Last Stop in Brooklyn Read online

  While she made her way down the corridor of the fourth floor, Mary decided on a plan of action. After all, knocking on the door was one thing. Getting them to open it was another.

  “Who is it?” Walter asked, sounding concerned.

  You should be concerned, you…But Mary responded in a very civil tone, using her best Irish accent, “Room service, sir.”

  “We didn’t order anything.”

  “I know, sir. Champagne, compliments of the hotel.”

  There was a pause, then Walter opened the door and said, “Thank you. That’s very kind—” He stopped, completely flabbergasted when he saw Mary standing there with her Kodak box camera in hand and ready to shoot. “Mary, what the—”

  But Mary didn’t pause, nor did she respond. She knew she would get upset and never get the photo she needed. She pointed the camera and hurriedly took the shot. When she looked up, she didn’t know what to make of what she saw.

  Besides Walter and Colleen, there were two other men in the room. Mary’s righteous anger quickly dissipated. What was going on?

  6

  The room was spacious and nicely furnished. Besides the bed, there was a large carved mahogany sofa with red upholstery embroidered in gold, a black and red velvet Burmese club chair, and a mahogany writing desk with a chair.

  Shortly after Mary had entered she’d realized that one of the other men was Joseph Hodges Choate, a celebrated New York lawyer who had argued before the Supreme Court against the racist Chinese Exclusion Act and had been involved in many landmark cases. She didn’t recognize the third man, who was in his midthirties and had a thick crop of brown hair. His nose was larger than most but fit into his face nicely. Needless to say, this was no romantic rendezvous.

  “What in blazes are you doing here, Mary?” Walter demanded.

  “Mary Handley?” Colleen said, finally recognizing her. “I haven’t seen you in years.”

  “All I can say is that I am on a case.”

  “Who hired you? Was it Sarah?”

  “Was it Brian?”

  “Was it the Marquis de Sade?” asked the third man in the room.

  “The Marquis de Sade?”

  “You barged into a hotel room brandishing a camera. It’s something the marquis would do.”

  “I highly doubt it. He wasn’t around when they invented the camera, because he’s been dead for eighty years.”

  “Still client material for you. You look like the séance type.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Essentially, it means you have a screw loose, madam.”

  As Mary stepped toward her tormentor, Walter quickly placed himself between the two. He knew he’d have to calm the waters in order to find out anything useful.

  “Mary, let me introduce you. You obviously know Colleen.” Mary nodded to Colleen, which prompted her to once again ask if Brian had hired her. Mary wisely didn’t respond and Walter continued. “This gentleman is—”

  “Joseph Hodges Choate. I’m a great admirer of your work, Mr. Choate.”

  “Really?” queried Choate. “I’ll take that under advisement and decide later whether I should consider that a compliment or not.”

  “I hope to prove to you that this situation is an anomaly and that my opinion is worthy.”

  “That will take a lot of proving,” chimed in the third man. Mary’s head whipped around sharply in his direction, and Walter once again felt the need to intercede.

  “Mary Handley, this is Harper Lloyd.”

  “Ah, that explains your sour disposition: two names that can easily be switched. I’m sure just as many people call you Lloyd Harper as Harper Lloyd. It must drive you quite mad.”

  “I bow to your expertise, for you are as mad as Lewis Carroll’s Hatter.”

  “You can read? That’s a surprising development.”

  “Stop it,” Walter demanded. “I declare a cease-fire to all hostilities, at least until we get to the bottom of this.” He took out his wallet. “Mary, if we hire you, might I assume you will keep the same confidentiality you afford to all your clients?”

  “Yes, of course, but—”

  “Here’s five dollars. Consider yourself hired for a few hours.”

  “Walter, I can’t take money from you.”

  “You have to.”

  “But, Walter—”

  “Enough, Mary, it’s done. If it makes you feel better, buy something for the children.” Mary quieted, knowing any further protest would be useless. “Now, I’ll tell you what we’re doing here on the condition that you tell us if it has anything at all to do with why you’re here.”

