Brooklyn on Fire (31 page)

T
HE RAIN HAD
finally stopped, and the sun was shining brightly as Sean stepped out of the Raymond Street Jail and onto the sidewalk a free man. He was walking with a cane, but he was
walking
. And Mary was waiting. She had splurged and rented a carriage for the occasion.

“Welcome to the outside world, Sean.”

He took a deep breath. “It’s good to smell the air instead of decades-old prison dust.”

“What do you want to do now? Your choice.”

“You know, Mary.”

She did know. The two of them got in the carriage, and they were off. During the ride, Mary filled Sean in on the final details of the case. Sean listened and nodded his head once or twice but stayed silent. After she was through, he spoke.

“Funny thing is, I originally became a policeman because it was a job—a job I could get. God knows I wasn’t going to be a doctor.”

“Or a lawyer or anything that required a lot of schooling,” Mary teased.

“I hated school all right, but what I hated more was the thought of working in a butcher shop. The idea of spending the rest of my life immersed in animal blood and flesh was scary.”

Mary shuddered. “I don’t know how Dad does it.”

“Neither do I,” Sean said, shaking his head in wonder. “And the longer I was on the job as a police officer, the more I began to like and respect it. I loved the idea of protecting decent people from the animals that prey on them.”

“You’ll be back on the force. The doctor says you’ll make a full recovery.”

“That’s not the point, Mary,” Sean said, trying to be logical, fighting his emotion. “I couldn’t protect the person I loved most. I couldn’t protect Patti.”

“You can’t beat yourself up for something over which you had no control. Like you said, there are animals out there, and sometimes they commit acts that no reasonable person would ever consider doing. You couldn’t have predicted it.”

“Maybe someday I’ll get to believing that, but right now…”

Not wanting Sean to fall back into a funk, Mary changed the subject. “On the contrary, I should have been able to predict what happened with George.”

Sean looked puzzled. “Something happened with George?”

Mary slumped in her seat. She had forgotten that Sean didn’t know, and now she had to relate all the unpleasant details. It was painful rehashing them, but when she finished, she tried to be philosophical about it.

“Maybe Mother’s theory of Handley symmetry is correct. When something good happens to one of us, something bad happens to another. I get George, you get arrested. I lose George, you get out of jail.”

“I’m not sure Mother’s going to be in a philosophical mood when she finds out you gave back that very expensive engagement ring.”

The two of them instantly burst into laughter, and they didn’t stop for a while. It was a great release.

Green-Wood Cemetery was just a few blocks from Prospect Park. It was built in 1838 and was known for its natural parklike surroundings. As Mary and Sean walked through the grounds, it occurred to them that this was the kind of place Patti would have loved. They stayed silent for a while. It seemed appropriate, as if the tranquility demanded it. Finally, Sean spoke.

“I’m not sure if I said it yet or not, sis, but I’m really sorry about George. It’s not right.”

“Many things aren’t, but thanks, Sean. I really appreciate it.” Her look told him she meant it.

They stopped at Patti’s grave and stared at the headstone. It read,
PATRICIA CASSIDY, 1868–1890
. Underneath that was the inscription
WE DIDN’T NEED POETRY. WE HAD EACH OTHER
.

Mary took a deep breath and then said, “Good choice, Sean. Nothing by Walt Whitman could have been more appropriate or heartfelt.”

Standing over Patti’s grave, they felt a closeness they had never felt before. Then they did something that they hadn’t done since Mary was born and Sean asked to hold his baby sister.

They hugged.

A
MONTH AFTER
S
EAN
was released from prison he was back at work. During that period, Mary had taken the time to heal. It was a month full of news. In exchange for Huntington not exposing more of McLaughlin’s misdeeds, the items in the newspaper about Green’s homosexuality stopped. Instead, gossip linked him to several actresses of the day, much to Green’s amusement. It gave Huntington pleasure to pull McLaughlin’s strings, but it didn’t get him back into the consolidation project, and his family still didn’t attain the social acceptance Arabella desired. The Robert Davies Players’ production of
Hamlet
had opened and closed on the same night after disastrous reviews. One critic ventured to say that the curtain should have come down the moment Robert Davies first entered as Hamlet. However, Robert Davies was not deterred. He still had plenty of his inheritance left and was planning a production of
Macbeth
. Mary assumed that Shakespeare was rolling over in his grave.

