Death on Hanover Page 11

  Using her flashlight sparingly, Haley kept close to the row of warehouses as she searched for the fighting spiders image. She thought she’d missed it when she reached the end of the dock and still hadn’t seen it. The sound of a man’s shoes slapping the roadway caused Haley to duck out of sight. From her position, she could see the man’s face, and she scowled. Seth Rosenbaum up to no good again. He disappeared between two warehouses, and Haley, confident he’d just shown her the way, was just about to step in behind him when she spotted another form, female this time, and very familiar.

  Haley quickly shone her flashlight at the figure and then pulled it away. She whispered, “Hawke, it’s me.”

  Samantha stared back in astonishment. Haley waved her over before someone else spotted her standing there.

  “What are you doing here?” Samantha whispered.

  “Probably the same thing you are,” Haley whispered back. “I saw Seth dart down that breezeway.”

  “I decided to follow him,” Samantha said. “I know he’s my husband, but I don’t trust him. He won’t tell me where he’s been or what he’s been doing. I need to know the truth.”

  Haley understood. “Follow me and stay close.”

  Like alley cats, they eased behind parked trucks until they reached the area where Seth had disappeared. Haley’s flashlight beam landed on a small sign with two embattled spiders etched onto it tacked to the side of the warehouse. Haley nodded at Samantha.

  They found an obscure handle to a door closed tightly.

  “Should we go in?” Samantha asked.

  “Let’s take a peek first.” Haley tried the knob which was unlocked, and inched the door open. Inside, a group of men circled two fighters. Their backs were turned, and they didn’t notice Haley and Samantha slip inside. Providing a suitable hiding spot, large crates had been pushed out of the way to make room for the makeshift ring.

  It was challenging to identify who was fighting since the fighters kept their fists up to protect their faces. The men fought shirtless with bare knuckles. Eventually a blow would be struck, but the cheering men, shuffling on their feet, prevented a clear view.

  Then the moment of alignment happened: the crowd seemed to split, which gave Haley and Samantha a line of sight. One of the fighters threw a punch and hit the other straight on the jaw. The one who’d been hit dropped his fists as he fell to the floor, his face revealed.

  Samantha gasped. Seth was down for the count.

  21

  Knowing Haley, Samantha hadn’t been too surprised to find that her friend had somehow tracked the fight club location. If she ever had a chance, she’d ask how, but watching Seth take a hit, which, from her viewpoint behind the crates, looked damaging and possibly fatal, she could think of nothing but Seth’s body on the dirty wooden floor.

  Get up, get up, get up!

  She wasn’t the only one with the sentiment, though the men who’d bet on Seth to win weren’t caring.

  “Get up, you scoundrel!”

  “Stay down, and I’ll kill you myself.”

  “Serves me right for betting on a Jew!”

  Samantha took an impulsive step toward her fallen husband, only to be suddenly jerked back.

  “No,” Haley said sharply. “We have to get out of here before anyone sees us.”

  “But Seth—”

  “There’s a phone booth on Atlantic. We can call for an ambulance.”

  Seth moaned and lifted one shoulder. Good, he wasn’t dead. It was all she needed to know to come to her senses. Haley was right. If they were discovered there, it would be a disaster. The question was how to get away unnoticed? The stack of crates that concealed them in the dim light was at least three steps from the door. It was one thing to sneak in when everyone was facing the fight, but now the men were pivoting to complain to their companions, their peripheral visions aligned with the door.

  Samantha felt a poke in the ribs, and then saw Haley pointing with the same finger.

  “Harris,” Haley mouthed.

  Samantha scowled. And then her heart dropped into her stomach. Harris stepped aside, and clear as day stood Tom Bell.

  Two thugs lifted Seth to his feet and braced him up. They headed for the door, forcing Samantha and Haley to shuffle to the other side of the crates. To Samantha’s dismay, Seth was tossed outside, but at least it looked like he’d regained his footing.

  Stupid man! What had he gotten himself into?

