Chapter 9
Something had been bothering Phillip ever since he’d talked to Timothy in his cell at Station Five the evening he’d been arrested.
He’d said Roscoe Youngman had busted down the door to the apartment that had apparently been locked, before he’d even been out of that bloody bed.
Maybe Timothy’s memory was faulty since it was likely he was still fuzzy and disoriented if he was drugged.
But Phillip couldn’t let it go. How in the hell had Youngman gotten to the building, through the locked front door, and up the steps to batter down the door to the rooms when he heard Timothy’s shouts?
After speaking to Hendricks about Youngman’s usual haunts, he found him at Red’s, near the cannery, leaning back against the bar, jawing to a woman and then turning her way and leaning close.
The woman clearly did not like whatever he was saying and lifted a hand to slap him.
Youngman caught her wrist and kissed her knuckles.
She pulled her hand from his grasp and hurried out the door.
Phillip walked up to the space the woman left beside Youngman and nodded to Red for a brew.
“I get the feeling she didn’t like whatever it was you said,” Phillip said and took a long pull of the beer.
“None of your business, Brown.”
“True.”
“What do you want?” Youngman asked.
“Just stopped in for a brew. Nothing particular.”
Youngman laughed. “What do you want?”
“I’d just like to know how you came to find Sweitzinger in those rooms. That’s all. Just trying to piece it all together.”
“I know you’re convinced poor Timothy is a victim of some grand conspiracy. It’s all shit. He stabbed that woman, killed her. Maybe he was seeing her, and she stepped out on him. Don’t matter. I saw him standing up from the bed, covered in her blood.”
“That’s what it looked like,” Phillip said and turned to lean his arm against the bar. “But I don’t believe it. All I’m asking is for you to tell me what alerted you to that building. Were you nearby?”
“Yes, I was nearby! Always am, that time of evening. That’s where my patrol is.”
“So you’re patrolling and . . .”
“There was shouting, a man shouting, screaming his head off. I could hear it through the open window.”
Phillip took another drink of his beer and looked Youngman in the eye. “That must have been shouting to raise the dead since the windows on those rooms face the alleyway. But maybe you were walking there when you heard it.”
Youngman huffed a breath. “I was not in the alley. I was on the main street where I always walk.”
Phillip nodded. “You hear shouting from the building and go to the door. Was it locked?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I know you shouldered through the door to where Timothy was. Maybe the front door was unlocked.”
“Probably. Yeah. It was unlocked.” Youngman looked away, picked up his empty glass and sat it back down with a thud.
“That’s what I thought.” Phillip scratched his head. “Must have been unlocked. How else could you have gotten in and up to his room in time to see him stand up from the bed? I mean, I know if I woke up covered in blood, in bed with a dead woman, I’d jump up pretty quick.”
“Whatever you think is what you think,” he said in a loud voice, glancing around as he did. “I know what I saw, and I know Sweitzinger done killed that woman.”
Phillip nodded. “Thanks, Youngman. Let me buy you a brew.”
But the man turned away instead, scowling and walking to the door. “Nothing more to say to you, Brown.”
Red picked up Youngman’s empty glass. “You should watch what you say to that one. He’ll repeat every word you say.”
Phillip smiled and dropped a coin on the bar. “That’s what I’m hoping.”
Phillip took the streetcar to near Washington and Eastern as he had one more person to talk to before heading home for his supper, and it was only a few blocks from Wolfe Street. He rapped on the door to the house where Timothy had been found, taking his time to check the door frame as he waited.
Hiram Moulder opened the door and pulled his suspenders over his shoulders. “Again? Didn’t the other officers ever give you their report?”
Phillip shook his head. “I’ve been making sure all the facts are straight before the final report goes to the captain.”
“What do you want this time? Me and the boy were just sitting down to our dinner.”
Phillip glanced around the man and saw Frank at the table, a rag tied around his neck and a bowl in front of him, steaming.
That boy heard every word, Phillip was certain, and he winked at him when Moulder waved a hand at someone across the street.
“Just one question, really. I imagine you keep this front door locked most of the time.”
“’Course, I do. The door is always locked. Check it myself plenty of times a day. Leave the door to the backyard and the privy unlocked during the day, but this here front door is always locked. Renters have a key for their room and this door.”
