The Russian Hill Murders (18 page)
Read The Russian Hill Murders Online
Authors: Shirley Tallman
“All right, Sarah, I know you mean well. Drat it all, you always mean well. But altruism is not a feasible defense in a court of law. You need cold, hard evidence to prove your client’s innocence.”
“I know,” I said, rubbing the ridge between my eyes. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something, something I saw or heard that’s important to the case. I can sense it, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Maybe because it’s not there, Sarah. Have you ever thought of that?” He looked as weary and frustrated as I felt. “You’re going to let this damn case destroy your professional future. It’s just too painful to watch.”
I was struck by a sudden idea. “Then don’t just watch, Robert:
help me structure Chin’s defense. You told me once that you wanted to be a trial attorney. Well, here’s your chance. Join me as second chair. Or, if you’d prefer, help from behind the scenes. There’s going to be more than enough work for two people.”
help me structure Chin’s defense. You told me once that you wanted to be a trial attorney. Well, here’s your chance. Join me as second chair. Or, if you’d prefer, help from behind the scenes. There’s going to be more than enough work for two people.”
Robert stared at me as if I’d just suggested he declare his candidacy for president.
“At least think about it,” I went on. “If nothing else, it will be a wonderful learning experience.”
The look on his face was so comical that for the first time that day I gave in to the impulse to laugh.
C
hin Lee Fong’s arraignment contained few surprises. He was officially charged with the murder of Lucius Arlen, was denied bail and had his trial set for the second week of May. Although Chin still stood accused of killing Dora Clemens, the state chose to pursue Arlen’s death first, undoubtedly because they felt it was the easier of the two cases to prove.
hin Lee Fong’s arraignment contained few surprises. He was officially charged with the murder of Lucius Arlen, was denied bail and had his trial set for the second week of May. Although Chin still stood accused of killing Dora Clemens, the state chose to pursue Arlen’s death first, undoubtedly because they felt it was the easier of the two cases to prove.
It all boiled down to means and opportunity. The autopsies showed both the accountant and the kitchen maid had been poisoned with
Actaea alba,
or baneberry, which, I discovered from my research, resembled blueberries. Since a small bag of the deadly berries, as well as their equally lethal roots, was discovered at the rear of one of Chin’s cupboards, the question of “means” was quickly resolved.
Actaea alba,
or baneberry, which, I discovered from my research, resembled blueberries. Since a small bag of the deadly berries, as well as their equally lethal roots, was discovered at the rear of one of Chin’s cupboards, the question of “means” was quickly resolved.
That Chin also had opportunity to administer the poison was, for all practical purposes, a nonfactor. As cook for the hospital, he had unlimited access to the kitchen and to its supplies. What could be easier, the police reasoned, than for him to slip ground baneberry root or berry into an unsuspecting victim’s coffee? The prosecutor must have been delighted to find himself with such an
easy case. Chin not only had the means and opportunity, he continued to declare his hatred of Arlen loud enough for the entire city to hear!
easy case. Chin not only had the means and opportunity, he continued to declare his hatred of Arlen loud enough for the entire city to hear!
I set myself a daunting schedule. Since I lacked any of the hard evidence Robert mentioned, the only way I could see to clear Chin was to find the real killer. In order to do that, I’d need to account for Dora Clemens’s whereabouts the morning of her death. Normally at work by seven o’clock, she hadn’t arrived at the hospital that day until eleven. Had she really been ill, as she claimed? Or had she gone somewhere else first? To see the murderer, perhaps? To ask for blackmail money?
Then there were the Godfrey brothers, either of whom might have individually, or jointly, murdered Caroline and—on far shakier grounds—the other three victims. I’d asked Samuel to look into their finances, but so far I’d heard nothing back from him.
Lastly, I wanted to go over Arlen’s account books in an effort to discover why he’d been so eager to speak to Margaret the day we’d toured the hospital. I remained convinced that whatever had him so upset that day was pivotal in identifying his murderer.
Chin’s case, however overwhelming, was not my only concern. I had not forgotten my promise to Lily Mankin. Despite my best efforts, I’d been unable to locate the owner of the sweatshop where Jack Mankin died. The trail always led back to the missing Bert Corrigan and Killy Doyle, one of whom must know the identity of the mysterious landlord.
In the end, it was a chance comment Samuel made about McKenzie Properties, the listed owners of the sweatshop, that gave me the idea. To confirm my suspicions, I required the services of Eddie Cooper.
