RAKE PULLED HIS squad car over at a street corner in Druid Hills. Residential and forested, a tidy escape for people who made good money in the city. From downtown he’d taken Ponce, which turned windy and downright scenic in this stretch, poplars and red oaks overhead and the occasional trolley passing in its lane to his right. The houses on this block were larger than in Rake’s part of town, the lots far more generous, the trees older and taller.
His heart was racing that he was even doing this, and he told himself to relax. He was lucky Dunlow was tied up with paperwork back at headquarters, but he needed to be fast.
He knocked on the door of a narrow bungalow that was sheltered by two white oaks.
The door was opened by a tall, slim, moon-faced man who was unable to disguise his shock at the sight of a police officer.
“Good evening, Mr. Prescott?”
“Yes?”
“I’m Officer Rakestraw. I was hoping I could ask you a couple of quick questions about someone who used to work for your family?”
Representative Prescott’s son, Silas, looked Rake’s age, not that that made them peers. His hair could have used a trim, the bangs falling across his forehead, probably the same haircut he’d had since prep school. He wore a dapper light blue sport coat even though he appeared home for the evening, a lone car in his driveway.
“Sure thing. Would you like to come in?”
Southern hospitality was a delightful weapon to wield against people who didn’t want to talk to you, Rake had learned. He accepted the foolish invitation, his shined shoes tapping on the wood floor. Jump blues on a record player livened up the otherwise bare parlor. The room had less furniture in it than it should have, and nothing decorating the walls.
“Nice place,” Rake said, as he knew it made people talk.
“Thank you. I just moved in a few weeks ago. Still need to decorate. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, this shouldn’t take but a minute.” Rake sat in one easy chair and Prescott, after turning off the record, sat in the other one, as there were no other options.
He was William S. Prescott III but went by his middle name, Silas, Rake had learned. He’d worked for his father off and on and also owned a few restaurants downtown. From what Rake could gather, he was a professional rich kid and was trying to ride that into his thirties.
“I’m doing a quick follow-up about a girl who used to work for your mother.” Rake made a show of taking his notebook from a pocket. The congressman’s son was barefoot and had just the cutest uncallused feet a grown man could have. “Lily Ellsworth.”
“Yes?” Legs crossed, Prescott’s fingers were threaded upon his top knee. Rake was used to people being nervous in his presence, and this man certainly was.
“Unfortunately, Lily died a couple of weeks back.”
“Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Did you know her?”
Prescott shook his head. “I mean, I probably saw her cleaning the house once or twice. And she probably served me dinner now and again. But I wouldn’t say I knew her.”
“Of course. I’m just trying to reconstruct where she was over the last few months. I understand she was working for your mother for two or three months but was let go in late May?”
Prescott inhaled deeply, like he was trying hard to remember. Emphasis on like. It seemed an act, overly theatrical. “I suppose that’s about right.”
“I know I could have asked your mother these questions, but it felt unseemly to bother her.”
“Yes, I appreciate that. I’ll have to let her know about poor Lily.”
“Could you tell me why your mother let Lily go?”
“Goodness, if I had to tell you all the different maids and butlers Mother has fired, you’d need a bigger notebook. The woman is demanding, as my father always says. I’m sure this girl laid a fork down at a slightly improper angle or something of that nature.”
Rake smiled along as if he could relate. “You mentioned you moved here recently. Did you used to live at your parents’?”
“Ah, well, I suppose in a way. I’ve had my own place in the city now and then and have moved back in with Mother to help her through on occasion. It can be lonely for her with my father in Washington for long stretches. So, yes, prior to me moving here I was living there.”
“So that would mean you were living there at the same time Lily worked there.”
Prescott seemed to realize he’d painted himself into a corner. “Yes, that sounds about right.”
“Is there anything you could tell me about her? Did she ever discuss having any problems, being in fear of anyone?”
Prescott uncrossed and recrossed his legs, the school ring on his finger catching the light.
“Again, we never really chatted. Mother is very strict about such things. I’m sure in some households there’s more . . . blurring of the lines, you could say. But not in ours.”
“Of course.” A conveniently located clock on the dining room wall behind Prescott told Rake he’d been in there for five minutes. He was supposed to be somewhere else at this moment and would need to end this talk soon.
“Do you know the name Lionel Dunlow?”
Head shake, believably blank look.
“Brian Underhill?”
“No. Who are they?”
