Innocence Lost

by Sherilyn Decter

  “I want to move and build something new and modern. Lots of curves and sparkle. And lots and lots of sunlight. You know, art deco, like at the train station.” Edith takes a spot beside Maggie and peers over her own shoulder. “And sometimes this old place smells funny,” she whispers behind her hand. Maggie giggles.

  Flanking the fireplace with a heavily carved mahogany mantle are matching cabinets filled with ornaments. Curious, Maggie walks over for a closer view. “These are beautiful, Edith. Have you been collecting cats long?”

  Edith chatters happily about how she acquired each piece. Most are gifts from Mickey. Maggie sees a new side to him, the indulgent husband. One figurine in particular catches her eye—a small crystal feline. The cat’s eyes are topaz and the facets that are carved into the crystal catch the light, casting rainbows around the room. Maggie removes it carefully.

  Edith joins Maggie, takes it from her, and cradles it delicately in her open palm. “It’s one of my faves. Mickey gave it to me after the grand opening of the Cadix. That’s one of his nightclubs, the one I love best. They have the best bands there.” Edith carefully returns the cat to its spot on the shelf. “Oh Maggie, you must come out dancing with us some night. We’ll cut a rug and have a great time.”

  “That sounds swell, Edith. Except I’ll need to find someone to look after Tommy.” And something to wear.

  The Duffys’ housekeeper, Hilda, announces lunch is ready.

  The dining room is also oppressive. It reminds Maggie of a castle. Her chair is so heavy it takes two hands to slide it back so she can sit.

  Over delicious rolled ham sandwiches, celery stuffed with cream cheese and pimentos, and bowls of clam broth, Edith chatters on about her committees, the Philadelphia social scene, and, of course, Mickey. There are many mentions of evenings alone while Mickey is on the road for business, and there are also outrageous stories of glittering evenings out. Edith is just launching into a description of the feathered headpiece Mayor Kendrick’s wife wore at Club Cadix when they hear the front door open and close.

  Edith’s eyes sparkle as she turns to the door.

  “Bunny, you’re home. Come in and say hello to my friend, Mrs. Barnes.”

  “Hello, Kitten. I just wanted to pop home and see how you’re doing. Having a good day?” Mickey says.

  “It’s been a great day. Maggie and I are just having lunch. I’ll just let Hilda know that you’re here and to lay another plate.” Edith gives her husband an enthusiastic kiss and hurries off to the kitchen.

  Maggie takes a breath and stares at her hands which are clasped tightly on her lap. Mickey Duffy. Mickey Duffy’s house. Frank won’t believe it when I tell him tonight. This is a great chance to question him.

  Mickey comes over, takes Maggie’s hand, and gives her a warm smile. “Mrs. Barnes, it’s great to see you. I remember you from Leszeks’. I had no idea that you and Edith were pals.”

  Maggie feels trapped by his smile and hands, but manages to return the smile. “Yes, Edith and I got to know each other at the reception for Oskar.”

  A shadow passes over his face. He looks at her gravely. “Yes, that was so tragic. A young boy in the wrong place at the wrong time, I understand. How is his poor mother, Alicja?”

  “She’s coping as best she can. With her man away in prison and five other children, there’s a lot on her mind.”

  “You know, I’ll have someone look in on her, to see if there is anything I can do. Her husband, Stan, works for me, or will again, when he gets out next year.”

  “That’s very kind, Mr. Duffy. I’m sure that Alicja will appreciate it.”

  “We look after our own. But enough of this gloomy-gus stuff. Tell me, what have you and Edith been up to?” Mickey settles into his chair at the head of the table. The king in his castle.

  “Oh, just visiting. You know, girl talk. I was admiring all the cats and kittens in Edith’s collection. She says you gave her most of them.”

  “Ha, they’re silly things, but Edith likes them. Cats remind me of Edith, always landing on her feet. Soft fur, but with sharp claws. I got her the first one the day after we met and it started from there. I always try and pick her up a new one whenever I’m away.”

