For the Love of Mike (29 page)

I pulled back my shoulders with resolution and went up the front steps. The door was opened by a stiffly starched maid.

“Miss Murphy to see Mr. Mostel.”

“Mr. Mostel senior or junior?” she asked, trying to size me up with a haughty stare.

“Senior. I have been carrying out a commission from him.”

“I’m afraid he is not at home at present, but he is expected shortly. If you would care to wait?”

“Thank you.” I stepped into the welcoming warmth of the front hall. I wasn’t sure that my nerves would hold up to waiting, but it seemed stupid to have come all this way for nothing. I was shown into a small sitting room, obviously a front parlor for visitors as the fire wasn’t lit. I sat on a brocade chair and waited. A clock ticked loudly on the mantelpiece, otherwise there was no sound, no hint that a family lived in this house. I wondered about Mrs. Mostel and what she might be doing.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, I heard footsteps on the stairs. The footsteps came toward me and Ben Mostel came into the room. He froze when he saw who was sitting there.

“You. What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to see your father.”

Another look of pure terror. “You’re not going to tell him, are you? About the checks, I mean. Because I don’t make a habit of it and—”

“I’m not here to tell him about what I saw,” I said. In mid-sentence I saw my opportunity. “If you can do me a favor,” I added.

“A favor? It’s no good asking me for cash. As you have observed, I am constantly hard up.”

“It’s not cash I want. It’s the return of that locket to its rightful owner. It belonged to her grandmother and it means a lot to her.”

“But I can’t ask Letitia for it back.”

“If you could maybe substitute another piece of jewelry and explain the locket’s history, I’m sure she could be persuaded.”

Ben sucked in air through his teeth. “Another piece of jewelry. That means money, which I don’t seem to have at the moment.”

“Then the promise of another piece. You gave her something which was not yours to give. You helped yourself to what you found in your father’s drawer. The piece was only being pawned with the expectation of being retrieved.”

“I just don’t see how—”

“Then I shall be forced to tell your father what you did. I may also be forced to mention the checks.”

He paced nervously. “All right. I’ll do what I can. Where can I find you?”

“My card.” I handed it to him.

He glanced at it. “Discreet investigations? You’re actually a professional dick? So that’s why you were snooping around. Detecting what, may one ask?”

“Something I have come to share with your father, as soon as he returns.”

As if on cue the front door opened. “Millie—my hat and gloves!” a voice boomed. He spied us through the half-opened door and came through, his hat and gloves still in his hand. “Miss Murphy.” He looked surprised.

“Mr. Mostel.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t home to receive you.”

“Your son was keeping me well amused, thank you.” I glanced at Ben whose eyes were riveted to my face.

“At least the boy is good for something then,” Mostel said. “Off you go then, boy. With your father out of work, it will be up to you to support the family from now on.” Then he laughed at Ben’s stricken face.

“Very droll, Papa,” Ben said. “Now if you will excuse me. A pleasure talking to you, Miss Murphy.”

“And you too, Mr. Mostel. I look forward to hearing your future—news.”

Ben nodded and beat a hasty retreat.

“If we really did have to rely on the boy, we’d all starve,” Mostel said genially as he pulled up a chair. “Now to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

I took a deep breath, was about to tell him, and changed my mind at the last moment. “I came to express my condolences at the loss of your factory.”

He nodded. “A sad business, Miss Murphy.”

“It is indeed. I hope you were insured.”

“Naturally, but what use is insurance money? I’ll have lost the profits from the holiday season by the time I’m up and running again.”

“And your workers will have lost their income for the whole holiday season too, which for them will mean going without food and heat.”

“That is naturally regrettable. Let us hope they find jobs with other shops.”

“You will be rebuilding again, surely?”

“I was only renting space so that decision is not mine to make. I rather think that I will reopen across the bridge in Brooklyn. Plenty of room to expand over there and a workforce ready and waiting.”

“And your old workforce?”

“Is welcome to reapply if they care to ride the trolley across the bridge. But I rather think I’ll take Mrs. Mostel to Florida for the winter before we make any plans. New York doesn’t agree with her delicate constitution.”

I studied him sitting there relaxed and smiling, with his tailored suit and its velvet collar and his gold watch chain strung across his vest and I thought of Sarah’s one room. My conscience whispered that I should just keep quiet about what I had found out. On the other hand, I was damned if he’d get away without paying me.

I took a deep breath and plunged right in. “I came today because I found out which of your girls was spying for Lowenstein.”

A broad shrug of his hands. “As if that’s any use to me now, Miss Murphy. Lowenstein will have the Christmas market to himself and
mazeltov
to him.”

“I also came to collect my fee.”

