A Charm of Powerful Trouble (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 4) (15 page)

Given that this was a conversation with Emmie—and looking at it solely in that context—it all sounded reasonable enough. But I interpreted that as a warning. If things took their normal course, I could expect to soon be embroiled in some absurdity du jour, like dressing up as a Celestial to rescue Chinese girls from a canal boat and then secreting them with a sect of wayward Utopians. In an effort to avoid that fate, I probed her argument at its weakest point.

“Are you suggesting that Ernie Joy shot his lover’s husband, and then two hours later was shot by pure chance?”

“Not pure chance. Suppose the gun he was shot with was the same gun he used to kill Twinem. He runs from the shooting with the gun in his pocket. At the opium den, he realizes he still has it, and while talking with Carlotta, he hides it in nearly the same spot she usually places her prop gun.”

“Then where’s the prop gun?”

“Couldn’t she have just forgotten it where she was staying? The same way she’d forgotten her keys that night?”

“Well, it seems to be lost now. She had to borrow another for her act,” I told her. “Do you think there’s any chance of Tibbitts finding Lou at the farm?”

“Maybe I should go on ahead and warn him.”

“And see if he’ll show you where he threw the gun,” I said. “It might be better if Tibbitts doesn’t find it. Especially if the two shootings are linked.”

“Are you worried Carlotta
did
bring it to Jimmy’s?”

“Not really. At least not intentionally. But I wouldn’t mind knowing a little more before the police get hold of it.”

“All right.”

She left, and a half hour later I headed off myself for Hunter’s Point.

I found Tibbitts waiting with Jimmy Yuan at the Steinway car stop.

“Hello, Jimmy. How’s business?” I asked.

“They still won’t let me reopen, Mr. Reese. The police can be very disagreeable.” Then he remembered Tibbitts standing beside him. “Excuse me for mentioning it, Sergeant.”

“That’s okay. We want it to be disagreeable.”

“Yes, but need it be so expensive?”

Tibbitts just smiled.

“Have you learned anything, Mr. Reese?”

“Well, I’m more fully informed about the intricacies of the canal system upstate. But not much else.”

“Then I don’t think I can afford your services any longer.”

“Did you really have any intention of paying us?”

“Oh, I assure you my intentions are always honorable.”

“Yes, no doubt. How’s the follow-through?”

“One must be realistic. Only so much blood can come from one turnip.”

“And the police are squeezing your turnips pretty thoroughly?”

“Frankly, yes.”

“Well, let’s not say anything to my wife. She’s enjoying herself, and this way I have some idea what she’s up to.”

“She won’t be disappointed to learn there’s no recompense?”

“Not horribly. What will disappoint her is if she can’t solve the murder.”

“But I hired you to prove it was an accident!”

“Hired, but with little likelihood of paying.”

“It probably doesn’t matter anyhow. The tongs seem ready to settle their lawsuits. The tours of Chinatown will begin again, and my opportunity will have been lost.”

On arriving in Steinway, we walked up the hill to the farm. Emmie greeted us.

“I’ve looked about for Lou Ling,” she told us. “But he doesn’t seem to be here.”

“Why don’t you go ask around?” Tibbitts said to Jimmy.

He went off, with Emmie tailing along.

“What’s she up to?” Tibbitts asked me.

“Trying to determine what Emmie’s up to at any given moment is a mug’s game. Sometimes I wonder if she can keep track.”

“Let’s look around for the gun,” Tibbitts suggested. “We can skip the shack. I’ve been through it twice. I wonder if he just tossed it someplace.”

“Probably the East River, or out in the bay there.”

“If he had any sense. But nine times out of ten they don’t. Especially amateurs. If they don’t drop it right away, they forget they have it. Then when they see it, they panic.”

We went about checking the big pots they used to store things, then probed the water barrels. I knew, of course, there was little chance of his finding it. First, because the number of places you could hide something on a farm was close to infinite. Second, because Emmie had obviously arrived in time to warn Lou Ling to take the gun off and hide it somewhere else. But I had made the mistake of thinking I was privy to Emmie’s plans.

She and Jimmy approached us.

“They still insist they haven’t seen Lou Ling since the shooting, Sergeant,” he said. “I don’t think there was much point in our coming out here.”

