Murder in the North End (21 page)

“Denny?” she said. “He was there? He told me he was upstairs when it happened.” Or he’d led her to assume that.

“No, he was there, but Mary yelled at him to go upstairs and make like he was never down there, for his own good. She was always like a little mother hen to him, the only friend he had in that place. He said, ‘But what about you?’ and that’s when she kinda turned and I saw how bad she’d been beat up. The whole right side of her face was all bloodied. She said she was all right, and he should worry about himself.”

“So he left?”

“First he asked me if I was gonna look after her, get her away from there and get her fixed up. I said I would, and then he left. He’s a good kid, that Denny. I hate to see him in a place like Nabby’s, running and fetching for slamtrash like that.”

“He should be in school,” Nell said.

“I know. Problem is, he won’t take anything from anybody. I offered to have him live with Mrs. Cook and me, told him I’d send him to Boston College High School—on account of it’s a Catholic school, and he don’t like the way the Catholic kids are treated in the public schools. He was tempted, I could tell, but he wouldn’t hear of it, ‘cause it’d be charity. I said he could do odd jobs around the house to earn his keep and the tuition, but he saw through that. He told me he knew could never work off what it’d cost to go to that school.”

“It was very generous of you to make the offer, though.”

Cook lifted those big shoulders. “It was the right thing. You want to sleep at night, you gotta at least try.”

“What happened after Denny left the flat?” she asked. 

“Well, I checked Johnny to make sure he was dead. No question about it. I asked Mary who done it, but she wouldn’t tell me. Said, ‘Don’t ask me, please just don’t ask me.’ She said she had to get outa there, go someplace far away, ‘cause if she stuck around there, chance were she wouldn’t be alive that time tomorrow.”

“So you left with her?”

“Yeah, but not soon enough. One of the bar girls saw us, and a couple of young hop heads. The girl went tearin’ upstairs, and I heard her yellin’ about Johnny Cassidy bein’ murdered, and how she seen who done it. That’s when I knew I had to take Mary and get us as far away as I could, ‘cause they’d be comin’ after me. The North End is Skinner’s beat. I knew he’d leap at the chance to slip that noose around my thick Irish neck.”

“So he has,” Nell said. “Where is Mary now?”

“On a train headed west. She has a cousin in Chicago that Johnny never knew nothing about, nor anyone else. She wants to open her own flower shop—that’s what she’s been saving up for, so she can support herself and never have to be under the thumb of some bruiser like Johnny again. That’s why she snitched for me.”

“Did she actually manage to save enough to do that?” Nell asked.

Cook hesitated. “I, uh, helped her out with a little something extra.”

She patted him on the back. “You’re a good man, Detective.”

“I felt bad for using her like I did, and ignoring the fix she was in.”

Nell said, “I don’t suppose she ever told you who killed Johnny.”

“I never did get it outa her.”

“Any theories?” she asked.

“None that add up all the way. Thing is, it coulda been just about anyone. Don’t forget, Nabby’s is overrun with bad pennies. There’s a constant flow of ‘em in and out of that place. And the basement flat has that outside entrance, so anybody coulda just snuck in, done the deed, and snuck right out again without bein’ seen.”

“Maybe it wasn’t a bad penny,” Nell said. “Maybe it was a bad shiner. The better element goes there, too.”

“That they do.”

“Such as your friend Ebenezer Shute.”

Cook slanted her a look, then returned his gaze to the road. “Ben didn’t have anything to do with Johnny Cassidy’s murder, if that’s what you’re thinking. He came there the one time with me.”

“And became captivated with Mary.”

“Not at first,” Cook said quickly. “Not when he thought she was some young kid. He noticed her over there in her corner and asked me what a girl that young was doing at a place like Nabby’s. I told him she was about a decade older than she seemed, and it was only after that that he started lookin’ at her...that way. He asked me if she was in the life.”

“A hooker, you mean?”

Cook nodded as he drove. “I said not strictly speaking, but that if he made the mistake of havin’ a go at her, he’d end up paying a far bigger price than if he just went for one of the other girls.”

“You didn’t tell him about the badger game?”

