Death on Hanover Page 8

  Haley had driven down many times since buying the DeSoto and passed row upon row of warehouses that blocked the view of the glistening harbor sea. The docks themselves were dedicated to different shipping lines: Eastern Corp Bangor Line, New York Line, Yarmouth Line, Railway Steamship Line, etcetera.

  Haley was interested in the Long Wharf that had warehouses dedicated to Quincy Market Cold Storage to the north and United Fruit Co. to the south.

  Figs were fruit, and there was a good chance they were imported at this dock. Not only that, Mr. Delaney had a framed photograph of himself, along with several other men, standing in front of warehouse 21 on the Quincy Market side. It seemed like a reasonable place to start.

  Parking the DeSoto, Haley exited and peered eastward. The sun glistened off the water, and she propped a pair of round-lensed sunglasses on her short nose. She’d forgotten to put on her hat, but with a gloved hand, she checked her purse for her pistol. A girl couldn’t be too careful. She had purposely chosen a pair of slacks, not wanting to attract the attention a slender skirt often got, especially in an area mostly occupied by the opposite sex.

  Wind blew off the harbor and caught her curls, and she pushed them behind her ears. Seagulls squawked loudly as they circled the blue sky above. It was a beautiful day, only spoiled by murder. Haley wasn’t sure what she hoped to find. Along the docks, men loaded trucks with boxes stamped with import company names. Cranes with heavy loads moved pallets from ship to dock, men yelling directions to the operator to keep from getting squashed.

  “Hey, lady!” one of them yelled.

  Haley jumped out of the way, just in time. The crane operator could use lessons!

  She shouted back. “Watch it!”

  A man approached. “Whatcha doin’ on the docks, ma’am? No place for women.”

  “Do you know if figs are imported through the United Fruit Co.?”

  The man’s brow collapsed. “Huh?”

  “I’m wondering if a shipment of figs came in recently.”

  “Ya got me. I dunno what’s in the boxes half the time. I just do my job and load them on the backs of the trucks. Now, you’d get out of the way if you know what’s good for ya.”

  Samantha felt as if she’d been walking on rough gravel, with the earth shifting underneath, and vertigo ever threatening. She didn’t know how she’d made it to the Boston Daily Record, but her legs felt weak as she climbed the stairs. She smiled delicately at the receptionist who greeted her with a cheery, “Good morning!”

  The bull pit was busy and loud, a perfect storm of creativity, cussing, smoking, and loud voices. This was the world Samantha knew now, and all at once, she found her sea legs. She removed her hat and gloves, tucked her messenger bag beside her desk, and checked on her camera in the drawer. The typewriter, nude without a sheet of paper bold and waiting, beckoned her. Work would be her saving grace.

  Her thoughts went to Tom Bell. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him. She hated that she felt unsure. Tom was clean. He was one of the good cops, right?

  Right?

  “Hey, doll.”

  Samantha could lie to herself and say she hadn’t even noticed Johnny Milwaukee chatting with Fred Hall about the latest sports statistic, shouting instructions to Max, or lighting up a cigarette, but she had registered every slightest movement.

  “Hi, Johnny.” Her fight had left her, and he noticed. His debonair grin flipped into a frown. He pushed up from his chair and sauntered over.

  “How are things, Sam? At home?”

  It was such a personal question. Touching yet intrusive. She couldn’t confide in another man about her husband, her conflicting feelings about his return, her honest, unchristian thoughts.

  “They’re fine, Johnny.” She forced a smile. “It’s a change, but a good one.”

  Big fat liar, was she!

  And she hadn’t fooled Johnny.

  “I see,” was all he said before he stepped backward and returned to his desk. His eyes darted her way once before he threw himself entirely into whatever story he was covering.

  She sighed and tried to focus.

  Shape your eyebrows like the Hollywood starlets do.

  Seth would get a job. She could stay home with Talia. She’d love that.

  His return wouldn’t be all bad.

