Cindy Thomson - [Ellis Island 01]

by Grace's Pictures

“And Officer McNulty—”

  “Aw.” He waved a hand behind his head. “He’s not part of the game, ye see. Davis knows that. Only some of us know what’s going on, lass.”

  So Owen McNulty truly was different. Mrs. Hawkins had tried to tell her. She thought back to that day in the park. She’d interrupted some discussion and startled some men by that statue and again in the aquarium. She hadn’t meant to and certainly hadn’t heard anything about a gang boss. She should not have been there, as she well knew now. Best to stay out of it.

  “Wait.” He trotted up the back steps and stood next to her. “Ye got troubles with Smokey Davis. Be sure of that. I can keep him away, not to mention shield all this from your employer’s attention.” He whispered in her ear, “For an exchange of favors, if ye know what I mean.”

  She gave him a shove and ran to the door.

  “Ye don’t know what you’re dealing with, Grace McCaffery. Remember what I said.”

  Mrs. Hawkins surprised her in the kitchen. “It’s late. Were you speaking to someone outside?”

  “I, uh . . . I . . . I noticed the kitchen trash had not been taken out.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I told Annie I would do it and it slipped my mind. Thank you, love.” She turned the lock on the back door. “Was there someone out there?”

  “No one, really.”

  The Hawk reached out for her arm before Grace could escape upstairs. “Something upset you. Wouldn’t you like a nice cup of tea, love? Coming home from the dance early and all.” She clicked her tongue. “I’m here to listen, love.”

  Grace gasped for air, but too late. A horrific sob burst from her lungs.

  “Oh, love. Come sit down.” The Hawk guided her to a chair.

  “I’m always messing up, Mrs. Hawkins. I’m going to disappoint my mother, and if I do, she won’t come to America, and if she doesn’t come to America, I don’t know what I’ll do.” Once she started, Grace could not hold back.

  The teakettle whistled, sending a shrill blast to Grace’s aching head. “He can’t dismiss me. Those children need me. And Mrs. Parker. She sees no value in living, not even for the children.”

  Mrs. Hawkins removed the teakettle, and soon the smell of mint rose to Grace’s senses. “Why would Mr. Parker fire you, love? I’m sure nothing so horrid has occurred.”

  “Not yet. But I don’t know how to keep bad things from happening. Without my mother, even without that awful workhouse, I’m like a ship at sea without a rudder. Don’t you see?”

  The woman patted Grace’s hand. “I do see, love. That’s what the Benevolents are for. To guide you girls until you feel strong enough to set out on your own. And you will, love. You most certainly are able with the help of the One who will guide you through troubled seas.”

  “Thank you.” Grace wasn’t sure she believed the Hawk, but the woman believed it herself, and that alone was something to cling to.

  In the warmth of Hawkins House’s kitchen, Grace began to recover from the cloud of despair she’d tried to leave behind in Ireland. She would stop taking random photographs because, as Feeny had said, some folks didn’t like that. Instead she would photograph the faces of those she truly cared about. There was something they all had in common, and she needed to find out what that was.

  26

  THE NEXT NIGHT when Owen got to the station, he secured his father’s account books in his locker along with his civilian clothes, figuring that was the safest place he had for them. Then he sought out his partner. Instead of blurting out the information the pawnbroker had given him, Owen decided to wait until he could be sure it had been a good tip. No sense looking foolish.

  Owen and Jake headed out to Battery Park. When they got to the corner of Morris Street, they noticed a police wagon. Jake elbowed Owen. “Feeny’s on wagon patrol, ain’t he?”

  “That’s what the captain said. Him and Murphy and Green. Let’s go say hello. Tell him we were just on our way over to the Fourth. Wouldn’t hurt to know what he’s up to.”

  They strode over, and seeing no driver, Owen tapped on the closed carriage door with his nightstick.

  No answer.

  He opened the door. “It’s empty, Jakey. Now that’s not right. They should not leave the wagon unattended.”

