The Detective's Dilemma (25 page)

“Let’s talk about you, then. Did you pay for your detective position?”

The man sounded outraged, which struck Walker as funny. Walker didn’t want to get into the matter, so he only answered, “I’m good at my job.”

Persky looked away, glowered at some skinny pigeons strutting near a weeping angel. “That’s what we hear. You managed to get results, good ones, even when you took the side jobs.”

“Where’d you get that information?”

“The men who work with you.”

Walker’s heart sank. He wasn’t close to anyone in particular, but he did respect a couple of detectives and cops—and was fairly sure they were clean men, or as clean as anyone could be in the department. He’d have trouble meeting their eyes if they’d found out about his side jobs. “Did you tell them why you were asking about me?”

Walker didn’t expect the sour man to answer, but the fact that Walker actually did his job apparently made Persky less hostile. He said, “A sergeant we trust is helping us with Gregory. We’re trying to keep the investigation quiet, but that department is a bunch of gossips in a small town. I expect every worker employed by the city has heard by now.”

“Anyone know I was working for Gregory?”

“I listened to one interview with a uniformed officer, and he thought you were a swell because of the sugar you got on the side.”

Walker said, “Old money, old clothes. Christ.”

“That’s what Mr. Sawyer told him.”

“That’s interesting. I’d never guess Sawyer would defend me.”

“We’ve seen your apartment and your bank account. I think it’s safe to say we’re convinced you weren’t lying when you said you weren’t making money on the side.” He heaved a sigh of what had to be regret. “Mr. Sawyer insists we leave you out of it.”

“Sawyer?” He leaned against a box tomb, the stone chilly against the back of his legs. “Are you sure?”

“He has a fondness for you. Apparently, he knew you when you were boys.” Persky strolled to a nearby grave and tilted his head to read the inscription, then turned back to Walker, a sour look on his face again. “Mr. Sawyer is in charge of gathering the information we need to present to the federal authorities. However, I don’t approve of some of his actions.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe Mr. Sawyer when he claims that signed statement of yours was misplaced.”

Walker gaped at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“The confession you wrote out and handed over. Somehow, Mr. Sawyer recalls all the names and the facts, but the actual statement has vanished. Very convenient for you. And Mr. Sawyer was the last person to possess the paper. Funny, he’s an organized man.”

Walker nodded once, twice—then too many times. He wondered if this meant Sawyer considered him a friend again or if the man was washing his hands of him at last. The real wonderment filled him. He might go to Julianna a free man. “Does this mean I’m not going to jail?”

“No, or do I mean yes? You’re not going to be arrested, unless we uncover something you haven’t told us.”

“Wait, I think I know why I’m not being cast as a villain. Because I’m the golden boy who actually saved Mrs. James Winthrop and didn’t murder her and kidnap her son. As long as I don’t go after the papers that smeared my good name, I’m safe,” Walker guessed.

“No, because Mr. Sawyer insisted.” Persky sounded thoroughly disgusted. “Compromises are all part of the system.”

Walker laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

Walker pushed away from the tombstone. He wasn’t about to tell Persky that last thing he’d said about the system had echoed words from Gregory. “Nothing worth repeating, believe me. Thanks for telling me all this.” He paused. He wondered if he’d get to keep his job. He wondered if he wanted to. Then the picture of Julianna filled his head, and he had to go to her house immediately. He had to go back to his office and finish the report. He had to make his brain stop racing in circles.

“Any more questions?” Persky’s thin mouth was drawn tight. He obviously hated being the bearer of good news.

“No, I don’t think so. I appreciate your visit.”

“Mr. Sawyer sent me. I would have informed you by letter or not at all.”

“If it was up to you, I would be thrown into the Tombs,” Walker said without rancor.

Persky gave a brief, wistful smile. “Indeed. But at least I can look forward to seeing some of your friends marched through those doors.”

