Ten Days in August (25 page)

“For the times when I would usually sing, I presume.”

“Precisely. I like you Nicky, but I need to keep my business open. You understand.”

Nicky nodded, because he understood how this world worked. “Well, like I said, I do apologize. I would like to resume my position if you'll have me.” Though Nicky was no longer certain that was true. After walking through the lobby, he wondered how many times he'd be able to repeat the act. Bulgaria had always been a bit seedy, but now it seemed particularly uncouth and perhaps unsafe.

A shiver went through him. How many more Brigham Knights would there be out there? Knight was hardly the first man to come slumming at a place like Bulgaria and he would not be the last, not as long as the city's wealthy elite considered it sporting to see how the other half lived, as if attending a night club on the Bowery was some kind of cheap thrill. Knight was likely not the first or the last with more nefarious intent.

For the first time since Hank had rescued him, Nicky began to shake, but he wanted to at least keep his wits about him in front of Julie, so instead he held his breath and waited.

“Come back in a week if you still want the job,” Julie said. “I can't make you any promises. The boys like Claudia.”

“I understand, of course, darling,” Nicky said. “Paulina will sing again, though.”

“We'll see.”

Nicky left a few minutes later. As he walked out onto the Bowery, an elevated train rattled above. The tracks blocked the sunlight, so this bit of street never got much light, which may have been why Nicky had never quite noticed just how disgusting it was.

Paulina
would
sing again if Nicky had anything to say about it, but whether it would be at Bulgaria was less certain. He could likely persuade Julie to give him his old gig back—he was too much of an asset to the club—but suddenly Nicky was not so sure he wanted it. He wanted to perform, but not to a room full of men about to get their cocks sucked by pretty working boys who escorted them to the backrooms.

Nicky knew he was not without talent. There had to be other opportunities out there. He just had to find them.

C
haos burst on the main floor of Police Headquarters where the secretarial pool sat. A wave of activity passed from the far end of the room, opposite Andrew's desk, and it came back toward Andrew with an intensity that had him waiting, braced for impact.

“A fight broke out at the Tombs!” someone said excitedly.

“A fight?” said Andrew.

“In one of the cells!” The nearest secretary—Jenkins was his name—hopped to his feet and bustled over to Andrew's desk. “The report is there was some sodomite in a cell down at the Tombs, and he got into a fight with another inmate in his cell, and one or both of them were injured. Someone was stabbed, I think. Wait, what did you say?” He turned around. Everyone was talking at once and there was an air of excitement.

Andrew groaned. It wasn't uncommon for fights to break out at the Tombs, nor were the secretaries at Police Headquarters strangers to violence and death, especially not this week, but he supposed the sodomite detail added an extra bit of scandal.

And that brought Andrew up short.

“Has anyone heard the victim's names?” Andrew shouted above the fray.

No one seemed to.

Andrew grabbed his jacket and headed toward the door.

He ran most of the way and had worked up a good sweat by the time he arrived at the Tombs. Even though it wasn't nearly as hot today as it had been, it was still August in New York. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket as he walked into the prison, where everything was still chaos. Several uniformed officers were yelling and one of the police surgeons was milling about in front as if waiting to be summoned. Andrew pushed through the crowd to the main desk.

“Excuse me. I'm Andrew Ritchley from the police department. Special Assistant to Commissioner Roosevelt.” He had to shout to be heard because everyone seemed to be talking at once. “I've been sent to find out the details of what is happening here.” A white lie, but Andrew had a sinking feeling he knew which sodomite had been caught up in the most recent altercation.

A harried looking clerk looked at him and nodded. “I imagine you heard about the incident of this morning.”

“Yes. Police Headquarters is buzzing about it. Look, a few officers working on a case I have been overseeing brought a man in here yesterday under arrest. I wondered if he might have been one of the parties tied up in the chaos of the morning. Can you tell me the names of anyone injured? Or give me details?”

“I'm afraid I don't know their names,” said the clerk. “But I'll tell you what I know.” The clerk also shouted, and he was still hard to hear.

Frustrated, Andrew turned around. He clapped his hands together hard a few times and then cupped them around his mouth. “Would everyone keep quiet for just a moment! Keep your voices down!” His cries fell on deaf ears, apparently, because everyone still shouted.

The clerk sighed and then climbed up on the desk. He shouted, “Quiet! Quiet all of you!”

He managed to achieve a volume that snared everyone's attention, and while it wasn't quite silent, the volume of talking diminished significantly.