Phillip nodded. “Makes sense, keeping the property secure that way. Your boss must appreciate how thorough you are.”
“He does. He does at that. Can’t have just any old bullyboy wandering in the front door.”
Phillip rubbed the back of his neck. “Strange, then, don’t you think?”
“What’s strange?” Moulder asked and glanced back at his dinner, cooling in his bowl.
“I can’t figure out how the officer, Youngman’s his name, got to the room where the dead woman was so fast.” He ran a hand over the door frame. “Doesn’t look like he busted this door in, like he did the one upstairs. Do you know Youngman?”
“Yeah, I know him. He walks this neighborhood regular-like.” Moulder turned to his open doorway. “My dinner’s getting cold and the boy’s waiting ‘til I say the prayer.”
“So the door must have been unlocked for Youngman to get up the stairs and into the room so fast, don’t you think?”
Moulder shrugged and stared at his hands. “Must have been one of the men who work at that Bigman’s Bakery. They leave afore three. Must have left it unlocked.”
Phillip waited until the man looked at him and nodded. “Make sure you tell the Bigman’s men to lock the door behind them,” he said and leaned forward to whisper. “You don’t want some madman coming in here and murdering you in your bed.”
Phillip was pleased to see Hiram’s face lose all of its color before he turned and walked away. He could hear Frank telling his father to hurry with the prayer.
Virginia pushed the strands of hair that had come loose from her tight bun and were now stuck to her forehead.
She could feel the sweat running down her back and between her breasts.
She thanked the Lord for the second or third time that day that she did not have to do this kind of work every day.
It was nearly time for a noontime meal that Sarah’s cook, Eliza, would be bringing any minute.
“Those windows are finally looking clean,” Sarah said to her. “I don’t think the old woman that lived here could keep up any longer.”
Virginia arched her back with a groan. “They were dirty, but what a difference in how much sunlight comes in this room now.”
“You don’t have to do any more,” Sarah said quietly. “This isn’t work you’re accustomed to, but Uncle and Miriam appreciate how hard you’ve worked.”
Virginia smiled. “I admit I’m looking forward to something to eat and drink and to sit for a few minutes, but I’ve got two more windows in this room, and I mean to finish!”
The women turned when they heard the front door open.
“Your noonday meal is here, ladies,” Phillip called out. He looked through the open doorway where Sarah and she stood. “Virginia?”
“I’m very ready for my luncheon, sir. Will you be serving?”
“How nice, Phillip!” Miriam said as she hurried down the stairs. “Kitchen’s that way.”
“Where do you want my boxes, Miriam?” Uncle Patrick asked.
“In here,” she said and kissed his cheek. “Just pile it there. We haven’t cleaned this room yet.”
Virginia followed everyone into the small kitchen, although it was roomy enough to boast a new stove and icebox and a table near the window looking into the backyard.
There was a lively camaraderie within this group that she enjoyed, and she could see that Miriam and Patrick were suited to each other, although she wouldn’t have said that at first glance.
Virginia and her father enjoyed a special relationship, but it had changed since he’d married Nancy.
He was enamored with his new wife and his stepchildren.
Not that he ignored Virginia, heavens no, but there were more people in his life now and he’d made room for them all.
She did wonder if she would ever have that kind of relationship, the kind that prioritized one individual above all.
She glanced at Phillip Brown as he set a wooden crate on the table and began to pull out jars of lemonade and sandwiches wrapped in paper.
One person. One person to prioritize. To love.
He looked up at her with a smile and handed her a sandwich. She was terribly afraid that Phillip Brown was that one person. She wondered if he felt the same.
Phillip received a note to meet Danny Hendricks at a small park a few blocks from Station Five. He walked past the park and turned the next corner. He cut through an open yard and squeezed through the thick hedges that lined the back edge of the property.
“The chief visited Timothy and asked him where his notes were for the off-book work he was doing for Josephine Button,” Hendricks said without turning to Phillip.
“That’s what I need.”
“There’s an old barn you two used to play in when you were kids. He said you’d know what he was talking about and where to look when you got there.” Hendricks sat down on one of the wooden benches and filled his pipe. “Tell me if you need anything else.”