Instantly, Sarah regretted the question. Although Mrs. Wells seemed unaware of it, Sarah could literally feel the wave of reaction that swept through the room. The eyes of every girl had turned to her. Obviously, they’d known nothing about a party or the prospect of attending. Their desperate longing to be chosen was palpable – and not very pleasant to behold. These were children who very recently would have sold their bodies or even their souls for a crust of bread. What might they do for such an honor as this?
Looking at the desire burning in those eyes, Sarah could almost imagine they might do murder.
“No, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Wells replied, still engrossed in feeding Aggie her soup. “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
Frank stifled a yawn as he finished up his report on the warehouse robbery he’d just solved. The hour was late, and he was the last detective still working at Police Headquarters, but Frank had to admit that was the only inconvenience involved. If real business ran as smoothly as criminal business did in the city, Millionaires’ Row would be a hundred miles long, he thought, recalling how easily he’d put this case to rest. The Short Tail Gang had robbed a warehouse of a shipment of dry goods, and the owners had summoned the police. Frank let it be known among his informants that he’d been assigned to the case, and the next day a member of the gang approached him. After some negotiating, they’d settled on the amount of the reward, and he’d notified the owners, who had duly posted it. Then Frank had been able to locate the missing goods exactly where the gang member told him they would be. The owners paid Frank the reward, he gave the gang their share, and everyone was happy. Except, of course, the poor folks who had to pay more for their dry goods to cover the cost of the reward.
Why couldn’t all crimes be solved in such a civilized manner? Frank’s job would be so much easier, and he’d be able to make captain a lot sooner. Making the rank of captain had always been his goal, because of the financial security that came with it. Captains received a percentage of all bribes paid to the men in their command, and they retired as wealthy men. Ever since Brian was born, Frank had believed the child would never be able to earn a living and would need to be supported the rest of his life. A mere policeman or even a detective sergeant couldn’t hope to leave a legacy large enough for that. A captain could, though, even after paying the $14,000 bribe necessary to obtain the appointment.
Brian’s recent operation had taken some of Frank’s “captain” savings, but it had also reduced the possibility that Brian would require the kind of care Frank had once envisioned. The boy was still deaf, but even that might not be much of a handicap. Educators he’d spoken with assured Frank that the boy could learn a trade and make a living. So maybe making captain wasn’t so important after all. Maybe, instead, he had a totally different kind of obligation to his son.
And to Sarah Brandt.
He stacked the reports neatly and filed them. Then he sighed and made his way back down the stairs to the lobby of the building. The offices were mostly empty at this time of night, and the rest of the building was quiet. No one had brought in any prisoners for a while, and those who were already in custody had been locked away two floors below in the dank dungeon that passed for a jail.
Frank wearily headed down the stairs to the cells. The stench of unwashed bodies, vomit, and human waste was like a miasma in this airless, windowless hole. The night guard slept in his chair, snoring loudly, as did many of the inmates who were curled on filthy mattresses or on the even filthier floor. Others sat, sleepless, staring into the constant darkness with haunted eyes.
Frank picked up the guard’s locust and poked it through the bars to prod a body that sat huddled against them, trembling even in sleep. He started awake, coming to his feet instantly, ready to ward off whatever attack was imminent. His crazed gaze finally settled on Frank, standing patiently outside the bars.
“Hello, Billy boy,” Frank said cheerfully. “How are you feeling? Are they taking good care of you down here?”
Billy was the boy Frank had found living in Danny’s hovel. Almost twenty-four hours had passed since Frank had brought him in, but he’d steadfastly refused to betray his friend. Frank could have charged him with assaulting a police officer – for cutting his arm the day he’d tried to arrest Danny – but that would have meant transferring him to the city jail. In spite of its nickname, The Tombs was a palace compared to this lockup. Frank figured Billy would never betray his friend once he’d settled in over there in relative comfort.
Frank had begun to doubt he would break even here, but seeing him now, he realized the fight had finally gone out of the boy. Stronger men than he had broken in this place.
“Get me out of here,” the boy pleaded in a broken whisper.
“I’ll be glad to, just as soon as you tell me what I want to know,” Frank said pleasantly.
“I’ll tell you anything. Please,” he added, his youthful face twisting with the effort of begging.
Frank told the guard to let Billy out, and he had the boy taken to an interrogation room on the floor above. He smelled pretty bad, Frank noted when he closed the door to the room behind him. He wore only a ragged pair of pants and an equally disreputable shirt, all he’d had time to grab on his dash out of the hovel after the raid. Shoeless and coatless, he’d suffered from the chill of the cellar in addition to all the other discomforts. A stocky young man, he’d been quite formidable when Frank met him the first time. Now he sat with shoulders hunched and eyes lowered to the table.
He looked up warily, showing a black eye and bruised face beneath a layer of grime. Frank had administered some of the bruises, while others were courtesy of his cell mates. The other men would have subjected him to additional indignities as well, unspeakable things he’d never tell a soul for as long as he lived. Frank had tried to warn him last night, but the boy had to learn the hard way.
Frank pulled out the other chair, and the boy jumped at the noise. He eyed Frank as a cornered rat would have eyed a dog. “Are you hungry, Billy?” Frank asked.
The boy nodded quickly.
“I’ll bet you’d appreciate a square meal and a clean bed.”
The boy nodded again, more slowly this time, as if sensing a trick.
“You know,” Frank said thoughtfully, “you ruined a perfectly good suit when you cut my arm. I get mad whenever I think about it.”
“I don’t know where Danny is,” Billy said.
Frank started to rise.
“But I’ve got some ideas where you could find him,” the boy added hastily.
Frank took his seat again and waited.
“What’ll I get if I tell you?” the boy asked.
Frank smiled. “You’re in no position to bargain, Billy boy,” he reminded him. “What you’ll get if you don’t tell me is to rot right here. I can hold out as long as you can, but every day that passes gives Danny a chance to hide better and gives you less of a chance of giving me information that will help me find him.”
“What did he do that you want to find him?”
“You can ask him that yourself when you see him in The Tombs,” Frank replied, losing his patience. “Now are you going to talk or do I send you back downstairs?” He started to rise again, but the boy stopped him.
“All right, all right!” he cried, motioning for Frank to sit back down. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Like I said, he might not be in any of the places, but maybe somebody there’ll know where he is.”
Frank reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his notebook and a pencil. Wetting the tip of the lead on his tongue, he said, “Start talking.”
A half an hour later, Frank had only had to cuff the boy a couple times to remind him not to lie. Satisfied he’d gotten all he could for now, he said, “I’ll call the guard.”