  Owen gazed down Morris. He and Jake had gotten a late start, having had to walk a lost child home and speak to the owner of a bookstore who was worried about break-ins over in their assigned ward, the Fourth. He grabbed the lantern from the side of the police wagon. “Something’s wrong. Go around the back side of the block, Jake, and work your way around Greenwich. I’ll start knocking on doors, beginning right under the el. We’ll wind our way to the docks.” Owen handed him the lantern.

  Jake put a finger to the brim of his hat and disappeared.

  “Evening.” Owen greeted some hoboes. “Seen some cops around here?”

  “Nope.”

  There was no reason for them to help, but it was worth a try.

  Owen got only shrugs from the first two doors he knocked on, but at the third a hunchbacked woman answered. She held out her hand.

  “Know something, then?”

  “I do.”

  It was a moment to use his best instincts. He reached out and held her hand. “I have to have more than your word, ma’am. A detailed description.”

  The moment he touched her wrinkled hand, the corners of her mouth trembled. She gazed at him, eyes sparkling as though no one had touched her in a long time. “Three cops?”

  “That’s right. Can you describe one?”

  She scowled. “Round-faced Irishman tugging a girl along. Filthy cop.”

  Feeny. Owen pulled out a quarter and placed it in the fingers that still held loosely to his own.

  “They’re at number 505.”

  “Thank you.” He placed one more coin in her hand and gave her cheek a kiss.

  Counting off the doorways, he paused outside 505. If there was trouble, he’d need Jake. But Feeny would just tell him to go mind his own business, maybe even tell him to take charge of the wagon. These were policemen, after all, not gangsters.

  Owen charged up the steps. “Feeny, Green, Murphy? You in there?”

  The sounds of boots scurrying on wooden floorboards came from inside. Then the door flung open.

  “Feeny. What is going on? You left the wagon.”

  Walter Feeny closed the door, grabbed Owen by the sleeve, and urged him off the stoop and into the street. “You should not be here. Davis don’t like no college boy cops.”

  “Davis?”

  “Never mind. Do the rounds with the wagon, will ya?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No questions.”

  Owen glanced up at a window where Smokey Davis glared out at him.

  Feeny turned him away. “The fella’s a wee bit concerned about yer connection to Grace McCaffery. He thinks she tried to identify his boss, but I’ll get him off course. Ye just get out of here.”

  “Grace? What are you talking about, Feeny? You and the boys have to get out of that house.”

  “Mind yer own business, fancy-pants. I’m trying to save yer hide. Best listen to me.” He grinned. “Look, we’ll discuss it over a pint after our shift. I’ll buy.”

  “Grace has no connection here, Feeny. You better leave her alone.”

  “See there? I told him you didn’t know nothing.” He gave Owen a shove. “Go along, boyo.”

  Owen found Jake at the docks. They made their way back toward number 505 and stood across the street in the shadows while Owen told him about finding the missing cops.

  “Feeny? That scum. I’d tell the captain, but it won’t make any difference. And if the Dusters are in that house, they’ll be moving along to another before we can get back there, like they always do. I say we keep watch. What if Goo Goo is in there too?”

  “Jake,” he said, “Davis knows who I am.”

  “That’s no surprise, seeing as even Big Bill knew you were after the gang.”

/>   Owen scratched the back of his neck. “Worse, I once saw Grace McCaffery, innocently enough, talking to Davis. Now he thinks she is a spy for me or something.”

  “What a mess that is.”

  Owen rubbed his temples. “How are we gonna hide here, then? There’s no way we can bring them in, even if we do spot Goo Goo.”

  “We could wait until the cops leave and then raid the place.”

  Just then a man in a long coat left the house. He paused to gaze at them and gestured with a nod of his head. Then he kept walking.

  “I don’t know, Jake.” Owen held back his partner with a hand on his shoulder.

  “We won’t follow him into no dark alley or nothing.”

  Owen had to rush to keep up with Jake. They headed up Greenwich, catching some temporary light from the el as it passed. “What happened to the lantern?”

  “Dropped it.”

  “And why didn’t you pick it up?”