Persky held out a gloved hand to shake. Shocked at the civility, Walker shook.

“I wish you luck, Mr. Walker. If I were you, I’d look for another line of work, or the same sort of job in another location, since apparently you have a knack for investigation. Your copper star is tarnished in this city.”

Walker considered pulling out his badge and showing Persky it was neither a star nor copper, but he’d leave the smart-aleck comments for another occasion. He’d allow the poor, disappointed gentleman to have the last word.

Persky turned and walked out of the graveyard.

Walker trotted down Mulberry Street toward number three hundred. He ran up the stairs, sliding past people trudging up and down them. He bounded into his office and dropped onto his chair.

“You vanished, sir. Did you finish that report about this morning, sir?” The sergeant always grew anxious about any sort of paperwork. Oakley had a paunch, weary brown eyes, thinning red hair, and the look of a college professor, though the man could barely read.

Walker grinned up at him. “Yes. And it might be one of the last I write.”

“Sir?” Oakley fingered one of the brass buttons on his blue uniform. It was brighter than the others because of his nervous habit. “Why do you say that?”

“My star is tarnished, I hear,” Walker said happily.

“Begging your pardon, but what the hell you talking about, sir?”

“I think Long Island. Or somewhere up where all those lakes and cliffs are. I saw a postcard once. Real pretty up north of here. Or even another state.”

“Are you talking about leaving the city?”

“It’s a bad place for children, Oakley.”

“Wait. No, you don’t have kids, Detective. Stop fooling around.”

“I will soon. I hope. Everything else is going my way.”

“But leaving New York? That’s crazy, you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Nope, I don’t mind.” The job he’d clung to even at the cost of his personal honor no longer seemed vital. Only Julianna mattered.

“Why is your star tarnished?” Oakley always was good at going back to previous statements. It made him a tireless questioner. “Does this have to do with that incident the newspapers got all wrong? Because you looked mighty fine in all the accounts after that. I clipped every article I could find. The captain didn’t even mind you missed a couple of days of work with no notice. He told me so. I expect he liked that engraving of you helping that young widow get back her little boy. You’re not what I’d call tarnished.”

Walker signed the paper and got to his feet. “I’m going to marry that lady as soon as I can get her to agree.”

Oakley pinched his ginger mustache and looked glum. “I thought it was something along those lines. You’re smiling far too much lately.”

Walker slapped him on the back. “And missing too much work, as well. I’ll be back in an hour or two. Deliver the report for me, will you? I don’t want to be stopped and grilled by the captain.”

Oakley followed him out to the hall and even clattered after him as he went down the stairs. “What should I tell the captain?”

They paused to allow a pair of officers and their bellowing, bloody prisoner to pass up the stairs. The man smelled of alcohol and puke. Walker didn’t think he’d miss dealing with drunks. “I’ll be back to make it official, but tell whomever you wish I’m off to seek my fortune. Or that I’m finding out what life has to hold besides crime and boozers. Or that I’m going to try for the gold ring on the carousel.”

Oakley called after him as he walked to the front door. “You don’t need any more rides on the carousel, sir. Sounds like you’re even dizzier than usual.”

Walker tipped his hat to Oakley and strode away from the police station. He had freedom and a wide world to celebrate it. A small city might be good, or even a town. He could take a job on another police force.

It occurred to him that his father might be delighted by the news if Walker left town. Oh well, even the most glorious days frequently showed a bit of cloud.

When he arrived at Julianna’s house, the door stood wide open. He walked in and found Isabelle buttoning Peter’s jacket.

“Deck!” Peter called to him. Walker wondered how he’d acquired that name. He leaned down and solemnly shook hands with Peter, who loved this part of the visit.

“What’s going on? Why’s the door open?” Walker asked Isabelle, who’d warmed up to him during his four visits.

She nodded at the staircase. “Someone’s upstairs inspecting the house. They’ll buy it, and we’ll have nowhere to go now.”

