Always a Cold Deck (A Harry Reese Mystery Book 1) Read online

  While I had been reading, Miss McGinnis had accepted delivery of a parcel from a messenger.

  “The General sent these over for you.” She handed me a thick pile of files. They were all related to the stock episode. There were copies of reports from the New York Stock Exchange and, more interestingly, a file of correspondence with the Ratigan Detective Agency in New York. Apparently, the General had taken it upon himself to find out which of his fellow officers at the Eastern Elevator were involved.

  I knew Dan Ratigan. He specialized in securities fraud. To him, this was probably a routine case. The scheme involved floating rumors that a railroad was interested in buying the Eastern Elevator at a premium. This sent the stock up for several weeks running. But that wasn’t where the money was made. Mason and his confederates waited until the rumors had done their work and then found a couple of wily brokers who would allow them to short the stock and then buy it back in the same day. The day that it became obvious there was nothing to the rumors. By doing it that way, they never risked a dime of their own money.

  Ratigan had compiled a list of the names of those who participated and noted that they all appeared to be aliases. Two of them, Mr. G. Osborne and Mr. Felix Carbury, he had traced to Mason. There were two other names, Matilda Crawley and Frederick Pferd, he hadn’t been able to trace positively but assumed were used by Mason as well. Ratigan reported he could find no evidence that anyone else from Buffalo was involved. I folded this document and slipped it into my pocket.

  By now it was getting on one o’clock, so I offered to take Miss McGinnis to lunch. I realized immediately that I had put myself in a dangerous position. I would now be obligated to graciously accept whatever recommendation she made. If it was the dining room of the Iroquois Hotel, I could easily be out another three dollars. As we were about to leave, she reached for her book.

  “Miss McGinnis, there may be those who find my company somewhat dull, but I pride myself on never having forced a luncheon companion to resort to reading a novel.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Force of habit.”

  She said she had just the place in mind and then headed down toward the Iroquois. When we passed it, I think my sigh was audible. A little further on we arrived at Ellicott Square, which every citizen of Buffalo feels compelled to tell visitors is the largest office building in the world. She led me down a flight of stairs, where we came upon a line of people entering a restaurant through a turnstile. I was charged two bits apiece and we found a table to ourselves in the corner.

  The conversation began with me describing the work I did and her telling me how she had come out to Buffalo from a small town in Massachusetts. But she soon turned the topic back to the smuggling ring, and wanted to know every detail. I obliged.

  “How fantastic. It sounds just like a dime novel. All you need now is the kidnapping of a young white girl by these opium dealers in Chinatown.”

  “I haven’t told you the most fantastic part. Danny Sullivan was found floating in the Commercial Slip this morning. He’d been knifed seven times.”

  “Oh, yes. I should smile.” Miss McGinnis was disbelieving.

  “It’s quite true. The police think it was a Sicilian honor killing, but it was some coincidence.”

  “A Sicilian honor killing? Mr. Reese, you aren’t making this up merely to impress me, are you?”

  “Miss McGinnis, your cynicism is getting the best of you. I assure you, it’s all perfectly true. Now let me ask you a question. Back at the office you said the assumption was your uncle died in a sailing accident. Is there any reason you worded it that way?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I should tell you this, but my uncle was an expert yachtsman, and I don’t see how someone like that could have drowned when his boat was found afloat. And, of course, his body never has been found.”

  “Why shouldn’t you tell me that?”

  “Because you might get it into your head to investigate the life insurance policy my aunt is depending on. My uncle didn’t leave her much else.”

  “Was it a large policy?” She certainly had a point.

  “Well, that’s a private matter, of course.”

  “Has he been declared dead?”

  “Not yet, but it may happen soon. Tell me, Mr. Reese. You seem to think this Mr. Sullivan was killed because of his involvement with these smugglers, is that right?”

  “Yes, I suspect so. He was killed just hours after I spoke to him, and by then a number of people would have known I was looking into the matter.”

  “Do you think it’s possible whoever killed this Sullivan also killed my uncle?”

  “And faked the accident? That’s certainly possible. Do you think your uncle would be involved with a smuggling ring?”

  “I wouldn’t want to say that. But, while he was a thoughtful uncle, he did have a rather unsavory side. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I know he kept a mistress just up the street from the office.”

  “Actually, I knew about her. But what about his business dealings?”

  “Not long after I arrived, my cousin, Charles Junior, alluded to that stock scandal. He was given a stern look and the subject was changed immediately, but he implied my uncle may have profited by it.”

  “It’s certainly possible he was involved with the same people. But why would they want to have him killed?”

  “Well, I think he may have needed money. The Elevator Company was failing, and money had been tight for some time. Maybe he was blackmailing the others involved?”

  “I suppose that’s a possibility.” It seemed a little odd that barely a minute after she spoke disbelievingly of my story she was giving it an even more elaborate turn. And at her own uncle’s expense.

  “There’s something else you should know. The Elevator Company has a life insurance policy on my uncle, which they are trying to collect on.”

