Phil stepped out of the taxi across the street from St. Patrick’s Cathedral just as Christmas bells filled the air, calling the faithful to mass.
St. Pat’s, as the locals called it, was an aspirant construction to hope and faith. Phil didn’t have that kind of faith; hers had been sorely tested in the last few years. But she could appreciate the beauty of the deeply recessed neo-Gothic façade, the spires that rose upward, piercing the night as the streetlights gave way to darkness. It was moving in ways she hadn’t felt for a long time.
But this evening she was on a more worldly mission.
Phil joined the last-minute worshippers hurrying up wide marble steps, and stopped just inside the bronze doors. While others genuflected and found a seat, Phil searched the pews for Roz.
She was sitting by herself near the back. Her head was bowed, just as Tommy’s had been in the Theatre Unique, and for a second Phil was stopped by that horrible image. The top portion of Roz’s face was hidden beneath a heavy veil, but Phil could just see her lips moving as she prayed.
Phil sat down in a nearby pew. She wouldn’t interrupt.
Organ music wove quietly through the narthex. Soft, soothing, perfect for calming away the worries of the day. The priest lifted his arms in welcome, his white-and-gold embroidered robes a beacon for the lost.
And Phil’s mind drifted to England and the Dunbridge parish church in the village where the Amesburys had had their own pew for centuries. The earl had never graced it with his presence while she had been his wife. Phil had been too miserable to go alone at first, and later, when she did venture to a service, the stares and whispers were so pointed that she never returned.
A hymn rose up around her, and she quickly glanced to make sure Roz was still there.
Do not get distracted now, Phil warned herself. Everything would soon come to a head, and once they arrested the killer, for surely they must be successful, she would sleep for a week.
The mass ended. The priest and acolytes recessed into other parts of the cathedral. A few people stayed to light candles, the others headed for home or other engagements.
But Roz Chandler didn’t move, leaning slightly toward the side chapel that Phil could see between two massive columns. Phil slipped out of her own pew and went to join her.
Roz didn’t look up when Phil sat down beside her. She showed no surprise at all. “Why did you come here?” she whispered without lifting her head.
“I wanted to talk to you where we could be alone,” Phil returned, checking her surroundings to make sure they were alone.
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to investigate anymore.”
“Why?” asked Phil, though she was afraid she knew the answer. “I thought you cared about Tommy.”
“I did. I do. But … you don’t understand.”
“I think perhaps I do,” Phil said softly.
Roz shook her head.
“Roz, lift off your veil.”
“I can’t.”
So Phil lifted it for her, to reveal the shadow on Roz’s cheekbone in spite of the heavy powdering she’d used in an attempt to hide the bruise.
Phil took her hand. She didn’t have to ask who had done this.
“I’m so ashamed,” Roz hiccupped, swallowing back a cry.
Phil didn’t answer. She knew better than to try to convince Roz it wasn’t her fault. No one ever believed that until they’d gotten fed up and angry enough to fight back.
“Jarvis is worried. I don’t know why, but it’s gotten worse since you started investigating Tommy’s death. He acts like it’s my fault. I didn’t kill Tommy. I barely knew him. He was just a nice man who sometimes said hello. I shouldn’t have asked you to find his killer.”
Unless Phil missed her guess, Tommy might be more than just a nice man. But to know that for certain required another visit to Mrs. Toscana, whom Phil was certain was either the mother of or some other close relative to Roz Chandler. And who at least might know the truth.
“Is that what you told Jarvis? That I was investigating Tommy’s murder?”
“Of course not. He doesn’t like me to involve myself in business. He says my job is to make friends with the wives. And if he knew I hired you to investigate—”
“I think you mistook me, Roz. I know a lot of people and I hear things. I said I’d help, but I’m not a private investigator. Just a—” Phil gritted her teeth. “—dowager countess trying to help my friends.”
“Then you’ll stop?”
Really, for a friend of Marty and Bev’s, Roz seemed particularly clueless. Though perhaps it was panic that clouded her ability to think.
“I don’t know what you think I’m doing.”