  “It’s a large collection, Mr. Duffy. You must be away a lot.”

  “Business takes me out of town.”

  “And what kind of business are you in, Mr. Duffy? Edith hasn’t said.” Maggie is curious about how he’ll answer.

  “Import export, a bit of manufacturing, although I’m branching out into hotels and other properties. Real estate is a great investment these days. But this is boring you, I’m sure. What about yourself? What’s your story, Mrs. Barnes?”

  Edith floats back into the room. Hilda follows with a plate, soup bowl, and cutlery. “Mickey Bunny, I was just suggesting that Maggie come out with us some night when we’re going out to the Cadix. Wouldn’t that be swell?”

  “It sure would, doll. And it would give me a chance to meet Mr. Barnes.” He unfolds his napkin.

  "It would just be me. Mr. Barnes passed away. I've been widowed for a few years now."

  Mickey places his spoon beside his bowl, then looks at Maggie with soft, kind eyes. “Oh, I am sorry. What a dope I am. Of course, it would be great if you could join us. A pal of Edith’s is a pal of mine.”

  “Thank you very much, both of you, but I really couldn’t.”

  Edith shoots a glance at Mickey.

  “Nonsense, Mrs. Barnes. I insist,” he says.

  Edith gives a small, fluttery clap. “Oh, good. It’s settled. Maggie and I will pick a date later. Oh, I know, why don’t you spot Maggie and I new dresses, Bunny? We could get matching ones.”

  “Sure, no problem. Love to.” He begins eating.

  Edith grins at Maggie. Conversation flows, Edith happily chattering away, although, like a wind-up toy, she seems to be running down. Throughout lunch, Maggie notices Edith has developed a small tremor in her hands. Mickey has seen it, too. Edith reaches for her glass, but knocks it over, spilling water on the table and in her lap.

  “Oh, clumsy me. Look what I’ve done.” There are tears in Edith’s eyes when she looks up. Mickey hurries over, napkin in hand.

  “Kitten, it’s all right. It’s just water. Hush now.” Mickey dabs at the wet spots on Edith’s dress. He shakes the bell beside Edith’s plate. Immediately, the housekeeper comes.

  “Hilda, Mrs. Duffy needs to change her dress. Can you help her upstairs? And then see to this spill. Mrs. Barnes and I will have coffee and dessert in the living room.”

  Hilda leads Edith away, one hand on her arm and the other loosely around her waist. Edith turns back to Maggie. “I won’t be a sec, hon. Just let me get something dry on, and I’ll be right back.”

  Maggie and Mickey settle in the living room. Mickey clips and lights a cigar.

  “Poor Edith, I hope that she’ll be all right,” says Maggie.

  “She’ll be fine. Just gets tired, is all. She’ll be right as rain in a bit.”

  “Mr. Duffy, why don’t I just slip home? Then Edith can rest.”

  Mickey sighs. “Maybe you’re right, Mrs. Barnes. That might be best. I’ll get one of the boys to drive you home, and then go tell Edith.” Mickey rises. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Barnes. Edith doesn’t have many gal pals. And we’ll see you at the club real soon, okay?”

  “I’m looking forward to it. And don’t trouble your driver. I can see my own way home.”

  “Sure thing.” Mickey heads for the stairs. Maggie finds her coat on a hall bench, and lets herself out. Wait ‘til I tell the Inspector.

  Chapter 40

  “G

  reat dinner last night, Mrs. Barnes,” says Archie. “And my mornings would not be as pleasant if it weren’t for your coffee.”

  “Good home cooking. Healthy, man-sized portions, too,” says Eugene.

  Maggie wipes the stove and counters. “Ah, you two. Well, thanks fellas.” And to think, I almost didn’t do this. Now I
’ve a couple of months’ worth of rent saved. And I’ve got decent, long-term lodgers. I’m glad I decided to take the day off from surveillance. I mustn’t forget I’ve a business to run.