  “Who’s they? Is anyone left besides the General?”

  “The creditors. The General has nothing to gain, but he has been trying to cover as many of the debts as possible. That’s the main reason for keeping me on there. I’m supposed to hound the businesses that still owe the Elevator Company to pay their debts so it can pay its debts. Unfortunately, I’m not terribly good at hounding debtors.”

  “How much is that policy for?”

  “Twenty thousand dollars.”

  “That’s certainly a figure that motivates. Do you know who the policy is with?”

  “I believe it’s the Provident Insurance Company.”

  “Do you know who the Elevator Company’s biggest debtors are? I mean, who would benefit most?”

  “There was a second mortgage. I can’t remember who it was with, but I can look it up back at the office.”

  “But wouldn’t that mortgage be transferred to the new owner of the elevator?”

  “I wouldn’t know about that. The General says it’s still outstanding.” Then she asked, “If my uncle was killed because of something illegal involving the Elevator Company, would the insurance company have to pay?”

  “Probably not. And certainly not if an officer of the company was participating in it. Why?”

  “That’s the sort of thing you investigate, isn’t it?”

  “Sure. But I’d need a little more to go on.”

  On the way back to the office, she bought the early edition of the afternoon paper so she could read about Danny. I walked her upstairs and said good-bye, but she stopped me before I could leave.

  “Mr. Reese, why don’t you have dinner with us this evening? It would give you a chance to meet my aunt and my cousin Charlie. He might be able to tell you about his father’s law practice.”

  I accepted, but I thought it unlikely young Charlie would be willing to shed any light on the dark corners of the family’s doings. I had the feeling Miss McGinnis was trying to misdirect me in some way. She said she needed to do some shopping that evening and asked me to meet her at seven o’clock at Lafayette Square. Before leaving, I reminded her about finding
out who held that second mortgage. She seemed irritated by the suggestion that she needed reminding.

  I wired Dan Ratigan from a Western Union office downstairs and then went by the Iroquois. I found Keegan in the billiard room passing the time until his wife’s arrival. I related Miss McGinnis’s information about her uncle and her theory about his disappearance.

  “That seems a little theatrical. Isn’t it more likely he faked his own death? Probably to share in the collection on the life policy his wife has?”

  “Yes, that’s what I was thinking. But he also had a mistress. What I need to find out is who else held life policies on Charles Elwell, who underwrote them, their value, and when they were written.”

  “So you’re hoping the writers of these policies will pay you to prove he’s alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what about the Mason case we’re paying you for?” He smiled.

  Here I had to be careful. I wanted to keep both irons in the fire.

  “I’m fairly certain the two are connected. If I find one, either the second will be nearby, or the first will know where to find him.”

  That sounded plausible enough, so Keegan gave it his blessing and said he’d find out about the policies by six o’clock and leave an envelope at the desk for me. I felt a little bad about using what Miss McGinnis had provided me to the detriment of her family, but business is business, and there was little likelihood the experience could make her any more cynical than she was already.

  6

  The Tifft House was on Main Street just a block above Lafayette Square, so it seemed like a good time to visit Sadie Parker. The lobby was worn and dated, but you could tell it had once been a fine place. Probably during Grant’s first term. I asked the clerk if Miss Parker was in.

  He leaned behind a partition and shouted, “Hey, Timmy, did Becky have her breakfast yet?”

  “Actually, it was Sadie Parker I was asking for.”

  “Yes, sorry, that’s her. She’s in. Room 323.”

  When Sadie let me in she was all breakfasted and dressed. Of course, it was 2:30 in the afternoon. She was quite shapely, with blond hair done up in an elaborate knot. While still fairly young, she was certainly no girl. The little suite was nothing grand, but had been made comfortable with many personal touches and it was obvious she had been there a while. We got through the pleasantries pretty quickly. I gave her my real name, but told her I was a former classmate of Robert Mason.

  “I’ve been wanting to look Robert up and I happened to be passing through Buffalo, so I thought I’d see if I could find someone with a forwarding address.”

  “How did you come to call on me?”

  “Well, Robert mentioned you in a letter several years ago. I hoped you might still be in touch with him.” I could tell I wasn’t very convincing.

  “Were you on the Princeton crew with Robert? He was very proud of it.”

  “No, I was just part of the cheering section.”

  “I hope you could cheer better than you can lie—Mr. Reese, was it?”

  “Yes, Reese, and no, I’m even worse at cheering. I suppose old Robert wasn’t an oarsman?”

  “No, but he told me he was nearly expelled for trying to fix a race once. And none of his friends ever called him Robert.”

  “But other than that, I had you going, right?”

  “Oh, yes,” she smiled. “Are you a policeman?”

  “No, just an insurance investigator.”

  “Why are you looking for Mr. Mason now?”

  “Well, actually, I’m looking for Mr. Elwell. I was just hoping that if I found Mr. Mason, he might be able to tell me where I could find Elwell.” I wasn’t sure if this made sense. But I was hoping she was angry with Elwell for not taking her with him, assuming, of course, he was alive.

