New York Nocturne (9 page)

“Did they bring you back into Manhattan?”

“Yes, sir. To the precinct house, on Seventieth Street. After I assist them with their inquiries, I ask for permission to return here. To the apartment, I mean to say. They inform me that I cannot return until today. So I spend the night in a hotel that is owned by an acquaintance of mine, downtown, a very nice place I know of, and I come up here this morning.”

“The name of the hotel?”

“The Broadway Inn. Situated at Sixth and Broadway.”

“Why return to the apartment?” Mr. Liebowitz asked him.

“To assure myself that everything is in order.”

“And was it?”

“No, sir, not in the least. The moment I get here, I discover it is a terrible mess. Everything is out of place. Everything is totally covered with powder.”

“Powder?” said Miss Lizzie.

“Fingerprint powder, miss.”

She nodded.

“And, naturally,” he said, “the library . . .” His voice trailed off as he looked down. He stared at the floor for a moment then looked up at me. His bloodshot eyes were shiny. He shook his head. “I am so sorry, miss. I know that you and him, Mr. Burton, the two of you are getting along real well, like birds of a feather.” He swallowed and then turned to Mr. Liebowitz. “It is a terrible thing, sir.” He cleared his throat.

Mr. Liebowitz nodded. “Yes, it is. Was anything missing?”

Albert inhaled deeply then shook his head again. “No, sir. Not that I can determine, as of yet. But I have very little faith in the police of this city. I will not be surprised to discover they are purloining things.”

“But nothing of which you're aware. So far.”

He nodded. “Nothing of which I am aware so far. That is correct.”

“What's the name of your friend in Queens?”

“Mrs. Hannesty. Mrs. Madge Hannesty.”

“And how do you know her, Mr. Cooper?”

“We are friends now for many years. Many years ago, see, I work with her late husband. Before the war, that is.”

“May I have her address?”

“Naturally.” He gave it.

Mr. Liebowitz wrote it down. “And when did you go over to Queens?”

“I leave here at approximately five thirty on Friday evening.” He looked at me. “Correct, miss?”

“Yes,” I said to Mr. Liebowitz.

“The trip takes approximately one and a half hours,” said Albert. “So I arrive at Mrs. Hannesty's residence, I would say, at approximately seven o'clock.”

“And you spent the entire time with her?”

“Correct. At nine o'clock p.m., approximately, we go out to a dance hall—she is extremely fond of the dancing life, Mrs. Hannesty is. We stay there, I would estimate, until approximately one in the a.m., and then we return to her residence.”

“The name of the dance hall?”

“The Jolly Roger.”

“Who do you think killed him, Mr. Cooper?”

Albert blinked in surprise. “I got absolutely no idea, sir. I am totally in the dark. Like I tell the police, I cannot conceive of anyone wishing to cause harm to Mr. Burton. He has no enemies whatsoever, that I know of.”

“Are you aware that he knew Owney Madden and Larry Fay?”

“I know of those names, sir, but I never hear them from Mr. Burton.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“They are gangster types, I believe. And they are the owners of nightclubs. On occasion, I see them mentioned in the various newspapers.”

“How do you suppose he knew the men?”

“I could not say, sir. Maybe from the nightclubs? Mr. Burton, he enjoys his evening out.”

“Do you know a woman named Daphne Dale?”

“Yes, sir. The writer lady. At one time, she is an acquaintance of Mr. Burton's.”

“What was their relationship?”

Albert glanced at me, almost furtively.

“Mr. Cooper,” said Mr. Liebowitz, “I'm hoping that you want to help us apprehend whoever killed Mr. Burton.”

“Yes, sir. I want that totally.”

“Then I think you ought to tell us whatever you can. Mr. Burton is beyond embarrassment at this point.”

Albert glanced at me again, then looked back to Mr. Liebowitz. “Yes, sir.”

“Their relationship?”

“It is no longer current, sir.”

“And when was it current?”

“Approximately two years ago, I would estimate.”

“They were intimate?”

“Yes, sir.” Once more, he glanced quickly at me and then back to Mr. Liebowitz. “For a period of time,” he said.

“For how long?”

“For five months or so, I would say. Approximately.”

“Did she have a key to this apartment?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did she ever return it to Mr. Burton?”

“I could not say.”

“Who ended the relationship?”

“Mr. Burton, I believe.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, sir. Mr. Burton and me, see, we do not discuss his personal affairs.”

“Has Miss Dale been to the apartment recently?”

“No, sir. Not that I am aware of.”

“I've heard it said that Miss Dale used Mr. Burton as a character in one of her novels. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes, sir. At one point, Mr. Burton informs me of this.”

“At what point?”