As agreed, I wrote my initials on a piece of paper, drew a circle around them, and sent it in care of Laine Carriages. To my delight,
Eddie reined up in front of my home less than an hour later, eager as ever to be “hot on the trail.”
Eddie reined up in front of my home less than an hour later, eager as ever to be “hot on the trail.”
I decided to start my investigation with Lucius Arlen’s account books, but before I went to the hospital, I had Eddie stop at the so-called offices of McKenzie Properties on Sansone Street. The secondhand shop was much as I remembered from my first visit: run-down, grimy, and in dire need of paint. The sign above the store was so faded it was hard to make out the words: JAKE’S USED GOODS.
I told Eddie my suspicion that this was where Corrigan and Doyle were hiding. The lad’s eyes grew large as I outlined his role in my plan. Eddie would take me to the hospital, then drive back here and keep an eye on the shop in case either man turned up.
“You can count on me, miss,” he said with so much enthusiasm you’d have thought I’d asked him to guard the gold at the local assayer’s office.
“I have no idea how long I’ll be at the hospital. So, I’ll take a cab and meet you here when I’m finished.”
Fifteen minutes later, he dropped me off at the refurbished warehouse, then drove off with a jaunty tip of his cap and a conspiratorial wink toward Sansone Street.
Entering the hospital, I found Margaret in the kitchen familiarizing Lily Mankin—who had graciously agreed to take over as cook during Chin’s incarceration—with Chin’s methods of running his domain. As I came into the room, the two women had their heads bent over the new Sterling Range.
“This stove is a wonder,” Lily exclaimed upon seeing me.
“Mrs. Mankin is going to cook her first dinner for us tonight,” Margaret said, smiling at the widow. “I’m sure it will be a big success.”
Lily’s return smile was tinged with trepidation. “I’ve never tried
cookin’ for so many people before, Mrs. Barlow. But I’ll do my best.”
cookin’ for so many people before, Mrs. Barlow. But I’ll do my best.”
Assuring Lily she would return to the kitchen in time to offer assistance, Mrs. Barlow led me to her office. Several account books lay in a neat pile on her desk.
“I’ve been meaning to go over these ledgers,” she told me. “I just haven’t been able to find the time.”
I picked up the first account book and thumbed through it. “Tell me, Mrs. Barlow, who authorizes hospital expenses?”
“I do, for one, and my husband, of course. In fact, there are several men on the hospital’s finance committee who are approved to authorize an expenditure. I’m afraid that sounds like rather a loose arrangement, but it was to facilitate the renovation and furnishing of the hospital. By giving more than one person authority to approve cash disbursements, there was always someone available to make these decisions. Actually, it’s worked quite well.”
“Was Mr. Arlen empowered to pay bills on his own?”
“Oh, no. All invoices and requests are sent to my office first, or to someone on the finance committee. Once they’re properly authorized, they are sent—or perhaps I should say they were sent—to Mr. Arlen, who paid the bills and entered them into the account books.”
She consulted her lapel watch and stood. “I’m sorry to leave you, Miss Woolson, but I’m late for an important meeting. I wish you luck with these books.”
I spent the next hour going over the neatly written entries, carefully tallying each sum in my notepad. It wasn’t until the third ledger that I began to sense something was wrong. Then I realized it wasn’t anything I’d seen on the pages, but rather something I ought to have seen in the ledgers but didn’t.
I thought back to the Godfrey dinner the night Caroline died. According to Arlen, the party brought in one hundred twenty
thousand dollars, twenty percent over the target goal. Yet a number of these contributions weren’t listed in the ledgers. Moreover, of the pledges that were written in, some weren’t as I remembered.
thousand dollars, twenty percent over the target goal. Yet a number of these contributions weren’t listed in the ledgers. Moreover, of the pledges that were written in, some weren’t as I remembered.
For instance, I knew my parents donated five thousand dollars, but they were listed as having given only three thousand. Judge Barlow’s entry was off by five thousand dollars, as were the Heblers’ and the Roths’. Even my own modest contribution was recorded as less than I’d actually paid. I tried to remember other sums I’d heard called out and came up with yet more discrepancies. In fact, when I totaled the figures entered in the book for that night, they came to ninety thousand dollars, not the hundred twenty thousand Arlen claimed had been brought in. What had happened to the missing thirty thousand dollars?
With renewed determination, I went over the ledgers yet again, paying attention to the smallest details. Sure enough, I discovered more questionable entries, most of them having to do with the kitchen. There were orders for flour, sugar, salt and shortening, for instance, in amounts so large I didn’t see how they could possibly be consumed. The cook had also ordered enough pots and pans to accommodate a good-sized restaurant, along with a large set of dishes and every size utensil imaginable.