  “One of those sewer holes. So black I couldn’t see a thing.”

  Suddenly the man halted, turned, and waited for them. “Officers, I’m with the Committee of Fifteen.”

  “What?” Jake reached for his gun.

  Owen shook his head. “Uh, I was going to tell you about that, Jake.”

  Jake held up both hands. “Would someone tell me what in thunder is going on here?”

  The man pulled out a stack of papers, forms with the title Disorderly House Report. “I work for a group of private citizens concerned about the debauchery in Manhattan and the failure of the police department to do anything about it. I was just in that house, playing the role of cocaine buyer.”

  Jake took one of the forms to examine it and then looked to Owen. “What do you know about this?”

  “The pawnbroker told me. It’s a way folks are trying to take back their neighborhoods from gangs and vices.” Owen urged the man and Jake to keep walking as they talked. “If Goo Goo was in that house, and illegal activity was going on, this fellow’s about to write a report.” Owen asked the man for a pencil and wrote down his name and police precinct. “Make sure you talk to no one but me or Officer Stockton here, understand? We’ll get our assignments at four o’clock tomorrow. We can’t loiter around here much longer without tipping off the Dusters.”

  “I’ll be around to see you tomorrow afternoon as soon as you go on duty, then.” He darted off toward a hired carriage on Broadway.

  Shouting erupted from somewhere in front of them. “Cops! We need cops!”

  They tore off as fast as they could until an invisible force bounced them backward. Ropes! Owen landed hard on the street. “Jake! It’s a trap. Where are you?”

  In the cave-like dark he heard his partner gasping for breath.

  “Jake!” Owen scrambled on hands and knees as shadowed voices mocked them.

  Someone kicked him in the side. He sprang to his feet, fists ready. A rock whizzed past his head. “Lay off or I’ll come find you with my gun, you street rats!”

  When no one else bothered him, he crept toward the sound of Jake’s wheezing. He found him sitting in a garbage heap, clutching his throat.

  “Easy, Jake. I got you.” He put his hands to Jake’s throat. No blood.

  Jake relaxed a bit. The rope must have caught him full against his voice box. Owen was taller than his partner. The rope had struck him in the chest. “Idiots!” Owen cried out. “Come on.”

  He pulled Jake to his feet and helped him lean against him. They ducked under the rope. Owen used one hand to extend his nightstick. There didn’t seem to be any more barriers. “We let our guard down, Jakey. We should have been ready for this as many times as we’ve encountered it on dark streets like this one.”

  Jake continued to sound like a pipe full of holes.

  “Just a little farther to the corner where the wagon is. Hang on.”

  But the corner at Morris Street was vacant. “Blasted Feeny!”

  When they got to the nearest substation, the lantern-free wagon was parked outside. Feeny stood at the desk when they entered. “You two smell something awful.”

  They’d stepped into a few of those sewer holes on their way off Greenwich and tussled with street rubbish during the attack.

  “Where were you, Feeny? We needed you.” Owen gave his partner over to a police matron who had come to help.

  “I was where I was supposed to be, unlike the two of you, apparently.”

  Owen glanced at a closed office door, wondering what authority might be on duty in that place.

  “No captain there,” Feeny said.

  He grabbed Feeny’s collar. “I’ve been trailing Davis for some time. Why are you protecting him?”

  “Lay off, like I told you.”

  Owen pushed him away like the repulsive lug he was. Feeny motioned to the back door.

  “What?”

  “Let’s talk.”

  Owen followed him out. The back alley air was warmed by steam coming from a factory building, but the change of space did nothing to placate Owen.

  “Look, McNulty. I’ve been trying to help you. You know as well as I do there’s fewer good men here than crickets at the North Pole.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So give up on Davis. He’s small potatoes anyway. I know you’re trying to do your job. I’m trying to help you, man.”

  Owen opened the door to go back.

  “You know I kid ya, right? Just a wee bit of fun?”

  “Right. I gotta check on my partner.”