  “That sounds fair, as long as I don’t have to reveal who my client is.”

  Harper flinched. “You can’t trust her, Walter. This woman’s too loosely tied together.”

  “Which name is real,” Mary shot back, “Harper or Lloyd, or are they both phony?”

  “I trust Walter,” Choate said.

  “Thank you,” Mary replied.

  “Not you. Him.” Choate pointed to Walter. “Besides, Miss Handley, if you violate our trust, not only will I put an end to your detective career, but I will also sue you to a point where your great-grandchildren will still be paying my estate.”

  “Is that even possible?” Mary asked, and they all looked at her. “Just wondering. Okay, I’m on board, aye-aye, sirs…and lady.” Mary paused. “Sorry, that was a bit too flip.”

  Harper gestured to Walter. “See what I mean?”

  Walter pulled out the desk chair and suggested that everyone be seated. As he sat, Mary and Choate chose opposite ends of the sofa; Colleen sat on the club chair and Harper on the edge of the bed. Walter then explained that one of Joseph Choate’s clients was William Laidlaw, the man who had been found on top of Russell Sage in the Henry Norcross bombing.

  “I’m aware of the case,” Mary said. “The accounts in the newspapers are hard to miss. Mr. Laidlaw claims that when the bomb went off, Mr. Sage grabbed him and used him as a human shield. Mr. Choate, I have read some of your cross-examinations of Mr. Sage in the newspaper, and I commend you on exposing the selfish, cowardly nature of that old skinflint.”

  “ ‘Skinflint’ is a relative term, Miss Handley,” Choate said. “Sage doesn’t care that William Laidlaw will be in pain and infirm for the rest of his life. He’s determined not to pay him a cent, no matter how much it costs him in legal fees. As you probably know, I have won judgments against him, yet he keeps on appealing.”

  “Mr. Choate,” Walter continued, “has many obligations ahead of him, including some very important arguments before the Supreme Court. He has brought me on as co-counsel in case those obligations draw him away from this case. Then I will take over. But for now my involvement is a private matter, the reasons for which are not important to this discussion.”

  “I understand. Why would you want Russell Sage and his Wall Street cronies on your back if you’re not definitely taking over for Mr. Choate?”

  “Walter is being very generous by donating his time,” said Choate. “William Laidlaw has no money and Walter will not get any remuneration unless we secure a permanent judgment. I see no reason to throw him to the wolves any sooner than is necessary.”

  “That’s lovely of you, Walter,” said Mary, feeling incredibly guilty at what she had suspected.

  Walter smiled. “Let’s just hope the wolves don’t get their way.”

  “But how is Colleen involved?”

  “I saw it, Mary,” Colleen said.

  “Saw it? You were there?”

  Colleen nodded her head. “I was looking for a job. It wasn’t just for the money. The children are wonderful and I love them, but I needed to be around adults for a while. I tell you, Mary, never marry a sailor. They’re never there to help.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with working. You don’t have to make excuses, Colleen.”

  “My mother agreed to watch the children. I got dressed up and went down to the Wall Street area thinking I’d g
o from floor to floor asking if anyone was hiring. That’s how my friend Lorraine got her job with Mr. Sage.”

  “Your friend works for Russell Sage?”

  “She did, and I was going to meet her for lunch when a man passed me in the hall carrying a bulky satchel and entered the offices. He announced he had a letter of introduction from John D. Rockefeller, so I waited outside, not wanting to interrupt important business.”

  “As you probably realize, Mary,” Walter added, “that man was Henry Norcross.”

  “Yes,” said Colleen, “and then Mr. Sage came out of his office. It turned out the letter was not from Mr. Rockefeller but rather a demand for one million two hundred thousand dollars. Can you imagine? I didn’t know there was that much money in the world.”

  “I assure you,” Mary replied, “that Russell Sage has that sum many times over.”

