He stared at her. Phil was rather surprised herself. She couldn’t begin to guess why it had come to her mind, much less had gotten past her mouth. “It’s just … that you handled those boys so well, I thought maybe…” She’d just been kidnapped, thought she was surely going to be killed. Her coat was smeared with offal, and she’d thrown up at his feet. Surely there was something more important to discuss than his fatherhood.
Though at the moment, she couldn’t think of anything.
“No, I don’t.”
“By choice?” She could kick herself. What was wrong with her?
“I think you must be in shock. Or still a bit tipsy from the wake.”
“Neither, I assure you. But I thought he was going to kill me and that shifts the things that are important to you.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could put them back in. He might ask what she meant, and she wasn’t quite sure herself.
But he wasn’t interested in her feelings.
“He? One of the men that held you?”
“Yes,” Phil said, sitting upright. Good heavens, maybe she was in shock. “Becker. He was there. He threatened me. Actually, he told me to keep my nose out of whatever this is. Made it clear he wouldn’t stop at just me if I didn’t.”
“I see that you paid him absolutely no mind.”
“I did for a minute. But once you let someone bully you, there is no escape. I learned that the hard way, Detective Sergeant. Fortune helped me the first time. I don’t plan to trespass on her goodwill more than necessary.”
Atkins rubbed his face with both hands, which didn’t stop the muffled “Almighty God” that exploded from his covered lips.
“Detective Sergeant!” She looked down on Just a Friend’s head. She’d totally forgotten about him, he stayed so still.
Atkins nudged the boy’s shoulder. “You know the importance of tight lips.”
“Don’t need to warn me,” he said, fingering the coins in his coat pocket.
“Just so we understand each other.”
“Right.”
The auto pulled to the curb, Atkins opened the door, and Just a Friend crawled over him and jumped out to the street.
“Tarnation, someone took off with my papers.”
With a resigned sigh, Atkins reached in his pocket. “Here’s something to cover your lost papers.”
Just a Friend’s eyes glinted.
“Pay up first, understand? You can keep what’s left.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you for saving my life,” Phil called after him.
He pulled the wool cap from his head and made a comical bow. “My pleasure,” he said, and scampered away.
“I’m worried about him out on the streets,” Phil said.
“So am I.”
“Maybe I should call Bobby Mullins and ask him to put the boy to work at Holly Farm. He said he might be willing earlier this year.” Bobby Mullins, ex–welterweight boxer, lover of women, formerly engaged in marginally legal occupations, right-hand man to Bev’s deceased husband, Reggie Reynolds, and now the stable manager at Holly Farm, and Bev’s right-hand man. He could keep Just a Friend safe. At least for a while. He also might know more about what was going on than any of them. Just because he was managing Bev’s horse farm didn’t mean he didn’t still keep his finger on the pulse of Manhattan’s underworld.
“In fact,” she continued, “I should have thought about asking him sooner.”
Atkins smiled. “I think you will have a hard time prying the boy from his post. It’s very lucrative, and it gives him a sense of doing something important.”
“Selling papers?”
“And saving you.”
“Not if it gets him killed.”
Atkins looked out to the park, suddenly distant. “It’s like an avalanche that you can’t stop; just watch it take everything in its wake.”
“What is?” Phil asked.
“Crime, poverty, you.”
Phil blinked. “I thought I might die.”
He huffed out a long sigh and leaned back against the seat, his eyes closed.
She risked a glance at him. “There was someone else there. I think there was. I thought it was just Becker’s shadow, but it moved separately from him.”
“The aftereffects of being drugged,” Atkins said.
“I—perhaps. But … no. It was someone real. He stayed just out of the light so I couldn’t see him, but I heard him. He told them to kill me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t just confuse Becker’s voice in the heightened emotion of the situation?”
“No. I’m certain.”
She had his attention.
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know. But I won’t forget it. And when I hear it again…”
“You will come straight to me. Not act on your own.”
“And you’ll do what? Arrest him because I said it sounded like him? I don’t know that much about courtroom proceedings, but I don’t think that piece of evidence will wash.”
“And what do you think you can do? Confront Becker? If that’s all it would take, we would have brought him to book years ago. Do you think it’s easy watching him, year after year, run roughshod over the justice system? Systematically crippling the city with bribery, extortion, murder, and God knows what else, and not being able to do a thing about it?
“He’ll get his own one day. But not from you—nor me, most likely. God, haven’t you been listening to me at all these last few months?”
