“The poor chap was in love with her. I took him into the library so that we could talk privately. Then I told him I was looking into Lillie’s murder, and he began to cry. He said she was going to have his baby, that he’d begged her to marry him, but she wouldn’t. She said she was in love with someone else.”
“His father.”
Mick nodded, thinking. “That’s what I said, and he asked what I meant, although I decided to save that bit of information for another time, and changed the subject. I felt sorry for him. He was besotted. I don’t think Joey did it.”
“Is he hotheaded? Maybe he killed Lillie in a fit of anger.”
“It’s possible.” Mick thought that over, then shook his head. “But like I say, I doubt he is our man.”
“What about Summers the elder?”
“That’s another thing entirely. He’s ruthless. I don’t think he’d kill anyone himself, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have it done. Perhaps Lillie told him that he was the father, and he felt he had to get rid of her. It’s more likely, however, that he’d try to buy her off.”
“Or he could have been the married man she expected to marry herself.”
“I think we can forget about that. It wouldn’t surprise me if Elsie made that up.”
“Perhaps.” Beret thought a moment, and then she asked whether Mick believed her sister really was killed by a madman.
“It’s looking more and more that way.”
“I am trying to convince myself it’s not so.” Beret folded the gloves and put them into her purse. “Perhaps it’s just that I want to believe her life had more meaning, that she was important to someone, was killed for a reason. I do not want to think that she was no more than a random victim of some frenzied killer.”
Mick nodded as if he understood. The two were quiet for a moment. Then Beret said, “I must confess something to you.”
The detective grinned. “Don’t tell me you’ve solved your sister’s murder already.”
“I’m serious.” Beret frowned until the smile left Mick’s face. “I was convinced that my former husband provided my sister with drugs. So I went to Hop Alley.”
Mick put the pen aside and waited.
“I confronted a man named Chinaman Fong and his associate, a Mr. Sapp. They were not cooperative. I learned nothing.”
Putting his hands behind his head, Mick leaned back in his chair. “I’d heard there was a disturbance down there a few days back.”
“They … ah … threatened me.” Beret realized that if she gave the particulars, the detective might tell her uncle or, just as bad, refuse to let her continue with the investigation. And it wouldn’t be just for her safety. He would question her judgment.
“And?”
“Jonas was there. He was violent. I hope the two men were not too badly injured.”
“They’ll survive, so they tell me. It wasn’t smart of you to do that, you know. But I suppose all’s well that ends well, as they say.”
“Yes.” Beret was relieved he didn’t ask questions.
“You know,” he said, taking his hands from behind his head and placing them on the desk. “There’s talk those two are panders. You could have been sold into white slavery.” He chuckled.
Beret gave a slight smile. “Then wasn’t I lucky I got away.” Oh, very lucky, she told herself. Not like Lillie. Not like Sadie Hops.
Chapter 15
Beret did not sleep well, and she awoke when she heard the door knocker bang, followed by fists pounding against the wood. The door was opened, and a man entered the house, demanding to see her uncle. His voice was loud and a little out of control, as if he had been running. Mick McCauley, Beret thought, and grabbed her wrapper, hurrying out of her room and rushing to the railing to look down into the foyer.
“It’s urgent. I must see him right away.”
“It is very early, sir. Judge Stanton has not yet stirred.”
“Then get him up.”
“Detective?” Beret called, coming to the top of the stairs.
Michael stopped pacing and looked up. “Miss Osmundsen. I’m sorry to disturb you. I’ve come to see your uncle.”
“What is it? What’s happened?” Beret called. She shuddered as it crossed her mind that Chinaman Fong and his associate might have found out who she was and made accusations. She didn’t want to have to tell her aunt and uncle what she’d done. Nor did she want to cause problems for Jonas. She started down the staircase, passing William, who was himself dressed only in nightclothes and a robe. Despite that, the butler did not appear to be in any hurry and walked at his usual stately pace. She wondered whether he would move any faster if the house caught fire. “Wake my uncle,” she told him, although it was obvious that was what William intended to do.
Beret was aware she was unsuitably dressed for a caller, but she did not care. She tightened the belt of her wrapper and clutched the robe shut at her neck. “It’s very early, Detective, not yet light.”
