Tell Me No Lies Read online

  “At least you are honest. My husband was the head of his congregation, but I also felt a calling, if not from God, at least from Justice, herself.”

  “And have you been successful?” Phil asked, genuinely interested in the answer.

  “There have been a few who didn’t stay. But all in all I won’t be afraid to meet my maker when the time comes.”

  “And was Mr. Sheffield and his companion here night before last or anytime since then?”

  “No, Detective Atkins. He wasn’t.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “But of course. My dinners are very exclusive, very private, and never at the same time.”

  “And very expensive?”

  The little nod of the head. “As you say.”

  “And before that, when was the last time you saw him?”

  She stretched her hand over to a round carved table and picked up an old-fashioned bell. Rang it. The door opened immediately and the butler entered.

  “Daniel, ask Cylla to bring the guest book.”

  Daniel flashed the detective a quick look, but bowed and backed out of the room.

  A few minutes later, a girl entered carrying a mahogany leather-bound ledger. She had long brown ringlets pulled back by a simple blue ribbon. A calico dress, stylish but not ornate. A child still.

  “Thank you, Cylla.”

  The girl curtseyed and turned to leave, and Phil saw that a scar cut the length of one side of her face.

  Phil heard Atkins’s slight intake of breath. For herself, Phil’s breathing had stopped altogether. Such a lovely face marred so hideously. And yet the girl didn’t seem self-conscious at all.

  When the door closed behind her, Ida opened the book. Ran her finger down the page, turned to the next page, and stopped. She looked up. “Cylla came to me four years ago. She was ten; three of the older girls had gone to the market and they saved her from a ruthless pimp. They managed to get her away, but she nearly bled to death before they got her here.

  “They were afraid to ask for help along the way.” She leaned forward suddenly. “Do you know what it is to fear like that, Detective Atkins? Or you, Lady Dunbridge? I don’t and I never want any girl to have to fear like that again.

  “I provide a place of solace for a few girls and a few wealthy, unhappy gentlemen. There is no commerce between them. Arrest me if you must. But I will tell you this, you will be doing justice a disservice.”

  “I have no intention of interfering, if indeed there is nothing illegal going on in this house.”

  Mrs. Kidmore-Young laughed sharply. “And will you be the judge?”

  “I am merely the instrument of the law. And I hope I uphold those laws with a sense of compassion.”

  “I hope you do, too, Detective Sergeant.” She looked back at the ledger. “He was here last Thursday. I have not seen nor talked to him since.” She riffled ahead in the ledger, flipped back. “And he has scheduled a dinner for the first Thursday of next month. A holiday dinner. Now, if you have no further questions…”

  “And will you divulge the name of the woman he meets?”

  She lifted her chin. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

  “Or won’t?”

  “Can’t. I told you I was discreet. I don’t know which ladies they bring. As long as they are ladies, I don’t care.”

  She stood, signaling that the interview was over. “When I see Isaac, I will tell him you wish to speak with him, but when he returns I’m sure his place of business will inform him.”

  “Mrs. Young. A man is dead; no one, not Mr. Sheffield’s wife or his business seem to know where he is. Or if something has happened to prevent him from returning.”

  Ida pressed her hand to her chest. “Dead? Who?”

  Atkins’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t going to tell her. Phil didn’t see why not. It would be in every newspaper by tonight. She was surprised is wasn’t already.

  “His associate Perry Fauks,” Phil said into the silence.

  If Mrs. Young’s face could grow paler, it did in that moment. She reached for the bell. Daniel appeared so quickly that he must have been waiting just outside the door.

  “Daniel will show you out.”

  They had no choice but to go.

  They went down the steps and Phil couldn’t resist looking up at the second-floor windows. One of the girls was back. And waved shyly. Phil thought she recognized Cylla, before Atkins took her arm and led her down the sidewalk.

  “Maison de rendez-vous?” He stared at her. “How do you know these things?”