Shaking his head, Cook said, “I didn’t tell my own boss about it. It was a major con, a felony, and Mary coulda ended up spending a lot of years behind bars if word started getting around. I just told Ben if he knew what was good for him, he’d keep his distance from Mary Molloy, no matter how tempted he was. But the more he drank, the more he wanted her. Couldn’t hardly talk about anything else, so I finally drug him outa there for his own good.”

“And took him to an oyster bar,” Nell said.

Cook glanced at her, looking impressed. “You really woulda made one heck of a police detective, Miss Sweeney, if only you’d been born male. Yeah, I wanted to get some food into him, sober him up. I ordered four dozen of those nice little briny Cotuits from the Cape, but he just picked at ‘em, and wouldn’t even eat the bread. He tossed down about a gallon of ale, though, and by the time we parted company, he wasn’t feelin’ no pain.”

“Did you know he was headed back to Nabby’s?” Nell asked.

Cook grimaced. “Not at the time, no. I put him in a hack. I thought he was goin’ home. I had to stick around the North End for a while, ‘cause I had business at a gambling hell on North Street, couple of blocks up from Nabby’s. I finished up there, and I’m walkin’ down the street lookin’ for a hack for myself, when who do I see but Ben limping toward me, looking madder than a jarful of wasps. He showed me his hands—they were scraped raw. His knees, too, right through his trousers.”

“From being thrown out by Johnny Cassidy,” Nell said.

“Yeah, he told me he’d gone back to Nabby’s and gotten Mary to take him down to her room. They were on the bed, uh, you know, fiddlin’ ‘round, when Johnny throws the door open and— Course, Ben didn’t say ‘Johnny.’ He didn’t know who it was, just said ‘some wild-eyed bludger.’ Johnny hauls him off Mary and throws him into the wall, gives Mary a couple of whacks. Ben said he tried to stop him from hitting her, but he was too boiled to be of any use. Johnny starts railin’ about Ben takin’ advantage of his thirteen-year-old daughter, and how he’s gonna have to pay a thousand bucks to keep it quiet, else he can answer to the cops. He said he knew who Ben was, he’d been seen inspecting pawnshops on North Street, and he’d be destroyed when it came out that he had a taste for underage girls.”

“But he doesn’t, right? I mean, he knew Mary wasn’t really that young.”

“Right, so he said go ahead and call the cops. He said he knew Mary wasn’t any thirteen years old, and he wasn’t paying one red cent. Johnny says fine, then, if he doesn’t pay up within twenty-four hours, him and his pals will track Ben down and smash his good leg so bad that he’d lose that, too, plus his right arm, and they’d put out his other eye, for good measure. Ben told him he was bluffing. Johnny says, ‘You call me, you’ll see I ain’t,’ and he drags Ben upstairs and tosses him into the street.”

“Whereupon Ben threatened to kill him, in front of witnesses.”

Cook let out something that sounded like a sigh crossed with a groan. “Like I said, he was sizzled. It was an empty threat, the kind drunks make.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am, as a matter of fact. After Ben told me all this, he asked me ‘Do you think I’m in any real danger from this fella,’ and I said ‘Hell, yeah...” ‘Scuse me.”

“Not at all.”

“I said, ‘Yeah, you’re in danger.’ I told him I knew this fella, and he’d done worse than maiming people, he’d been known to do murder for fifty bucks, and not to even think about calling his bluff.”

“A thousand dollars is a lot of money,” Nell said. “I know Ben is well-set, but could he afford—”

“He’s better than well-set,” Cook said. “He’s a millionaire several times over. It wasn’t his wallet that’d end up hurtin’, it was his pride.”

“Did he agree to pay?”

“Not in so many words, but by the time we parted that night, I was pretty sure he’d bit the bullet and decided to do the smart thing.”

“Does Ben Shute carry a gun?” Nell asked.

Cook gave her a look. “No, Miss Sweeney, he does not.”

“But given his familiarity with pawnbrokers, he’d know where to get one. And as a former soldier, he’d know how to use it.”

“Ben Shute did not kill Johnny Cassidy,” Cook said as he turned onto Fayette Street.