“Shortly after the book comes into circulation. Approximately one year ago, that is. He is here in the library at that point, Mr. Burton is, and he is sitting in that . . . chair. The same chair, I mean to say, as when he is . . . discovered yesterday.” He turned to me. “I am so sorry, miss, that it is you who discovers him. What a totally rotten situation.”

Once again I felt a stinging at my eyelids. “Thank you, Albert.”

Mr. Liebowitz said, “He informed you . . .”

Albert nodded. “In the course of that evening, I am passing in the hallway when I hear him laugh. At that point, I step in to see if he needs anything. He has the book in his lap, and he says to me, ‘Albert, that silly piece of fluff, she puts me into her book.' I ask who he means, and he says ‘Daphne. Daphne Dale. She makes me into something out of
Jane Eyre
.' That's a book, he tells me.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No, sir. He laughs again. He is very amused. I ask him if he is in need of anything, and he tells me no. So I leave.”

“Did you ever read Miss Dale's novel?”

“No, sir.”

“Albert?” I said.

“Yes, miss?”

“Is the book still here? Miss Dale's book?” Sometime soon, I knew, I would read that book.

“No, miss, it is not. Mr. Burton, the very next day, he deposits it into the garbage.”

Mr. Liebowitz nodded. “All right, Mr. Cooper. How did you meet Mr. Burton?”

“In the war, sir. At that point, he is a lieutenant, and I am his assistant. I am a corporal at that point, sir.”

“Which branch of the service?”

“The army, sir. The infantry.”

“And you've been with him ever since?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“A little of this, a little of that. I cook, I shop, I run the errands. I keep the house tidy until Mrs. Norman arrives.”

“Mrs. Norman?”

“The cleaning woman, sir. Mrs. Jeanelle Norman. She comes twice a month. On every other Saturday afternoon, just like clockwork. A very nice Negro woman, very respectable.”

“She wasn't there last Saturday,” I said.

“No, miss. Mr. Burton, he tells her she can skip a day. Yesterday, she is supposed to come. But after I talk to the police, I telephone her and I give her the bad news. She is very distressed. She has a great fondness for Mr. Burton. We all do.”

Mr. Liebowitz said, “Do you know where she lives?”

“Yes, sir, I do. In Harlem.” He gave him another address and a telephone number, and Mr. Liebowitz wrote them down.

Mr. Liebowitz nodded. “Since the time of Miss Dale, has Mr. Burton been seeing any other women?”

“For the most part,” said Albert, “no. Until recently, I mean to say.”

“And who would that be?”

“A Miss Sybil Cartwright, sir. A very nice young woman, in the show business.”

“In show business where?”

“At the El Fay Club, sir. She is a dancer there.”

Mr. Liebowitz turned to me. “You were there. Did you meet her?”

“No,” I said. I felt an absurd flicker of resentment at John for hiding something from me. “I've never heard of her.”

Mr. Liebowitz looked back at Albert. “For how long had Mr. Burton been seeing Miss Cartwright?”

“For two months, I would estimate. Over that period, she comes here several times. That I personally know of, I mean to say. This is during the week, see. On the weekends, like I say, I am in Queens.”

“Does Miss Cartwright have a key to the apartment?”

“I could not say. I have never seen her use one.”

“Do you know her address?”

“The Broadmore Hotel on Forty-Fourth Street. Mr. Burton, he mentions it to me once.”

Mr. Liebowitz wrote in his notebook then looked up at Albert. “Do the police know about Miss Cartwright?”

“Yes, sir. They ask me is Mr. Burton seeing any women? I mention her name.”

Mr. Liebowitz nodded. “Did Mr. Burton have a lawyer?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. James McCready, of McCready, McCready, and Porter.”

Mr. Liebowitz wrote again then looked up. “Did Mr. Burton use an address book?”

“No, sir. Not here at his residence. As for his business addresses and such, it may be they are located at his office. I could not say.”

“Did he keep a diary? A journal?”

“No, sir. Mr. Burton, he keeps everything in his head. Phone numbers and the like. Addresses. He has got a remarkable memory for such items, Mr. Burton has.”

“What about his records? His valuables? Did he keep them here in the apartment? Did he have a safe?”

For a moment, Albert looked at him without answering. Then he said, “When they are here, I inform the police that no such a thing exists.”

“And was that, strictly speaking, the truth?”

For the first time, Albert smiled. It was not much of a smile, but it was there. “Not speaking strictly, sir,” he said. “In point of fact, there
is
what you call a safe.”

“But you didn't mention it to the police.”

“Like I say, sir, I have very little faith in the police. Mr. Burton, he usually keeps large sums of money in the safe, see. Cash money. My belief is that if the police examine the safe, the money will have occasion to disappear.”