  Phil laughed. “I’m a woman of the world. But I dare say you’d be amazed at what many of your sequestered wives and mothers actually know.”

  “I don’t have a wife and my mother is dead.”

  “Oh, I am sorry … about your mother. There’s still help for the other.”

  “Why, Lady Dunbridge, are you proposing?”

  “Ha. Not if you’re talking about marriage; that is one thing I will never do again. And alas, you are too respectable to do anything else. But if I wanted a husband, you are exactly what I’d choose: upright, honest, moral…”

  “And terribly dull…”

  “Not necessarily…?”

  She caught the glint in his eye.

  “But I’m not looking for a husband.” She glanced up at him through her lashes. “So where do we go from here?”

  “I’m going back to the station. I suggest you get ready for whatever ball, soirée, or entertainment you have planned for this evening.”

  Not exactly what she had in mind, but … “Are you going to arrest her?”

  “Do you see any reason why I should?”

  “No, but your mere presence could destroy her reputation without her doing any wrong.”

  “Then I suggest you invite yourself to tea and find out who his mistress is.”

  Phil stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “Good heavens. Are you asking me to investigate?”

  “I wouldn’t presume.” They started walking again.

  “She won’t give the name of his mistress away, even to me,” Phil said. “Her survival depends on her discretion. Something women understand all too well.”

  “Including you?”

  “My passions have led me into some dangerous waters.”

  He quirked one side of his mouth. “Our passions generally do.”

  They’d come to the end of the block and Atkins stopped her. “I believe there is a taxi stand on Thirty-Ninth Street.”

  “Why did you send the driver away?” she asked.

  He inhaled and his nostrils flared, as she had noticed he did when exasperation was about to get the better of him.

  “Never mind then.”

  “I was loaned the car for the visit to the Pratts so as not to cause alarm arriving in a police wagon.”

  “But not for cavorting with countesses?”

  “Something like that. Though I’m hoping the driver didn’t recognize you. I think he’s more of a Racing Daily man than Society News. But also I have some other business I want to discuss.”

  “Without it getting back to your superiors?”

  “I am not an underhanded man.”

  “I’m perfectly aware of that, Detective Sergeant. What would you like to discuss?”

  They began walking along Park Avenue.

  “I’ve talked to the servants and as expected got nothing. None of them were upstairs after the last time Perry was seen alive.”

  “Not even the personal servants?”

  “They say not.” He held up his hand. “Of course, the few ones that admitted waiting on their employers say they saw nothing.”

  “And the murder weapon?”

  “We’ve searched the laundry room and Mr. Fauks’s room. And the servants’ quarters. It’s procedure.”

  “Naturally,” she said. “Anyone with a brain would not have hidden it in those places. And there are plenty of knives around: the kitchen, the scullery, the butler’s pantry … But s
urely not one that thin and narrow.”

  “A few. A boning knife is thin, but too flexible to cut through fabric and…” He trailed off.

  Phil made a mental note to add the study of knife types to her growing lexicon of investigatory learning. As a member of British peerage she was only required to know how and when to use the many implements in a formal place setting. Never anything that belonged in the kitchen. But perhaps Preswick …

  “I’m sorry, Detective Sergeant. You were saying?”

  “I said that Mr. Pratt has balked at giving me free rein, and my superiors backed him up. Because of the recent financial panic and the standing of Luther Pratt in the banking community, they would like to gloss over the matter as quickly as possible. So much so that they’re perfectly willing to pass it off as a burglary.”

  “Is anything missing?”

  “Not that anyone has said or noticed.”

  “And the topaz? It’s quite valuable and if it fell from a larger set, a parure for example. A set of—”

  “I know what a parure is.”

  “I beg your pardon. One never knows.”

  “That a policeman might know these things?”

  “A gentleman,” she corrected. “Gentlemen seldom pay attention to ladies’ accessories.”