  The winner of the match returned to the middle of the room, and a new contestant was presented. This captured the attention of the crowd, which allowed Samantha and Haley to escape. They moved around the crates toward the door but stilled suddenly when a shadow blocked the light.

  A man whispered harshly. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Tom?” Samantha said. “How—?”

  “I’m working a case. I’m the only sober guy in the room. If Har— If anyone sees you—please, you’re in extreme danger.”

  A man behind them coughed loudly. Tom spun on his heel, effectively concealing them.

  “Hey, buster,” Tom said. “Done with the fight already?”

  “My guy lost,” the said with another round of coughing. “Hey, do you got a cig?”

  Tom produced one and handed it to the guy.

  “Thanks, mister.”

  Samantha let out a breath.

  Tom joined them again.

  “Is there another way out?” Haley asked.

  Tom stepped forward. “Follow me.”

  They passed several interior doors that Samantha assumed were offices, until a dark hallway presented itself. Tom hurried them along until they reached an exterior door. It locked from the inside, and Tom shifted the latch and opened it.

  “Do you know your way from here?” he said. “I’d come with you, but a sudden absence on my part would cause suspicion.”

  “My car is at the end of the dock,” Haley said. “We’ll be careful.”

  Tom nodded with a look of apprehension. He hesitated as if debating his choice, then disappeared back inside.

  “Let’s go,” Haley said.

  Amidst the roar of the traffic inland and the crashing of the waves in the harbor, they plodded silently, keeping to the shadows of the parked commercial trucks. Samantha kept a lookout for Seth, but he was nowhere. She just hoped that she could get home before he did, or at least, that he’d be passed out on the couch in a deep enough slumber not to hear her sneak back in.

  The next morning, Haley felt compelled to go back to the site of the first body drop at St. Stephen’s church. She hated how stuck this investigation felt, and worse, she was convinced that the key to the case would unlock the mystery of her brother’s death.

  Haley scoured the grounds of the church, which, unlike many church plots, was mostly an alley between buildings and a short patch of grass along the front. This time there was nothing unusual, no small bits of boot dirt or scraps of ripped clothing, nothing as easy as that.

  The streets, like every other day, were filled with darkly painted square-backed vehicles and dotted with pedestrians in a hurry. The overcast sky produced gloomy shadows. Everyone went about their business like it was just another ordinary day, oblivious to the darker side of the city where murders happened and murderers went unpunished.

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  Haley turned toward the kind voice of Father O’Hara. He looked slimmer in his cassock than he did when he wore the surplice during mass. Dressed in his black suit with the distinguishing white collar, he approached, and then his thick gray eyebrows jumped with recognition. “Dr. Higgins. I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you at first.” He smiled broadly. “My eyesight’s not what it once was.”

  “That’s quite all right, Father O’Hara,” Haley said. She reached out and shook the priest’s hand. “Forgive me for traipsing about. I hope you don’t mind my trespassing.”

  “It’s hardly trespassing when it’s the Lord’s house in question.”

  “I’m sti
ll trying to work out the deaths of the man found on the grounds and of Mr. Mulryan.”

  “Yes, yes, dear me, such a tragedy. I’ve prayed for their souls.”

  Haley smiled softly at the sentiment.

  “Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Mulryan and Mr. Keating knew each other?”

  Father O’Hara tilted his head. “Beyond warming a pew inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “I couldn’t really say. Despite what people might think, I’m not privy to everyone’s private affairs.”

  “But surely you must know something. Anything that could help the case? Bring justice to these men? There must be gossip or other ways of hearing news?”

  Father O’Hara frowned, and Haley knew that he understood what she was insinuating. Had he heard anything in the confessional? Not that he could tell her if he had.

  His smile returned, and he asked, “Do you know the story about Judas, Dr. Higgins?”

  Haley let out a short breath of frustration at the priest’s sudden change of subject. Roman Catholics considered the confessional sacred, and honestly, Haley would’ve been a little disappointed in the Father had he broken that sacred trust. Still, a little break was all she was asking for.

  “Yes, Father O’Hara,” she answered. “I would say that most Christians have.”

