Poppy waited at her desk for Rollo to return her notebook. While she did, she pondered the conversation she’d had with Delilah in the middle of the night. What was it that had caught her attention? That Theo Spencer owned a film production company? Why was that important? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Something to do with her dream… She closed her eyes and tried to remember… an image of a cinema… the Statue of Liberty… No, nothing more concrete than that. But there was something – something Mimi had said… Cameron! That’s it! She said “Cam-man” when I asked her if she knew who’d hurt her. Perhaps it wasn’t Cameron the girl was saying; perhaps it was cameraman. A man with a camera… Miles! A wave of nausea passed over her. Oh Delilah!
She waited for the nausea to pass and then, although still feeling a little shaky, walked over to the communal telephone and put through a call to Rollo’s house. Morrison answered. “The Rolandson residence, good morning.”
Poppy asked the butler if Delilah was in. Apparently she was. He would just go and get her, but before he did, he was glad Miz Denby had rung. A telegram had arrived for her.
A telegram! Marjorie! “Thank you, Morrison, I’ve been waiting for that. Would you mind awfully opening it and reading it please?”
Morrison said he would. There was a sound of paper tearing then the clearing of a throat.
“Hello Poppy STOP Found von Riesling at Hotel du Paris MC STOP Down at heel STOP Sold name title and birth certificate for gambling debt STOP Thinks it was joke STOP Person who paid him Alfie Dorchester STOP Do be careful STOP Call if more help needed STOP Marjorie STOP”.
Poppy’s stomach churned again. Proof! We finally have proof!
“Miz Denby, are you still there? Is there anything else you need me to do or should I fetch Miz Marconi?”
“Er, sorry, thank you, Morrison. Yes, please call Miss Marconi.”
Poppy waited while Morrison went to fetch Delilah. She could imagine him pacing his way down the hall and up the stairs. Morrison never hurried.
But Poppy’s mind was racing. So Otto sold his title to Alfie. And Alfie’s using it to impersonate him. Doubt Otto knows that! Marjorie said he thought it was a joke. Perhaps he’d been too drunk to realize. I’d better let the lawyer know. What was his name? Barnes, that’s right. Suppose he could contact the real Otto and let him know about his uncle’s death – and that he’s finally inherited a fortune. There was an address in the telegram, wasn’t there? Hotel du something… du Paris, that’s right. Wonder if Barnes will get the court order now to re-open the coroner’s investigation… and if he does, might that scupper Rollo and Quinn’s story? Hmmm, maybe I should hold out on telling him… I’ll let Rollo decide…
“Poppy? – ahhhh, sorry – is that you?” It was Delilah stifling a yawn. Poppy looked at her watch: half past ten. It was practically the crack of dawn for Delilah.
“Delilah, sorry to wake you. But I need to ask you something. Something about Miles.”
“Ahhhh. What about him? I haven’t had a chance to speak to him since last night. I will though, I promise.”
“No, no, it’s not that. I just wanted to ask you – you said Miles had a camera.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did he use it at all on Friday night?”
“Er – let me think. No, I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The first time I saw it was on Saturday morning.”
Poppy absorbed this, trying to see where the pieces of the puzzle might fit. “And – well, I’m sorry to be so indelicate about it, Dee, but… did you spend the whole night with Miles? In the – er – in the same – erm –”
Delilah giggled. “In the same bed? Yes, Poppy, we spent the night in the same bed.”
“The whole night? He didn’t leave you and go elsewhere?”
“I should jolly well hope not! No, he was with me all night.”
Poppy could feel herself blush. “Oh, all right. That’s good.”
“Why do you ask?”
Should she tell Delilah that she had thought for a moment that her new beau might have filmed and then assaulted Mimi? No, she’d better not.
“I’m just eliminating him from the enquiry, that’s all. Listen, Dee, can you remember the names of the producers who were there? The ones from – what was it? – Black Horse.”
Delilah said she could – or at least the first names of most of them. They were Howard Parker – he was the famous one, apparently – someone called Frank, another called Bob, and a fourth the others referred to as Chucky Boy. Poppy wrote them down.
“All right. Thanks, Delilah. Sorry to get you up. You going back to bed now?”
Delilah yawned again. “No, I said I’d take Dot for an audition. Don’t know if she’s told you yet but the radio station has been in touch; said they loved us both and want us to do another show. Dot is beside herself.”