  He barked out a laugh. “You can thank my Investigative Techniques professor.”

  “Professor? I thought policemen learned on the job and worked their way through the ranks.”

  “Generally they do.”

  They’d come to the corner and Atkins held her elbow until a wagon passed, then ushered her across the brick paving stones of the street. It was obvious he wasn’t going to say more about himself and she was running out of time—she could see the line of taxis at the end of the next block.

  “I’m certain that Luther Pratt wants to find the truth,” she said.

  “Most people do. As long as it doesn’t affect themselves or their families and doesn’t create a scandal.”

  “You think it’s one of the family.”

  “I don’t surmise. I follow the evidence.”

  She took his point. He was the professional and she was not.

  “And they’ve been given permission to all quit the city for a house party this coming weekend. A house party,” he repeated in disgust. “Out of my jurisdiction and out of my hands unless they all deign to return.”

  “That didn’t stop you before.”

  “The Tenderloin is not the Gold Coast of Long Island.”

  “No,” she agreed. “You need someone undercover.”

  “What?”

  “Remember the first day I met you?”

  “Yes. Over Reggie Reynolds’s body.”

  “I thought you were a bum. But you told me you were investigating something ‘undercover.’”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid my superiors will not allow access to Mr. Bennington’s home in that capacity. Besides, the family already knows who I am.”

  “True,” she said. “But I’m going as myself. A perfect under the cover.” She smiled triumphantly.

  “A perfect ‘cover.’ But no.”

  “You just said it would be perfect.”

  “But not for you.”

  “Are you saying the police will prevent me from attending the house party?”

  “You know that’s not what I’m saying. We don’t use civilians in that way. That is not how the police department works. At least not in New York City.”

  “Of course it is. And you’re not even subtle about it. You often depend on a—I believe the word is ‘snitch,’ is it not? I will be your snitch.” She had one-upped him there. She knew he wouldn’t condone her actions, but he couldn’t really prevent her. But would he take whatever information she gathered, knowing it wasn’t gathered by the police proper? Time would tell. She had no intention of letting this opportunity to help go by.

  They reached the taxi stand without speaking further. Took the ride uptown to the Plaza in silence. When the taxi stopped he handed her out.

  “Will you come in for tea? The tearoom at the Plaza is delightful and neither of us has had lunch.”

  He breathed out a laugh. “Some other time perhaps. I have to fill out my report.”

  “And you’ll keep me abreast of any progress in the investigation?”

  “Something tells me, it will be the other way around.”

  “Perhaps.” She smiled, nodded slightly. “Good day, Detective Sergeant.”

  She started to get out, remembered the scrap of paper in her bag she’d been slipped at the theatre. “I almost forgot. Do you know anything about something or someone called Morse and Heinze?”

  “Not offhand, why?”

  “Someone suggested I mention them to you.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know his name.” She smiled brightly. “A ‘snitch,’ I imagine. Adieu, Detective Sergeant.”

  She hurried across the sidewalk toward the hotel entrance and saw the shoeshine man from the day before standing near the front doors.

  Ridiculous, surely she wasn’t being watched. There was only one way to find out. She glanced quickly around to make sure the detective’s taxi had pulled away, then headed straight toward him, but as Douglas opened the door for her, he slipped inside using the far door.

  She hurried after him; surely one of the bellmen would stop him. Street vendors were not allowed inside the Plaza. But when she reached the lobby she saw him disappear around the corner of the main lobby.

  Egbert tipped his cap to her, expecting her to take the lift, but she hurried after the elusive man. But when she reached that section of the corridor, he was nowhere to be seen. She looked around, caught the slight whiff of tobacco that proved he had been there. She moved more slowly down the corridor past the gentlemen’s bar and looked inside.

  No shoeshine man, but plenty of cigar smoke.

