“Even if that’s true,” Constance said, “I’m sure we can do something better for her than bring her to court on an indecency charge. Judge Seufert seems to agree with us. He calls these cases unseemly.”
They sat together in discouraged silence for a minute. The idea of a sixteen-year-old girl caught in a furnished room with a man worried Constance as few other cases could. She’d been trying to relax her hold on Fleurette, and to see her launched into the world in a manner both respectable and responsible. Under no circumstance did Constance wish to turn into a woman like Edna Heustis’s mother, who called on the police to rein in her daughter’s independence. But Edna knew how to stay out of trouble, and now they were on their way to pick up a girl who clearly did not. Fleurette, she felt, might land somewhere in the middle, and the idea unsettled her.
Constance had been trying not to make a fuss over the auditions for May Ward’s troupe, but as the train clattered on interminably in front of them, her resolve weakened. “What do you know about a show promoter named Freeman Bernstein?”
Sheriff Heath looked over at her, puzzled, and lifted the brim of his hat the way he did when he was thinking about something. “Bernstein. I’ve seen his name on posters. He brings prize fighters through town. Used to manage a theater in . . . Bayonne, maybe. Friend of yours?”
“Not at all. And he’s made an enemy of Norma.”
“Maybe I should take the fellow for a drink, offer my sympathy.”
“He’s going to hold an audition in Paterson for girls who want to join his wife’s vaudeville act. Have you heard of her? May Ward?”
He shook his head. “I don’t follow the theater, unless Miss Fleurette is performing.”
“That’s just it. He charges each girl five dollars to audition, and you can be sure Fleurette wants to go. Norma thinks it’s a con.”
At last the caboose went by and they drove on. “She could be right about that. If he has no intention of choosing a girl, then it’s like any other game of chance. He’d have to give them something of value in exchange for their money.”
“He’s giving each girl a signed portrait of May Ward.”
He laughed at that. “Then it’s perfectly legal. He’s a clever man.”
“But harmless, I hope. I gave Fleurette the five dollars.”
“And what happens if she’s chosen?”
“I’m counting on the auditions being a sham.”
“They don’t sound legitimate to me,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Oh, would you look at this mess.”
They had just arrived in Fort Lee and pulled into a short stretch of shingled and gabled shops clustered around the corner of Main and Hudson. Half the town seemed to have turned out to watch the police at work. Every man in the barber shop had stepped outside, half-shaved and shorn, and three delivery boys leaned against their carts, pointing and whispering. Constables were stationed up and down Main Street. Constance saw John Courter among them. “How did the prosecutor’s office get here before we did?”
“It wasn’t the report of gunfire, I can tell you that,” the sheriff said. “Courter’s been making more noise about moral crimes. He stood up at an Odd Fellows’ meeting last night and said he intended to close every disreputable house in Bergen County.”
“How many disreputable houses do we have?”
“A better question is why he hasn’t closed them already, if he knows so much about them.”
The sheriff nosed his motor car to a stop along the curb. Constance spotted a girl she took to be Minnie Davis standing with a police officer in full view of all the spectators.
“I hate to see girls paraded around like that. Couldn’t they have kept her inside so the neighbors wouldn’t gawk?”
“They don’t think about it that way,” the sheriff said.
Constance elbowed through the crowd to take possession of her inmate. Minnie was a tall and broad-shouldered girl who wore her dresses a little too snug. Constance kept a wool blanket in the sheriff’s automobile to wrap around girls who weren’t properly clothed, or who were sick or injured, and that seemed to be most of them. It was such a brisk day that Minnie took the blanket without protest.
“I work for the sheriff,” Constance told her, “and I’m here to look after you.”
“I don’t need looking after,” Minnie said impatiently. “I was doing nothing wrong, and those cops had no right to bust in on me like that.”
“Then you can tell me your side of it,” Constance said, “and I’ll do what I can to help.”
“I already told him, and he didn’t listen.” Minnie rolled her eyes at the police officer assigned to watch her, a tired-looking man with stooped shoulders and a skinny neck that left his collar sagging. He handed the girl over to Constance and spoke directly to Sheriff Heath.
“We’ve still no idea about the shots that were fired, but while we were looking, we found this one in a furnished room that was supposed to be rented to a married couple. We’d already picked up the fellow sneaking down the alley. Says he never quite got around to marrying her. It’s the usual story.”
“I’d like to hear the story anyway,” Constance said. “Couldn’t we go inside?” The gray slush was already starting to seep into her boots. Minnie wore little buttoned oxfords that did nothing to keep out the snow. With both police and sheriff automobiles parked on the street, they were attracting an even larger crowd.
“Take her to the jail and you two girls can talk all you want,” the officer said.
Constance didn’t like the way the man was speaking to her and was about to tell him so when Sheriff Heath intervened. “Deputy Kopp will take Miss Davis upstairs while I go see about the man.”
Constance had a firm grip on Minnie’s arm. “You’ve no right to drag me around,” the girl complained.
“I’m doing you a favor by not putting handcuffs on you in front of everyone,” Constance said, a little gruffly. “Do you live above one of these shops? How do you go in—through the alley?”
Minnie tried to pull away, but only half-heartedly. Constance dug her fingers into the bones around the girl’s elbow and she sighed. “Yes, it’s down here.”
They walked down the street and around the corner, into a little alley of the sort one finds behind any downtown district: narrow and muddy, lined with ashcans, empty wooden crates, and old push-carts. There were puddles behind the restaurants where the cooks threw out the dishwater, and here and there were chicken bones, moldy bread, and potato peelings being picked through by seagulls.
Three Fort Lee police officers had a man in handcuffs behind the bakery. He was a good-looking Italian fellow of about twenty-five, with a head of thick black hair and a fine cut to his coat. Minnie made some small sound when she saw him, but he didn’t look over.
“Wait here,” Sheriff Heath said. Constance pulled her under a porch roof behind the hardware store while he went to talk to the man.
“What’s your name, son?” Sheriff Heath asked, but got no answer.
“Anthony Leo,” said one of the officers. “Goes by Tony.”
“Tony, is that your girl?” The sheriff pointed at Minnie.