  When the house is empty, she strips the beds and gathers the laundry.

  Tommy’s clothes basket is full. Socks, underwear, shirts. And in those pants and his jackets, always a stone, twig, or some string to pull out.

  Joe’s basket is much lighter. His uniform is sent out to be cleaned. She adds his socks, undergarments, and a few shirts to the mix. Archie’s clothes usually need a good shake; so much chalk dust.

  Maggie’s next stop is downstairs, in Eugene’s small room off the kitchen. He’s separated his collars from his shirts and laid them out on top of his dresser. His suit jacket is draped over the back of a chair; the matching pants and vest hang neatly in the wardrobe. As Maggie lifts the jacket to place it on a hanger with the pants, a wad of folded papers falls out of an inside pocket.

  As Maggie places the pages on the dresser, they unfold a little. Maggie’s familiar with the format of the sheets, as she’s seen ledgers before in her father’s office. Driven by curiosity and intuition, Maggie steals a peek. Thanks to the Inspector, I am developing some awfully nosey habits. The words in the left column mean little to Maggie: men’s names, perhaps farm names, a glassware company she knows of. Many of the names have been crossed out. The dollar amounts are startlingly large. They appear to be a series of payments for shipments. Lots of the figures have been stroked out and revised; such a messy work. The journal entries are for a client who is doing well.

  Eugene’s such a precise kinda fella; perhaps he wants to recopy them neatly. He should leave a space near the top, like Father did. And not make his fives look like esses. I’d write it so much more clearly.

  Expenses and revenues, Maggie understands. She peeks at the next page in the loose cluster and immediately recognizes the names of local saloons, notorious speakeasies, clubs, and hotels from front page stories in the newspapers. Some of the crossed-out names are places that have been raided and padlocked recently. Arrows darting across the sheets tell a story that shipments have been redirected to other businesses on the list.

  What is Eugene doing, bringing confidential papers out of his workplace for? Hang on a sec—these look like liquor sales. Is his firm keeping the books for one of the bootleggers?

  About a dozen names of community leaders, judges, and magistrates are listed on another page. Oh, oh. There is no way that I should be looking at this. Maggie peers more closely.

  “What’s this, then?” A male voice behind her.

  Maggie drops the pages. “Oh, Inspector. I wish you wouldn't do that. Can’t you knock?” She crouches and gathers the papers, trying to put them in the original order.

  “No, I can’t,” he says. “I can whistle, if that would help.”

  “Hardly. Just don’t creep about so much. Look, what do you make of these? They fell out of Eugene’s pocket.”

  Frank scans the papers as she holds them. Suddenly, he looks up. “I knew it. I have seen him before. At the warehouse. Eugene’s the bookkeeper. Duffy’s bookkeeper.”

  “What? That can’t be right. Eugene’s not a gangster. Maybe you’re mistaken?”

  “Then what are these?”

  “But at the warehouse?”

  “I’m positive. Just seen him a couple of times. They’d have him do the books at another location. Probably has an office downtown. But he’s definitely part of the Duffy crew. My goodness, this is fortuitous,” Frank says, beaming.

  Maggie arranges the pages on the bed for Frank’s further analysis. Maggie explains the meanings of some of the columns.

  “You seem to know a lot about accounting.”

  “My father. We can discuss it another time,” says Maggie.

  “You know, Maggie, it looks like you might have the ammunition we need to get to Duffy, but we’ll have to check these names to confirm a connection.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a lucky accident?”

  “As Boney himself used to say, ‘there is no such thing as an accident, it is fate misnamed’.” Frank is quoting. “And fate has given us this break in the investigation.”

  “Should we start looking into these names?”