  But how long would he agree to sleep on the couch? Even though he was her husband, Samantha realized she didn’t love him anymore.

  What was she going to do?

  She startled at the sound of her telephone ringing.

  “Front desk,” the happy receptionist sang. “Dr. Higgins is in the lobby asking for you.”

  Samantha grabbed her hat and gloves and put them on.

  Johnny’s eyebrows jumped. “Big lead?”

  “Just lunch with a friend.”

  Johnny checked his watch. “Kinda early for lunch.”

  Samantha shrugged. “It’s her schedule.”

  Out of habit, she collected her messenger bag, which contained her notepad and a spare, plenty of sharp pencils, along with female essentials like lipstick and a hairbrush.

  She smiled when she saw Haley’s friendly face and noted the doctor looked sharp in her cotton slacks, which had a high waist and wide legs, a recent fashion favorite of hers, and briefly pondered if she would one day wear the same. Not likely. For one thing, she’d never be able to afford to follow the trends when they were trending. Her sewing machine was her trick pony, and she’d been able to make old dresses new again with trims, tucks, and add-ons.

  “Hello, Haley,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

  “I was in the neighborhood, at the docks, actually,” Haley said. “I thought maybe it was time to exchange notes.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Samantha was eager to talk about the Keating case, and she had yet to tell Haley about Seth.

  Instead of walking to the nearest coffee shop, Haley walked to her car and instructed Samantha to get in.

  “Where are we going?” Samantha asked.

  “To the docks. I have something to show you.”

  14

  Haley immediately sensed that something had happened. She held the car keys in her hand, waited until they were both seated with the doors closed, and stared Samantha in the eye. “What’s wrong?”

  Samantha swallowed, her eyes relaying a fragility Haley hadn’t seen in her friend before.

  “Seth’s back.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not dead.” Samantha’s gaze veered blankly out of the car window. “He’s very, very alive.”

  “Good golly.” This news had so many implications. “Where was he all this time?”

  “I don’t know. We haven’t had a chance to get into it. We’ve already had a big fight.”

  “About what?” It was an impertinent question, but it rolled out before Haley could stop it.

  “Johnny.”

  “Johnny? How absurd.”

  “I fell apart at the office and Johnny . . . uh . . . well . . . he drove me home.”

  Those hesitations spoke louder than words, but Haley had to be careful not to cross a line. She was already dangerously close to traipsing into areas that weren’t any of her business.

  Samantha continued, “Seth saw me get out of Johnny’s roadster.” She blinked back tears. “It’s just all so crazy. I thought he was dead. It’s like a ghost came back to life. Oh, Haley, I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I don’t know my place anymore.”

  “Your place is right here with me,” Haley said. “At least for today.” She started the ignition, then glanced at Samantha with an admonishing grin. “Let’s solve this case, shall we?”

  Haley headed for State Street then east toward the harbor.

  “What’s at the docks?” Samantha asked. “Did you find something?”

  “I’m not sure. I need a second opinion.” Haley glanced at her passenger, satisfied to see a pleased look at her suggestion that Samantha was needed. She brough
t Samantha up to date with her meeting with Will Delaney and the trace of fig in the clay.

  “Fig? How peculiar,” Samantha said. “But going to see Mr. Delaney alone? Next time, you must take me with you.”

  Haley was delighted with Samantha’s use of the words “next time”. Hopefully, with the sudden addition of Seth Rosenbaum to the equation, some things wouldn’t change too dearly.

  “What about you?” Haley asked as she searched for a place to park. “Learn anything interesting from Officer Bell.”

  “You know, I don’t know. I hate to say this, but I think he might be a dirty cop.”

  Haley had just pulled into a space behind a grocery delivery truck. She turned her head sharply. “Why do you say that?”

  “He was very evasive when I tried to talk to him.”

  “That’s just a cop thing.”

  “But he’s usually quite open with me about his work. We have an—understanding.”