George was persistent and he and Mary met three more times, trying to find a way out of their dilemma. They couldn’t. At each meeting, George tried to convince Mary once again that he could easily live without Biltmore but not without her, and each time she became more resolute that he was deceiving himself. It was painful for both of them, and though it had become too much to bear, they agreed to see each other one final time. They met at Café Roberto, a coffeehouse in downtown Brooklyn. By then, George had come to accept the inevitable. He even spoke of Biltmore. When he did, his eyes lit up, and Mary knew she had made the right decision. They tried very hard not to make this last parting difficult on each other, but that was not possible.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mary. I guess I’m just not used to losing.”

“We clearly differ there. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

She watched him ride off in his carriage and somehow instinctively knew he was going to be okay. What she hadn’t gotten a grasp of yet was whether she would be.

The newspaper headlines concerning the Brooklyn Bridegrooms’ efforts to become the first team to win a pennant in both the American and National leagues had been pushed aside by the Long Island Water Supply Company scandal. William Gaynor had turned out to be the tenacious bulldog that Mary thought he was. He sunk his teeth into that piece of political corruption and wouldn’t budge. It was now pretty clear that Alfred Chapin’s political ambitions had been seriously derailed. He would finish his term as mayor but he would never be governor or senator. He eventually went back to practicing law.

Hugh McLaughlin would not go quietly. He fought back, trying to emphasize the good that the water company would do for Brooklyn and portraying New Yorkers as evil city dwellers who were trying to ruin the tranquil community of Brooklyn. But no matter how vehemently he argued, McLaughlin couldn’t explain away the huge profit he had made on the water company purchase, and William Gaynor would not let anyone forget that. He even filed a lawsuit against the city of Brooklyn for misuse of funds.

The consolidation of New York and Brooklyn was now inevitable. Green led the charge for New York, while the Brooklyn Ring tried to fight by planting controversial articles in the
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
that stirred up the fear of conservative Protestants who were concerned about immigrants corrupting their wholesome values. Still, the scandal of the Long Island Water Supply Company was the haymaker that ended this fight. They would argue back and forth over the details for a while. Complicated annexations took time, often many years. Votes had to be taken and bureaucratic traditions had to be observed, but Brooklyn’s most powerful political cabal was tarnished and would not be able to recover in time. More importantly, Hugh McLaughlin’s clout had quickly begun to wane, and Mary would enjoy watching him disappear from the political scene.

On this particular day though, Mary was not concerned with Hugh McLaughlin, the water company scandal, the consolidation project, or even Brooklyn. This day was special because it was the grand opening of Lazlo’s new bookstore. With the insurance money from the fire, Lazlo had secured a building three blocks from the old bookstore, furnished it, and filled it with books. It was larger than his previous one, and even his upstairs quarters were more expansive.

Mary beamed when she saw the huge front window with giant gold letters spelling out
LAZLO’S BOOKS
. However, what took her by complete surprise were the words in smaller print on the bottom right section of the window. They read,
OFFICE OF MARY HANDLEY, CONSULTING DETECTIVE
. Thrilled, Mary rushed inside.

The store was already crowded. Lazlo was at the far end regaling a group with the tale of his encounter with the infamous, and now departed, Shorty. He spotted Mary, excused himself, and made his way to her.

“Lazlo, your new store looks fabulous!”

“Thank you, but did you really expect anything less?”

“Of course not, especially not from a renowned genius such as yourself.”

“I suspect your flattery is derived from seeing your name out front.”

“It’s quite an incentive. Hopefully, a compliment a day will keep my name there.”

Lazlo got serious. “It’s not necessary, Mary. You saved my life, and I’m very grateful.”

“I also was the one who put your life in danger.”

“True, but think of the excitement with which you provided me, and the fascinating story I can relate ad infinitum well into my declining years.” Lazlo and Mary shared a smile, then she looked around the store.

“It appears you’ve attracted a goodly bunch. I suppose I should get to work.”

Lazlo stopped her. “Your services are not required here.” Mary was stunned, but before she could question him, he pointed. “They’re required over there.” Sitting in a corner on a bench were two women and a man. “Prospective clients, I presume?”

