning was good, but your listening skills need some work, Mrs. Barnes. On the contrary, tonight we learned that Enforcement Unit Number One is going to be very busy over the next few days. And more importantly, we also learned that the recruitment practices at the police department are questionable. In my day, we didn’t hire untrustworthy men to be police officers. Imagine, needing ginks?”
Eugene opens his door and grabs his coat and hat off the rack. “Excuse me, Mrs. Barnes, but I think that I’ll go out for a bit of a stroll. Stretch my legs after dinner.”
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