“You know, I’m honestly not sure. Just names we’ve heard kicked around when her name’s come up. There’s one last thing, Mr. Prescott, and then I’ll be on my way. We have reason to understand Lily’s family may have come into some money recently. They’re a very poor family, but a few weeks after she started working at your mother’s, they made a large purchase.” He was exaggerating what he could prove, to see what he might get in return. That morning he’d read the deeply alarming “report” on Otis Ellsworth’s death that the Peacedale police had shared with APD. “Some of their neighbors think Lily may have sent that money to her parents. So, naturally, our first thought was that she may have taken something from your family.”
Prescott nodded once and turned his head, gazing at a blank wall and a window covered by a green curtain. Whatever he was about to say was something he was carefully arranging in his head first. He took his time with it.
“I suppose I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you, Officer . . . what was it again?”
“Rakestraw.” The brief anonymity of this visit seemed to be vanishing. There would be consequences. But he was finally learning something.
“Officer Rakestraw, Lily was indeed let go because she took something from my family. It was an unfortunate episode, and it’s behind us now. We didn’t see any reason to press charges so we simply let her go, chalking it up to an error in judgment on Mother’s part for hiring her.”
“What was it she stole?”
“I don’t want this in any report. I’d like you to put that pen away.”
Rake paused, surprised, but figured there was no harm giving this man a symbolic victory. He pocketed the pen.
“My family chose to handle this quietly. It wouldn’t do to have us linked to some petty crime, especially one involving a Negro. Something like that can be construed however a political opponent would like to construe it, and we aren’t in the business of handing ammunition to our enemies. We expect everything to be handled very discreetly, especially our dealings with the police. Frankly, I’m surprised they sent a young officer like yourself over about this.”
Prescott had quickly pivoted from a skittish, nervous man into someone with reserves of power who was insulted to have to call upon them for something so minor.
“So,” Rake asked, “you’ve already spoken with other members of the Department?”
“Of course. Not myself, but my father. He’s close friends with several high-ranking members of the Department, as I’m sure you can imagine. Everything has been handled and all is in order. She was a girl who managed to conceal her criminal proclivities from my mother for a while, and then after we let her go she no doubt continued her errant ways and fell in with more of that crowd. Perhaps she finally stole from people who are less understanding than my family, and they chose to settle matters in a more brutish manner.” He paused. “I suppose one could argue that their way was better than ours.”
Rake didn’t care for that. “I would argue against that, myself. It’s my job to arrest people who commit murders, not philosophize about them.”
“Of course.” Prescott rose to bid Rake farewell. As they walked to the door, he added, “You know, they’re a very deceptive race. They can at times win your sympathy, and you try to do right by them. And then you find they’ve been stealing from you all along.”
Rake was surprised by the comment. He’d heard that Prescott was more of a moderate on the Negro question. It didn’t sound like his son was.
“Did your father ever meet her, or was he in Washington the whole time she worked at the house?”
“Oh, he was in Washington. Mother did tell him about what happened. Told him what she stole, consulted him for advice, because of course mine is never good enough for her. But that was as involved as he was in any of this.”
They walked to the door, Rake noticing how the man had gone from tight-lipped to full of information. Either Rake had stumbled upon the truth, or he had allowed Prescott time to draw a false picture and revel in its freedoms.
They shook hands and Rake apologized for bothering him.
“It’s no bother. We’ve been in politics a long time, and it’s a messy business. There’s always some matter or another that needs tidying up, especially when people try to take advantage of you. But we respect the importance of maintaining appearances, Officer Rakestraw. Not just for ourselves but for our city. I’m sure you do as well.”
Rake opened the door and walked through the wall of bugs that had been clinging to it, drawn to the overhead light’s false promise.
After his shift, at home. Past two o’clock. Rake was dropping ice into a tall glass of water when the phone rang. Who the hell at this hour? He answered it on the second ring.
“Is this Officer Dennis Rakestraw?” The voice on the line spoke slowly and stilted, like he was foreign and reading from phonetically translated lines.
“It is. With whom am I speaking?”
“And would you be interested in learning why Brian Underhill was killed?”
Rake realized the speaker was trying to disguise his voice, clumsily so but effective all the same.
“I’d be interested in learning anything about any crime.”
“Then I suggest we meet in person. Tomorrow, three in the morning, Mozley Park.”
“Who’s speaking?”
Silence. Rake asked twice more before hanging up.