  “Amazing. That kind of money.” Colleen shook her head, processing it. “Anyhow, Mr. Laidlaw arrived and Mr. Sage motioned for him to come over. Then after some more talk, there was a second, maybe less, where he saw the man was going to drop his bag and he pulled poor Mr. Laidlaw to him.”

  “You actually saw Russell Sage do that?”

  “Like I said, it was a split second, but yes.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” said Choate.

  “You look okay,” Mary said. “I mean, you avoided getting—”

  “Just small cuts and bruises. Lucky, I guess. Some boards covered my body. Maybe they protected me. I don’t know. The office was completely destroyed. I checked on Lorraine. She had a bad glass cut on her leg. Others were hurt worse, but she was my friend and I helped her downstairs. The ambulances had already arrived, they took her, and I went home.”

  Mary slowly absorbed this information. “I can’t imagine. That must’ve been awful.”

  “So now you know,” Walter said, “why we’ve chosen such an out-of-the-way, clandestine meeting place. It’s not just for my sake. It’s also for Colleen’s.”

  Choate clarified it further. “Her eyewitness testimony will not only put an end to any thought Russell Sage might have of appealing but also secure us a very generous judgment. It’s essential that Sage and his cohorts know nothing about Colleen, so that she won’t be subject to their bullying tactics.”

  “What about Lorraine? I’m sure they’ll question her if they haven’t already.”

  “She quit her job after that,” Colleen answered. “Then her husband lost his. Her uncle in Ohio offered him a job and they moved.”

  “So, after all this,” Walter said, “does your case have anything to do with ours?”

  “Not in the slightest. You have nothing to fear.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  Harper stood up. “That’s it, Walter? You’re just going to accept that?”

  “I’ve known Mary for years and—”

  “Who are you, anyway?” asked Mary.

  “I’m a reporter.”

  “I should have known. Obnoxious, egotistical—it all fits.”

  Choate laughed. “She’s got you pegged, Harper.”

  “Actually, Mary,” Walter interceded once again, “Harper is one of the good ones. He was concerned about William Laidlaw, did some fine investigative work and found Colleen.”

  Colleen leaned over toward Mary. “What do you think, Mary?”

  “About what?”

  “Should I testify? These men keep telling me I have a duty to perform, that these rich, megalo—something—”

  “Megalomaniacs. It means they’re power crazy.”

  “Yeah, they have power and I don’t. I’m afraid what they can do to me and my family.”

  “Now, Colleen,” Choate said. “We’ve discussed this many times—”

  “I want to know what Mary thinks.”

  Mary leaned in toward Colleen. “It’s your life. I can’t tell you what to do. All I can do is relate what I’ve experienced. I once had in my possession something a very powerful man wanted. He even tried to have me killed for it. But once I got it into the right hands and exposed him, he stopped trying to kill me. I no longer had what he wanted.”

  “He completely stopped? He didn’t try to punish you for—?”

  “There are vindictive people in this world, but these men are businessmen. They see no percentage in committing a crime from which they won’t profit.”

  “How do I know that Russell Sage is not one of the vindictive ones?”

  “You don’t, not with complete certainty, but it’s also possible if you don’t testify that Russell Sage could find out about you and make sure you never let the information out.”

  Colleen shook her head. “It doesn’t sound good no matter what I do.”

  “When in doubt, Colleen, it’s never wrong to tell the truth.”

  “Thanks, Mary.” And Colleen sat back, thinking about her words.

  Harper decided to take advantage of the situation. “Since it’s never wrong to tell the truth, maybe you can tell us why you were here.”

  “To be honest, it was a mistake, and I am quite embarrassed about it.” Mary felt comfortable saying this. She didn’t see it as a lie but rather as a half truth.

  Harper’s look told her he could see right through her. It was disconcerting.

  7

  It was the Saturday of Labor Day weekend and Russell Sage was working. His only concession to the holiday weekend was that he was at home. Work was his life, and the money he derived from it was sacred. It was hard to determine which of the two he valued more, but since one begat the other, he’d never have to choose.

