The boys look to each other, and shrug. One of the boys, a taller one, has not said a word since he first spoke when Archie sat down.
“What about you, young fella. You have any theories?” Archie asks.
“No. I gotta go. Now,” he says.
“Hey, Jimmy. I thought you wanted to win your marbles back from the last game. What’s your hurry?”
“I gotta go is all. See ya tomorrow.” Jimmy pockets his remaining marbles and jogs off. The dog whines, eager to chase.
“Sorry about that. I seem to have upset him.”
“Don’t mind him, Mister. Jimmy and Oskar are best pals. He’s been weird since Oskar disappeared.”
* * * *
“I don’t believe it. You asked Mr. Mansfield to do what?” Frank says.
“Well, Oskar’s friends were never questioned. The police didn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. You certainly couldn’t do it. So, I asked Mr. Mansfield.” Peggy and the Inspector are in their usual chairs after dinner.
Archie had worn a smug smile on his face all through dinner, and Peggy was sure he was going to spill the beans. Maybe asking him to help hadn’t been such a good idea; not that she’d admit that to the Inspector now.
“Did he learn anything?” asks Frank.
“Not much. Although Oskar’s best friend, Jimmy, seems to know something. But he’s not saying anything. And neither is Tommy, by the way. I asked him about it again, while I was getting supper ready.”
“Following the procedure is important. Not every lead pans out, but it’s important to follow up. A lot of police work is tedious, although Archie Mansfield posing as a sea captain wouldn’t have been dull by a long shot.”
Frank takes a puff on his cigar and considers the glowing tip. Some of his most insightful observations seem to reside there. “Well, I must say that it is a bit unorthodox. But you have good instincts. And interviewing the boys should have been a priority for the police. I’m glad we’ve been able to eliminate it from our list. However, perhaps next time you come up with an idea for our inquiry, you could run it past me first?”
“Certainly, Inspector. As long as you don’t say no.” Peggy says. Her eyes twinkle. She feels it. And she knows Frank does too. “Oh, you should have seen him, Inspector. He looked like Captain Bligh,” Peggy says, giggling.
“Indeed,” Frank says. “Oh, Lordy, indeed.”
Chapter 19
“B ut Mother, I don’t need a haircut.” Tommy’s hands are deep in his pockets as he marches along the sidewalk.
“You most certainly do, young man. And don’t dawdle. We have to stop by the grocer as well. I wasn’t able to get there yesterday. We’re almost out of potatoes and carrots.” Tommy takes two steps to every one of Peggy’s, and still scrambles to catch up. Peggy can see the red, white, and blue striped pole across the street in the next block.
They’re almost there. Tommy slows, then stops, causing Peggy to backtrack. “You don’t have to come with me, Mother. I can go on my own, you know.”
BOOM!
The explosion knocks them to the sidewalk. Peggy covers Tommy, shielding him with her body. The sounds of destruction around them. Debris is flung everywhere. Panicked people shout, some calling for help. Frightened horses rear, crying out in terror. Clouds of smoke billow onto the street.
“Oh, my goodness.” Peggy holds Tommy tighter. “Are you all right, sweetheart? Are you hurt?”
They lie on the sidewalk, waiting, listening. Sensing the threat is over, she stands. Tommy scrambles up and stands close beside her. The smoke clears. The front window of the barbershop is gone, the street is littered with glass, broken bricks, and twisted bits of metal. A car parked in front of the barbershop has Tony’s door on its front seat. The striped barber pole dangles loosely from the side of the building. Peggy and Tommy watch it crash to the ground. Somewhere inside the destruction, a woman is shrieking.
People on both sides of the street stare at the devastation. Huddled together in groups, they quiz each other about what was seen or remembered.
“What’s happened, Mother?”
“I don’t know, Tommy, but I think we’d better go.” Peggy brushes at her coat. She gathers Tommy into a tight hug. Our world could have been over two minutes ago. It was that close. Fire engines and police sirens ring out in the distance. “It’s not safe out on the street like this. Let’s go home.”
* * *
At dinner, Joe confirms that Tony’s Barbershop had been bombed. Peggy is sick thinking about the close call. She pushes food around the plate with trembling hands, trying to focus and be calm—to be braver than she feels.
Tommy vibrates with excitement.
Joe gives them a report. “Witnesses say that a young man on a bicycle tossed the bomb through the front window. It was a bottle of alcohol with a rag stuffed into its neck, but it caused a much bigger explosion because of all the flammable products inside the barbershop. Tony is badly injured, and his wife, who was in the apartment upstairs, has also been hurt.”
Peggy’s cutlery falls to her plate. “Tommy could have been in the barber’s chair when it happened.” She chokes back a sob.
Eugene Smith appears equally shaken. “You should have told me you were taking Tommy for a haircut today, Mrs. Barnes.”
Tommy leans forward, waving his fork in the air. “There was a loud bang and then lots of smashing glass and smoke. Boom,” he roars, throwing his arms in the air, potatoes flying. Peggy barely notices.