“Yes, I have,” Phil said, taken aback at his uncharacteristic outburst.
“But you don’t take my advice.”
“I do, but I also have responsibilities. And I would do it all again. I had to do what I did … I just didn’t anticipate the … helplessness.”
Phil thought his eyes softened for a moment, but she might have been mistaken, for his voice was just as demanding as ever. “Will you stop doing this now?”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“I can’t and I won’t. I was taken by surprise, unprepared, so, yes, I was frightened, but I’ll recover from it, and be prepared to do what needs to be done. I must.”
“Because of the excitement? The challenge?”
“In part.” Plus she needed the money, the best way she knew of staying independent. Though, she had to admit, she craved the challenge. She would not let fear or insecurity rule her life. Because you couldn’t rule your own life without the courage to do so, and if you didn’t, someone else would. And she would not subject herself to that ever again.
“I’m afraid I still need some answers about today.”
“Then will you deign to come upstairs? I really feel the need to change out of these clothes. Look at them. And I loved this coat. I’ve ruined two new coats already this season. I have a good mind to send Becker my cleaning bill.”
He coughed out a dry laugh. “Redoubtable, a pain in the … neck, but…” Another short laugh. “The first time I ever saw you, sprinting across the Reynolds’s foyer in that purple gown—”
“Eggplant, chosen for just that purpose.”
“To appear…?” He finished the phrase on a question.
“Formidable. Though I must admit, it was not one of my more formidable appearances.”
“You bowled me over.”
“I did?” she asked, a spark coming back to her senses.
“Yes, but fortunately I recovered.”
She smiled. The dirty warehouse—for warehouse it must have been—the dirty coat, the dank walls, they all receded from her mind, like a bad dream that disperses to the fringes once the lights are on.
“But yes, I will accompany you to your apartment. I don’t want to question you more here.” He glanced toward the driver, another policeman, and Phil understood.
What Just a Friend called “ears.”
Phil had already learned to trust only one detective. She nodded her understanding.
He dipped his chin. “This one time only, because I need to question you in private.”
Bless him, so upright and serious: his statement actually brought the sense of adventure back to her sorely tried psyche.
“In private. That sounds absolutely scintillating, Detective Sergeant.”
For the first time ever, Atkins laughed at one of her little witticisms; either she was making progress or he was more rattled than he let on. She certainly was.
“I will tell the Plaza staff that you were grazed by a passing carriage and that I promised Preswick to see you to your door.”
“If you say that, they will know you are lying, because Preswick would be waiting for us at the curb.”
“True.” He frowned. “Perhaps…”
“Perhaps you should just let me handle the situation.”
A slight nod was the only acknowledgment she got.
As it turned out, the well-trained staff of the Plaza lobby merely nodded greetings, and Egbert took them to the fifth floor without comment. Which meant even heftier tips for the holidays. And what was that doing to her ready cash for Christmas shopping? To be sure, it was leaving even less toward her good intentions to help the unfortunate.
She would have Preswick consult the state of their bank account.
Too rattled still to search for her key in her purse—organization of travel equipment would have to be dealt with as soon as the holidays were over—she knocked. Preswick answered the door so quickly she wondered if he’d been waiting there all day.
With one quick, assessing look, he stepped aside for them to enter and shut the door behind them.
Lily came running. “What has happened? Ar-r-r-r you hur-r-r-rt?” she demanded, glaring at Atkins.
“I’m fine. I was kidnapped, and I need—”
“To get out of these dir-r-r-rty clothes.” Lily hustled her down the hall with a last scowl back at Atkins.
“And a—” Phil added over her shoulder.
“A martini, yes, my lady.”
“And a glass of water.”
A few minutes later, cleaner but still in need of a soak, wearing a soft, moss-green tea gown, Phil returned to the parlor. She had convinced Lily to ask no questions until they joined Preswick and the detective sergeant.
Atkins was sitting in a club chair with a glass of what Phil recognized as double malt whiskey that Preswick insisted on keeping for gentlemen who eschewed the notion of “cocktails.” Evidently the detective sergeant was one of them.
He was perfectly framed by the swags of pine and ribbon that festooned the window behind him. A candelabra of red-tapered candles sat on the table at his elbow, presenting a magazine-perfect picture of a gentleman at home for the holidays.
He stood as Phil and Lily entered. Sat when Phil sat and Preswick handed her a glass of water, which she guzzled down. Followed by a very dry martini, which she sipped appreciatively.
