The attorney was even more frustrating. His clerk informed me that he was not in the office, in fact he had gone out of town, and he couldn’t say when he would return. I came out onto Pearl Street and stood, letting the commerce of the city flow around me, wondering what else I could do. So far I had come all this way and accomplished very little. Dr. Birnbaum would not visit Kathleen. If Donald Brady knew anything, he had not divulged it to me. The accountant wouldn’t even speak to me. I was tempted to go to police headquarters and find out which officers had been working with Daniel on the investigation into the tunnel collapse and whether negligence had been found, but Daniel would not be happy that I was investigating without authority, and had kept salient facts from him. Besides, I couldn’t expose him to ridicule by his peers, that he now had his wife do his work for him.
So reluctantly I turned in the other direction, toward Hester Street and the address of the former Mr. Frederick Hermann who had died in the tunnel collapse. Hester Street was all bustle and noise as usual, a jumble of pushcarts, crying babies, grubby children dodging in and out, laundry flapping. I steered my way through the crowds and entered the stairwell of a tall, grim tenement building. The smell was the same as in all those buildings—lack of good plumbing mingled with the lingering odor of various ethnic foods—garlic, cabbage, boiled fish, fried chick peas. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to his widow when I knocked on the door of the third floor apartment, and all thoughts went from my head when the door was opened by none other than the young man I had seen at the gate in Newport.
“Yes?” he demanded. Then he squinted, frowning at me. “I know you, don’t I?” he said. “Weren’t you the woman I spoke to at the gate? Did they send you down with more bribes to keep me quiet?”
For once words failed me. I was suddenly all too aware that I might be facing Alderman Hannan’s killer and I was alone with him on a dark third floor landing that smelled of boiled cabbage and bad drains.
“I came because you might be the one who can help us,” I said. “You must have heard that Alderman Hannan was killed.”
“I did hear something about it,” he said. “Fell off a cliff, didn’t he? Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
What on earth do I say next? “Then you must realize that the Newport police are looking for you as a possible witness,” I said.
“Why would they think that?”
“Because you came to the gates of the house at about the same time that Alderman Hannan arrived,” I said. “It is estimated that he was killed soon after that. So we wondered…”
“If I came up there to kill him?” he demanded. He took a step toward me and I realized that a steep flight of steps was right behind me. One good shove and I’d go flying down it.
“We wondered if you saw anyone on your way to or from the house,” I said. Even to me it sounded weak. Suddenly I decided to stop beating around the bush. I was in a tenement building, for the love of Mike. If I screamed, doors would open on all sides. “Why did you go there?” I asked. “You must realize that it looks bad for you.”
“And who is going to identify me?” he demanded. “Who is going to say I was there, apart from you?”
“It won’t do any good to threaten me,” I said, sticking out my chin more bravely than I felt. “I’ve already talked with the police about you, and Mr. Hannan’s secretary gave me your address. They all know I was on my way to speak with you.”
I saw the air go out of him like a deflated balloon. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ve thought about that. When I heard he had died, I knew it would look bad for me. I just hoped that nobody would be able to identify me.” He sighed. “I should never have gone up there. I’ve always been too impulsive.” He glanced back into the room. “Do you want to come in? I’ve no doubt that there are half a dozen ears glued to their doors at this moment, listening to what we have to say.”
I hesitated. “Will you walk into my parlor,” said the spider to the fly? And yet my instinct was to trust him. The matter was decided by a small blond head poking out of the door and saying, “Uncle Josh. Whatcha doing?”
He wasn’t likely to kill me in front of children. “Thank you,” I said and accepted his invitation. The room was well furnished by tenement standards, and trust me, I have seen enough of the other kind. A table, chairs, even an armchair by the stove, curtains at the window, a print from a magazine on the wall. This was a well-cared-for home.
“You live here too, do you?” I asked.
“I moved in to take care of Trudi and the kids,” he said. “This is no city for a woman alone.” He pulled out a chair for me and I sat. I was conscious of three small faces watching me from a backroom doorway.
“I’d offer you coffee, but I’m not sure where she keeps her things,” he said. “She’s out, working in one of the garment shops. Seeing as how I don’t have a job at the moment, someone had to bring in money.”