Ten Days in August (17 page)

W
hen Hank arrived at the precinct Tuesday morning, Andrew was already sitting at his desk, waiting for him. Hank felt a little guilty for lingering in bed with Nicky and being this late for work, but not that guilty.

“I have a name,” Hank said.

“He struck again,” said Andrew.

Hank cursed. “When?”

“Sunday night.”

Hank's face fell. “He killed someone Sunday night and you didn't think to tell me until now?”

Andrew crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, to begin with, the victim is not dead. Second of all, neither of us has been at our respective desks much since before Sunday. And I didn't think you wanted me to simply leave you a note in plain sight.”

Hank let out a breath and tried to relax his stance, but he didn't like having a victim he didn't know about. “How do you know the crimes are related?”

“I don't, but as you would say, I have a hunch.” Andrew stood and brandished a sheaf of paper. “A prostitute named Charlie came to see me Monday. I had seen him when I was out the other night and gave him my card.”

“I know.”

Andrew's eyes went wide. “Do you now?”

Hank hesitated. He did not want to make his relationship with Nicky apparent, so he said, “I did a bit of espionage yesterday, accompanied by Nicholas Sharp.”

“Your witness.”

“Yes. He accompanied me to one of Amelia Cooper's parties. He identified the man he saw with Edward. Brigham Knight. An architect.”

Andrew's face did not display any recognition. “All right. And Charlie knows Mr. Sharp from Bulgaria, so Sharp mentioned Charlie had my card.”

“He did, yes.”

“You think this architect is the killer?”

“I don't know for sure, but this is the first solid lead I've had.”

Andrew grimaced. “Mr. Sharp identified him.”

“Knight is friendly with high society and has some familial claim to his place there, but he doesn't strike me as being completely embraced. That doesn't mean anything, but this does. Nicholas Sharp told me when I first interrogated him he saw Edward with a well-dressed man and figured the man to be an uptown aristocrat. So, acting on a hunch, I brought Mr. Sharp to a society party uptown, and Sharp identified Brigham Knight as the man he saw with Edward. Which means nothing, I suppose.”

“But your instinct tells you this is the man.”

Hank considered the problem before him. “I need to go interrogate Mr. Knight, and I had intended to bring Stephens, but Stephens has proved to be quite hostile toward the case. In the event he decides to be unavailable to accompany me to question Mr. Knight, would you like to accompany me?”

“Me?”

“You know as much about this case as anyone. I trust you.”

Andrew shook his head. “This is highly unusual. I don't do these sorts of things. I file reports and take notes for Commissioner Roosevelt. I don't accompany officers to question suspects.”

It was a crazy idea. Hank wasn't sure why he'd landed on Andrew as the ideal person to help in this matter. He only knew it was even more foolish to go to see Knight on his own, and he needed a companion he could trust. Then he remembered something. “If Sunday's victim wasn't murdered, what happened? And how did you know? Was it reported to another officer?”

“No.” Andrew took a deep breath. “No, the victim came to me directly.”

Andrew's reluctance annoyed Hank. He couldn't figure why Andrew was being so coy. “Just tell me what happened.”

Andrew let out a breath. “The victim was Charlie.”

Hank uttered an oath. “What happened?”

“I think the killer found him, Hank. A man pulled him into a dark spot near the resort and buggered him there. Against his will, I should add.”

That horrified Hank. No one should have been defiled in such a way. “Lord almighty,” he whispered.

“Yes, I thought so as well. He was shaky when he came to see me. Completely out of sorts. I believe what he says is true. He says he was able to get away, but he believed his life was in danger.”

“He may be the key to this case, Andrew. Do you realize that? Charlie has direct knowledge of the killer.”

“Assuming his assailant is the killer.”

That was true. There could have been more than one aggressive man. “I think if we interview Brigham Knight and find a way to get Charlie to look at him again, that might be the thing to pull the case together. If Knight is the same man Nicky saw and the man who assaulted Charlie, we can hang the whole lot of the charges on him.”

“Nicky?”

Hank froze. He'd slipped. He never slipped. What was Nicky doing to him? “Nicholas Sharp. He goes by Nicky.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he was onto Hank.

“You must not breathe a word of this . . . familiarity,” Hank said.

“You know I wouldn't.” Andrew looked at the papers in his hand. “Though tell me. This familiarity. How deep does it go?”

Hank said nothing.