Roz grabbed her hand. “Jarvis said—” She broke, let go. “I mean—”
“What did Jarvis say?”
“I wasn’t supposed to tell.”
“Roz, please.”
“Nothing. He didn’t say anything.”
“Look up, Roz. Look at the stained-glass windows. The stories of good and evil. You’re in church…” It was a cheap shot, in a way, but if you could lie in church, there wasn’t much hope for you.
“He’s afraid he’ll be associated with the investigation. He’s going to run for mayor in the next election. I guess Mayor McClellan hasn’t turned out to be the man Tammany wanted, though he seems nice to me and he does a lot of things to help the city. They’re grooming Jarvis already. Tommy’s investigation could ruin it all.”
“But Tommy’s dead.”
A sob broke from Roz, and she buried her face, veil and all, in her hands. Phil quickly looked around to see if they had attracted attention. The church seemed to be empty but for an old lady in black lighting a candle at the rail and several individuals whose heads were bent in prayer.
“Jarvis hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s friends with Samuel Trout, but that’s all. Sometimes he expedites things for him, but nothing illegal. He promised.”
Maybe not illegal, Phil thought, though she doubted it.
“Please stop.”
“Roz. Don’t let him mistreat you.”
“I have no choice.”
“Of course you do. Bev will take you in. She has plenty of room and a big heart.”
“No. I can’t.” Roz grabbed the pew in front of her, pulled herself to her feet with an effort.
“Did your parents die of influenza?”
Roz turned spasmodically toward Phil. “Yes, of course they did.”
Phil cast her eyes to the vaulted ceiling.
Roz collapsed back on the pew. “Please don’t ask.”
“I have to.” Phil reached into her handbag for the photograph of Roz’s graduation that she’d found in Tommy’s apartment.
Roz glanced at it. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I saw one very similar to it in Mrs. Toscana’s private parlor. Do you know Mrs. Toscana?”
“No. I’ve never heard of her. Why should I—” The sound of heels on stone drew nearer. A man dressed in dark robes, a crucifix on a chain around his middle, walked past them, nodded, slowed to give them time to call him over and request confession.
They did neither, and he walked on toward the front to the altar.
“I have to go.” Roz started to get up.
Phil grasped her by the wrist to stop her.
Roz let out a gasp, and Phil remembered the bruise she’d seen at the edge of Roz’s sleeve.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”
Roz touched the veil where it covered her bruised cheek.
This was going nowhere. Time for a little more force. “Did you know that your mother was a Toscana?”
Roz didn’t answer at first. Phil waited.
“No.”
“But Jarvis did?”
“Yes.” Roz hung her head. “He said our marriage was based on a lie. He accused me of marrying him under false pretenses. I didn’t even want to marry him.”
Phil could sympathize. “How long has he known?”
“I don’t know. He’s been under a lot of pressure all year, even before that. For a while, I just thought he was busy with his work in City Hall and then with the plan to run for mayor. He’s always gone a lot, and stays out late. He says most real business is done after-hours. But I’m no fool. Well, maybe I am. But I know what men do at night when they leave their wives at home.
“Then this started.” She gestured toward her eye. “Like his bad mood was my fault. Like he hated me, and I’ve tried to be a good wife. He said I was going to ruin his life. I begged him to tell me what I had done.
“I thought it was because I hadn’t given him children, but now I know it’s because of who I am, really am—the daughter of a brothel owner. If it comes out, his career will be in shambles, his favorite-son status with Tammany Hall, his social life, destroyed, all because of me. It’s so humiliating.”
From the bruises Roz was attempting to hide, it had the potential for being a lot worse than humiliating.
“Roz, Jarvis’s problems go a lot deeper than your birth. And none of that is your fault. Please promise me, you’ll go to Bev if things get worse.”
“How could I ever face her or Marty? They’ve done something with their lives, I’ve thrown mine away by agreeing to marry Jarvis. He was only interested in my inheritance, and I was easy for the taking. My mom and dad, the Hastingses, only wanted to ensure my future. Almost like they knew they were going to die, though I know that’s impossible. It was an accident.”
Phil let that one pass.