“Most murders take place in the dark.”
“Oh.” Beret grabbed the banister, taking measured steps, as if she were afraid she would fall. “No, Detective, please, not another murder.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you. I came to see the judge.”
“Is it another murder, then?” Beret had reached the bottom of the stairs and stood with her hand on the newel post, supporting herself. She thought for a moment of the victim’s family, wondering if she had a sister who would mourn her as she did Lillie.
A door on the second floor opened, and William emerged, followed by Beret’s uncle. The judge looked disheveled and yawned as he came down the stairs. “Well, Michael, what is it that can’t wait until daylight? It must be bad news or you wouldn’t be here at this hour. Beret, I see you’re up. You might as well come along into the library, as this may concern you, too. William, have Cook make us coffee. I expect whatever is wrong, we’ll need it.”
He led the way into his study and indicated chairs. Beret sat, but Mick paced back and forth. Beret and her uncle waited for him to speak. “Well?” the judge asked at last. “Another murder?”
“Not quite.”
Beret was relieved, but she was still apprehensive. The detective would not have awakened them if something dreadful hadn’t happened. She thought again of Chinaman Fong. If the man had been badly hurt, she and Jonas might be charged. She dreaded having to explain to Mick about the two men who had threatened to overwhelm her and sell her to a brothel owner. She would be mortified and her aunt shamed. She should not have told Mick that she had been in Hop Alley.
“It was an
attempted
murder. Another crib girl. Blond Bet, she goes by. The man had a knife and tried to stab her with it, but he was killed instead.” Mick added unnecessarily, “He’s dead.”
The judge sighed. “Three killings. A madman, then, but it’s over.”
“Is the girl all right?” Beret asked, remembering the beastly way Sadie Hops had been cut.
“Oh yes. She was talking to a newspaperman when I left. She seemed to think she was due a reward.” Mick sat down on a footstool and put his head in his hands. He hadn’t shaved, and his clothes were wrinkled. Beret thought he must have been sleeping when the call came about the attack. Or maybe he’d been up all night.
“Then you think he’s the same man who killed that other girl—and my niece?” the judge asked.
“I’m sure of it. The same modus operandi, we call it. All three of the women were blondes, and they were prostitutes. And all of them had jewelry that he wanted. Bet says he posed as a customer, and when she took off her shift”—the detective glanced at Beret in a sort of apology, but she was watching him intently, not interested in niceties—“he ripped a necklace from her throat. Then he pulled out a knife and stabbed her. Got her, too, twice, in fact, although the wounds weren’t anything to take notice of. He picked the wrong girl. Bet’s a strong one. She grabbed the knife and stabbed him just one time, enough to disable him and let her get away. Poor Bet screamed loud enough to wake the dead, and that brought the girls running out of their cribs, the men, too. But the men ran off. It was the girls who went to help her.”
“And they caught him?” Beret asked, feeling relief sweep over her.
Mick shook his head. “A police officer in plainclothes was patrolling the street. He went into the crib, and when the killer attacked him with the knife, the officer shot him.”
“Good for him!” the judge said. “When was it?”
“About three this morning. The body’s been taken away.”
The judge looked around his chair, then stood and went to a cabinet and took out a cigar. Beret and Michael watched as he cut the tip and lighted the end, rolling the cigar around in his mouth. He inhaled deeply and blew out smoke, then set the cigar in an ashtray and turned to Beret. “You’ll forgive me for this indulgence, my dear. I think better when I’m smoking.” As Judge Stanton sat down again, William brought in a tray with cups, a silver pot and matching cream pitcher and sugar bowl. He poured coffee, then set the cups on saucers and placed them on white napkins on a side table, and Beret thought that even in such circumstances, William could not hurry. He would do things properly, with the best silver and china, the gold and white Old Paris china as fragile as a quail’s egg. The butler offered spoons, but only the judge took one, helping himself to sugar and stirring it into his coffee. “Perhaps you’d rather have a brandy, Mick. You look like you’ve been up all night.” The detective shook his head, and the judge raised his cup. “Here’s to the police and a job well done. I believe you share in this honor, Mick. Don’t you think so, Beret?” he said.