“Thank you!” shouted the clerk. “I've a man here from Police Headquarters who intends to investigate the incident of this morning. If you are a reporter, wait outside. We will pass details to you in a moment. If you are a surgeon, I understand your help is needed in the infirmary, which is just down that hallway.” He pointed. “And if you have no business here but are just an onlooker, please leave. I am certain there will be a thorough and vivid report in the papers tomorrow.”

“My thanks,” Andrew said to the clerk as he climbed back off his desk.

The clerk grunted. They both waited for some of those gathered to exit the room.

“Look, here is what happened,” said the clerk. “Or as much as I know. At around ten o'clock this morning or a little after, there was some kind of altercation between two inmates who were sharing a cell. One was a man who was arrested by police yesterday on charges I'm not sure of, but they weren't violent, so he was sharing his cell with a drunk who was sleeping off his intoxication. I do not know the circumstances under which the fight broke out, but the two of them got into a bit of a shouting match, and before the guards could get there, the drunk man pulled a piece of glass out of his pocket. He lashed out at the other man in the cell and cut him pretty severely. Both are currently in the infirmary.”

“May I see them?”

The clerk looked around the room instead of answering. “Officer Skinner!”

Andrew turned to see who the clerk spoke to. A tall man with a thin mustache wearing a police uniform stepped forward.

“Would you please escort Mr. Ritchley to the infirmary?” said the clerk.

Officer Skinner led Andrew down the hall, barking at prisoners in their cells as they passed, until they arrived at the infirmary. It wasn't the first time Andrew had walked the halls of cells in the Tombs, but he never enjoyed it.

Andrew wished he had Hank with him, because he'd only ever seen the engravings of Knight in the paper he'd shown Charlie. He had been in the neighbor's house while Hank, Sherwood, and Polk had apprehended him the day before. He wasn't sure he could positively identify Knight, and he wasn't sure now why he'd rushed down here. It was too late to turn back now, though.

Inside the infirmary, there were a dozen occupied beds. Probably the Tombs had inmates suffering from the heat just as much as everyone else. And perhaps the injured man was not Knight; there were probably a few dozen men arrested each day who were cooling their heels in a cell while they waited for arraignment. The man who'd been cut could have been arrested for any number of non-violent offenses. If he was rumored to be a sodomite, he could easily have been a working boy and not Mr. Knight.

Andrew cursed his rashness.

One prisoner was strapped to his bed and rattled against his restraints.

“Do you know the names of the men involved in the altercation?” Andrew asked Skinner.

Skinner walked over to the bed. “What's your name, prisoner?” he barked at the man strapped to his bed.

The man growled and pulled at his restraints.

“Name!” said Skinner.

“Barnes,” said the prisoner. “John Barnes.”

Andrew looked at the surgeon. “Is this one of the men involved in the violence this morning?”

“He is,” said the surgeon, who had a bit of an accent, maybe German. “This man pulled a piece of glass from a bottle or something from his pocket and brandished it at the other man in his cell. He seems mostly without injury aside from a few bruises and some minor cuts on his hands.”

“And the other man?” asked Andrew.

The surgeon frowned. “Well, he's over here.”

The surgeon walked over to a bed that had been covered with a sheet. Clearly, someone dead was beneath it. Andrew didn't want to see it, but he didn't think he had a choice. The corpse was already starting to smell. The surgeon lifted the sheet to reveal the pale body of a middle-aged man with dark hair.

“That filthy sodomite,” growled the prisoner Barnes. “Do you know why he was arrested? He kidnapped a man for . . . immoral purposes.”

Andrew closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“He wanted to bugger me,” Barnes shouted. “I could see it in his eyes.”

When Andrew opened his eyes again, he saw that the man on the table had a big cut at his neck, big enough to at least have nicked an artery, and other cuts on his arms and chest. So Barnes hadn't just lashed out once, but repeatedly. Heaven forbid he share space with a known sodomite.

The dead man on the table bore some resemblance to Andrew's knowledge of Knight and was certainly too old to be a working boy.

“His name?” Andrew asked.

The surgeon walked over and picked up the toe tag. “Uh, this is a Mr. Brigham Knight.”

That was decisive, at least. “All right,” said Andrew. “Thank you, sir. Er, do you have a water closet nearby that I may use?”

The surgeon directed him to one just outside the infirmary. Andrew rushed inside and promptly vomited everything he'd eaten all day.