This jolted him from his complacency. “Your fee? You expect me to pay you now when I have become a penniless beggar out on the street with no income?”

“Enough income to take Mrs. Mostel to Florida for the winter.”

“But Miss Murphy, surely you must see that—”

“Mr. Mostel,” I interrupted. “Did you or did you not hire me to find the spy in your midst? Did we not shake hands over the deal?”

“We did, Miss Murphy, but circumstances have changed.”

“The deal, as I remember it, was for me to ferret out the spy. I have done so.”

“Give me the girl’s name then, Miss Murphy and I will hand it over to the police.”

“You’d have a hard time proving anything, Mr. Mostel. The evidence went up in flames in the fire—the fire started by your inadequate and ancient heating system, I might add.”

He spread his hands again, a little happier now. “With no evidence, you expect me to pay you?”

I nodded. “Because I can guarantee that it will never happen to you again.”

“Of course it will never happen to me again. I’ll be over in Brooklyn.”

“And I can tell you how it was done, so that you’ll know what to look out for next time.”

“Ah.” He paused.

“And I think you would like your family to consider you a man of his word,” I added for good measure.

Another pause then a heavy sigh. “Very well, Miss Murphy. If you wish to take the last penny from my starving children, go ahead. Ruin me. I’ll be sending you a check if you care to present your bill.”

“If you’d be good enough to provide paper and ink, I’ll be happy to write you a bill on the spot, Mr. Mostel, and then you won’t have the inconvenience of having to mail me a check.”

He got to his feet reluctantly. “Very well, Miss Murphy. If you’ll wait one moment.”

I waited and he returned with a portable lap desk on which were paper and ink. I wrote, “To Molly Murphy of J. P. Riley and Associates. For services to unmask a spy at Mostel’s garment factory $100.”

Mostel stared at it. “Did we agree on one hundred, Miss Murphy?”

“We did, Mr. Mostel, as I think you very well remember.”

“Since you say yourself you have no evidence, the job is only half finished, wouldn’t you say? Shall we settle on fifty?”

“One hundred, Mr. Mostel.”

“You’ll be the ruin of me, Miss Murphy.” He took out a checkbook then froze with his hand held about the check.

“So how did she do it, Miss Murphy?”

“She was a girl nobody would have suspected—quiet, unobtrusive, so well behaved that when she asked to go to the washroom your foreman never objected. She had a sister who worked for Lowenstein, and she had studied art. It only took her a second or two to copy your sketches. She’s a very competent artist, in fact you could do worse than employ her to help you with your designs.”

“I’d never employ someone I couldn’t trust,” he said. “In fact I’m shocked that one of my girls could betray me so easily, after I treated them like a father. It goes straight to my heart, Miss Murphy.”

I struggled with wanting to tell him the truth about his factory and ensuring that I received my payment. “If you’re going to reopen your factory, Mr. Mostel,” I said at last, “may I suggest that you make the conditions bearable for your employees. And relax your rule about not hiring members of the same family. Then they won’t be tempted to betray you.” Then, as his hand was still poised above that check, “It was one hundred dollars, Mr. Mostel.”

I watched as he filled in the check with bold, black strokes. He blotted it then handed it to me. “Don’t let it be said that Max Mostel doesn’t keep his word.”

“Thank you.” I put the check into my purse and rose from my seat.

“Good-bye, Mr. Mostel.” I held out my hand to him. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Good-bye, Miss Murphy.”

He escorted me personally to the door.

Twenty-eight

W
ith a light heart and one hundred dollars in my purse I jumped on the trolley back to the Lower East Side and presented myself at Jacob’s apartment on Rivington Street.

“Is everything all right?” he asked in a worried voice.

“Couldn’t be better. Look at this—a check for one hundred dollars. You can come to the bank with me and watch me deposit it and then I’m going to take you out to lunch. But I also have an ulterior motive—” I laughed at Jacob’s expression. “I’ve come for help.” I breezed past him into the apartment. “I think I should tell my story to the newspapers—how we escaped from the fire, as told by a garment worker. It might help raise public awareness of the abuses in the garment industry. It was a pity you didn’t bring your camera with you that day.”

He gave an embarrassed smile. “I did have my little Kodak in my pocket but I was too concerned about you to remember to use it.”

“Oh, Jacob. You are so sweet.” I wrapped my arms around his neck.

“So when shall we get married?” His hands tightened around my waist.

“Why rush into something so important? Let’s enjoy each other’s company for a while and get to know each other better.”

“Very well, although I made up my mind the moment I saw you.”

“You were desperate to beat the matchmaker who would have saddled you with a boring, respectable, religious girl,” I teased.

