I was determined to arrange introductions for Hattie and Mrs. Borowski, the way Pinkerton never had for me in my early days. However, they were over almost before they began.
The first three men I introduced to Hattie—Taylor, Paretsky, and Hill—went tongue-tied and foolish at her mere appearance, tripping over their words, flushing like schoolboys. Perhaps if I had started with Graham DeForest, things would have gone differently. But it was too late. Hattie did nothing to encourage them, but the male operatives acted like marks around her. Nothing good would come of it. Introductions could wait.
The page I did take from Pinkerton’s book was to train the women thoroughly, in private, before allowing them to participate on a case. I spoke to them at length about the principles of investigation and tested their recall on matters of law. Then we slowly began a series of trials: disguise, surveillance, persuasion—all the arrows in our profession’s quiver.
I had planned on a month of this type of education. My plan was derailed.
Chapter Fifteen
Belle
After only a week, Pinkerton came to me and pled for Hattie.
“I need her assigned to this case.”
“But aren’t the assignments up to me?”
He hemmed and hawed a bit and said, “Yes, you direct their activities. As I direct yours.”
“Boss, she’s too green.” I folded my arms. “If you need a female operative, I’m here. Why can’t I do it?”
“She’ll be more convincing in this role.”
“How do you know?”
I both wanted and did not want him to say what I suspected: that Hattie was younger and prettier than me, and that was what suited her for the case. I couldn’t dispute him on the merits if that was so.
He said, “This is confidential.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “It’s all confidential.”
He didn’t flinch, so I knew he was serious. “This is life or death. No one can know.”
“All right. Tell me everything.”
“You’ve heard of Steel Tom O’Leary?”
I had, and the name was enough to send a cold shiver through my blood.
Grimly, Pinkerton said, “We believe he has kidnapped the daughter of a rival gang leader.”
“Caruso?”
“That’s the one.”
“I didn’t know he had a daughter.”
“He keeps her out of the papers.”
I said, “For good reason, clearly. How old?”
“Sixteen.”
“Same as Belle O’Leary, then.” Steel Tom had a daughter of his own, which made his boldness in stealing Caruso’s daughter all the more shocking.
“Yes. But Carlotta Caruso’s missing now, and we think we know where she’s being held.”
“By O’Leary’s men.”
“Yes. And Hattie bears a resemblance to Belle, a rather strong one. If she can get past the guards, she can confirm the other girl’s there. Then we can send the police in.”
“You think it’s the only way?”
“It’s the best way. Too many things can go wrong if the police go in blind. If the gang gets spooked—nervous criminals—well, I don’t have to tell you what could happen.”
I nodded. They’d kill the girl if they had to. No question.
“If we give them intelligence, they’ll know what to do. Maybe they won’t even have to shoot.”
“If they do shoot, we don’t want the girl caught in the crossfire.”
“No. Certainly, her father doesn’t.”
“Criminals are fathers too,” I said, not because he didn’t know it, but because I needed a moment to think, and empty words are handy for such occasions.
“They’ve kept it quiet so far. But Carlotta’s been missing for three days.”
“Any chance she’s just run off with someone her father wouldn’t approve of?”
“Some chance,” he admitted. “Which is why we need to investigate. And why I need Hattie to impersonate Belle.”
“I’ll get her ready,” I said and went to figure out which of the dresses in the costume closet looked most like it might belong to a gangster’s daughter.
We settled on a plan. Pinkerton stood and listened, but I was the one who rehearsed Hattie, even while I applied her makeup. The girl she was pretending to be, Belle O’Leary, used a heavy hand with her eyeliner and lip color. While Carlotta Caruso was invisible to the papers, Belle was the opposite—we’d all seen pictures of her and been privy to her comings and goings as a star social butterfly of modern Chicago. I did my best to make Hattie look as much like her image as I could. While I prepared Hattie, I ran her through the plan again and again. I was nervous for her. As a first case, it was a huge weight to put on her delicate shoulders.
“Belle,” I said, playing the role of one of the father’s goons. “Why are you here?”
“Daddy wanted me to make sure the girl’s comfortable,” she said.
“More forceful.”
She lowered her voice and sat up straighter in her chair. “Daddy asked me to look after the girl’s comfort. Wanted to be sure you buffoons were keeping your hands to yourself.”
“A little less.”
She cocked her head and tried again. “Daddy asked me to look after the girl’s comfort. And make sure everyone’s behaving. Let’s get her a glass of water, shall we?”
“Better.”
Our eyes met in the mirror. I took a deep breath, and consciously or not, she echoed it. I wasn’t at all sure she was ready. But what choice did we have? It was a slim chance or none at all.