 

Hank wasn't altogether thrilled as he walked out of his meeting. The meeting itself had been mostly bureaucratic nonsense, which was for the good because Hank found it impossible to pay attention. He'd instead spent the time fretting about the future.

He couldn't prove his case.

It might be better to resign before the truth of his relationship with Nicky was exposed.

It was the latter that most scared him, because he loved being a police officer and enjoyed the detective work that went along with his current position, but he also had no desire to have his affairs aired to the whole police commission should there be an investigation into his private life. As Stephens spent a good portion of his morning skulking about, smiling as if he had a secret, Hank couldn't help but wonder if the days he could keep his secrets were numbered.

Hank had been called into Roosevelt's office for a chat about something after the meeting, which was awe-inspiring and terrifying all at once. He'd only met Roosevelt on a handful of occasions, and it had been Roosevelt himself who had recommended Hank for his promotion to inspector, but the timing of this meeting did not bode well. Hank dreaded this “chat” as he made his way through the main floor toward Roosevelt's office. A quick glance toward Andrew's desk revealed Andrew himself was absent, which was a shame because Hank could have used a friend or at least a few words of encouragement right then.

“Well, Inspector Brandt. I want to start by saying you have been an exemplary police officer,” Roosevelt said as Hank took a seat after the customary greetings. “You were recommended for promotion to inspector even before I came to occupy this office. As I have done with all candidates for promotion, I reviewed your records. I supported such a promotion and spoke highly of you to the other members of the Board. You do not always adhere strictly to the rules of conduct, but your tenacity in investigating is to be commended.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“As you are likely also aware, the delay in changing your rank from acting inspector to full inspector was caused by some conflict within the police board.”

Hank knew that, too; the rumor throughout the department was Parker voted against any recommended by Roosevelt, apparently for spite.

“Yes, sir,” said Hank.

“Having met you only briefly, I judged you to be a man of some character, despite your failure to adhere to some of the tenets of police business.”

“Is this regarding the uniform, sir? I will resume dressing however you deem appropriate first thing tomorrow, if that is the case.”

Roosevelt shook his head. “It is not your promotion I wish to discuss today. That matter may take some time to resolve, and you have my sincerest apologies for it. Such is the nature of politics, unfortunately.” Roosevelt frowned briefly. “No, I have another matter. Some information regarding your work on your most recent case has prompted me to call you in. Your partner in this matter, Detective Stephens, had some concerns.”

Hank waited.

“As you know, it is of great importance to me that each of the men on this police force must comport themselves with a great deal of respectability.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hank wondered if this would be the end for him. Stephens had probably found some bit of evidence that proved Hank was carrying on with a witness, despite Hank's best efforts to conceal the real truth of his relationship with Nicky. Or Stephens had come to Roosevelt with what he thought he knew, which might have been accurate but could not have been backed up with any real evidence. Or Stephens had made something up in order to get Hank expelled from the force. There were a lot of possibilities that all added up to Roosevelt very likely deeming Hank to be someone lacking in the moral character required of an officer within the New York City Police Department.

“I like Detective Stephens,” Roosevelt said. “Reminds me of myself in my younger days. Ambitious, responsible, a good manager. Wouldn't you say?”

“He's a fine man,” said Hank, not willing to be argumentative.

“Indeed. The captain of the Seventeenth Precinct also recently put him forward as a candidate for promotion. He strikes me as just the sort of man this department needs among its leadership ranks. I intend to fully back his promotion and advocate for him with the police board.”

“Yes. He deserves it.”

“I'm glad you think so.” Roosevelt shot Hank a toothy grin. “I'd like to advocate for you as well, but now I've had some time to consider your record and the information passed to me from Detective Stephens, I wonder if you wouldn't be better suited for a different position.”

Hank sat up. Perhaps he was not being fired after all. “What do you mean, sir?”

Roosevelt put both of his hands on his desk. “Let us face fact. Detective Stephens is the sort of man who excels at politics. Having met with him for a good long while yesterday afternoon and this morning, I do believe he intends to have my job one day. Let him have it, I say.”

Hank sat with his hands folded in his lap, waiting for the real purpose of this meeting to present itself.

“You, Inspector Brandt, would be an asset to any investigative team, and as such, I'd like to keep you working cases. I understand you cracked an important kidnapping case yesterday.”

“I did, yes.”

“Everyone was safe and accounted for.”

“Yes, sir. The kidnapper is currently awaiting legal intervention at the Tombs.”