He shook his head. “I’ve never felt this way about a girl before you. I never believed this happiness was possible, Molly. Would it be highly improper to try to kiss you?”

“It would completely wreck my reputation, as you very well know,” I said. “But since my reputation is already wrecked by coming here alone, I’ll allow you a quick peck on the cheek.”

His lips brushed my cheek and I was disturbed by the still strange sensation of his beard scratching me. I moved away, laughing. “Your beard. It tickles.”

“Then I’ll shave it off for you.”

“You’ll do no such thing. I think it looks grand. I’ll learn to like it.” I moved away from him. “Now enough frivolity. I want you to help me write this newspaper article and then you’ll know the right people to take it to.”

We spent a pleasant hour composing the piece and then walked together to Herald Square and presented it to one of Jacob’s contacts at the
Herald
. He seemed excited to get the scoop and asked me more questions and asked Jacob to take my picture.

“I prefer to remain anonymous, if you don’t mind,” I said. “It’s the conditions I wanted to feature, not me.”

After that we visited the bank to deposit the check, then had the promised lunch at a nice restaurant. I suggested Delmonico’s, but steady and sensible Jacob steered me in the direction of a French café just below Union Square. I insisted on paying, much to Jacob’s embarrassment. On the way home we walked around Wanamaker’s department store, looking in wonder at the items on the food counter—cans and bottles from all over the world, foodstuffs I had never even heard of—as well as the silk stockings from France and varieties of face makeup. I finally arrived home, tired but content, about five o’clock, having left Jacob to hurry off to a union meeting somewhere.

“Hello, all.” I hung my cape on the peg in the hall. No answer. Shamey was often out playing with his friends or earning dimes by running errands, but Bridie and Seamus were always around. I lit the gas in the kitchen then checked around the house. Nobody.

Then I noticed a piece of paper had been pushed through the letter slot. I picked it up and carried it close to the gas mantle to read. It was scrawled in poor penmanship:

If you want to see the little girl again Katherine must meet me at the end of Delancey Street at eight o’clock tonight. Tell her to come alone or no trade.

I stared at the paper, willing the words to say something different. Think, Molly, I commanded myself, trying to slow down my racing brain. The simplest thing to do would be to let Katherine go and trade herself for Bridie. Michael wouldn’t harm his wife, would he? But then she wouldn’t want to go with him either. If I told the police I would be risking Bridie’s life. Michael might kill her as soon as he spotted a police helmet. Or, I could say nothing to Katherine and go in her place. In the dark, with a shawl over my head, I could get close enough to snatch Bridie away, close enough to appeal to his better nature. I’d give him a chance to escape, promise to say nothing until he was safely far away, even give him money for a train ticket.

I wandered around the kitchen in a panic, straightening out the tablecloth, putting a jug back on the shelf, trying to come up with something better. But I couldn’t. Nothing really mattered at this point apart from saving Bridie. This man had killed at least twice before. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill a child, or to drag her with him as a hostage. And I didn’t want Katherine to be a hostage either. But then I didn’t want to be a hostage myself—or a dead body, for that matter.

Would I really be in danger, I asked myself. Delancey Street, from what I remembered, was full of life. If I cried out, someone would come to my aid. Shops would still be open at eight o’clock. Workers would be returning from work, saloons would be full. In fact it was a strange place to choose for such a meeting—unless Michael had decided that he could melt into the crowds of the Lower East Side and make it hard for anyone to follow him.

I took my shawl off the peg and wrapped it over my head, hiding that telltale red hair. Apart from that we were about the same stature. If I couldn’t get close enough, I’d yell for help. Passersby would grab the child for me. Thus reassured that I was doing the right thing I wrote a hurried note to Seamus and the boy. “Out with Bridie. Don’t worry. Back soon. Love, Molly.” No sense in worrying them too.

Then I let myself out and closed the front door behind me. It was a damp, cold, wintery night. Fog would be swirling in from the East River which might aid my cause. As I set off down Patchin Place I heard footsteps behind me. I spun around. Katherine was running down Patchin Place after me, wrapping a shawl around her as she ran.

“Wait, Molly. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. Just out for a stroll.”

She caught up to me, her face anguished. “He came here. I saw him. He put something through your letter box. I’ve been waiting for you to come home. What did he say? Please tell me the truth.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you,” I said, and handed her the note, “but for once I can’t come up with a good lie.”

She held it up under the gas lamp to read it and gasped. “He’s taken a little girl?”

“Yes, Young Bridie who lives with me.”

“He had a big sack with him. I never thought—never imagined—what were you going to do? Not the police. He’d kill her.”