“Do you know the safe's combination?”

“No, sir.”

“Does anyone else? Miss Dale, for example? Miss Cartwright?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir. Only Mr. Burton.”

Mr. Liebowitz stood up. “Show me,” he said.

Chapter Eleven

The smell of disinfectant was stronger in the library, strong enough to make my eyes water.

I glanced over to the chair that had held John. It was empty now, of course, and the dark horrid splatters were gone from the books behind it. But on the parquet floor beneath the chair, there was a faint irregular gray patch, like a shadow. Beside it sat a galvanized metal bucket.

I felt my stomach shift slightly to the side.

Miss Lizzie put her hand on my shoulder for a moment and gently squeezed it. I looked at her and smiled weakly.

“Over here,” said Albert, walking to the left side of the room. He reached into one of the bookcases, removed some books, set them on the floor, then reached into the shelf below and removed another batch. These he put on the floor beside the others. He placed his hand along the right side of the adjoining bookcase, pulled gently, and two of the shelves came away from the case together, as though they were both connected to a single long hinge at the case's left side. Behind the shelves, set into the wall, was a black metal safe, perhaps two feet high and a foot and a half wide. Its dial was black too, and at its center was a silver-colored knob. To the left of that was a vertical handle.

Mr. Liebowitz stepped forward. “A Mosler,” he said. “Prewar. Quite a good safe.”

Albert said, “According to Mr. Burton, sir, it is totally uncrackable.”

He nodded. “
Totally
is a big word, Mr. Cooper. Let's see for ourselves, shall we?”

He put his small left hand, fingers splayed, along the handle and leaned toward the safe, holding his shiny white head close to the dial. Gripping the knob of the dial lightly between the finger and thumb of his right hand, he slowly turned it.

I looked again at Miss Lizzie. She looked at me and then, very faintly, nearly invisibly, she shrugged. Beyond the lens of her pince-nez, her eyes flicked back toward Mr. Liebowitz.

He slowly spun the dial some more, reversed the direction of the spin, and then stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“Like I say, sir,” said Albert. “Totally uncrackable.”

Mr. Liebowitz reached forward with his left hand, placed two fingers against the handle, and tapped it to the right. Silently, the door to the safe swung open.

I looked at Miss Lizzie. She was smiling at the detective. “Mr. Liebowitz,” she said, “you are showing off.”

He looked at her over his shoulder and grinned. “Let's see what we have.”

The three of us gathered around behind him. The safe held three metal drawers and, in the open space below them, a small black metal box.

He slid open the first drawer and looked inside. “Nothing,” he said. He pushed the drawer back in.

The second drawer. “Nothing.” He pushed it back in.

The third drawer. “Nothing.” He pushed it back in and turned to Albert. “Does that seem right to you, Mr. Cooper?”

“No, sir, it does not. Just last week I observe Mr. Burton deposit some papers into the bottom drawer. At that point in time, all the drawers are full.”

“How do you know?”

“He attempts to deposit them in the other two drawers first. They are both full.”

“What sort of papers were they?”

“I got no idea. Mr. Burton and me, we never discuss his business affairs.”

“What
did
you discuss, you and Mr. Burton?”

“The events of the day, sir. Politics and the like. Mr. Burton, see, he is a very up-to-date person, insofar as the events of the day are concerned.”

Mr. Liebowitz nodded. Leaning toward the safe again, he angled his head to look at the drawers from the side. “No fingerprints, except the ones I've put there. It's been wiped clean.”

“And the box?” said Miss Lizzie.

Mr. Liebowitz reached in, lifted the box by its handle on the lid, and drew it from the safe. As he moved it, something softly thumped inside. He stepped over to a small circular wooden table, set down the box, and once again put his head at an angle to examine it. “No prints,” he said. “Wiped again.”

He flicked open the latch at the lip of the lid, flipped back the lid, and dipped his right hand inside. When the hand emerged, it held two packets of hundred-dollar bills, each neatly wrapped with a strip of paper. He dropped one of the packets to the table and then, using his thumb, he flipped through the other.

“Bank packets,” he said. “Five thousand each. Ten thousand dollars, all told.”

“Why on earth,” said Miss Lizzie, “would he keep so much cash on hand?”

“An excellent question,” said Mr. Liebowitz. “And one that suggests another.”

“Why is the money still there?” she said. “Why would whoever took the papers not take the money, too?”

He smiled at her, looking now like an approving schoolteacher himself. “Well done, Miss Cabot.”

“You're assuming,” she said, “that someone did, in fact, take the papers.”

Mr. Liebowitz looked to Albert. “Mr. Cooper, to the best of your knowledge, those drawers were full when you saw them last?”