“Right,” said Andrew, handing his notes to Hank. “Well, I just came down here to pass this along. Someone attacked Charlie, and he's not doing well in the aftermath. When he came to speak to me, he shook the whole time. I mean violently shook to the point where it affected his speech. The man who did this, whoever he is, is a menace and needs to be taken off the streets.”

“And I will do everything in my power to see it happens.”

“I know you will.” Andrew stood. “I must be getting back to Headquarters.”

“All right. I'll be in touch. Particularly if I need you to accompany me to talk to Knight.”

Andrew grimaced. “Hank . . .”

“Think on it.”

Andrew nodded. Then he walked away.

 

Andrew daringly took the elevated train back uptown during his lunch break to check on Charlie.

Hank wanted him to go question his suspect, and Andrew couldn't think of a worse idea. It was against procedure. It was far outside the scope of Andrew's job. He had enough work to do with the Bryan speech the next day and, well, all the people expiring in the streets from the unbearable, unending heat.

And yet Andrew wanted to be involved with this case. It felt important to be involved, and he had a personal stake in it now. Sort of. If Hank wanted back up, Stephens refused, and Andrew was the only one Hank trusted, then Andrew would do it. Even if it was a terrible idea.

The thermometer on the
Herald
building read 103 degrees, and Andrew felt every one of those degrees as he crossed the street to his building. The dog a police officer had shot the day before was still there, and the smell was astounding, one of the most horrific things Andrew had ever encountered. Flies buzzed around the corpse. Andrew put a hand over his nose and hurried into the building.

Andrew's apartment was small. He'd been renting it from a family friend for a few years, and it suited him, but having someone else stay there made him self-conscious. There wasn't much in the way of decoration. Most of the furniture was second-hand and out of style. His salary as a secretary was not going to be buying him a Fifth Avenue mansion anytime soon, though, so it would have to do.

When he went into the apartment, he found Charlie napping on the bed. Andrew sat on the edge of it and nudged Charlie awake. Charlie woke with a start, and then blinked a few times and stared at Andrew. He smiled.

“I snuck away from the office to pay you a quick visit. I can't stay long.”

Charlie frowned. “To make sure I'm not stealing your things, in other words.”

“No, actually.” Andrew reached over and lightly ran his fingers down Charlie's naked arm. “I wanted to be sure you were all right. And, well, I just wanted to see you.”

Charlie furrowed his brow as if this confused him. “Truly?”

“You trusted me. I'd like to return the favor.”

Charlie closed his eyes and slumped into the mattress. “I do not deserve your support.”

“I want to offer it.”

Charlie sat up. He met Andrew's gaze. “You came all the way uptown just to see me?”

“Yes.”

Before Andrew knew what was happening, Charlie had cupped a hand behind his head, pulled him close, and then they were kissing. The kiss was a hot shock. Andrew closed his eyes and leaned into it, happy to be kissing Charlie, loving the press and texture of his lips, the taste of him. He opened his mouth and licked into Charlie's, and the taste was a little sour, but Andrew didn't mind because this was so delightful.

Unless Charlie thought he owed Andrew.

Doubt crept in. Andrew wondered if Charlie was doing this out of obligation, if he was accustomed to using his sexuality to pay for things, if he thought he had to do this for room and board. Andrew didn't want that. He lost momentum, pressed his lips together, and pulled away.

“Did I do something wrong?” Charlie asked.

“No. No, nothing wrong, but . . . I hope you don't feel like you have to kiss me. Or do anything with me. Especially not after what you've been through.”

Charlie's face fell.

Andrew felt the need to backpedal. “Not that I don't want you to kiss me. I want to kiss you! Very much. But I want you to . . . want to kiss me. Not for you to do it because you feel you owe me something.”

Charlie appeared to consider this. “Nicky told me a couple of nights ago he had a new man in his life to whom he gave his love freely. Because he wanted to. It made me jealous.”

Andrew spared a thought for Hank. Hank had been coy, but Andrew could read between the lines. Hank was cavorting with a witness on a case, not something Andrew really approved of, but given his own situation, he supposed he couldn't throw stones. “You want to be able to do that.”

Charlie shrugged and looked down at the mattress. “I was never interested in women romantically. When I landed on Julie's stoop, he told me there were other men like me, men who liked other men. But I started, well . . . right away. Julie put me to work. So I've never . . .”

“You've never been with a man who wasn't paying for it.” Or perhaps there were other men who forced Charlie, but Andrew was too horrified by that idea to voice it out loud.

Charlie nodded. “Some of them I liked well enough. I had a couple of regular customers at Bulgaria. They were kind to me. Sweet. Bought me gifts. Some were handsome. One man was astoundingly beautiful. I've always wondered what happened to him.”