Poppy smiled. “I bet she is. Tell her good luck from me, please, and I’ll hear all about it tonight. Where does that leave you though? Will you not go to California if you get it?”
Delilah sighed. Poppy could imagine her in her white satin dressing gown, draped across the Chippendale chair that sat next to the telephone table in the hall. “I don’t know, Pops. I’ve still got to speak to Miles.”
She sounded downhearted. “Oh Delilah, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to confuse you. Look, let’s have a girls’ night out tonight. Maybe we can go to Chester’s.”
Delilah perked up immediately at the mention of the speakeasy. “Oh yes, Poppy, let’s! Shall I meet you after work?”
Poppy looked up and saw Rollo enter the office. He held her notebook aloft.
“Yes, I’ll ring you to arrange a time. All right, I’ll speak to you later. I’ve got to get back to work. Good luck at the audition!”
Poppy and Delilah said their goodbyes and Poppy put down the telephone.
“What was all that about?” asked Rollo, taking a seat at Poppy’s desk. Poppy picked up her notes on the film producers and joined him. They were the only two people in the office so she felt free to talk.
“Hold on… I’ll tell you in a minute. Just got to write something down…” She wrote down as much as she could remember of the telegram that Morrison had read out and then made a note “confirm with original” beside it. She put down the pencil and said: “There.” She passed it to Rollo.
He read it, twice, then looked up at Poppy, a huge grin on his face. “Bingo!”
“That’s the gist of it, yes,” Poppy grinned back. “So I was thinking we should probably let the lawyer know. What do you think?”
Rollo scratched his scalp. “Yes, yes we should. But we need to be careful how we time this. If the lawyer gets a court order to re-open the coroner’s inquiry that might block – or at least obfuscate – our investigation. We need a bit more time to sniff around before the suspects are alerted that we’re on to them.”
Poppy nodded. “Yes, that’s what I thought too. So what should we do?”
Rollo took out his own notebook and pencil and tapped on the cover. “For now I think we stick to the plan we discussed with Quinn. But let’s be very careful how we go about it. I’ll head over to the mortuary. There was a traffic accident this morning. Some poor schmuck was run down by a taxi on the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street – again – and traffic safety folk are calling for some kind of light system to be installed. As if the city is just made of money! I’ll use that as an excuse to chat to our mortician friend. I’ll let it be known here that that’s what I’m covering – and that Quinn has authorized it.
“Meantime, you go see Elizabeth Dorchester. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t. She’s a friend of the family etcetera etcetera. I’ll let it be known around here that Quinn has authorized you to do a couple of feature articles. The first one will be on settlement houses.” He hooked his thumbs into his braces and leaned back in his chair. “Perfectly plausible.”
Poppy never ceased to admire how Rollo could think on his feet. He didn’t seem to go through all of the agonizing and ruminating that she did. Or maybe he did, but hid it well. Perhaps one day she too might do the same…
She nodded slowly. “Yes. Good plan. I’ll head over there now.” She started gathering her things, packing them into her satchel.
Rollo stood up and stretched. “And I’ll head across to Bellevue Hospital as soon as the photographs of your notes are developed. I wonder…” He paused. “Let’s meet up later.” He looked around. “But not here.” He tapped his nose and winked. “Walls have ears.”
Poppy agreed. “Where then?”
Rollo wrote down an address. “Here. It’s a diner near the lawyer’s office. We can swap notes, assess where we are, and then decide whether or not to tell Barnes about Marjorie’s telegram. I’ll swing by home on the way there and pick it up from Morrison.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” agreed Poppy. “What time?”
Rollo looked at his watch. It was approaching eleven o’clock. “Say two o’clock for a late lunch?”
Poppy nodded. “It’s a date.”
Now that Poppy was officially on the job, she could have taken a taxi. But she could not bring herself to spend so much money. Besides, it was one thing for Rollo Rolandson, former star reporter of The New York Times, war correspondent, and now senior editor of a London newspaper, to justify travelling in style; she was a mere cub reporter who, until this morning, had been writing obituaries. No, she would use public transport to get to Elizabeth’s house in Chelsea; more specifically, a bus that first wove its way through the Garment District.
