Murder in the North End

by P. B. Ryan

  “You English?” Mother asked.

  “Guilty.”

  Seemingly unperturbed at having been misled up till now, she said, “You need to be boxing for me. Tuesdays and Saturdays. It’s a four-dollar purse plus some of what changes hands here on fight night. We’ll call you ‘Sir Something’ or ‘Lord Something,’ pit the Brit against the mick. The crowd’ll love it. You’ll have to take a fall now and then, but you’ll find it’s worth your while.”

  “That’s quite an offer, Mother. I’ve always secretly yearned for a title. But I’m afraid it won’t be possible.”

  “We’ll make it a five dollar purse, and I’ll throw in the chicken house for free.”

  “A chicken house, too? That is tempting.”

  “It’s all yours,” Mother said, “soon as I can get Finn out of there.

  The insensate boxer fluttered his eyes and mumbled something when he heard his name, then went limp again.

  “If what Denny says is true,” Nell said, “the Commonwealth of Massachusetts will be taking responsibility for Finn’s accommodations from now on.”

  “That kid don’t know nothin’,” Mother said contemptuously as she stuffed tobacco into her pipe. “He don’t like Finn, is all. Two of them just don’t get along.”

  Nell said, “I don’t suppose that would have anything to do with Finn breaking his nose and his fingers.”

  “He got off easy,” Mother said. “He was peekin’ into Mary and Johnny’s flat. I had to put a padlock on the coal cellar door to stop him from gettin’ in there.”

  “I don’t think it worked,” Nell said, exchanging a little smile with Denny.

  “What do you mean?” Mother asked.

  Denny nodded, as if to give her permission to divulge what she’d just figured out.

  “He’s been getting in through the coal chute,” Nell said. “Look at him, he’s got coal dust all over him.”

  “You little Peeping Tom,” Mother snarled.

  “I wasn’t peeping,” Denny said. “Not like you mean. After the lock was put on the door to the coal cellar, I didn’t go in there for a long time—three, four months, anyway. But then one day I was out in the back yard and I heard Mary cry out like she’d been hit. I saw the coal chute, and I thought maybe I was just skinny enough to get through, and I was. I slipped through and landed in the coal crib—the coal broke my fall. So then I looked through the hole and I saw Mary sittin’ with her head in her hands, but Johnny’d already left. I watched her for a couple of minutes just to make sure she was all right, and then I climbed back out through the chute.”

  “And you continued getting in that way?” Will asked.

  “Only when I thought Mary might, you know, need some help. Like if Johnny started drinkin’ and got in one of his moods and headed down there. I told her I wouldn’t watch her like I used to, and I didn’t.”

  Scowling at Denny, Mother said, “How a man chooses to keep his woman in line is his business, and nobody else’s. If Finn could do it right now, I’d have him bust every bone in that sawed off little body of yours. As it is, you can find someplace else to lay your head from now on. I don’t want to see you here when I come in tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, I figured,” Denny said.

  “You knew there would be consequences if Mother and Finn found out what you’ve been doing,” Will told the boy, “yet you’ve admitted to it anyway.”

  “It’s ‘cause of Detective Cook,” he said. “I woulda ‘fessed up sooner, but I kept thinkin’ the cops would figure out it was really Finn that killed Johnny, and they wouldn’t have to hear it from me.”

  “Because then everyone would find out you’d continued peeking into Mary and Johnny’s flat even after the coal cellar door was locked,” Nell said. “I take it that’s how you know it was Finn.”

  Denny said, “I reckoned it’d be bad enough, havin’ Mother toss me back out onto the street. If Finn got his hands on me, I’d have been lucky just to get busted up. But now Cook’s in jail, and he might hang if I don’t tell what I know. He wouldn’t let that happen to me if he could help it, so I can’t let it happen to him.”

  “What do you know?” Nell asked. “Why don’t you start with the newspaper? How did it get in the coal cellar? I take it that’s where you got it from just now.”

  “Yeah, when you asked me about it downstairs, I realized that’s where I musta left it. I didn’t really think about it, ‘cause I figured it was just a newspaper, and Johnny was supposed to get it, but he was dead.”

  “Why did you go down there in the first place?” Will asked. “Were you concerned about Mary?”