“We go to the park,” Peter said. “I like the park.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my. I forgot little pitchers have big…” She touched her ear.

“Have big weirds,” Peter finished for her. “The park!”

Isabelle reached down to take his hand. She turned to Walker. “They’re inspecting the upstairs, and Mrs. Winthrop and Mr. Brennan are with them.”

Walker bade them good-bye. He closed the front door behind them then went upstairs to tell Julianna about his newfound freedom. He took two stairs at a time, unwilling to wait to tell her.

Julianna had been having the endless day that, if it wasn’t in hell itself, seemed to be located in a close neighborhood. And now Mr. Harper a thin, dyspeptic man with gray hair glued to his scalp, complained about the house’s upstairs views.

When his gaze fell on her she only bowed slightly and didn’t voice the suggestion that he buy the house next door and knock it down. They’d moved to the small second-story office. She had to allow them to view the bedrooms without her presence.

Despite his complaints and harrumphing, Mr. Harper seemed the most likely to buy the house. If it sold, she could temporarily move into Mrs. Calder’s apartment with Peter and make plans. Brennan and Isabelle would have to find their own housing, but at least she’d be able to pay them after she got the money for her parents’ home. As for Caleb, well…she’d visit him even if he ended up on Blackwell’s Island.

She bit her lip hard as she once again considered what she would do if the investigators called upon her to describe that day she kidnapped him. She’d practiced speeches in her mind, listing his acts of generosity. The fact that he’d worked for the corrupt Mr. Gregory--well, he’d never said as much to her, had he. That made her feel better about the lies she planned to tell.  

“Good morning, Mrs. Winthrop, gentlemen.” Caleb’s cheerful voice might have been conjured by her thoughts. She wanted to walk into his arms and wrap herself around him. That would impress Mr. Harper, the potential buyer.

“Who are you?” Mr. Harper raised his chin to look down his nose at Caleb.

“I’m in the market for a new home. I hear this one is for sale?” Caleb beamed as he looked around the small study. “Such a charming room. And the downstairs was absolutely perfect. That unique entrance! I do love the gargoyles. I believe my favorite room is the child’s room down the hall, the one with red-and-white wallpaper.”

Mr. Harper made a hissing sound through his teeth. “I beg your pardon, but this house is going to be mine.”

“Oh no.” Caleb sounded utterly disappointed. Then he snapped his fingers. “Say, Mrs. Winthrop, how about if I offer two hundred dollars more than the price you want? I bet I could convince your bankers—”

“Sir! This is shocking.” Mr. Harper turned to the man Julianna had hired. “I shall offer three hundred above the asking price, and I want a contract immediately.”

Of course he didn’t speak to Julianna. As a woman, she wouldn’t be involved in business affairs. She nodded at the man who’d help her sell the house, then backed out of the room, but not before Caleb winked at her.

An hour later, they sat in her kitchen drinking a celebratory cup of coffee, and they had more than the sale of the house to celebrate.

Giddy relief filled her when he told her that he had escaped prosecution after all. Suddenly, the world felt jammed with potential.

“Now you must take my offers of marriage seriously,” he said.

“I should take anything you say seriously? You are a jokester.” She mock-scowled at him over the rim of her coffee cup. “Why did you pretend to be interested in the house? You might have ruined the sale. Mr. Harper could have told you
you go ahead and buy it if you want
. I think it would serve you right if I’d forced you to buy this drafty pile. Called your bluff, I think you might say. You do play cards, don’t you?”

He ignored her question. “I could see the old mossback needed a push.”

“How could you discern this from less than ten seconds’ observation? You’d just come up the stairs.”

“I learn to read people quickly in my work,” he said and reached for a cookie.

She sipped coffee and wondered at the things he’d witnessed. He took a bite of cookie but gazed at her avidly, as if he’d rather put his mouth on her instead of the food. Her skin prickled with awareness.