  “Everyone knows that Judas betrayed Jesus, but few are aware of how close they were as friends beforehand. Anyway, Dr. Higgins, I have to run. I’ve promised Mrs. Breen I’d pray for her sick cat.” He waved as he strolled away. “Cheers!”

  Haley returned with a polite, “Goodbye,” and stared after the man as he headed down Hanover Street.

  What did he mean by that little anecdote? Was it a hint? A clue? If felt like it might be, but in that case, who betrayed whom?

  Samantha worried her hands. Seth hadn’t come home after the fight. The couch and neatly folded blankets placed at the end of it by Bina were untouched.

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  Talia, dressed for school in a dress that had one too many patches for Samantha’s liking, reached for her mother’s hand, a sure sign that the little girl felt uneasy about her father, even though he wasn’t present in the room.

  “I don’t know,” Samantha said honestly. “He might’ve stayed overnight with a friend.”

  “Like I sometimes do at Sarah’s house?”

  “Exactly. Now go brush your teeth, and I’ll walk you to school.”

  Spending these extra moments with Talia was a blessing. Usually, Samantha would be rushing out the door to get to work, and Bina would be walking Talia to school.

  “Do you really think that?” Bina looked even more frail than usual.

  Samantha shrugged. She didn’t know how much she should tell Bina. Her instinct was to protect her, much like she was doing with Talia, but Bina wasn’t a child, and she deserved to know the truth.

  “Let’s finish our coffee,” she said.

  Bina glanced at Samantha then shuffled to her chair and sat. She didn’t pick up her coffee mug, only studied Samantha with wary eyes.

  Samantha took a sip of her coffee, now grown cold, then began, “I followed him last night. Down to the docks.”

  Bina stared back with a look of disapproval, but Samantha continued before her mother-in-law could cut her off. “You’ve heard of illegal fight clubs?”

  Appearing to shrink in size, Bina slumped in the chair. “Men fight like chickens, and other men bet on who will get their eyes pecked out.” She leaned forward. “Don’t tell me—”

  “I’m afraid so. Seth was fighting, and he lost. The last time I saw him, a couple of big oafs threw him out the door.”

  Bina pointed an accusing crooked finger. “You didn’t go to help him?”

  “I had to make sure I wasn’t seen.” Samantha purposely left Haley out of the story. “I went out another door, and when I was outside, I tried to find Seth, but he wasn’t around.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know. That part is true.”

  Samantha pushed away from the table and took the few short steps needed into the living room. She knelt by the couch and pulled out Seth’s suitcase.

  “What are you doing?” Bina asked.

  “Looking for clues.”

  “It’s not right for you to snoop through his things.”

  Samantha shot her mother-in-law a stern look. “Why not? I’m his wife. He shouldn’t keep secrets from me anyway.”

  It was what Samantha told herself to push back the guilt she felt as she rifled through Seth’s personal belongings. His t-shirts and button-up shirts were neatly folded as was an extra pair of trousers. Seth always did like things to be kept neat and orderly, something he inherited from his mother, Samantha thought.

  Folded underwear, shirts, and pants in need of ironing. There was a single book, the Torah, which had a place marked. Samantha flipped it open to the beginning of Genesis, but it wasn’t the ancient text that caught her eye. It was the bookmark, or rather an old photograph acting as one—a photo of Seth, the way he looked before he had disappeared, youthful and smiley, with his arm around the shoulders of another man in a friendly manner.

  Samantha took a closer look and felt the floor move.

  She recognized the other man. Just barely, since she’d only seen a photo and the fellow had had his eyes closed and was dead.

  Joe Higgins.

  Samantha’s husband and Haley’s brother had known each other.

  She flipped it over to the back and wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. She recognized Seth’s handwriting. On the smooth, white surface, he’d scribbled Dempsey and Carpentier.

  What on earth did that mean?

  22

  After a quick check of her wristwatch, Haley rushed to her parked DeSoto. She needed to get to the morgue pronto, or Dr. Guthrie would soon lose patience with her seeming inability to track the time.