“No, probably not.” Tibbitts was looking squarely at Emmie.

Though we didn’t know Sergeant Tibbitts particularly well, his acquaintance with Emmie was sufficient to provide him some idea about how her mind worked.

“There’s probably not much chance we’ll find the gun either, is there?” he asked her.

“Oh, I don’t think you’ve looked very hard yet.”

Tibbitts glanced over at me. His eyebrows were raised. I shrugged.

“Tell me, Emmie,” he asked. “If you were Lou Ling, what would you do with the gun?”

“Why don’t we act it out?”

“Act it out?”

“Yes. We need to recreate the emotional state of Lou Ling that night.” Then she proceeded to do just that. “He must know he’s shot a man. He rushes back here, to his home, in a state of extreme excitement.” She ran into the shack and we followed. “At last he breathes a sigh of relief.” She did a reasonably good property sigh. “His palms are damp. He wipes them on his jacket and realizes he still has the gun.” She looked agape at the imaginary gun. “He runs to the edge of the hillside….” Again we followed. “And flings it into the bramble below….”

Tibbitts walked to the edge of the hillside. It was a near-impenetrable mass of raspberry bushes and wild roses, with a good helping of poison ivy.

“Why don’t you re-enact putting the gun wherever it is now?” he suggested. “That might save us some trouble.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sergeant. I’m merely presenting the most likely scenario. Perhaps if we start from the bottom and work up?”

We took the path around the bramble and down to the bottom of the hill. The growth wasn’t quite as forbidding down here. We spread out, and all started kicking about. It was a big area, but it took just a few minutes before Emmie shouted to us that she’d found the gun.

While Tibbitts examined it, I took Emmie aside.

“What’s the idea, Emmie?”

“Lou Ling didn’t know exactly where it was.”

“But why lead Tibbitts down here?”

“I have my objectives and you have yours, Harry.”

She walked over to the sergeant and I followed.

“We’re in luck,” he announced. “There’s an inscription. ‘To Frank Rhodes, G.A.R.’”

“How’s that make us lucky?” Jimmy asked.

“Well, we know Frank Rhodes is a veteran, in the Grand Army of the Republic. And if it was engraved at the Colt factory, they’ll have a record.”

“Sergeant, could it be the same gun that shot Mr. Twinem?” Emmie asked.

“Yeah, could be. A .45. And two empty shells in the cylinder.”

Emmie smiled, but erased it as soon as Tibbitts noticed. We all caught the car back to Hunter’s Point. Then I told Emmie I’d be going across the river with Tibbitts.

“All right, Harry. I’ll see you later at home.”

She went off to the Brooklyn car and we caught the ferry to 34
th
Street. Jimmy promptly drifted away from us, apparently having tired of police company.

“What do you have in mind?” Tibbitts asked.

“Well, Emmie and I are in a little rivalry. She’s convinced the two shootings are linked. I think it’s just coincidence.”

“I’m not sure what I think anymore.”

“Is Mrs. Twinem still at the Victoria?” I asked.

“No, she’s at her mother’s in New Jersey. You want to see her?”

“Not that badly. But I think I’ll still head down to the Victoria to ask some questions.”

“If you learn anything, I’ll be at headquarters the rest of the afternoon.”

I took the L down to the hotel and asked the clerk for Mrs. Twinem’s forwarding address. After he’d given it to me, I asked when she’d checked out.

“Checked out last week.” Then added under his breath, “Thank the Lord.”

“You were happy to see her leave?” I asked.

He led me to the far corner of the counter.

“It isn’t my place to complain about the guests. But even Mr. Cummings, the manager, became annoyed with her.”

“How so? Very demanding?”

“Oh, yes. Of course, we’re used to that. But that one was so… volatile.”

“Got upset, did she? What about?”

“The first explosion occurred the night her husband was murdered, when she asked for her husband’s papers from the safe. To be honest, it was partly Mr. Cummings’ fault. I’ve cautioned him—you can’t treat the modern woman like an appendage of her husband. This isn’t 1870. The modern woman is much more complex than her mother. I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Yes, all too well. But in my case, complex doesn’t begin to describe it. What exactly happened?”