“How old was the boy on the bicycle? Do you know who did it? Who was the lady that was screaming? How bad is Tony? How hurt is Mrs. Tony? Was anyone killed?” Tommy peppers Joe.
“It looks like it had something to do with bootlegging. Maybe a turf war, or customer dispute. Just like we thought, the barbershop was a cover-up house, one of thousands in the city,” Joe says.
Peggy jerks her head up, glaring at Joe. “Constable, you said that you were going to check to see if Tony’s was safe. You gave me your word,” Peggy says accusingly. Tears threaten to spill as she shakes her head. “Tommy and I could have been killed.”
“I had checked, Ma’am. But, obviously, this place has been under the radar. Nobody had it on their list.”
Frank, on sentry duty in his chair in the living room, gives his customary harrumph. “And why would that be, I wonder.” His words are for Peggy’s ears alone.
“Apparently, Tony recently changed suppliers; the bomb was a message about loyalty. You know, to warn other barbershops about switching,” Joe says.
“It’s crazy how dangerous Philadelphia is getting,” says Archie Mansfield. “There have been instances close to the school, and the headlines in the papers are full of shootings, violence, and raids.”
“There are always turf war battles going on, as rival gangs fight for territory. Now that gambling is in the mix, it’s even worse,” Joe says.
Eugene eats his dinner, head down, ears open.
“What happens next, Constable? More raids?” Archie asks.
“We’re pretty sure the Duffy gang is behind the bombing at Tony’s. So we’ll start there and see what we can find.”
“Mickey Duffy?” Peggy asks. The name has caught her attention, pulling her from her dark thoughts. Eugene also looks up.
“One and the same, Ma’am. He and Boo-Boo Hoff have been battling it out on the streets for the past month. They’ve always been feuding over the beer and whiskey sales, but things have taken a nasty turn lately,” Joe says.
“Isn’t Boo-Boo the man that manages the boxers, who does the prize fights?” Tommy asks.
“He manages lots of boxers, but that’s just his sideline. His real business is bootlegging. He’s the Bootleg King here in Philadelphia,” Joe says.
“Ha,” Eugene sneers. “The Bootleg King. That’s rich. Well, I hear King Boo-Boo has lots of cops on the payroll,” Eugene glares at Joe aggressively. “He hands out lots of dough, and turkeys at Christmas, too. I hear that he pays five hundred bucks a month to so
me of the cops in Enforcement Unit Number One, just to be in the know about what’s going on.”
“Where did you hear that, Mr. Smith?” Joe sits tall in his chair and returns Eugene’s scowl.
Eugene grins at Joe and shrugs. “I’m not sure. Just heard it around.” Eugene gets up as Peggy rises. “Here, let me help you with those dishes.” He knocks Joe’s chair as he passes.
“I'll just get these washed up and then I think I'll write for a bit. The day has been quite traumatic,” Peggy says.
“That book of yours must be really coming along, Mrs. Barnes,” Eugene says as he stacks the last dishes.
Everyone is getting used to her writing every night. She has her own scribbler. They’re her case notes, just like a real detective. She’s told Tommy they contain notes for a book she wants to write.
Washing dishes calms Peggy a bit. She’s somewhat more settled when she sits in front of the desk, the radio playing softly. As is his habit, Frank takes the armchair next to the desk, his cane leaning against the upholstery, his hat resting on the table next to him. For him, the evening ritual is reminiscent of attending ’report’ at the end of every shift.
Taking two matches from the box in his vest pocket, he holds them up with his unlit cigar. “Do you mind, Mrs. Barnes?”
“No, of course not. That cigar of yours is a ghostly as you are. I never smell a thing.”
She waits while he strikes the double matches, twirling the end of the cigar to ensure that the burning is even. He lifts it to his lips and puffs. She gets up and leaves an ashtray beside him. A habit as she’s never seen an ash remain behind after the Inspector leaves.
“Inspector, I have concerns. I’m not sure I’m comfortable continuing. The other day I was groped, today was the bombing. This is all getting too close to home, and too violent. If we were making progress, I might reconsider, but as it is we’ve had no luck so far. I’ve talked with lots of the hotel clerks and a few real estate agents. I’ve checked the train station twice. We’ve interviewed Oskar’s friends. No one has seen Oskar, either alone or in the company of a man. It doesn’t make any sense to me. This can’t be a kidnapping. What would be the point? Alicja Leszek doesn’t have any money for ransom. If someone did take Oskar, why would they stay in Philadelphia? How did they get out of town without being seen?”
“I agree. As much as I hate to set aside that line of inquiry, a kidnapping or abduction is appearing to be unlikely. But every crime needs a motive. Someone wanted the boy for something.”
“Inspector, I don’t think that is what happened to Oskar. I know you said that there were similarities between this case and your older one, but I think you’re wrong. Somehow Oskar got caught up in all the bootlegging business, that’s what I think happened. Something like what happened today. At the barbershop bombing. I mean, Tommy and I were almost at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Bootleggers appear to be Constable Kelly’s theory, as well.” Frank raises an eyebrow. “Right now, he’s preoccupied with bootleggers, so every crime must be related. But there is no evidence, Mrs. Barnes. I can’t believe that a man, even a gangster, would gun down a little boy. Therefore, something else has happened. We just need to keep on the case, and we’ll find the lead.”