Andrew felt his own pang of jealousy. “He left?”

“He stopped coming to Bulgaria sometime this past winter.”

Andrew must have been making a face, because Charlie added, “I just mean, it hasn't been all bad, my profession. I did it because for a while it was the only option I had, but I honestly didn't hate it.”

It didn't escape Andrew's notice that Charlie was speaking of his profession in the past tense. “All I want you to know is I genuinely like you and care for you, so if you want to be with me, I want you to choose to be freely,” Andrew said.

Charlie looked up. “I do.”

Charlie kissed Andrew again, but this time Andrew felt no guilt. He pressed his lips against Charlie's and tried to convey with pressure and movement how overwhelmed he felt suddenly.

Andrew was hot and aroused, not just because of the weather, and he wanted to stay, to linger in that bed with Charlie for the rest of the afternoon, but he had to get back to the office before anyone missed him. More to the point, Charlie was still fresh from his recent encounter, and Andrew didn't want to risk traumatizing him further.

So he pulled away. “I have to leave.”

“Will you be back soon?”

“Tonight, yes. I may have an errand to run with Hank—Inspector Brandt—this evening, but I will come home as soon as I can.”

“I will be here. I won't steal anything.”

Andrew could only guess at what Charlie's life had been like to this point. He didn't want to linger on it, not in this moment. Thinking on it broke his heart. “I shall look forward to seeing you, then.”

Charlie gave Andrew a bright smile. This situation was unorthodox, but it might work out. It was enough to give a man hope. Maybe the heat would never cease beating down on the city, but Andrew had this.

Reluctantly, he made himself leave to go back downtown. He turned back to get one last look at Charlie before he left his apartment. Charlie smiled again. So yes. Andrew had this.

S
tephens wanted no part of the trip to see Brigham Knight, which surprised Hank not in the least, and as he was pushing things with his deadline, it made sense. Stephens seemed preoccupied with the Tompkins Square murder, anyway. It was the sort of crime more up Stephens's alley, anyway; no moral ambiguity, a pretty clear villain, enough sordid details to keep it interesting. In the meantime, Hank asked Andrew to come with him to Knight's.

“I still think this is highly inappropriate,” said Andrew, although he, at least, was done up in his best suit, a dark brown affair he had to be boiling within.

They were walking from the elevated train to the Fifth Avenue home of Brigham Knight, so Hank figured Andrew had decided it was too late to back down.

“You don't have to do anything. You can take notes if you really want to, but I mostly just need someone else's take on the matter. So just stand there and say nothing. Listen if you care to.” And he needed someone to support him and back him up if Knight became difficult, but articulating that to Andrew seemed like a fool's errand, given how riled up he already was. Hank was confident if the situation did get hairy, he could count on Andrew's instincts to back him up.

Or this had been a terrible idea.

Andrew harrumphed. He held his hat firmly on his head as a carriage sped by them, kicking up the rare gust of wind that, alas, smelled of rotting food and horse manure. Hank pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and covered his mouth.

Andrew was agitated, more than was reasonable in proportion to the situation, and Hank wondered if there wasn't something else on Andrew's mind. Hank bided his time. If Andrew wanted to say something, he would. If he didn't, it was none of Hank's affair. They walked silently for a block.

“You should know,” Andrew said as they crossed Park Avenue. “Charlie Evans has been camping out at my house since Monday.”

Hank nearly choked. He did stumble, although he managed to keep his feet beneath him. “He what?”

“I realize the difficulty of this situation. Please do not lecture me. And please do not force me to point out my suspicions about you and Nicholas Sharp. Which, given how much time you must have spent with him . . .”

“No, I—”

“It's fine, Hank. I don't judge you.”

“I know. But others might. And it's inappropriate. He's a witness.”

“And yet.”

Hank sighed. “Yes.”

“Anyway, Charlie is only sleeping. He's spent the days sleeping away his troubles in my bed.” Andrew kicked a stray rock down the street. “This weighs on me, which is why I'm being so forward. Nothing has really happened between us, but not because I do not want it to. Normally, you know me, I am the soul of discretion, but I just . . .”

“Trust me, I understand.”

Andrew smiled ruefully. “You always do.”

Hank pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket on which he'd recorded Knight's address, which he'd gotten in a note from Amelia earlier in the day. The address had, naturally, been accompanied by a quick missive explaining that Amelia just adored Alice and that she was quite delighted Hank had changed his mind about a few things. He would have to set her straight soon, but he'd worry about it after he'd resolved his murder investigation. If, that was, Nicky even stayed with him. He wasn't at all sure that would be the case.