“Well, I was filling in that evening for one of the night men. Mrs. Twinem came down to the desk and Mr. Cummings happened to attend to her. She said her husband had asked that she retrieve some papers he’d placed in our safe. Mr. Cummings demurred. ‘Perhaps I might speak with Mr. Twinem,’ he said.”

“Mr. Cummings put his foot in it?”

“Yes, most decidedly.”

“The lady was perturbed?”

“The lady was livid. In his defense, it
was
counter to Mr. Twinem’s instructions. He had told Mr. Cummings specifically not to hand the papers over to anyone but himself.”

“So the lady insisted and Mr. Cummings demurred. I suppose I can guess what happened next.”

“Yes, Mr. Cummings’ resolve crumbled.”

“What time was it?”

“In the evening.”

“Can you be more precise?”

“I’d just returned from a break, so about nine.”

“Had you seen much of Mr. Twinem?”

“Yes, he inquired of us frequently. He seemed anxious to receive some correspondence.”

“Did he receive it?”

“Them. Every afternoon.”

“Do you remember anything about them?”

“No, just ordinary letters.”

“How would you describe Twinem?”

“A brusque sort of person. Not particularly rude, just never friendly.”

“What did he look like?”

“Fortyish. Dark hair, about your height and build.”

“Were you surprised to hear he was killed at the Cosmopolitan?”

“Yes. Of all places. One doesn’t like to speak poorly of the competition, but…. Let’s just say its best days are behind it.”

“Did you see them go out that evening?”

“I saw her leave. It was 9:20.”

“How is it you remember so precisely?”

“She stopped to ask me the time. A little odd.”

“Why’s that?”

He pointed to the large clock above the desk.

“Was she carrying anything when she left?”

“Yes, the bundle of papers she’d retrieved from the safe.”

“How can you be sure it was the same bundle?”

“It was tied up with a maroon ribbon.”

“And after the shooting, she returned here?”

“Yes, that same night.”

“Did she seem upset?”

“Yes, very upset.”

I left him and went over to visit Tibbitts at the detective bureau.

“Did you see Ernie Joy before he was buried?”

“Yeah. And yes, he and Twinem looked a lot alike. You wouldn’t mistake one for the other if they were standing beside you. But a stranger might confuse them.”

“And, of course, Ernie Joy was an actor. That’s the essence of Emmie’s theory: Ernie impersonated Twinem and checked into the Cosmopolitan under that name. Then he and the Missus lured Twinem there in order to kill him.”

“I told you, I tried that one. Even if the clerk made a mistake, it still doesn’t line up with the facts. You’re going to kill a fellow, so you wear a jacket no one could help but remember? And what sort of plan was that for an escape?”

“Yes, there has to be a lot more to it,” I agreed.

Emmie arrived home about an hour after I did.

“I’m afraid I have a confession, Emmie. I inadvertently substantiated your theory.”

“How do you mean?”

“I went by the Victoria. I was hoping to verify that it was Twinem who took the manuscript to the Cosmopolitan. But it was his wife. So maybe her story about him meeting a man
was
just a ruse. And apparently Ernie wouldn’t have had much trouble passing himself off as Twinem.”

She gave me a smug smile. “I knew it. But I also have a confession to make. I was hoping to prove Carlotta never brought her prop pistol that night, so it wasn’t a matter of someone having to switch them.”

“How would you prove that?”

“Well, I thought perhaps that girl she was staying with, Eva, might have borrowed it. Or that it was just misplaced in her apartment. But she and I combed the place—it wasn’t there.”

“I suppose we could just call it a draw and leave it at that,” I said.

“Drop the case when we’re so close to solving it?”

“Are we close to solving it?”

“Closer than when we started, certainly.”

“So in much the same way we’re nearer to St. Petersburg whenever we enter the kitchen.”

“That can’t be right. Surely you mean St. Louis…. But forget the mapmaking, Harry. We need to meet with this Mrs. Twinem.”

“She’s left town.”

“To New Brunswick, New Jersey, I know. But that’s just an hour away.”

“Yes, but in which direction? I’m sorry, Emmie, but until we settle the orientation of the apartment, I don’t think it would be safe to venture out of it.”

Her reply consisted of a disparaging expletive, lobbed over her shoulder as she went off to bathe.