“So, I agreed. They’d been so good to me; they were my parents. I’m sure he’s spent every penny of my inheritance by now. I wish I were dead.”
“Absolutely not,” Phil snapped. “Then he will have won. And he doesn’t deserve that. He’s a scoundrel.” She leaned closer. “I’ll tell you a secret. The earl took my fortune, most of it, anyway. I have risen from the ashes.” She was beginning to wax a bit too theatrically; she pulled back. “You can recover from this. You must.”
“I’ll be shunned by society. He’ll make me pay, somehow, I know he will.”
Phil had a pretty clear idea that Jarvis himself would be paying for his misdeeds behind bars, if they could link him to the real-estate fraud. And Tommy’s notes were pretty clear about that. She’d leave it to Mr. X and his “team” to be able to prove it.
But that wouldn’t help Roz.
And Phil wasn’t quite sure what to do. She had survived because the earl had had the good taste to die. So, even though society knew what a cad he was, they could all pretend it didn’t happen. It helped that Phil had had time to hone her survival skills. She wasn’t sure how Roz would weather the storm.
“Do not tell Jarvis we met. Just hold on.”
“And make my New Year’s resolutions to … what? Be stronger? Be a better wife? I don’t know if I can face much more of this.” Roz gulped back a sob.
“Just hold on.” Phil stood and let Roz pass out of the pew first, then followed her to the door.
Phil had work to do. So far they had been untangling a web of real-estate fraud from Black Hand activity and newspaper leaks. Add a scandal of birth …
But which of these roads led to the murder of Tommy Green? For his notes might or might not implicate Jarvis in real-estate fraud. Or Black Hand activity. Or was it simply because Jarvis had found out about Roz’s real mother? Or because someone else had, and decided to staunch the rumors before they started? Someone who depended on Jarvis for success. Or someone who might have found out from Tommy, and instead of leaking the news, decided to try on a spot of blackmail.
Murder was often, as Phil had learned, done for the shabbiest of reasons. And blackmail was the lowest of all.
She would have to be very careful. This murder was just a piece of a larger operation, and if she failed, it could jeopardize the entire investigation.
It was time to solidify her plan, then act on it. She had no intention of carrying all these loose ends into the new year with her. Like Kipling, she always made one New Year’s resolution, begin the first day of the year with a clean slate.
And this year would be no different.
Phil waited to give Roz time to get down the steps and into her waiting carriage or automobile, then she took a final look around. She felt small in the expanse of all this glory; small, and not the best believer, and yet, not powerless.
She pushed open the heavy bronze doors and stepped into the night.
As soon as she was home, Phil did what she’d been waiting to do since they returned from Holly Farm. She called the nineteenth precinct and left a message for Detective Sergeant Atkins to call Mrs. Dalrymple.
He called back an hour later.
“I’m getting a reputation for being a scoundrel,” he said without preamble. “The desk sergeant even asked if there was a Mr. Dalrymple.”
“Well, you said I shouldn’t call you.”
“Now that you have, and sound as if you’re not in imminent danger, what can I do for you?”
“Meet me, the usual place.”
“Now?”
“Yes, it’s important.”
“And so is your safety. Will tomorrow be too late? I don’t want you to take any chances.”
He was right, but she couldn’t help but be impatient. “I suppose not,” she said. “But early.”
“As early as you wish.”
She hung up and made another call, explained what she had in mind. When she hung up, she knew there would be no going back. Everything hinged on one chance. Now, to convince John Atkins.
“I know who ordered Becker to kidnap me,” Phil said, once she and the detective sergeant were walking down the path of Central Park the next morning. As she hoped, it got his attention.
He stopped. “Who?”
“Samuel Trout.”
He tucked her hand through his arm. She’d conveniently left her muff at home for just such a situation.
“Why would Samuel Trout involve himself with your kidnapping?” His eyes narrowed beneath the brim of his trilby. He was so terribly handsome; it was a shame he was so straightlaced. She would have much preferred to discuss the situation over a couple of brandies in her apartment. But needs must … “Because Tommy Green was investigating the bombings of the Union Square neighborhood.”