He wasn't sure he'd survive the week, either. Heat aside, it might be only a matter of days before someone found out about Nicky. Hank knew he risked his job the longer he stayed with Nicky. He was at a point now where he wasn't sure how much he cared.

Well, actually he did care a great deal, and he knew he was being cavalier and foolish, but his brain was cloudy, and he wanted Nicky in his life. He blamed the heat for his foolishness.

“I believe the Knight house is on the next corner,” Hank said.

“Yes. Lead the way.”

They walked up Fifth to what was likely the most modest house in the neighborhood. Hank said, “Be careful what you say. Ask questions if they occur to you, but mostly leave the talking to me.”

“I understand, Hank.”

They walked up the steps in front of the narrow brownstone. Hank rapped on the door. He wasn't sure what to expect—a butler? Knight himself? Silence?—so he put his hands behind his back and waited. Andrew shot him a wary glance.

A gaunt man with graying hair answered the door.

“I'm Inspector Henry Brandt with the New York City Police Department,” Hank said. “I'd like to speak to Mr. Brigham Knight. Is he at home to callers?”

“May I ask what this is about?”

Andrew's concern about the situation was written all over his face. Hank regretted asking him to come along. He would certainly betray any cover they had. “I met Mr. Knight at the Coopers' charity ball last night. Quite a grand affair. We had a conversation about architecture I was anxious to continue.” He looked at Andrew, fidgeting beside him, and tried to convey he should stop moving. “This is my colleague, Mr. Ritchley. He also has an interest in architecture.”

The butler nodded. “Very good, sir. I do believe Mr. Knight is available. Please follow me and I will escort you to the parlor.”

The butler brought them to a sparsely decorated sitting room on the first floor. The only thing remarkable about it was the shelving lining the walls. Brigham Knight owned a great number of books, which crowded the shelves, wedged into any spare space.

“Try not to look like you're about to have a coronary incident,” Hank said to Andrew once the butler had left.

“Apologies.” Andrew huffed out a breath. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come. I am not well suited to this sort of work.”

“Can you think on your feet and fire a gun?”

“Yes.”

“Then you're all the help I need.”

This didn't seem to placate Andrew much.

Brigham Knight arrived a few moments later. Hank stood and shook hands with him.

“Mr. Brandt! A pleasure to see you again.”

“Likewise. This is my colleague, Mr. Ritchley.”

The two men sized each other up and shook hands.

Hank said, “Do you have a few minutes to talk? I have a few questions.”

“Of course. Any friend of Jonathan Cooper's is a friend of mine. Please have a seat.”

Hank took his time settling into his chair so he could think on how best to approach this situation. “Did you enjoy the ball?” he started.

“Quite a bit, yes. And I am always happy to support Mrs. Cooper's causes. Ethical treatment of children last night, yes?”

In light of what Hank had witnessed with Nicky's family, the charity took on even more import. “Specifically aid to children in the Lower East Side tenements. Aid that is greatly needed. I've been there quite a bit the last few days, in my professional capacity. It is terrifyingly hot in those buildings. A child died on my watch a few days ago. That is not an experience I care to repeat.”

“No, I can't imagine you would.”

From Amelia, Hank knew Knight was from out of town—Illinois or one of the other Midwestern states, she couldn't remember which—and so he probably didn't have a lot of experience with that level of poverty, unless he visited it voyeuristically. “Have you ever been there?” Hank asked.

Knight waved his hand. “I rarely go below Fourteenth Street, honestly, unless I go all the way downtown. Another architect I work with frequently has offices on Broadway near Trinity Church.”

“Right, of course.” Hank reconsidered his strategy. Perhaps some honesty would be in order. “Well, I'm afraid my visit here is not altogether a happy one. You see, I'm investigating an incident that occurred last Wednesday, so I've been checking in on anyone who may have seen anything.”

“I can't imagine how I can be of help. Last Wednesday?”

“Where were you that evening?”

Andrew pulled a notepad and a pencil out of his pocket and posed as if he were about to write down something important.

“I do not recall exactly. It has been so hot, the days run together. I believe I went to a dinner party that evening.”

“Where was this dinner party?”

“Delmonico's. The William Street location.”

“So you were downtown?”

“Yes. Unless that was Tuesday.” Knight raised his shoulders and shook his head. “I'm afraid I can't recall. Whichever night I did not go downtown, I spent the evening here at home reading.”