Atkins put his glass down and reached in his pocket for his notebook, dispelling Phil’s momentary flight of fancy.
Lily reached in her apron pocket and brought out her own notebook, glaring at Atkins, daring him to say anything. She sat on a stool nearby Phil, one side of her skirt lifted to reveal her ankle stiletto within easy reach.
Phil gave her a quelling look.
Lily lifted her chin and gave Phil her full attention.
Phil told them of being snatched outside the Plaza and Just a Friend’s having the wherewithal to summon the detective sergeant.
And then something struck her. “But how did he find you? And how did he know where they had taken me?”
Atkins smiled, and for a second Phil forgot her near escape with death.
“He saw them force you into the town car. He managed to run and grab hold of the back. He rode the whole way to the docks clinging to the back of the automobile.”
“Good heavens, he’s clever. You must never scold him again for such feats of boyhood.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“But I do worry about his safety. The safety of all of you. He threatened Preswick and Lily and whomever was close to me.”
“Who, madam, I mean, my lady?”
“Sergeant Becker, Lily. You remember him.”
“Yes. I should have cut his hear-r-rt out the fir-r-rst time he came to the door.”
“Lily, pas devant le—”
“I’m afraid my French is quite adequate,” Atkins said. “You will not cut out anyone’s heart, slit anyone’s throat, or do bodily harm in any way. Or you will go to prison.”
Phil sucked in her breath. “That was rather harsh, Detective Sergeant.”
“It is a reality. Do you understand, Lily?”
“I will protect my mistress.”
“Please do, but do not use that stiletto.”
Lily sniffed. Bent her head over her notebook.
Atkins lifted his eyebrows toward Phil.
She nodded. She would talk to Lily. They would protect themselves as the need arose but would not “throw the first punch,” as Bobby Mullins would say.
It took nearly an hour of Phil piecing together what had actually happened, especially when she was still under the influence of the drug that Atkins pronounced was probably chloroform.
Preswick had poured her another martini, which was beginning to make her feel light-headed.
Atkins refused another drink, even though he had sent his driver back to the station.
They were surrounded by an excess of holiday decorations; the clove, orange, and pine scents of Christmas filled the air. They were drinking fine spirits and should be celebrating the coming of a new year instead of discussing Phil’s near miss with murder. But the detective sergeant was all business, all the time, and yet … he’d known how to treat the newsies.
Which reminded her …
“I think I owe you money for the largesse you spread among the boys.”
He waved her off. “We’re allotted a certain amount for … emergencies.”
Like bribes and payoffs and other small bits of everyday police business, she thought.
“Well, I appreciate it.”
He stood. “Do I need to remind all of you that this is no light matter? It seems to me that you’ve stumbled into more than just a Black Hand operation. And if that is the case, you must all be doubly aware, all of the time.
“I can’t put a man to watch you without causing undue publicity. But please, please, be careful. And stay out of anymore investigating. There’s nothing you can possibly do about the death of Tommy Green. The police will look for a motive and a suspect. Please stay away from it.”
He made a small bow, and Phil stood. “What do you know? What aren’t you telling me? Why would Becker come after me now? It’s been months since our last encounter. And no one knows I’m involved in these purported Hand attacks but you and a few others … unless…”
Phil took a fortifying breath. “I had just left the wake—but there were many people there.” She hesitated. “Of course. I stopped to talk to Mrs. Toscana as we were leaving. That must have been what set him off. But what does she have to do with this? She runs a brothel.”
The detective sergeant’s eyes rose to the ceiling, threatened to disappear behind his very thick eyelashes.
“I don’t know. But you are not to go snooping around brothels. Do you understand?”
“Is that a police order?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
“Then good day.”
“And merry Christmas,” Phil added.
He turned back to the room, taking in the tree, the poinsettias, the swags of pine, and the cluster of angels that had appeared on the windowsill as if seeing it all for the first time.
“Merry Christmas. It looks very nice,” he returned in a voice that seemed surprised at what he saw.
As soon as Preswick closed the door behind him, Lily said, “Are you going to obey him?”
“Of course,” Phil said. “We are not going to snoop around a brothel. I will go on a formal visit to Mrs. Toscana. Perhaps tomorrow, when most of her clients, I suppose, will be at church and Sunday dinner with their wives and families.
“But for now, I would like a hot bath and my dinner.”