Mary walked over to them, introduced herself, apologized for keeping them waiting, and asked if they were all together. They weren’t. They were three separate cases! Mary was delighted inside but hid it in order to appear professional. She asked them who had arrived first and when a woman stood, Mary instructed her to follow her into her office.

After a few steps, she stopped, begged the woman’s indulgence, and went to Lazlo.

“By the way, Lazlo, where is my new office?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” He pointed to a room in the back. This room was larger than her previous office, and as an extra perk, it had a window. There was a brand-new desk, a couch, two chairs, three filing cabinets, and, to top it off, an electric lamp!

Mary found it hard to contain her excitement, but she managed. There was a client present. Mary’s business cards had been destroyed in the fire, but Sarah had already had new ones made for her. She took one out of her purse and gave it to the woman as she offered her a seat.

Mary walked behind her desk and sat. She gave herself a moment to take everything in. Her dream of being a working detective was finally starting to come true. She sat erect, folding her hands on the desk, and leaned forward as she looked the woman in the eye. She then spoke the words that she hoped to say many more times over the years as her business continued to thrive.

“Now, how may I be of service to you, madam?”

T
HOUGH MY STORY
is fictional, there are many historical facts intertwined with the fiction. The Arabella Huntington/Collis Huntington/John Worsham triangle is based on truth down to its Richmond, Virginia, roots, as is their son, Archer. Andrew Haswell Green was a real man who was the catalyst and proponent of much of what people admire about New York today. He was the architect of New York’s consolidation and the one responsible for getting it done. The Long Island Water Supply Company scandal did indeed happen, and Hugh McLaughlin and Mayor Alfred Chapin were involved. William Gaynor was the lawyer who exposed the scandal and campaigned against them. George Vanderbilt did build Biltmore down in Asheville, North Carolina, and it still stands today as a monument to his ingenuity and foresight. John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie are American icons, and I tried to portray them truthfully.

There are two interesting footnotes to this story. Ten years after Collis Huntington died in 1900, Henry Huntington divorced his wife, and three years afterward he married Arabella Huntington. Also, Cornelius Vanderbilt II eventually disinherited his son Neily, who married the banker’s daughter in spite of his father’s protests. They stayed married for the rest of their lives.

Mary Handley and Superintendent Campbell were also real people who worked on the Goodrich case together. She was the one who caught the Goodrich killer, proving that “even females” can be competent detectives, an undeniable fact that prompted me to send her off on more adventures.

M
Y EDITOR,
Sarah Bedingfield, has done an amazing job with her notes and positive guidance. Thank you, Sarah. I hope I always have someone as smart and as centered as you for my editorial champion.

My team at Random House: publicists Rachel Rokicki, Hanna Frail, and Dyana Messina, and marketing specialist Danielle Crabtree have been incredibly enthusiastic and have worked tirelessly. I greatly appreciate their efforts.

I’d also like to thank publicists Howie Simon and Amy Sisoyev for their wonderful enthusiasm and their efforts on my behalf.

My agent, Paul Fedorko, has been a great champion of my writing, and I can’t thank him enough for his belief in me and his counsel.

Paul’s assistant, Sammy Bina, has also been extremely helpful, and I thank her for it.

My wife, Fran, my son, Josh, and my daughter, Erin, have all been fantastic. Their support as I have ventured into novel writing has been unyielding and overwhelmingly positive. My love for them is boundless, and I am way beyond fortunate to have them.

Michael, Helen, and Adam Levy have also been tremendously supportive, and their actions have gone above and beyond anything that could possibly be suspected.

As a young boy, Roz and Elliott Joseph did everything they could to encourage my love of books, and I hope it shows here. Marilyn Lichterman was also a champion of my ventures into the arts, and I want to thank her.

My close friend David Campagna has always been extremely supportive and positive about any endeavor I’ve decided to tackle. This one was no different, and I want him to know how much I appreciate him.

My fellow writer David Garber and I have a habit of bouncing ideas off each other. I believe every writer needs a buddy like David, and I’m lucky to have him as a friend.

I’d also like to thank Nikki and Charley Garrett, Stan Finkelberg, and Lois Feller for reading early versions of this novel and encouraging me with their enthusiastic responses.