The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (29 page)

“A man who stole Ollie. A long time ago.”

“What do you mean, stole him?”

“Talked him into going with him on a train. Told him stories of how he’d take care of him, and promised they’d go on grand adventures. Gave him chocolate and candy and told him there was plenty more.”

‘So Ollie has been missing before?”

“Yes,” Petey replied. “For a long time. That’s why Mother still cries. But he came back, to take care of me.”

“And this book,” Anderson held it up. “Did the German give it to Ollie?”

Petey bobbed his head vigorously and Spindle chimed in. “Ollie said the German told him it was as important as the Bible. God destroyed the world once, and the German thought it would happen again. That book was the proof.”

Go on and keep it, Mister. I don’t want it,” Petey said.

“Thank you,” he said, placing it in his overcoat pocket. “I’ll return it to Ollie when we find him. Can you tell me this German’s name?”

They all stared back, and Spindle shrugged. “He said we should never know.”

“But I do,” Petey said. “I do.”

“You know his name?” Anderson asked. This story was disturbing. There was a certain specimen of tramp who would lure young boys away from their homes, and then threaten them if they didn’t comply with their will, dragging them across the country as slaves. Most hobos, in his experience, were harmless, but this particular type was as dangerous as any criminal he’d encountered in his own career. He had heard sinister accounts like this before from other lawmen, but had never come across one himself.

“He would say it in his sleep.” More tears streaked down Petey’s face, and his big blue eyes were circled red with fatigue. “Gottschalk. His name is Gottschalk. Please, Mister. You got to find him. You promise you’ll try?”

“I promise.”

“Honor bright?”

Anderson held up his hand in oath. “Honor bright.”

Detective Harmon Queen was in a rage. It was a rage that had simmered like a pot of coffee left on the stove too long, burning into a rank, bitter sludge. He was ready to take Emil Dander out of that cozy little cell of his and smash his smug face into a shambles of split flesh, broken bones and lots and lots of blood, courtesy of the butt of his Smith and Wesson Model 10.

He’d thought about Dander through the day, but his duties as a badge-carrying member of the Minneapolis detective squad forced him to wait to relieve his desire for vengeance. A burglary call pulled him to the city’s north end almost as soon as he’d left the morgue. Then followed a two-hour meeting with new detectives, which included a stern lecture about how to write a proper report. Finally, he’d been called to a late-night, last-minute audience with Colonel Ames, who demanded to know how Queen’s encounter with Dix Anderson had gone. The colonel had gotten a full report from Tom Brown about the sheriff’s confrontation with the flour magnate. He was concerned that the city would be abuzz with gossip about the old fool’s brush with John Pillsbury once the morning papers came out.

“Damn it, Queen!” he had said, with a smack of his fist into his hand, “Get this ridiculous character out of town! I don’t need any embarrassing press, especially in the Mayor’s reception room!”

Colonel Ames hadn’t blinked when Queen revealed that the dead girl was now officially unidentified again. “Christ, I don’t care about that. I told you that. Deal with this Sheriff Anderson and continue with your duties. We have a city to run.” Irritating as the colonel could be, though, he was the least of Queen’s troubles now.

Once he was through listening to Ames, he turned his focus back to Dander. The lying bastard knew who that girl really was, he was absolutely sure of it. That cheap, poetic “My beloved Mopsy” bunk made him writhe with fury.

As he stomped down the street towards Central Station he heard a piano playing from a cracked window. It was a ragtime number, and its jaunty sound echoed tinnily through the street. He reached for his flask and his liquid fortitude, and took a long deep swig, refusing to let the music cheer him up. The door to the station appeared like a beacon, and he threw it open, stiffening his shoulders when a young patrolman brushed past him. He knocked the kid sideways, and it felt great.

“Sergeant Krumweide.” The desk sergeant looked up from his paperwork as Queen hovered over him. “I need to see Dander and Higgins. Are they in the same cell they were a couple of days ago?”

“Jesus, Queen. You look fit to be tied. What’s the matter?”