Closing the books, I gathered up my notes and headed for the kitchen, pleased to find that it was now deserted. Quickly, I went through every cupboard, every inch of the pantry, every pot and pan, noting each item in my notepad. As I did, I realized they came nowhere near the numbers that supposedly had been ordered. How could Chin have hoped to get away with such an obvious deception?
Finally, I attempted to satisfy myself about something Dora had said as she lay dying. Supposedly, Arlen and the maid had been poisoned with baneberries, most likely administered in coffee to mask
the taste. This coincided with at least part of Dora’s statement. Yet she’d also mentioned “cookies.” Had the killer also served Arlen poisoned cookies?
the taste. This coincided with at least part of Dora’s statement. Yet she’d also mentioned “cookies.” Had the killer also served Arlen poisoned cookies?
Once again I searched the pantry, but the coffee beans I found revealed nothing. Next, I reexamined the cupboards until I came upon a tin marked “cookies,” which I’d passed over as unimportant my first time through. Prying off the lid, I was surprised to find not cookies inside, but wads of money, nearly fifty dollars. I reread my notes from Dora’s death. Is this why she’d mentioned cookies? Was she trying to tell us that this tin was where Chin kept the money he stole from his kitchen allowance?
There was no time now to speculate, as I still had to question the nursing and housekeeping staff. Unfortunately, this line of inquiry went nowhere. Several nurses had seen Arlen enter the kitchen shortly before eight P.M., but not a single person could say whether Chin had been with him. In fact, no one had set eyes on the cook after dinner. Had Dora been the only one to see Chin that evening? My heart sank. If that were the case, I’d lost my only witness.
Before I gave up, I decided to explore the one area of the hospital I’d yet to visit: the basement. Descending the stairs, I found myself in a damp hall with doors leading off to either side. Making my way through the dim light, I found the first four rooms unoccupied. In the fifth room, I came upon a lone Chinese man washing linen.
“You not belong down here,” he said, looking as startled to see me as I was to see him. “Go away. I busy”
Ignoring this admonition, I stepped into the room. Two washtubs sat on a wood table, while stacks of dirty sheets and other linen were pilled on the floor. A clothes wringer perched on the edge of the table, and beneath it sat a pail to catch water. The rest of the room was taken up by cast-iron drying racks, some of them already
covered with linen. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
covered with linen. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
Plainly, the man did mind. “I busy,” he repeated, inserting a sheet into the wringer and cranking the handle.
“This won’t take long, I promise. You must know that the cook, Mr. Chin Lee Fong, has been arrested for murder. Two murders, in fact. I’m acting as his attorney.”
This rated a derisive look that plainly questioned Chin’s sanity for hiring a woman attorney, but still he didn’t speak. Frustrated, I tried a different tack.
“Mr. Li Ying has employed me to handle Mr. Chin’s defense. I’d hate to have to inform him you refused to speak to me.”
This so surprised the man that he barely caught his fingers before they followed the sheet through the wringer.
His dark eyes opened wide with fear. “No, no, missy, I talk. No problem.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Mr … .”
“Kin Tsau, missy.”
I introduced myself and went on to ask if he’d seen Chin the night Arlen was poisoned. He seemed reluctant to confide in a stranger, a
fahn quai
—a white person—at that. Then, after a long pause he admitted, “I see him.”
fahn quai
—a white person—at that. Then, after a long pause he admitted, “I see him.”
My heart leapt at these words. “What time was that?”
“After dinner. Seven o’clock maybe. He go out that night. Play cards, maybe dice. All time play. Sometimes bet on cockfights, or mahjong.”
This was exciting news. If Chin left the hospital by seven o’clock—and Arlen hadn’t been seen going into the kitchen until nearly eight—it would establish the cook’s alibi.
“Where did Chin usually gamble, Mr. Kin?”
The laundryman mentioned several Chinatown gambling dens,
none more than a seven- or eight-block walk from the hospital. I’d check them out, of course. Hopefully, someone would remember seeing Chin that night.
none more than a seven- or eight-block walk from the hospital. I’d check them out, of course. Hopefully, someone would remember seeing Chin that night.
I had a disheartening thought. Even if I did find witnesses who’d seen him, how much weight would their testimony carry in court? It was unfair, but among the city’s white population, the word of a Chinese was notoriously suspect, even when it was given under oath.
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