“I’m afraid that is a leap that my poor policeman’s mind can’t make.”
“We’ve—well, Preswick, actually—has identified at least ten buildings that have been the victims of the ‘Black Hand’ bombings and arsons, whose owners sold within a few weeks of these deeds, to people we think were straw buyers, and who in turned resold them to two dummy companies owned by Samuel Trout.”
“And just how did Preswick uncover this?”
“City Hall records.”
He pulled her to the side to make way for a nurse and pram coming in the opposite direction. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he said in pure exasperation.
She could think of a few things, but kept them to herself.
“It was a matter of public record.”
“And dare I even ask how you arrived at this harebrained scheme?”
“Well, I happened to stumble across some notes Tommy left behind. Actually, they were in Martha Rive’s locker.”
“She’s in on this, too?”
“She’s aware of the situation. Actually, she and Roz Chandler asked me to help them find Tommy’s killer. Since your hands are tied.”
“There are separate jurisdictions and separate precincts for a reason,” he said patiently.
“That didn’t prevent you from saving me from those villains.”
“My curiosity got the better of me.”
Phil laughed.
“This still doesn’t tell me how you leaped from Tommy Green’s notes to Samuel Trout. No, let me guess. Real estate.”
“Eventually, but the thing that alerted me to my kidnapper was actually at the charity ball.”
“I’m listening.”
She told him about the shadow person at the warehouse telling the men to kill her, and Trout’s “Schuylkill” at the ball.
“That’s hardly evidence.”
“Perhaps not, but when we were at the newsboys’ home serving luncheon—”
He flicked a look of surprise at her. “You did that?”
“Yes. I’m not without charitable feelings.”
He nodded solemnly. “I beg your pardon.”
“Anyway, a newsboy named Big Nose Mike, whose paper corner is across from the docks, saw a Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost stop at the same docks. A man got out and went in. His description fit with that of Samuel Trout, and he saw that man come out with Becker a few minutes later, then drive away, minutes before you arrived.”
“Circumstantial at best.”
“But he can identify him.”
They had reached a curve in the walk, and he stopped her. “Do you really think any court will take the word of a newsboy? Hired thugs are more likely to kill him and dump his body in the river before he sets foot in the courthouse.”
Phil sighed. “I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think Trout had Tommy Green killed?”
“Very likely.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not. We’ve been trying to get him for years. Or at least, we were, before things returned to the status quo. We could never pin anything on him. Men like that are always very well insulated; they have others to do their dirty work for them.”
“That’s just what Bobby Mullins said.”
“He’s in on this, too?”
“No. I just saw him out at Holly Farm.” She looked out to the trees. A few evergreens were the only spots of color among the bare branches. It all seemed so lifeless. “So he’ll never be brought to justice.”
“One day, but not under the current conditions.”
“How do you stand it? Being fettered like that?”
“My only other choice is to turn my back on justice and walk away.”
“And you would never do that.”
“Not yet, anyway.”
They stood looking past each other. Phil at the somewhat bedraggled wreath someone had dropped over one of the concrete signposts. The detective sergeant, who knew where, perhaps into his future.
“It’s so lowering,” she said at last.
“Yes, it is.”
“So I brought you out for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Your company is certainly more appealing than the stack of paperwork on my desk.”
“You do know how to make a lady feel special.”
“Tell me about these buildings and sales.”
She told him about Preswick’s trip downtown, about the correlation between vandalized buildings and sales to the dummy corporations. And how several of them had already been sold to the city for big profits.
“And you found this all out from Martha Rive, who had Green’s notes in her locker at the Times. Why am I having a hard time thinking this is the whole story?”
“Well, it isn’t exactly the whole story. Did you just groan?”
He shook his head.
“You did. I clearly heard you.”
“Just tell me the truth.”
“Always, Detective Sergeant.”
He scowled at her.
“When I can.”
“The story?”
“We—Preswick, Lily, and I—followed Harriet Wells to Tommy’s apartment.” She held up her hand; she didn’t have time to explain how they’d gotten to Harriet Wells or why. “It had been ‘tossed,’ I believe is the word. So, in tidying up—Now I know that was a groan.”