  “Mr. Elwell died in a yachting accident,” she said emphatically. She enunciated the word yachting as if she wanted me to think she was born on one.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Well, the police seem sure.”

  “Detective Donahy?”

  “You know Jimmy Donahy?”

  “Yes, I saw him just this morning when they were pulling Danny Sullivan’s body out of the Commercial Slip.”

  “Who is, or was, Danny Sullivan?”

  “A saloon owner, and a former associate of Mr. Mason’s. I thought you might know him.”

  “I knew nothing about Mr. Mason’s business associates. I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr. Reese, but I haven’t seen Robert Mason since he left here three years ago.”

  “Or heard from him?”

  “Or heard from him, either.”

  We went through another round of even less sincere pleasantries and I left her to whatever it is a widowed mistress does. Down at the desk I called over the clerk who had referred to Sadie as Becky and asked what it was about. He began to tell me, but a look from another, older clerk caused him to beg off. Apparently, gossiping about the inmates with outsiders was frowned upon at the Tifft House.

  I then went to check in with Detective Donahy. Partly to see if they had found out who killed Sullivan, and partly to ask him why he had told Sadie that Elwell was definitely dead. He was in his office when I arrived.

  “No, nothing on Sullivan yet. George has half a dozen men working with him now, but he needs to find someone other than a Sicilian who saw it. Those people close ranks something fierce.”

  “I saw Sadie Parker just now.”

  “How’s she bearing up?” He chuckled.

  “Oh, quite stoically. She told me you said Elwell definitely had drowned. But all you told me was that his boat had been found.”

  “Yeah, I thought you’d be back about that. I forgot you worked for an insurance company. You’re thinking Elwell skipped and faked the accident so he could share in his own life insurance?”

  “Well, I hate to think the worst of people, but the thought had crossed my mind.”

  “I had the same idea. Of course his wife had a policy, so I thought she might be in on something. Then I dug a little more and found out there was a policy naming Sadie. And not for peanuts: she gets twenty thousand dollars. So, naturally, I figured Sadie would happen to leave town in a few weeks, and if we could track her, we’d have Elwell.”

  “However, since Sadie is still here, you figured he must be dead?”

  “No, it wasn’t that Sadie hadn’t left. You see, we found out Elwell had planned to skip. He arranged with this fellow who works at a lime kiln over in Canada to get him from the beach to the train station, and this fellow was also supposed to sink the boat. But Elwell never showed up, and a few days later, his boat was found adrift on the river.”

  “I was speaking with Elwell’s niece about his accident and she didn’t mention that.”

  “Well, we figured there wasn’t much point in making him look like a crook in front of his family, or his friends. All it proved was that it really was an accident and he must’ve drowned.”

  “But you told Sadie?”

  “Sure, why shouldn’t she know the score? Only the ending was a surprise to her.”

  “What friends didn’t you want to upset?”

  “Well, he lived here a long time. He had a lot of friends.”

  He gave me the name of the man who Elwell had made the arrangements with and of the Buffalo firm that operated the lime kilns in Canada. Also, the name of the tug captain who found Elwell’s boat.

  “Is there any chance I can persuade you to come see the vault at the elevator site?”

  “Sure, I was going to mention that myself. Let me make a call and I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes.”

  Ten minutes later, Donahy joined me and we made our way down to the riverfront. We hailed a ferry and I had another adventurous ride to the island. But the vault was no more. I brought Donahy over and showed him the vault’s concrete foundation, but he wasn’t too impressed. Nor did he seem surprised the vault had vanished. I did find the little derrick over by the rail sp
ur where it had been put into service. I also found a foreman still on the site, but not the one I had spoken with the previous morning. He knew nothing about anyone asking to preserve the vault and said they were told to clear everything down to the ground. He gave me the name of the salvage firm he worked for and then Donahy said he knew a saloon owner who might know something. We crossed over a railroad bridge to a bigger island and a block later arrived at an unnamed barroom.

  As soon as we entered Donahy was greeted by the man behind the bar, as well as a dozen customers. The bartender filled a pitcher, grabbed three mugs, and led us to a small room in the back. Donahy introduced him as the owner, Michael O’Something, who had worked previously at one of the elevators. Then he told him about the smuggling idea.

  “Well, I never heard of anything going on at the Eastern, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

  “Did you know Danny Sullivan?” I asked.

  “Sure, I knew him. I’ll tell you this, if those wops hadn’t gotten him, the micks would have. He annoyed a lot of women.”

  “An’ even more husbands,” Donahy added.

  I outlined the scenario I had imagined, with the opium coming from Fort William in a steamer and being put on a canal boat to be taken down to New York.

  “Damn, that sure sounds big time. I can’t say I ever heard about anything like that. You can be sure there’s plenty of opium that comes through here, but most of these guys ain’t clever enough to come in with more than a few pounds. Then they sell it to one of the local Chinamen for half what it’s worth. If that.”