“Never mind, Krumweide. I’ll just go back there myself.”

“They’re not there.”

“Okay, then which cell?”

“I mean they’re not here. They’re gone. They went before Judge Dickinson in district criminal court early this morning and made bail. Out the door the dirty slugs went, not two hours ago.” He shoved the register towards Queen to prove their signatures. Queen stared at the handwriting, Dander’s flowery cursive and Higgins’s first-grade scrawl.

“Son of a bitch,” Queen said. “Son of a goddamn bitch.”

“The courts these days,” Krumweide said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know we can’t shut ‘em all down, Queen, but Dander deserves jail, if anyone does.”

I should have been more diligent about this, Queen thought. I’ve been busy with so many things that I let Dander slip out of my grasp. His arraignment hearing was this morning and I forgot. Queen didn’t even know what the charges were. He remembered Colonel Ames mentioning hauling Dander to the bench as a kidnapper, and that was a serious offense. There is no chance he would have gotten bail on a kidnapping charge, with his odious background on full display. Judge Dickinson was notoriously fair in his handling of the law.

“Do you know what he was charged with?”

“Not having a liquor license.”

“To hell with that,” Queen said. “Was a bond posted?”

“Somebody came in, calling himself a family friend, and said he paid the entire bail. $6,000 for the two of them. The court office confirmed it.”

“Family friend?”

“Clean-shaven fellow. In an expensive suit and a sharp hat.”

“Two hours ago?”

“Yeah,” Krumweide said. He fiddled with the buttons on his uniform sleeve. “I’m sorry about that, Queen.”

“Not your fault. Carry on.”

Where were they going, and who was behind his release? Queen burst from the station door into the bright daylight, and took a moment for another quick drink. He patted his pockets for a cigarette, but couldn’t find one. Christ, I need a smoke to stop the shaking, he thought. His immediate, urgent concern was for Trilly and Edna. Trilly had been in the back of his mind since they had parted yesterday, and he was flummoxed that he couldn’t keep her out of his head. She’d cursed him, beat him and belittled him, and her background frankly sickened him, but her pretty little face was wedged in his memory like a dream. The thought of Dander finding her and stealing her away made him desperate to see her and to make sure she was fine.

He waited on the corner for a cab, and thought about McCartan’s quieted, freckled face, and his defiant eyes closed in death. His concern for Ollie had increased a hundredfold since that moment in the morgue. What the hell kind of sadistic lunatic would push a stake through someone’s neck? Is the person behind this responsible for Ollie’s disappearance, or worse, death? He needed more information about the stranger who frightened Ollie so badly. Once he arrived at Peder’s house he would rack Trilly’s brain for more information. Perhaps he could even get Edna to talk, once he explained how much danger the kid was in.

A cab rounded a street up ahead, and Queen raised his hand to hail it.

“Don’t do that. We need to talk.”

Queen turned to see Jack Peach, leaning against the wall, his gentlemanly airs barely able to contain the cold-blooded killer beneath.

“Peach. To what do I owe this pleasure? Is my tie straight? Why do I always feel inadequately dressed when I’m around you?”

“Because you spend all of your hard-earned money on liquor and games of chance, Queen.” He smiled a wide smile, and casually handed Queen a flower.

“What’s this for?”

“You’re going to visit a lady friend, aren’t you? I can’t do anything about the stains on your shirt or the missing cufflink on your right sleeve, but at least a fresh flower for your lapel will slick you up. I believe first impressions ought to be good.”

This took Queen by the family jewels with a good-sized twist. How in God’s name did Peach know anything about his personal movements?

“Remember that I am a Minneapolis police detective with all the authority in the goddamn world, and you are a fish out of water. Saint Paul is a forty minute streetcar ride away, if you’ve forgotten where you are.”

Jack Peach held his hands up in mock surrender, tossing the flower over his shoulder and smiling like it was his birthday. “There. I’ve littered on a Minneapolis sidewalk. Arrest me now and appease that false sense of superiority you’re trying to cling to. I’ve got matters to discuss, Queen, and they directly involve you.”