“You do realize that you were obstructing a police inquiry?”
“Not at all. The police hadn’t bothered to come. Not even the Fireplug would leave such a mess. Someone was looking for something. They didn’t find it.”
“And just what makes you think they didn’t?”
“Because I believe I did.”
“You are cutting years off my life.”
Phil sucked in her breath. “Is your life in danger?”
“No. My sanity.”
“Oh, that. Well, try to calm yourself, because there’s more. And this involves Mrs. Toscana.”
“Toscana? The—the—?”
“Madam. Yes. I met her at Tommy Green’s wake. We had found a matchbox from her, um, establishment. So I introduced myself and asked to meet with her. Becker overheard.
“That’s when he kidnapped me, I think to prevent me from talking with her. Because I went there the next day. I barely missed being killed by a package bomb that was delivered while I was there.”
“You were there?”
Phil nodded. “I don’t think it was meant for me. I mean, how could they know what I intended?”
“I don’t know. I certainly never know what you’re going to do next.”
“Don’t get huffy with me, Detective Sergeant.”
One eyebrow quirked up, probably because he was too exasperated or angry to speak.
She wouldn’t tell him about Roz and Mrs. Toscana. Whether it was related or not, it was information she wouldn’t divulge until absolutely necessary, not if she wanted people to continue to trust her with their worst secrets.
“But I did return, just a compassion call, you understand. Her secretary had been badly injured. Mrs. Toscana seems to know more about who might have killed Tommy than the rest of us. And she is privy to information that even the police might not be able to get.”
Both his eyebrows lifted at that.
“Men do tend to—”
“Yes, I get your meaning.”
“I realize that she may just be speculating; she wouldn’t confide in me. It may have no bearing on Tommy Green’s murder. Or it might be everything.”
“It could be. But there isn’t much I can do about it but turn your information over—”
“So Becker can bury it, after killing me? Absolutely not.”
He looked shocked, then smiled. “So you’re not going to let it rest?”
“Good heavens, no. I have a plan.”
“I’m not going to like it, am I?”
“I don’t expect you to like it, Detective Sergeant. Though I do expect you to participate, unless you have a better idea?” She inclined her head. “Or are you afraid you might get in trouble?”
He gave her the look that her question deserved.
“In that case, just listen. The Times is having a celebratory reception before the inaugural ball drop on New Year’s Eve. All the staff and quite a few dignitaries will be there. Including a few that I’ve had my eye on.
“A word or two in the appropriate suspects’ ears, and I think I—we—can at least snare the leak who is responsible for setting this off, and possibly lure Tommy Green’s murderer to give himself away. You just have to be on hand to catch anyone who takes the bait.”
“No. I can’t and I won’t be responsible for you getting yourself killed.”
“Do you think it will really come to that?”
“In a word, yes. This person has already killed once, is possibly responsible for more in the guise of bombings and arson. And even if you do find the leak, it doesn’t mean that the actual man or men who ordered Tommy’s murder will be arrested. This is probably not a spur-of-the-moment crime of passion but a carefully decided murder.”
“Perhaps, but regardless, whoever did this or ordered this needs to be caught. And I will do my best to do just that.”
“You frighten me when you talk like that.”
She smiled. “And you make me feel all toasty when you talk like that.”
“I’m serious. I don’t like it.”
“Come now, Detective Sergeant, you don’t want to miss all the fun, do you?”
“I can call Mr. Miller and tell him just what you’re up to and have him cancel the reception altogether.”
“You’re a bit late: he’s just become one of my coconspirators. And Mr. Van Anda has approved the scheme. So, you see, you might as well agree to attend and be on hand to make an arrest.”
“On what grounds? You don’t expect to startle a confession out of a hardened criminal?”
“No, but perhaps one who is realizing he’s in over his head.”
Atkins narrowed his eyes. “Do you know who it is?”
“I have my suspicions. But it will take a bit of organizing and perfect timing to pull it off.”
“And if no one shows up to your little trap, what then?”
“Then I will have wasted a perfectly good New Year’s Eve.”