  “No, I think that it might be time to bring young Kelly in to our case. I don’t want to ignore his capabilities, like I did during Oskar’s disappearance. Nor do I want to put you at risk. I think you should give him these papers. He can ask the hard questions of the people on that list. Given the topic, I very much doubt they will appreciate being questioned.”

  “I’m not sure about that, Inspector. The last time I went to Joe, poor Mrs. Dorn got arrested. Can I trust him with these? What if Eugene or Mickey finds out I’ve seen them?”

  “The only guarantee that no one will find out is to do nothing, and that’s just not conceivable at this point. We’re not going to investigate it ourselves, so we have to trust young Kelly. Of course, Eugene may notice that the pages have been disturbed and put two and two together himself, which would also be dangerous. So, that brings us back to telling Joe. I don’t think we have any other option, Maggie. Whatever we decide, we need to do it soon before Eugene comes looking for these.”

  “You’re right, but I don’t want anyone to know that it was me who found them. Let’s go see Joe right now, and then I’ll get these back into Eugene’s pocket before he gets home.”

  Maggie is thrilled. “Isn’t it the strangest thing, Inspector? We’ve been traipsing all over the city looking for evidence and here’s the best thing, right under our noses. The laundry can wait. It appears we either have a break in the case, or maybe even another case.”

  * * * *

  “And you say you found these in Eugene’s room while you were cleaning this morning?” Joe and Maggie are in an interview room at the precinct.

  “Fell out when I went to hang up his jacket. Are they what I think they are?” Maggie sits forward on the edge of her chair, twisting her purse handle around and around.

  “They’re payments in and out of a bootlegger’s business. Which one? It’s too soon to say. I want to copy the information before you put the papers back.”

  “I don’t want someone who’s working for a gangster to be living in the house,” says Maggie.

  “If that’s your rule, you'll never find other lodgers. Some days I think the entire city is on the payroll of one gangster or another. Most everyone is tied up in the business in some way. Respectable ladies run blind pigs out of their living rooms. Barbers selling hooch and a haircut for two bits.”

  Maggie grabs Joe’s arm. “Joe, I just realized. Eugene’s been paying me with Mickey’s money. Dirty money. I’m tied up in it now, too. He has got to go, Joe.”

  Joe taps Eugene’s sheaf of papers. “Let’s wait and see what turns up. Look. You think its Duffy, but we need to look into it further. It could be Duffy, or it could be the Lanzetta brothers, Hoff, or one of the other big gangs. The volumes are too big for it to be one of the smaller independents. I recognize many of the names of the purchasers, but the names of the suppliers are new to me. Lots of them are in the small towns outside Philly. And I’m worried about the names of these public figures. Let me write everything out and then you can get them back into Eugene’s pocket.”

  Maggie shakes, hoping that Eugene has not already returned to his room. But, she can’t help smiling; proud of being able to bring important evidence to Joe.

  “But whatever you do, Maggie, be careful. These men are dangerous and play for keeps.” Joe’s caution throws cold water on her excitement.

  Chapter 41

  C olonel Butler's office is small and meticulously organized. Joe stands at attention in a freshly pressed uniform. His shoes have been vigorously buffed. He reads the citations and admires the medals on the wall. He’s heard that the colonel is the most decorated Marine in America, and he believes it.

  Copeland, Joe’s heavy-set Captain, mops his fac
e and the back of his neck frequently with a well-used handkerchief. His uniform is wrinkled, soiled, and one of his brass buttons is missing, forcing him to leave the collar undone.

  Joe looks away. I guess you don’t need strong leadership skills when you’re under the protection of the mayor.

  Colonel Butler studies the copy of the journal entries. “Constable, you said you got them where?” The desktop contains only a pen set, a photograph of his wife, and a few papers neatly stacked inside an in-basket.

  “Sitting on my desk, sir. Possibly someone in the gang dropped it off,” Joe says.

  “Captain, what do we know about these names? Is this legitimate information?” Looking at his captain, Butler’s usual poker face shows a crack of disdain.