“I’m not setting up a meeting between Superintendent Ames and your boss Kilbane, Jack. It just won’t happen. Ames is worried about bad press, and if word leaked about the Ames administration sitting down with a known gangster from another city –”

“That has been taken off the table, Queen. And how many times do I have to remind you not to call me by my first name? We’re not friends yet. Yet. Let’s talk there.” He pointed to an alley, and started towards it, hands jauntily in his pockets, as if he had meetings in alleys every day. Queen wouldn’t have been surprised if he did. His instincts were usually sharp about dangerous situations, and although this seemed like a natural setup to an ambush, his gut told him it would only be a conversation.

“This should do,” Peach said when they found their privacy. The alley was next to a fruit market, and crates were stacked along its brick wall, below a low-hanging fire escape. Peach sat on the bottom step, somehow still looking genteel in his cashmere suit, checkered in the latest style. It was beautifully tailored, and Queen took a moment to grudgingly admire the man’s taste. It had been a long time since he’d bought new clothing, and once things settled a little in his job, a fine worsted suit might give him some courage around Trilly.

And then, as he admired the suit, it dawned on him. Krumweide had said a finely dressed gentleman without facial hair had paid Dander’s and Higgins’s bail. Here was just such a gentleman, alive and well, sitting on a crate before him. What the hell?

“As I was saying, Queen.” Peach lifted an apple from an open crate, and wiped it with his silk handkerchief. “We don’t require a meeting with your police superintendent anymore. In fact, Mr. Kilbane has generously agreed to settle your debt. Don’t worry about paying him back. You are absolved,” he said, making a priestly sign.

“Either Jiggs Kilbane has suddenly found Jesus, or you haven’t told me the rest,” said Queen.

“Mr. Kilbane is Catholic, Queen,” Peach laughed. “Catholics don’t require the same salvation as Protestants do. I’ve heard your new mayor isn’t particularly fond of the Irish, is he?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Queen lied. “So, you made a special trip to Minneapolis to track me down, simply to tell me I don’t owe your boss any money. Forgive me if I’m not celebrating yet, but I think more is coming.”

Peach gave a little smile. “You looked ornery coming out of the pokey. Is something wrong?”

“What did you do with Emil Dander and his no-account thug?” Queen responded.

“I expected you to live up to your celebrated reputation and figure things out a little faster.” He pulled a long, ominous-looking blade from inside his coat. “A little too big for cutting apples,” he laughed, slicing off a piece. “Would you like a taste?”

Queen ignored his offer. “So you made bail for a shiftless brothel owner. What gives? Why does a bad pill like that matter to you?”

“He matters to my employer,” Peach said. He put a slice of apple in his mouth, and chewed, then pulled the piece out with exaggerated disgust. “I must not have cleaned my knife properly.” He turned it, examining it with feigned curiosity. “There, see? Blood. It’s got an odd metallic taste to it, don’t you think?”

Queen stood silent. He wouldn’t respond to Peach’s pathetic little vaudeville.

“Never muddle your knives,” Peach said. “One for fruit.” He pulled his handkerchief out again, and wiped the blade dry. “And one for meat.”

“And what do you want with Emil Dander, Peach?”

“I’m not at liberty to say. But I am to pass this on to you. Dander isn’t your business anymore. Jiggs Kilbane has officially broken communication with you, and trust me, that is a good, good thing. Forget about Dander. That’s all.” He stood up, tossed the apple to the ground, and brushed off his pants.

“How did you know where I was going?” Queen asked.

Peach shrugged and smiled.

This is goddamn crazy, Queen thought. How is he involved in this? “Tell me again, what do you want with Dander?”

“Again, I can’t tell you. The offer Mr. Kilbane has made you is quite fair. I promise you Mr. Dander will not cross your path on this earth, ever again. He is out of your hair forever.”

“And what if I go and find him?”

“And what if you do?” chuckled Peach. “What if I make a call on your sister? What if I visit your friend Peder Ulland? You can’t keep your eye on everyone, all of the time.”