“I wish I could share your...” Nell trailed off as Cook’s house came into view at the other end of the block. The maidservant, Maureen, was standing out front, looking anxiously up and down the street, her arms wrapped around herself. She spied their buggy, waved her arms and pointed toward them, then backed away, crossing herself, as they approached.

“Detective...” Nell sat up straight, gripping the side of the buggy as she watched shapes move through the sheer curtains in the first floor windows of his house.

“That’s our maid, Maureen. Something’s wrong,” Cooks said as he flicked the reins, urging the horses to speed up. “It’s Chloe. Something’s gone wrong with—”

“I don’t think so.” Nell said, clutching his sleeve as he pulled up in front of the house. “Don’t stop. Keep going.”

“What? But Chloe...”

The curtains parted in an upstairs window of Cook’s house. An angular blond woman—Chloe’s friend Lily Booth, Nell presumed—leaned out and screamed, “Colin! Go!”

The front door swung open and two blue-uniformed constables, one of them Skinner, came sprinting out with their guns drawn.

Three other constables darted out of an alley across the street; and another popped out from behind a tree.

Cook snapped the reins, but two of the cops already had a grip on the horse’s harnesses. They bucked and whinnied, but stayed put.

“Step down with your hands in the air,” Skinner ordered Cook as he strode toward the buggy, pistol raised. “No going for your weapon, or I put a bullet in your head just like you did to ol’ Johnny.”

“Stay here,” Cook implored Nell in a low, earnest voice as he grasped her arm. “Take care of Chloe. Save our baby, I’m begging you.”

“Now, Cook!” Skinner yelled as he circled around to the driver’s side, his pistol aimed, two-handed, at Detective Cook’s head.

“I’ll do my best,” Nell promised, covering his hand with hers. “Just take care of yourself, Colin. This bastard’s itching for an excuse to shoot you. Don’t give him the satisfaction—for your wife’s sake, if not for yours.”

*   *   *

“I think I can say, with some assurance, that you’re well out of the woods,” Will told Chloe Cook as he tucked the bedcovers around her the next morning. “Your baby’s heartbeat is strong, and you’ve had no contractions since...” He turned to Nell, standing with Lily Booth at the foot of Chloe’s bed. “When would you say they stopped?”

“Early yesterday afternoon,” Nell said.

“Right after her first cup of black haw tea,” Lily added.

The first thing Nell had done after Cook’s arrest yesterday, even before coming upstairs to check on Chloe—Lily was with her, after all—was to put a kettle on to boil. She prepared a particularly strong infusion of the potent herb, sweetened with honey to disguise the bitter taste, with which to dose Chloe at regular intervals.

By the time Will arrived in the late afternoon, Chloe’s cramping and bleeding had ceased. Anxious though she was over the welfare of her husband, ratted out by Maureen for a handful of shiners, she at least had the comfort of knowing that her babe was still safe and sound in her womb.

“Nell...” Chloe, exhausted after her ordeal, but with the color returning to her cheeks, extended her hand.

Nell came to her side and took it.

“I owe you more than I could possibly repay,” Chloe said.

Squeezing her hand, Nell said, “I’ll leave a supply of black haw here. At the first little twinge—”

“Don’t worry,” said Lily, who’d resolved to move in and take care of Chloe until her baby was safely delivered. “I’ll make a pot of it first thing every morning, just in case.”

“The most important thing,” Will told Chloe, “is to rest and keep your mind as tranquil as possible. Don’t fret about your husband. Believe me, we’ll be moving heaven and earth to free him.”

“Go, then,” Chloe said. “I’ll be fine. I have Lily here. Go and do what you have to do to bring him home to me.” Stroking a hand over her stomach, she said, “Me and the baby.”

*   *   *

The morning sun felt searingly bright as Nell and Will walked down Fayette toward Pleasant Street, where they hoped to find a hackney. She rubbed her eyes, raw from having stayed up all night, and wondered if she looked as bedraggled as she felt.

Will looked much as he always did, with the exception of one or two errant locks of hair and a creased frock coat from when he dozed off in a chair in the corner of Chloe’s room for about an hour.