  “Still, there could be a lot of reasons why he was stingy with information this time. Though Detective Cluney suspects he has at least one crooked officer on the force, which is how he explains the loss of evidence, his inability to clamp down on these fight clubs, and his failure to solve the Keating brothers murders.”

  “Drat,” Samantha said with a huff. “I was hoping I was mistaken.”

  “It doesn’t mean that Officer Bell is the guilty party.”

  A gray mass of clouds billowed in from the horizon, and droplets fell at their feet. Samantha produced an umbrella from her messenger bag. “Do you want to share?”

  “That’s all right.” Haley said, “I have one under my seat. Bring your camera.”

  They huddled under Haley’s black and Samantha’s yellow and blue umbrellas as Haley led the way. “The rain is bad,” she said soberly. “It’ll wash away evidence.”

  They strolled on the boardwalk past Quincy Market Cold Storage and Warehouse Co. and United Fruit Co.

  “It’s in here.”

  The small alley was sheltered, thankfully, by the overhanging roofs of both structures. Haley pointed to reddish-brown splatters on the wooden siding.

  “Blood,” she said. “I’ve already taken samples for the lab. Blood typing might help us to confirm if this belongs to Cormac Keating.”

  Samantha had her camera out and snapped. “This is the scene of the crime?”

  “I believe so,” Haley said. “And look at this.”

  Haley directed Samantha’s attention to a discarded wooden box, splintered in the middle as if it had been stepped on.

  “What is it?” Samantha said.

  “Take your photographs first.”

  As Samantha removed her black Kodak box camera from its case, Haley produced a paper evidence bag and picked up the crushed box with her gloved hand. On the top were the faded words painted in green, Mediterranean Figs.

  “My theory,” Haley started, “is that the killer stepped on this box and a remnant of its former contents got caught up in the body or on the bottom of his boot, as he carried it away.”

  Before Samantha could respond, they were interrupted by a male voice. “Hey!”

  Haley and Samantha stilled. They both knew the voice.

  “Officer Bell?” Haley said.

  Tom Bell wore his official blue police uniform, the brass buttons on his double-breasted jacket done up to the chin, a flat cap with a black bill on his head. His lips worked as he processed the two ladies in front of him.

  “What are you doing here? You’re trespassing on private property.”

  Samantha jutted her chin up in defiance. “I’m following a lead on a story.”

  “Well, you can’t be here.” His gaze moved to Haley, beseeching. “Dr. Higgins, I have to ask you to leave.”

  “We’ve got everything we wanted,” Haley said.

  Officer Bell’s frown deepened. “I’m not supposed to let you take evidence.”

  “Oh, it’s quite all right,” Haley said. “Detective Cluney gave me the go-ahead. You can ask him yourself.”

  It was clear that Tom Bell was in a pickle. Haley was reasonably certain that his instructions hadn’t come from the police. If that were the case, then who was Officer Bell taking his instructions from?

  Samantha quickly put her camera back in its bag when they were joined by two other policemen. She recognized them from the policeman’s ball, Officers Harris and McAteer.

  “What’s this, Bell?” Officer McAteer said.

  Officer Bell replied, “These ladies were just leaving.”

  Officer Harris glared at them, his eyes darting to the stain on the wall and back. “Are you lost?”

  “Uh, ya know,” Samantha said sheepishly. “I felt ill and thought a bit of ocean air would settle my stomach. We darted in this alley so I could . . .” She made a hard swallow motion as if she were about to vomit.

  “This is no place for women,” Officer McAteer said. He stared back at Tom Bell. “Officer Bell, please escort them back to their vehicle.”

  15

  “I need to ask you for your film.” Tom Bell looked very unhappy as he reached out a hand to Samantha. She jerked back.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Samantha.”

  “Officer Bell,” Samantha returned. No more first names for him. “I know my rights, and as a private citizen, I can take all the personal photos I like.”

  “But—”

  “Unless you can prove a crime has been committed, which I know you can’t, then you must let us go on our way unmolested.”

  Samantha couldn’t believe the nerve of the man. And drat it all! She’d have to find a new contact on the force, and that wasn’t an easy task.