“Yes, sir. To the best of my knowledge.”

“And was it usual for Mr. Burton to keep so much cash on hand?”

“Like I said, sir, Mr. Burton, he often keeps large sums available.”

“This large a sum?”

“I could not say, sir.”

“Are you surprised to see this much cash here?”

“No, sir. I cannot say I am.”

“What did Mr. Burton use it for?”

“I could not say, sir. Possibly for investment purposes.”

“And to the best of your knowledge, no one else knew of the safe?”

“Yes, sir. To the best of my knowledge.”

Mr. Liebowitz nodded. He picked up the other packet and was about to put both back into the box when Albert interrupted him.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Is this such a good way to proceed, do you think? The police can come back here, if you follow me, and they can conduct another search. They locate the safe and they open it, I am certain the money is going to evaporate totally.”

“What do you suggest we do with it, Mr. Cooper?”

“I believe, personally, that it should go to Miss Amanda here. She is Mr. Burton's closest relative.”

“No, I'm not,” I said. “My father is. And then my brother.”

“But I know for a fact,” said Albert, “that Mr. Burton, he is extremely fond of Miss Amanda.”

Once again, an image of John flashed through my mind. I saw him as he was early on Friday evening, so dashing and charming in his dinner jacket, so handsome . . .

“Well, Mr. Cooper,” said Mr. Liebowitz, “the suggestion does you credit. But I don't believe that, legally, we can simply hand the money over to Amanda.”

“I don't want it,” I said. “It's not mine.”

“If you hand it over to the police,” Albert told Mr. Liebowitz, “then it will totally evaporate. I can promise you that.”

“I suspect you're right.” He turned to Miss Lizzie and me. “Let's say I do this. I have a safe at my office.” He smiled. “Rather a better safe than this one. With your permission, and yours, Amanda, I'll put the money there. I can assure you that it'll be secure and that no one will touch it.”

“It isn't for me to say,” said Miss Lizzie. “The decision is Amanda's.”

Mr. Liebowitz and Albert looked at me.

“Okay,” I said. “Fine.”

“But a receipt,” said Miss Lizzie, “would not be amiss, I feel.”

Mr. Liebowitz smiled. “I agree.” He set down the packets, plucked his notebook and pen from his inner left coat pocket, and opened the notebook. Quickly he scribbled something inside then tore off the sheet of paper and handed it to me.

It read,
$10,000 in cash owed to Miss Amanda Burton by Carl Liebowitz, removed from the personal safe of Mr. John Burton in the Dakota Apartments on 15 June, 1924. Due upon demand.
He had signed it at the bottom.

Mr. Liebowitz said, “Satisfactory, Miss Cabot?”

On my right, Miss Lizzie had been reading along with me. She looked over at him. “Entirely,” she said.

“Right, then,” he said. He returned his notebook and pen to his pocket then slipped one of the packets in behind them. He slid the second packet into another interior pocket, on the right side of the jacket. He patted himself, as though to make sure the packets were comfortable, and then, from the breast pocket of the jacket, he pulled out a white silk handkerchief. He flipped the lid of the box shut, wiped it all over with the handkerchief, closed the latch, then used the handkerchief to carry the box back to the safe. After it was stowed away, he wiped the front of the three drawers. He shut the safe and wiped down the handle and the dial.

Tucking the handkerchief back into his pocket, he turned to us. “Now,” he said, “we need to go over the entire apartment.”

Miss Lizzie had removed a gold pocket watch from the front pocket of her dress. She looked up from the watch and said, “I wonder, Mr. Liebowitz, if you have a telephone number for Daphne Dale.”

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Why?”

“I propose a division of labor. You search Mr. Burton's apartment. In the meantime, Amanda and I shall meet with Miss Dale. It is nearly twelve now. We can invite her to lunch. And then, afterward, perhaps we can speak with this Miss Cartwright. It may be that with just Amanda and me there—a young girl and a senile old biddy—these two women will be more likely to provide information.”

He smiled. “
Senile old biddy
is rather good. But Miss Cabot, you
are
paying me to conduct the investigation.”

“If you feel it necessary,” she said, “you can always speak with them later. But we're operating here, as you yourself pointed out, within the pressing constraints of time. If the police don't locate another suspect, they may very well return to Amanda. I'm simply trying to expedite matters.”

He nodded. “As you wish.” He took out his notebook and pen, scribbled another something inside, and tore off another sheet. “Miss Dale's number,” he said and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she told him.

“Don't forget,” he said, “to ask her about the key. Miss Cartwright, too.”

She smiled. “I'm very good at remembering things, Mr. Liebowitz.”

He smiled. “Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you are.”