“Who said anything about gunned down? Wrong place at the wrong time. He’s disappeared, but not dead, surely. There’s a lot of focus on bootleggers, and so there should be. The barbershop was bombed. The city is in trouble, but to mention guns and little boys in the same sentence, Inspector, well that goes beyond troubling. You said you can’t believe a gangster would do that. Does that mean you’re thinking it could be possible?”
Peggy taps her pencil against on the desk. “Perhaps Oskar’s working for one of the other bootleggers. His brother works for Mickey and would know if he was there. But, maybe he’s with another group? I don’t know how you can presume to know either the motive or the alibi, without a theory of who the perpetrator is. Shouldn’t we be following the facts?”
Frank shakes his head, rises, and begins pacing in front of the fireplace, cigar grasped firmly behind his back. A trail of smoke following him like a tail.
“Back in your day, Philadelphia was a different city.” Peggy jabs her pencil in Frank’s direction. “Today, bad things regularly happen to innocent people. There’s criminals on every corner, right out in the open. Look what happened to us today. These days, everything in Philadelphia relates to bootleggers.”
“All these ideas have strong potential, Mrs. Barnes, and I concede your point about the bootleggers. I’m also relieved to see that you’re thinking about the case again, instead of giving up. Remember that ‘victory belongs to the most persevering’. You've got to stay the course. Keep interviewing. Eventually, we'll find a clue,” Frank says.
“You know, your constant quotations of General Bonaparte can be really irritating, Inspector.”
Frank is wrapped up in his own thoughts. “We must refocus our efforts. Perhaps I made an error in judgement allowing you to work alone. Maybe you’re not ready yet, despite the initiative you’ve shown. Maybe you’re not asking the right questions, or not trying hard enough? There has to be an answer out there somewhere.”
“Not trying hard enough? I’ll have you know—”
Tommy pokes his head around the corner of the doorway from the hallway. “Is everything all right, Mother?” He’s dressed in his nightshirt, and his hair is tussled from sleeping.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did I wake you? Is the radio too loud?” Peggy says, casting an accusing look at the Inspector. “I’ll be quieter.” She holds out her arms to Tommy.
Tommy gives his mother a quick hug. “That’s okay. Something just woke me up is all,” Tommy yawns. “As long as you’re okay.”
“Probably a noise coming from outside,” says Peggy.
Tommy yawns again.
“Off you go to bed, sweetheart.”
“Night, Mother,” Tommy says and heads back upstairs.
“Well, I’m sorry that you don’t think that I’m doing a good job, Inspector. It’s not easy for me you know, going into all these hotels and talking with desk clerks. If women were meant to do this job, there would be female police officers. Maybe I’m not good enough, but I’m trying. And I will try harder, but I don’t think it’s going to make any difference.”
Peggy’s pencil is keeping a staccato beat, and her right foot taps as well. “When we started this venture, Inspector, it was to be an equal partnership. I’ll stick with your strategy for a few more days, but then I think we need to try something else,” Peggy says. Pencil and toe are still as she delivers her ultimatum.
She gets up, turns out the desk lamp, abandoning Frank to near darkness. “I think that I’m going to turn in and go upstairs. You can show yourself out, I’m sure. It’s been a very long day. I’m exhausted.”
“I’m sorry for pushing you so hard, Mrs. Barnes-- Peggy, but there is a little boy out there that needs our help.” Frank‘s voice reaches her as she mounts the first stair.
She steps back. “That last comment is undeserved, Inspector. I know Oskar and am as worried as the next person. Now, I really must go upstairs,” before I say something I regret.
But she turns on the second stair. “I agree there is merit in the statement about victory going to the most persevering, but at what point do we open other lines of investigation? I know that you've had great success with this approach in the past, but those were different times. You need to let go of the idea, broaden your approach. We need to adapt to modern times and look at the circumstances we live in today. These bootleggers and mobsters have taken control. Anything’s possible.”
The realization of what she is stating so passionately hits Peggy. She grips the stair rail tightly. “Yes, anything’s possible. You say you can’t believe that a man, even a gangster, would shoot a little boy. Oh my heavens, Inspector, I’m afraid I can.”
“Wrong place, wrong time,” whispers the Inspector.
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“You don’t think…”
“It could have been you, today, my dear. And Tommy. Wrong place, wrong time. The question is, was it young Oskar’s fate as well?”
The Inspector waits by the front door. Peggy sighs and returns to the front hall. It’s only good manners. I’m still right. She opens the door, locking it behind him.
Chapter 20
T he moment Peggy has been dreading has arrived. She stands facing the open front door as her mother, Cordelia Gifford, storms past, dressed for battle in a fur stole and covered in an ankle-length dress, under which she is tightly corseted. Her large hat is pinned securely into the mass of hair on her head, the extravagant adornments a rooster in his prime has sacrificed his tail feathers for. She is ready to take on all comers, including her daughter.
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