  There was a knock at his office door. Any interruption of his work annoyed him, and he wasn’t too shy to show it.

  “What is it?” he snapped.

  From the other side of the door came Olivia’s voice. “Your lunch is ready, dear.”

  “Tell Beatrice to serve me in here.” Beatrice was their maid, one of several servants. She was his favorite because she never tried to engage him in what he called “mundane chatter.” She did her job and got out. He admired anyone who was efficient. Food itself was a necessary evil that pried him from his work but until a viable substitute was found, he was stuck with it.

  Olivia opened the door. “We so rarely dine together during the day. I thought it would be nice to do so on this holiday weekend. That is, if you can find the time, dear.”

  Sage knew his wife well. She didn’t make these demands unless there was something she wanted to discuss, something she needed. Marriage was no more than a business deal to him, and as in every business deal there were certain give-and-take moments. Olivia had been a dutiful wife who had always lived up to her part of the deal, so this was one of his “give” moments.

  “That’s a lovely idea, darling. I’ll be there shortly.”

  She smiled and left. True to his word, he joined her in the dining room a few minutes later. After they greeted each other, Beatrice, a fleshy, even-tempered woman, emerged from the kitchen, silently placed their lunch plates in front of them, and immediately left. Sage smiled, pleased with her performance.

  “I hope you like the watercress salad, dear,” Olivia said. “I made it myself and I tried something different.”

  “It’s quite good. Nice job,” Sage said as he chewed away. He didn’t notice any difference, but saying so would probably distress her and he didn’t want to risk that over a watercress salad. What concerned him more was that she’d made the salad instead of the cook. It meant this “give” moment would be significant. He waited for her proposal. It didn’t take long.

  “I’m glad you like it. I so wanted you to.” She smiled and took a bite herself. “How is your work going?”

  “Demanding but fine. The usual.”

  She nodded and smiled. “I spent a few days this week at the New York Women’s Hospital. They’re doing wonderful work there.”

  “Good to hear.” His praise stopped there. More would enhance the sales pitch.

/>   “They’re having a terrible time with funding. There’s nothing pleasant about turning away the infirm.”

  “Yes, a nasty business.”

  “Russell—”

  “No.”

  “But, Russell—”

  “We’ve had this discussion many times, Olivia. I work very hard for my money—”

  “These people aren’t loafers. They’re—”

  “And just because I’m smarter I should support them? No, Olivia, I sweat for every penny that I earn and I’m not giving it away.”

  “Andy Carnegie and John Rockefeller have seen fit to be more understanding when it comes to charity. I think—”

  “If Andy and John want to throw away their fortunes, it makes me ill but it’s their prerogative. I choose not to.”

  “I’m not suggesting you do it on the same scale. I would never suggest that. What I am asking is but a mere fraction. It’s so infinitesimal you’ll never feel it.”

  “But I will, Olivia. I assure you I will. Now, I don’t want to hear any more of it.”

  “Russell—”

  “I mean it. End of discussion.”

  At this point their butler, Gregory, entered. “Inspector Byrnes is here to see you, sir.”

  “Show him into my office, Gregory. I’ll receive him there.” Sage stood. “Sorry about the interruption, dear. Lovely salad.” And he followed Gregory out of the dining room.

  Byrnes was sitting in a leather club chair when Sage entered his office. He rose and they shook hands.

  “Good to see you, Tom. Are you working on this Labor Day weekend?”

  “Six days a week fer the city and seven days fer ya.” He indicated Sage’s desk. “I see yer workin’, too.”

  “People mistakenly view this weekend as a vacation. In order to honor labor, I intend to labor even more.” Sage then emitted a loud guffaw. Byrnes wasn’t amused, but it was Russell Sage and he felt obligated to also laugh.

  “That’s a good one, Russell.”

  “Yes, and people think I’m humorless.” He went to his desk and sat. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  “Have ya spoken with Mr. Carnegie lately?”