His niece nodded and raised her cup a little. She felt a great weariness leave her. This was why she had come to Denver, to find her sister’s killer. It was clear to her that Lillie’s murder had been the first in a series of attacks. All three fit a pattern. And now they were over. She closed her eyes in relief. She had wanted Teddy to be the killer, but now she found she was glad he wasn’t. She didn’t want to believe she had been married to such an evil man.
Nonetheless, Beret found herself sorry she would no longer be working with the detective. She had enjoyed that. It had been exciting and a break from her normal routine and certainly more interesting than attending teas with her aunt. She looked at Mick, who was slouched in his chair, holding his coffee cup but not drinking. Then she saw the bloodstains on his shirt. “You’ve been down there?”
Mick nodded.
Beret studied Mick’s face, and then she knew. She felt an urge to touch him, to put her arms around him or just take his hand. Instead, holding her cup in one hand, she touched his arm with the other and asked softly, “Who was the officer who shot him, Detective?”
Mick looked down at his coffee, at the sheen of oil on the top, and replied, “I was.”
“My God, boy, you should have told us,” the judge thundered. “I’m proud of you. That is indeed a job well done.” He leaned forward and slapped Mick on the knee.
Mick winced, as if he felt he should not be congratulated. Beret set down her cup, but she left her hand where it was. “Oh, Detective, I’m sorry it was you. I know how hard it must be to take a life, even when it is your sworn duty, when you know the person is a foul creature and that killing him saved others. Even though you are a police officer, you have a gentle soul, I believe, and do not take this lightly.”
Mick didn’t reply, but squeezed her hand.
The judge picked up his cigar, taking several puffs on it before exhaling. “You’ve never killed a person, Mick? Your generation’s not been in a war like mine has. If you had, you’d know killing is necessary. There are times when it can’t be helped, and you shouldn’t brood about it.”
Beret glanced at her uncle. She knew he had fought for the North in the War between the States, but she did not know he had killed anyone. He’d never talked about it.
“The first one’s the worst. Still, it doesn’t get much easier, if you can believe that,” the judge said, “not that I condone killing, of course. But death for a cause, you have no choice.”
“I know that.” Mick took his hand away from Beret’s. “There’s something else, sir. It’s the reason I came to you now instead of waiting for a decent hour.”
Beret stiffened with a sense of dread, wondering what could possibly be worse than what the detective had already told them. She realized suddenly that the detective hadn’t named the killer. Was it someone Lillie had known? Was it Teddy after all? She squeezed her hands together between her knees and waited for the detective to go on.
Mick stood up and walked to the fireplace. William had built a fire on last night’s ashes, and now a log caught, the flame blazing up. Still, the room was cold, and Beret lifted her cold hands to the warmth as she glanced at her uncle. She was agitated, anxious to know what more Mick would tell them, but the judge sat calmly, patiently, waiting for the detective to continue. Her uncle had been conditioned by years of sitting in a courtroom, she supposed. But eventually, the judge decided he had waited long enough. “Well, what is it, Mick? You can tell us.”
Mick turned around quickly then and blurted out, “Jonas! It was Jonas! He’s your murderer. He’s the one I killed.”
“Oh, Detective!” Beret went limp with shock. She dropped her hands and pressed her elbows into her body to stop the shaking, but it did no good. The idea that Jonas, the boy who had rescued her in Hop Alley, was her sister’s killer made her cold all over. He had saved Beret’s life, but he had threatened her, too, with a knife very much like the one he had used to murder Sadie Hops. It was as if he were two different men. Had Lillie known that?
“Good God, Jonas murdered Lillie?” the judge asked.
“Oh no!”
The three turned to the doorway where Varina stood, her hand on the frame, supporting herself. None of them had seen her come to the room.
“No, it’s not possible!”
The judge jumped up. “My dear, I am so sorry. You should not have heard about it this way. Beret, take your aunt to her room.”
But Varina motioned back and forth with her hand. “It is too much of a shock. I can’t believe Jonas would do such a thing. He was such a loyal young man.” She shook her head as she grasped the door frame, her knuckles white.
“Beret will take you upstairs.”