The vehicle turned left and right through the maze of narrow streets – slowing down for horse-drawn carts and belting out its horn for idling traffic to get out of its way. On either side Poppy watched as row after row of tenement houses, warehouses, and workshops went by. A group of young women sitting on a step caught her eye their hair up in scarves, their dresses covered by aprons. They were eating bread and butter and sharing a cigarette – might Mimi and her sister be among them?
Poppy realized she hadn’t told Rollo the latest information about the prostitute story. She would do so when she met him later for lunch. She wanted to do some more research on the film producers and Black Horse Productions. She wondered if the Times had a Jazz File on any of them. Or perhaps there might be some information at the New York City Library. She would ask Rollo to suggest a way forward.
Something else she had been meaning to do, but hadn’t because of all the excitement around Marjorie’s telegram, was to have a good jaw-wag about potential suspects for the murder. Of course, Alfie Dorchester topped the list, but as she’d learned from her previous two big stories, the most obvious suspect was not always the correct suspect… Nonetheless, she felt she and Rollo had not done the same degree of thinking-through as they normally did. Up until today they were having to sneak around to do their investigations, whereas in London they both had free rein to do whatever they liked.
So, Poppy, think it through. Top of list: Alfie Dorchester. Now what about motive, means, and opportunity?
Poppy took out her notebook and scribbled some notes.
#1 ALFIE DORCHESTER
Motive: To inherit fake uncle’s fortune. But wouldn’t he have inherited anyway when old man died? Why now? Might have wanted to speed it up. Or maybe uncle discovered he was imposter. Killed him to keep his secret. All the new connections he’s making in NYC would be lost. But… wouldn’t death turn spotlight on nephew? Not as killer. Heir. Unwanted attention might expose fraud – exactly what’s happened! So would killing uncle be best thing for him? No, if thought out properly. Spur of the moment? To keep him quiet? Or Alfie just too thick to think it through?
Poppy drew a little smiley face beside the last note and chuckled to herself.
Means: Don’t know. Murder weapon uncertain. Any blunt object? Easy to find in apartment. If police found something with blood on it would they be able to say it was just an accident? Surely not. Much harder to sweep under carpet. So… did killer take murder weapon away with him?
Opportunity: Did Alfie have key to “uncle’s” apartment? Check with Mrs Lawson. Or did old man let him in? No sign of forced entry. Where was Alfie on Thursday night? Does he have alibi? How can we find out? Did doorman/concierge of Lexington Avenue apartment building see anyone go up? Has anyone asked? Police might have… NB interview doorman! NB2 get time of death from coroner’s report – lawyer has copy.
Poppy paused and looked out of the window to check the bus’s progress. It was just passing Penn Station. She wasn’t sure where to get off. “Excuse me,” she asked another passenger. “Where do I get off for Chelsea Square?”
“Three more stops,” was the answer. She thanked the man then hurriedly made some more notes before she lost her train of thought.
#2 THE REAL OTTO VON RIESLING
Motive: To inherit fortune. To pay off gambling debts. Already shown he is nasty piece of work by sending blackmail letters to uncle over last three years. That couldn’t have been Alfie. Had to have been real Otto. But… sold title. But… didn’t seem to think it was serious. Still very slim…
Means: Same as for Alfie.
Opportunity: Hard if in Europe… unless… hired hitman? Hmmm.
#3 MRS NORA LAWSON, HOUSEKEEPER
Motive: Didn’t lawyer say Mrs L. would inherit if nephew didn’t? Dies, gets sent to prison for murder? He can’t inherit fortune if proven he’s offed his uncle. Might be motive for Mrs L. to kill prince and frame nephew. Strange how she was pointing fingers at him before case had been officially declared accident or murder…
Poppy thought for a moment of the quiet black woman, apparently stricken with grief. But, Poppy had to admit, at the time she’d thought the woman’s dominant emotion was anger, not grief. Why?
She wrote a final note under motive: unlikely but not impossible.
Means: Same as others – or could have cleaned up and put it back in its place if from apartment.
Opportunity: Better than anyone! Again, must speak to doorman.
The bus was just pulling away from stop number two. She wrote a final quick note.
#4 ANY OF THE PRINCE’S FORMER/CURRENT LOVERS
Motive: Was he threatening to expose someone? Sodomy illegal. Scandal could ruin careers. Who were his lovers? How can we get list? Mrs Lawson? Lawyer?
“Here’s your stop, miz,” said the helpful passenger. Poppy thanked him and rang the bell.