  “Yeah, but not because of Johnny. It was him.” Denny cocked his head toward Finn, lolling against the wall. “I was around the side of the house, in the alleyway. It was right after that crippled fella gave me that.” He nodded toward the folded newspaper in Will’s hand. “I was standing there wondering what Johnny wanted with a newspaper, seeing as how he could barely read, when I heard Finn sayin’ Mary’s name. So I peeked around the side of the house, and there was Finn, still in his boxing pants, like now. His match was over, and they’d started the second one. He was knockin’ on the door to Mary and Johnny’s flat, but if Mary was saying anything, I couldn’t hear her. He kept saying, ‘Let me in, Mary. I just want to talk.’ That kind of thing.”

  “Was he in the habit of visiting her alone?” Will asked.

  “Not that I knew,” Denny said. “Johnny was upstairs taking bets on the second match, which is probably why Finn picked that time to go see her. Finally she kinda cracked the door open a little and said something I couldn’t hear. She started to close it again, but Finn kicked it back open.”

  “Kicked it?” Will said.

  “Yeah, and Mary kind of yelped, so I think it may have hit her, or maybe she was just scared. Finn went in, and I heard him say, ‘Shut your mouth’ before he closed the door behind him.”

  “So that’s when you slipped down through the coal chute,” Nell said.

  “I was worried about her.”

  “Fight over?” It was Charlie Skinner, with Pru in tow, strutting into the room swinging his truncheon. Taking in the slowly rousing Finn with a low whistle, he said, “I reckon so.”

  “Finn!” Pru threw herself on Finn. “What’d he do to you?”

  Skinner prodded Finn in the gut with his truncheon. “Whose handiwork is this?”

  “His.” Mother pointed to Will. “I’m trying to talk him into getting into the ring. I never seen anybody K.O. Finn Cassidy—not in half a minute, anyways.”

  Skinner turned, his face twisting in vexation as he noticed Nell and Will for the first time. “You two. God help me! If you’re mixed up in this, I don’t want nothin’ to do with it.”

  “Finn. Darlin’.” Pru patted her beloved’s cheek, shook his shoulders. Turning to Will with rage in her eyes, she said, “You killed him, you goddamned fairy.”

  “‘Felled by a fairy,’“Will mused. “Now, there’s a fitting epitaph for Finn Cassidy.”

  Resting a hand on Denny’s shoulder, Nell told Skinner, “This boy is an eyewitness to the murder. He was watching through a spy hole Tuesday night when Finn paid a visit to Mary. He’d forced his way into the flat.”

  Giving Finn a rough shake, Pru said, “Finn—wake up. The kid’s tellin’ tales about you.”

  Finn blinked his eyes open and pushed Pru’s hands away, grumbling, “Get off me. I told you.”

  “I’m not tellin’ tales,” Denny said. “I saw what I saw, and I heard what I heard.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Skinner said with a dubious little smirk. “So what’d you see and hear, then?”

  “Finn told Mary that him and Pru had been talkin’ about her earlier, before the fight. Pru had told him he should stop mooning over Mary, ‘cause she wasn’t the sweet young thing she pretended to be—in fact, she was lifting her skirts for a cop and payin’ her—Pru—to keep it quiet, and the only reason she was telling Finn about it was she’d rather have
him than the money. He said, ‘She thinks she’s in love with me, but I expect I can do better than a poxy little piece like that.’“

  “He did not! He couldn’t of.” Pru spun on Finn in incredulous outrage. “Did you say that?”

  “Huh?”

  She slapped his face, hard. “Did you?”

  “Ow!” Finn sat up, rubbing his jaw. “What’s got into you, you crazy little bitch?”

  Pru bolted to her feet with a shriek of outrage, lifted her skirts, and kicked Finn in the stomach, whereupon he doubled over, sputtering a litany of vile curses. He tried to kick her back, but she sidestepped him nimbly.

  “You bitch,” he groaned, endeavoring somewhat unsteadily to raise himself up off the floor.

  “Poxy?” She dealt him another, more powerful kick, this one aimed somewhat lower than the first. “Poxy?” Finn collapsed with a roar that degenerated into a whimper, clutching his groin as he curled up into a ball.

  “You should put her in the ring,” Skinner told Mother.

  “What was Mary’s reaction to what Finn said?” Nell asked Denny.