“If you really must know, I was going in your place. I was going to try and snatch the child and then find safety in the crowds on Delancey Street. It’s sure to be busy at this time of night.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Katherine said, with that commanding look I remembered so well from the photograph. “I’ll go and make the trade. If Michael wants to take me with him, so be it. It’s my fault. I chose to run away with him. I made my own bed. Now I must lie in it.”

“But you didn’t know his true nature then, Katherine.”

She gave a rueful smile. “He could be very charming when he wanted to. I’d never met anyone like him.”

“But you don’t want to go with him now, do you?”

“Of course not. Knowing that he killed a woman in cold blood, and that he felt nothing at all for our lost child, I could never love him again.”

“Then let me go in your place.”

“Absolutely not. He won’t hurt me. I’ll be all right, I’m sure.”

“I’ll come with you then,” I said. “I’ll be in the crowd behind you and if I get a chance I’ll dart out and snatch Bridie. If Michael tries to grab you, scream and make a fuss.”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes. All right. In fact I’d be very glad if you’d come with me. I have been living in fear for weeks with no one to turn to. Those awful men Michael latched onto—those Eastman brutes—it was like being plunged into hell.”

“I’m sure it was,” I said. I slipped my arm through hers. “We escaped from the fire together, didn’t we? We can come through this. He’ll find out we’re not soft and frightened little women—”

“We are Amazons, not to be trifled with.” Katherine threw back her head defiantly.

We strode out, matching steps, in the direction of Delancey Street. As I had expected, Delancey was bustling with life as we entered it from the Bowery.

“This is the end of Delancey Street,” I said.

“Or the beginning,” Katherine pointed out.

We stood on the street corner, scanning the crowds who hurried past, eager to be home and out of the damp chill. The fog was indeed rolling in, clinging to lampposts and awnings. It muffled the sound of a clock chiming the three quarters. Maybe he hadn’t arrived yet.

“We should walk to the other end of the street,” Katherine suggested. “That would be more logical. He could make an easier escape down on the docks and there would be fewer people around to witness too.”

In my confusion I hadn’t paused to consider that Delancey did indeed end in the dockland. It would be easy to hide a small child on the wharf among piles of cargo. It would also be easy to throw a small child into the river without being seen.

“Then let us hurry,” I said. “Maybe we can intercept him before he reaches the docks.”

We pushed our way along the crowded street, dodging carts, horses, children, and piles of rubbish. The street seemed twice as long as I remembered it. I wished that Jacob had not gone to an unknown meeting tonight. I wished that I had asked for Daniel’s help. I wished we weren’t so very alone. As we approached the far end, the traffic thinned. There were fewer open stores, fewer lights, fewer people. And thicker fog. A mournful foghorn sounded from out on the river. Then the fog swirled, parted, and closed again and I caught a glimpse of a giant structure rising up in front of me—a giant monster from childhood nightmares, reaching out cruel arms. I stared at the fog as if the thing might be a figment of my imagination. Then I remembered, with a cold sinking feeling that clutched at my gut. That was why he had chosen Delancey over any other street. I was looking at the tower being built for the new East River Bridge.

Katherine must have echoed my thoughts. “It’s not built all the way across the river yet, is it?” she asked.

“Just the towers and the cables. No roadway yet.”

“No way to get across then. That’s good. Perhaps Michael thinks it’s finished and he can get out of New York that way.”

“Only if he’s a tightrope walker.”

As we came closer the giant tower loomed above us, the steel girders, ringed with scaffolding, rising into the fog.

“Let’s wait here,” Katherine said. “I’ll stand out in the middle of the street, where I can be seen and where I can see him coming. You wait in a doorway where he can’t see you.”

I nodded and moved across the street to a darkened doorway. Katherine walked boldly out into the street. I drew my cape around me to stop myself from shivering. The fog had muffled the sounds of Delancey Street so that they came as a distant murmur. It was amazing how remote and deserted it felt here, only a block away from all that life and gaiety.

Katherine walked up and down, stamping her feet against the chill. Then she stopped, her head cocked to one side, listening.

I stepped out from my doorway and heard it too.

“Help me. Somebody help me, please.” The little voice floated out of the fog above our heads.

I came out of my hiding place and stood beside Katherine, who was staring upward.

“It’s Bridie,” I whispered. “Where can she be?”

“Up there, somewhere.” Katherine pointed. “It sounds like it’s coming from the tower.”

“But how—?” I ran around it, peering up at the scaffolding. How could he have taken a small child up there? Then I saw it—a crude staircase made of wood going up between the scaffolding and the tower. It had a gate across it to keep people out but the lock had been forced and the gate flapped open.

“I’ll go up,” Katherine said. “If Michael’s up there, he’s expecting me.”