He was lying. Hank knew it in his gut. Perhaps there had been a party at Delmonico's, perhaps it was even with this architecture colleague with the office on Broadway, but that would not prevent Knight from heading back up to the Bowery resorts after dinner. The walk would have been a little arduous in the heat, but not unmanageable. “Well, whichever night this was, did you go straight home after dinner?”

Knight made a show of considering his answer. Hank knew Knight meant for him to infer that he had trouble recalling, but he suspected Knight was cooking up a strategy. Nicky had identified him as the man at Bulgaria, so even if he wasn't the killer, he had been seen there. That he'd lied didn't do much to convince Hank he was honest about anything.

“We may have adjourned for a stroll afterward. One of my dinner companions is somewhat obsessed with the work of Jacob Riis. He wanted to see ‘how the other half lives' or some such. I thought it a bad idea, but I did accompany him on a walk through some of the lower parts of town.”

“Does this companion of yours have a name?”

“Joseph Rooney. He lives on Little West Twelfth.” Knight grinned. The expression sickened Hank—he knew it was meant to be a, “See how accommodating I can be?” gesture.

Andrew scribbled on his pad.

Hank didn't want to play his hand just yet. He doubted he could convince Knight to confess, and he didn't want to spook the man, either, lest he get a sudden urge to flee the city.

“Well. Just curious. Which is to say, all I really have to go on is a vague description of a man who could be one of hundreds in this city. So I've been asking about for anyone who might have been in the area, and as you've mentioned your architectural projects and I know there is some construction happening near Cooper Union, I thought I'd check if you'd seen anything. Very likely, I'll have to abandon this case.”

“This is the same case you mentioned at the Coopers' soiree?”

“Yes. Just some trouble with a prostitute.” Hank waved his hand. “I do know sometimes the uptown folk like to check out what is happening in the resorts in that area, so I've been asking around. I'll leave you to your work now. Though if you do find yourself downtown again, be wary. There has been quite a bit of violent crime.”

“Of course.”

“If you can think of anything strange, send a note to Police Headquarters addressed to me or Mr. Ritchley. I'd be happy for any leads.”

For show's sake, they made small talk for another few minutes before Hank pulled out his pocket watch and declared he was running late for an appointment. Knight escorted Hank and Andrew to the front door and said, “I am not certain I can help you with your investigation. I really don't know anything. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

“Yes, as do I, but many of these cases do not have satisfactory resolutions,” Hank said. “Stay away from some of the seedier neighborhoods for a while. Especially Greenwich Village. The crowds at the resorts and clubs on Bleecker have been bustling, but the heat is bringing out everyone's worst behavior.”

“Of course. I have no business downtown.”

Hank wondered if Knight was aware of how much he gave away, the way his body tensed or he grimaced before he remembered to act and correct the behavior. Hank nodded and bid him to have a good day. Once Hank and Andrew were down the block, Andrew said, “I do not know what you hoped to accomplish there, but I am not sure we determined anything beyond that Mr. Knight is a liar.”

“Yes. But now we've established that, at least.”

They walked another block while Hank considered his next move. Andrew must have found that frustrating, because he let out a disgusted grunt and said, “What the devil was the point of all that?”

“I'm planting seeds. I suppose next we must speak with this Mr. Rooney about Knight's alibi.”

“Knight will get to Rooney before we do.”

“Only if he has a telephone. We should go visit Mr. Rooney at once.”

Andrew frowned. “I am having trouble seeing how we tie all these strings together. You have nothing but some vague hunches.”

“I don't know what else to do. I want to catch this man. I need to think on it more.”

“I want you to catch him.” Andrew shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have a speech at Madison Square Garden tomorrow to deal with, so I'll be unable to help you much more, but I'm deeply uncomfortable with all of this besides. I'm your friend and I'll help you as much as I can, but before you go pushing headlong into a difficult situation, consider the real consequences of your actions. If you push too hard, especially against a member of the city's elite, it could cost you your job.”

It seemed everything about this case could cost Hank his job. He sighed. “I'm going to keep an eye on the Greenwich Village fairy resorts for the next few nights either way. Perhaps he'll turn up there again.”

“Be careful, Hank.”

“I'm always careful.”

Andrew looked unconvinced.

 

Hank and Andrew returned to Headquarters, where Hank found a directory and looked up Mr. Rooney's address. After wishing Andrew luck with Mr. Bryan, Hank walked to Little West Twelfth, not far from his own house.