  “She said it wasn’t true, about her and Cook, but Finn didn’t believe her. He said she was worse than whores like Pru, ‘cause at least they’re honest about what they are. He said she’d been teasing him, leading him on. She said she hadn’t, neither. She said she’d told him she didn’t feel that way about him, and that she wouldn’t have slipped around on Johnny even if she did, but that just got him madder. He said she had been slippin’ around on Johnny, just not with him, and that she’d played him like a sucker, and he’d fallen for it, and that was why he’d been askin’ her to run away with him and get hitched, but he wasn’t gonna ask her no more, ‘cause men like him didn’t marry ‘loose baggage’ like her. He said...he said, ‘This is all you’re good for,’ and he, um...he grabbed her...where he shouldn’t have, and pushed her onto the bed, and started pulling at her clothes.”

  “Did she scream?” Nell asked.

  “Or did it seem like it was what she wanted all along?” Skinner sneered.

  “She screamed,” Denny told the constable, in a tone that brooked no quarrel. “But with the fight goin’ on upstairs, nobody coulda heard her. He said, ‘You did it with Cook, why not me?’ She hit him, so he punched her in the face—hard.”

  Will made a sound of disgust.

  “Detective Cook told me it was the right side of Mary’s face that was bloodied,” Nell said. “That would make sense, given that Finn is left-handed.”

  Denny said, “I jumped down from the coal crib and started feelin’ around in the dark for the shovel, and that’s when I heard the door to the flat open.”

  “The outside door?” Will asked. “Or—”

  “No, the inside one, the one that’s next to the coal room door. And then I heard Johnny kickin’ up a row, and Mary telling him to put away his gun—beggin’ him, really. So I jumped back up on the coal crib to look through the hole, and I seen the two of ‘em, Johnny and Finn, fightin’, but up close. Not like in the ring, where they’re throwing punches, but...you know, like they’re wrestling. And then Finn pushed Johnny real hard, onto this old sea chest they got in there. And he raised his hand—Finn did—and I seen he’d gotten the gun away from Johnny. Johnny said, ‘I’ll kill you,’ and he kind of lunged at Finn, and...” Denny shook his head.

  “Finn pulled the trigger,” Will finished.

  “You’re putting words in the boy’s mouth,” Skinner said.

  “He pulled the trigger,” Denny said. “I seen the flash and I heard the crack, and Johnny kind of...flew back against the chest and then fell on the floor. His head... Th-there was blood...”

  “We know,” Nell said softly. “Where was Mary when this was happening?”

  “She was crouched down in the corner, shakin’ like a rabbit. She’s sayin’, ‘Oh, my God, oh, my God, your own brother...’ Finn’s starin’ down at Johnny like he ain’t sure what just happened. He starts screamin’ at Mary to shut up. He pointed the gun at her and said it was all her fault. I think... He had his back to me, but I think he mighta been cryin’. But he was screamin’, too. I could see the gun, and it was shakin’ in his hand. He told her to get lost. He said ‘You stick around, or tell a soul what happened here, you’re dead.’ And then he started, kind of, pacin’ around the room, and he said, ‘No, I gotta take care of you, too, ‘cause you’ll talk, I know you’ll talk.’ And he aimed the gun at her again, so I grabbed the shovel and went out and banged on the door of the flat and yelled somethin’ about how Mother was lookin’ for Mary and she wanted her right away, and like that. And I heard him tell her to keep her mouth shut if she knew what was good for her, and then I heard the outside door open. It’s got these real rusty hinges, so it makes a lot of noise. So I went in, and—”

  “You went into the flat?” Will asked.

  “Yeah, and she was still in the corner, but Finn was gone. I heard him runnin’ up the stairs. Mary jumped up and started packin’ her things, real quick. I told her what I saw, and she said ‘Don’t say a word, Denny, or you’ll end up dead, too.’ Coupla minutes later, Detective Cook came in the back way. He saw Johnny layin’ there dead and pulled his gun. He asked Mary who did it, but she wouldn’t tell him. She yelled at me to go upstairs and make like I was never down there. So I did.”

  “After making sure Detective Cook would take care of Mary,” Nell said.

  “Well, sure,” Denny said, as if it were a given. “Wasn’t long before all hell broke loose. I was standin’ at the top of the basement stairs, wonderin’ what to do, when I heard Pru raisin’ a racket downstairs. She comes runnin’ up, screamin’ murder. Mother sent me for the cops. I found him a couple of blocks away—” the boy pointed to Skinner “—and brung him back. As God is my witness, that’s exactly the way it happened.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Skinner turned to Finn, still curled up on the floor, and nudged him with his boot. “Hey, Cassidy. Cassidy. D’you hear what this kid...? Cassidy?”