  As expected, her boss was waiting. He frowned. “Is there a time change I’m not aware of?”

  “No, sir,” Haley said. “I was double-checking something on the case I’m working on.”

  “A case not sanctioned or commissioned by the hospital that employs you, I might add.”

  “I know—”

  Dr. Guthrie held up a lined palm. “No excuses. Now a cup of tea would be nice. You know how I like it.”

  Haley held in a smile. If making Dr. Guthrie English-style tea was her penance, then she was getting off easily. She put the kettle to boil, measured the tea, and dropped it into a warmed-up pot. While the water heated up, she selected a teacup and saucer, and placed them on a tray along with a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher of milk. When the kettle whistled, she poured the hot water into the teapot, then placed the pot on the tray. Dr. Guthrie liked to pour his own cup, so Haley had only to walk the tray over to the man’s office.

  “Here you go, Dr. Guthrie,” she said with a smile. She placed the tray on one end of the desk, a spot cleared by Dr. Guthrie as she walked over. Haley had teased the pathologist about the constant mess on his desk. He’d grumbled back, “Organized confusion.”

  “Oh, Dr. Higgins.”

  Haley paused at the door. “Yes?”

  “How is your investigation going? In case I need to advocate for you in the future, I might as well know.”

  “It’s rather frustrating, to be honest,” Haley admitted. “I feel like a rat on a wheel, always running but never finding the cheese.”

  “Are you sure it’s your calling? Perhaps you should leave such matters to the police.”

  “I am leaving all matters to the police. If you recall, Detective Cluney asked for my assistance this time.”

  “Righto. Well then, I’m sure the puzzle will present a solution in good time.” He waved long fingers in dismissal.

  Haley turned and rolled her eyes. What did Molly see in this gruff old man? Beauty lay in the eyes of the beholder.

  Returning to her desk, Haley sat, leaned back, and put her feet on her de
sk. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in front of her. Maybe if she just relaxed, let her mind go, the puzzle would present a solution.

  If only she didn’t have a stack of paperwork waiting for her attention. Haley sighed and brought her feet back to the floor. And just in time, too, as a knock on the door was followed by the entrance of Samantha Rosenbaum.

  Haley noted the circles under Samantha’s eyes and the uncharacteristic slouch of her shoulders. She also wasn’t used to seeing the journalist dressed so casually. She approached Haley’s desk wearing a faded day dress.

  “How are you this morning?” Haley asked. “Is everything all right?”

  Samantha took a wooden chair that sat to the side of Haley’s desk and stared back with a look of worry.

  “Seth didn’t come home last night,” she finally said. “I’m worried something’s happened to him.”

  Haley didn’t make light of Samantha’s concern. She only hoped that Seth Rosenbaum would not be the next body to show up on Hanover Street.

  “Have you contacted the police?” Haley asked.

  “Not yet.” Samantha paused, then added, “I wanted to talk to you first. I have something to show you, and I’ll warn you, it’s going to be a bit of a shock.”

  Haley felt a tingle of consternation. “What is it?”

  Samantha slipped her fingers into her dress pocket then produced a small photograph. She handed it to Haley.

  “That’s Seth when he was younger.”

  Haley couldn’t keep from gulping. Samantha was right—she was shocked. She stared back at her friend. “They knew each other?”

  Samantha nodded. “Read the back. I don’t understand what it means.”

  Haley turned the photograph over. “Dempsey and Carpentier.”

  “I’ve never heard of the names,” Samantha said.

  Haley squinted back. “Dempsey and Carpentier are boxers. Champions. They fought together in July of twenty-one. My dad, brothers, and I listened to the fight on the radio.”

  The memory crushed Haley’s heart. The radio had been brand new, a luxury her family could ill afford, but her pa had insisted. “The world is changing and stuck out on this farm, this machine is our only way to know what’s goin’ on out there.” It was an excuse, since newspapers had been doing a fine job of delivering the news until then. He, like Haley and her brothers, had been a sports buff. Their mother only shook her head and busied herself with her rosebushes.