  Owen found Jake with a bandage on his neck. “He’s hoarse,” the matron said. “Needs to rest his voice. He should see a doctor in the morning.” She waddled back toward the women’s ward.

  Owen told Jake what Feeny said. Jake began wildly shaking his head.

  “You think we should go back to Battery Park tomorrow and look Davis up despite it all?”

  Jake slammed his fists together. Then he reached for a pad of paper and scrolled the words: For Grace’s sake.

  “You’re right.”

  After the kind of night Owen had had, he could have slept for hours. Instead, he pored over the account books his father had told him to pick up. As far as he could tell, there were no discrepancies. However, there was way too much inventory. Blevins was probably right after all. If they could liquidate much of it, they might save the business. He could take a look at the expense reports, but it was obvious the business operated with little overhead. His father had few employees besides the clerks in the stores, and the office itself was quite modest. Owen’s father had always said his meager outlay was the key to his profits. No gold-leafed fancy facade buildings for McNulty Dry Goods. Unless Blevins was embezzling, and Owen could not fathom that, the overpurchasing had to be the problem. And it could be fixed.

  Owen shut the last leather-bound journal and turned out the light, for little good it did. Morning sun, even on a cloudy winter day, lit up his bedroom. He pulled down the shade and collapsed on his bed, not bothering to take off his shoes.

  Owen slept so late that he would have to wear his uniform when he went to visit his father. He shoved his pocket watch away just as someone pounded on his apartment door.

  “Missus Varga! Laundry!”

  A quick glance around his tiny dwelling told him he needed her services badly. “Come in.” He opened the door. “I’m afraid I haven’t gathered up the laundry yet, Mrs. Varga.”

  “No matter. I get it. And straighten up for you.”

  “Here.” He pressed two dollars into her hand. “I’m sorry I’m so late paying.”

  She smiled. “You busy man. You catch the bad boys in the Battery, no?”

  He set the account books down on his table and gave her his full attention. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Oh, everybody know. You the good cop out there. You and your partner.”

  “Everybody?”

  “Oh yeees. You keep the aid workers from leaving. That’s what people say.”

  “Me?”

  She nod
ded her sky-blue-scarfed head.

  “But the Battery is blocks from here. How could you know anything about what’s happening down there?”

  She laughed. “Officer, you so amuse me. You think I live in your nice neighborhood?” She waved the air as she scurried from corner to corner picking up his clothes. “I come here on the el.”

  “I see. Well, we are just doing our jobs. Trying to, you understand.”

  “Ah, yes. And we know.”

  He bowed as he backed out the door. “Thank you, Mrs. Varga. Thank you.”

  When he got to the house, he realized he was going to have a difficult time leaving. His father stared past him as he spoke, a man whose mind seemed so burdened he could not pull his focus back into the room. “I made mistakes, Son. I don’t want your mother to have to pay for them.”

  “It can be fixed, Father. I’m sure of it.”

  “You don’t have the time, and I certainly don’t if you believe the doctors.”

  “Don’t say that. We’ll hire someone. Some fresh-faced graduate of City College.”

  “I’m afraid it’s all hopeless. I should never have trusted so much to Blevins.”

  “Why? He’s your friend.”

  Owen’s father’s chuckle turned into a dry cough. Owen found a pillow on the chair nearby and put it behind his head. “Why, Father? Do you think Blevins cheated you?”

  “Heavens, no.” The weary man wiggled his bony fingers in the air. “He’s just incompetent. In over his head, so to speak. And I did not realize it until it was too late.”

  “But you’ve been in business together for years.”

  “Yes, uh-huh.”

  Owen checked his watch. “I have to be going.”

  “Go on, then.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Did you bring the accounts?”

  “Yes.” Owen pointed to the bedside table where he’d left them. “But I don’t see anything out of the ordinary. Just too many orders. More than your chain of stores could hope to sell if they stayed open twenty-four hours a day.”

  “That’s what I feared. Blevins tried to help too many merchants.” He clenched his fists. “I had hoped to retire and leave you the business and instead I trusted a man with a dough-soft heart instead of a mind for business.”