  Finn Cassidy’s shoulder’s were shaking. He turned his head; his face was wet with tears. “I didn’t mean to. It was her fault. She...she... Oh, God... I’m sorry, Johnny. God help me, I’m so sorry.”

  Skinner regarded the prostrate man in grave silence, then let out a long, deeply crestfallen sigh. “Shit.”

  * * *

  “Cook! Hey, Cook!” Skinner bellowed later that night as he hammered his truncheon on the grillwork of Detective Cook’s holding cell at the Division Eight station house. “Wake up. Your pals are here to spring you.”

  Cook, who’d been dozing on a sunken little cot against the back wall, sat up groggily, blinking at Nell and Will. His hair was in disarray, his chimney sweep attire rumpled; a prickly growth of beard showed through the remnants of soot still darkening his face, although it appeared he’d tried to wipe most of it off. He put Nell in mind of a bear just rousing from his winter hibernation.

  “Spring me?” Cook said. “You’re joking.”

  “Unfortunately,” the constable said, “I’m dead serious.” It was unfortunate for Skinner, whose “Paddy captain,” a fellow named Quinn, had berated him within Nell and Will’s hearing about his suspicious mishandling of this case. Nell couldn’t help recalling, during this dressing down, Skinner’s comment about his superiors regarding him as a “stray cat they’d like to drown.”

  Cook’s incredulous gaze came to rest on Nell; he smiled slowly. “Miss Sweeney, you will never cease to astonish me.”

  “Yeah, she’s a shrewd little thing,” Skinner said, “but then so are you, eh, Cook? You clever micks always seem to rise up outa the sewage smellin’ like clover.”

  “Careful, Constable,” Nell warned. “Remember what your captain told you. One more insolent comment to or about Detective Cook, and you’re off the force.”

  “Really?” Cook said.

  “It surprises you that Captain Quinn takes your side? Maybe you ain’t as clever as I thought.” Choosing a key from th
e massive ring the guard had given him, Skinner unlocked the iron-barred door and swung it open with a raspy squeal. “Out you go,” he said, gesturing with the truncheon. “We need this cell for Finn Cassidy.”

  “Cassidy?” Cook said as he hauled himself up off the cot, rubbing the small of his back. “Really?” he asked Nell.

  “We’ll fill you in later,” Nell said. “For now, let’s just get you back home to Mrs. Cook.”

  As the big detective lumbered through the door, Skinner said, with an uneasy little grin, “Gotta admit, Detective, you looked guilty as sin. No harm done, though, really.”

  Turning the great wall of his back to Skinner as he dusted off his coat and finger-combed his hair, Cook said tightly, “Tell that to my wife. She almost lost the baby, frettin’ over whether you were gonna get me hanged.”

  “Did she, now? Well, that old country soil’s pretty fruitful, I hear. If one sprout don’t come up—” Skinner actually winked, the dog “—it’d give you another chance to plant a new one, eh?”

  Cook wheeled around in a blur, driving a fist the size of a cannonball into the constable’s head. Before Nell could blink in reaction, Skinner lay sprawled on the floor, his hat rolling off in one direction, truncheon clattering away in another. He yowled in shock and pain, hands covering his bruised face.

  “Nice work, detective,” said Will as he regarded the writhing constable with amused dispassion. Leaning over for a closer look, he added, in a tone of mild disappointment, “It would appear that his jaw’s still intact.”

  “I held back,” said Cook as he rubbed his reddened knuckles. “Wanted him to be able to operate that jaw.”

  “Why, for pity’s sake?”

  Will got his answer when several other cops, including Lieutenant Quinn, came rushing to see what all the commotion was about.

  “What happened here?” Quinn demanded.

  “I believe Constable Skinner may have tripped over that,” Nell said, pointing to his truncheon, “and taken a spill.”

  “You lying bitch!” screamed the red-faced Skinner as he raised himself up on an elbow. Pointing a quivering finger at Detective Cook, he said, “That goddamn bogtrotter punched me!” He went on to hurl at his assailant a stream of invective as vile as Nell had ever heard, and then some, while Cook stood by with a self-satisfied little smile.