  He must be heading toward the Fifty-Eighth Street exit. She walked more quickly, looked into the restaurant. No sign of the man. When she reached the entrance to the tearoom, she hesitated. She wasn’t going to find him, she was hungry, and the glass dome of the tearoom cast a welcoming spray of color over the tables and chairs and potted palms.

  She was about to give up the chase for a table in the tearoom, when a small woman, wearing a dark dress and a wide-brimmed hat, heavily veiled, exited.

  Surely not. Not even Mr. X could create such a transformation as that. And not that quickly. Could he?

  The woman tucked her head, and fairly ran down the corridor. Several men who had been lounging in the hallway stood up and hurried after her.

  Hunger forgotten, Phil went in pursuit. She overtook the woman as she reached the gentlemen’s bar. Grabbed her by the elbow and spun her around.

  “Just what are you up to now?” she demanded. And stared down at a face she knew very well.

  “Good heavens. Daisy?”

  Daisy Greville, Countess of Warwick, the most beautiful woman in England, and budding socialist, stared back at her. “Phil? Phil Amesbury?”

  “What are you doing here?” they asked simultaneously.

  “I’m trying to elude those vultures,” Daisy said. “Newspapermen. They hound me everywhere. Do you know of a back entrance?”

  “I know of something better. This way.” Phil took hold of Daisy’s elbow and they raced across the marble floor to where Egbert waited by the open elevator door.

  11

  “Quick, Egbert, we’re being pursued.” Phil pushed Daisy inside.

  He grabbed the accordion frame and pulled it closed just as several hands reached for the gate.

  The elevator ascended smoothly, leaving the scrambling journalists behind, and didn’t stop until it reached the fifth floor. “I’ll just wait here until you’re safely inside.”

  “Thank you.” Phil hurried Daisy down the hall to her apartments. She’d already fished out her key, not wanting to take the chance of being overtaken by an overzealous newspaperman who had tak
en the stairs.

  She pushed Daisy inside right into Lily holding a feather duster.

  “We’re being pursued,” Phil explained, then saw Lily drop the duster and pull up her skirts, giving them a glimpse of the wicked knife she kept strapped to her leg.

  “Good heavens!” exclaimed Daisy at the same time Phil cried, “Not that kind of pursued.”

  Lily dropped her skirt and curtseyed. “Sorry, my lady,” but eyed Daisy suspiciously.

  Daisy eyed her back but with curiosity. Lily helped Phil out of her coat, then hesitated before turning to Daisy.

  For a moment the two women, countess and maid, stared at each other. Then Lily reached out to undo the buttons of the countess’s coat.

  Phil looked on proudly, silly though it was. It was the first time Lily had dealt with another English peer and she was doing admirably.

  Lily curtseyed and carried the coats away.

  Phil turned to Daisy. Beneath the rather drab overcoat, she was wearing a dark green double-breasted suit of Cheviot wool. More in keeping with her new persona as spokeswoman for the underclasses than the notorious socialite she’d been until recently.

  “I want to hear everything,” Phil said. “But have you had your lunch or tea? I haven’t, and I’m absolutely famished.”

  “No,” Daisy said, still looking astonished. “I was to meet a business associate for lunch in the tearoom downstairs. But he failed to come. And when I tried to leave, I realized a mob was waiting outside for me.”

  “Lily, please have Preswick ring down for a gigantic tea, and bring some ice to the parlor tout de suite.”

  Lily curtseyed and hurried off down the hall.

  “Now let’s make ourselves comfortable.” Phil led the way into the parlor, unpinning her hat as she went. She tossed it onto an occasional chair by the door, which, since no one ever sat in it, had become her catchall.

  “Tea will be here shortly, but really after the morning I’ve had, a martini would be in order. Or do you prefer sherry?”

  “A martini sounds divine.” Daisy dropped onto the couch and proceeded to lift her veil away from her face, spent several seconds pulling pins out of her hat, and tossed it onto the cushion beside her.

  Preswick appeared with the ice bucket and Phil followed him to the drinks buffet.