  Thankfully, Haley had dug her heels in as well. “Miss Hawke has made several good points. I do hope you have a good reason for trying to detain us.”

  “I have a damn good reason! I’m trying to protect you.”

  Haley, with a calmness Samantha envied, said, “From whom, Officer Bell?”

  Tom Bell’s shoulders fell. “I can’t say, but knowing you two, you’ve probably put a few bits together. Now, don’t be sore, but I can’t be seen chatting it up with you. Just leave things alone for once!”

  “Why?” Samantha demanded. She was furious. She had trusted Tom, but now he wouldn’t trust her. And here she’d practically saved his life once. “You know what, I don’t care if I never see you again. You men are alike. Users, takers, liars!” She spun on her heel on the wet dock nearly losing her balance, saved from a surely ungraceful fall by Tom Bell himself. She tugged her arm from his grasp, stomped to the DeSoto, and got in the passenger side without looking back.

  Tom stared open-mouthed.

  “She’s going through a lot right now,” Samantha heard Haley say. Haley left Tom Bell to figure out women and the plight of mankind and joined Samantha in the car. The windshield had fogged up.

  Haley wiped the inside of the windshield with her handkerchief. “You’re breathing too hard.”

  “I just made a fool of myself, didn’t I?”

  “We all have our bad days.”

  “Do you?” Samantha challenged. “You always seem so cool and collected. So intelligent and intuitive.”

  “I’ve misstepped in the past, believe me.”

  “With Officer Thompson?”

  Haley stomped on the brake. It was a coincidence, Samantha noted, as she watched a black-topped Ford cut them off.

  Haley honked the horn, and she shifted down a gear before saying, “What do you mean?”

  “I see how he looks at you. And you’re not that great at hiding the fact that you look back at him.”

  “We had something once.”

  “Let me guess,” Samantha said. “You got scared and ended it.”

  “I did not get scared.”

  This time an aggressive bout of honking came from a passing vehicle, its driver giving Haley a stern look. Samantha could tell she’d hit a nerve because Haley was normally a very astute driver.
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  “But you did end it.”

  “We met shortly after Joe died. The only thing I cared about at that time? Solving his murder. Besides, Jack was leaving town to work in the Midwest for a stint.”

  “And now?”

  “And now what?”

  “Do you care about more than one thing? Do you care about him?”

  “Samantha! Your personal crisis has made you overly bold.”

  Samantha felt properly chastised. Seth did this to her. Made her feel defensive and unsteady. “I’m sorry, Haley. I’m not in my right mind. Please forgive me.”

  Haley pulled to a stop in front of the Boston Daily Record building “It’s fine. I know you have a lot on your mind.”

  Samantha grabbed her things. Had she just sabotaged the one relationship, besides what she had with her daughter, that meant anything to her? “Thanks for bringing me along,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I get the photographs developed.”

  She was about to get out of the car when Haley said, “Samantha?”

  “Yes.”

  Haley reached out her gloved hand, and Samantha took it. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’ll tell you the story one day.”

  Samantha smiled back. “Only if you want to.”

  Haley wasn’t sure if she’d ever want to or not, but decided to turn the focus back to Samantha. “You were rather hard on Officer Bell back there.”

  Samantha sniffed. “What if he’s the dirty cop?”

  “What if he’s not?”

  “You’re right.” Staring out the window, Samantha released a long, slow breath. “I’m just not myself today.”

  Haley sympathized. Seth Rosenbaum’s return had rocked the boat. The question only time would tell was just how wet was everyone going to get? She changed the subject. “Officer Harris rubs me the wrong way.”

  “Do you think he’s our bad cop?”

  “Who’s to say? I do wonder what Officer McAteer and Officer Bell were up to. I have a hard time believing they were on a randomly scheduled foot beat.”

  “They’re protecting someone,” Samantha said.

  “Or investigating,” Haley countered. “They might’ve ended up there following the same clues we did.”