Chapter 19
Phillip turned to Hendricks. “Let’s go.”
The two men opened the back door of the gaming hall.
There was a swinging door straight ahead with a small round window.
Phillip could see lights and men moving around and hear shouts of triumph amid the noise of dealers and players.
A young boy came out of a door on the right.
He looked at Phillip and Hendricks wide-eyed.
“Get out of here, kid,” Hendricks said. But both men turned to the stairs on the left when they heard shouting from above and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor.
Phillip raced up the steps behind Hendricks and stopped short in the doorway, both staring at the tableau before them.
Smythe and O’Malley were in the room, an office of sorts, their backs mostly to he and Hendricks.
Smythe had a gun to O’Malley’s temple and was laughing hysterically.
O’Malley held a gun in a shaking hand, pointing it at John Norris, who was on the floor, his back against the wall, his mouth bleeding.
The chair behind the desk was overturned, and papers littered the floor.
“Shoot him, O’Malley, or you’re a dead man. What’s that little wife of yours going to do without your paycheck? Maybe I’ll visit her now and again, drop a coin or two on the nightstand,” Smythe said.
“If you want him dead, why don’t you shoot him?” O’Malley whispered.
“Don’t be a dummy. I’m not going to get charged with murder!” Smythe said and noticed Phillip and Hendricks. “Get in line, gentlemen, nobody’s getting out of here alive. Take one step closer and I’ll kill your friend, Brown. Just like I did that bitch Josephine Button.”
“I’ll never say anything about it, Smythe. I don’t want to kill a man,” O’Malley said, his voice shaking.
Smythe growled and tapped O’Malley’s head. “Just do it, you coward. Do it, or those girls of yours are going to Shelly’s.”
O’Malley was crying, Phillip could see.
“Will you leave my family alone if I kill him?”
“We’ll say it was self-defense.” Smythe laughed.
Phillip was watching Norris, still seated on the floor, leaning back against the wall.
The man’s hand was under some papers, moving slowly toward something near his desk.
Smythe’s head turned to Norris, his gun followed, and he fired, hitting the man in the chest, blood spattering everywhere as the man’s body jumped and dropped back with the impact of the bullet.
Phillip took advantage of the few seconds the gun was away from O’Malley’s head to charge Smythe.
Phillip took him to the ground, but Smythe was big, and he was very strong.
He jumped to his feet, grabbed the gun he’d dropped, and kicked Phillip, who was still on the ground, in the side.
Hendricks aimed his weapon at Smythe, who just laughed. “You really want to murder a fellow officer?”
In the moment that Hendricks hesitated, Smythe shot O’Malley.
The man dropped to the floor, a bloodstain spreading.
Hendricks fired his weapon, hitting Smythe in the shoulder.
He careened back, hitting the wall and discharging his gun randomly.
Phillip crawled over Norris’s body to get behind the large wooden desk.
He’d dropped his gun when he charged Smythe and was defenseless, other than his fists, if Smythe decided to turn his anger on him.
But Hendricks was not out of bullets. He squared up against Smythe, his gun aimed at the man’s head. Smythe still held his gun, although it was at his side, blood running freely from his fingers.
“Drop your gun, Smythe,” Hendricks shouted.
Smythe half laughed and smiled. “Not a chance,” he said and began to raise the weapon.
Hendricks shot him in the chest, dropping the big man to the floor.
Phillip jumped up and went to O’Malley. He lifted his head from the floor and held him against his chest. “Come on, brother. You’ve got to breathe. You’ve got a wife and little ones.”
Hendricks kicked away Smythe’s gun and knelt beside O’Malley. He picked up a limp hand and held two fingers to his wrist. He laid the arm down gently and shook his head.
Phillip looked into the face of his old friend, now at peace, and ran a hand over the man’s eyes to close them. He looked at Hendricks, who was saying a prayer.
“Could have been one of us,” Hendricks said when he lifted his head. “We were lucky.”
Phillip nodded and glanced at the window. “I hear the police wagon.”
“You can get out of here if you want,” Hendricks said. “I’ll tell them what happened.”
Phillip shook his head and glanced down at O’Malley. “I’ll stay.”
Phillip stood in the alley with Hendricks after having given his statement of events to Captain Bender from Station Ten, where Timothy was being held.
Now, Bender and Captain Murphy were huddled together reading notes Bender had taken during the interviews.
There were officers stationed at either end of the alley, stopping people from trying to see what had happened or hear details other than what they’d already heard.
Phillip noticed a woman arguing with a police officer, his woman, he thought and smiled. She saw him and called to him.
He went to her and asked the officer to let her through, told him that she was part of the investigation. She flew into his arms, releasing a strangled breath.
“You’re alive,” she whispered. “Thank God.”
Phillip held her close, stroked her hair, and kissed her cheek. “I am alive. I was thinking of you, though, when I thought I might not be. Virginia, I don’t want to live without you anymore. I can’t.”
“Then we agree.”
“We do, it seems. For right now, you must speak to Captain Murphy and tell him what Nora Button told you.”
Phillip walked her to the two captains, their heads still huddled, and introduced her.
He was inordinately proud of her as she recounted the conversation she’d had with the young girl.
“I’m sure she’ll tell you the same thing,” Virginia said.
“But she’s terrified of police officers after her dealings with Officer Smythe.
You’d best find a way to do it in an unthreatening manner. She’s more than frightened.”
Bender made more notes as Virginia spoke. “The poor girl.”
“Will you let Sweitzinger out of jail now?” Hendricks asked.
“There’s some paperwork to do, and I really should speak to the local magistrate. This is a murder charge,” Bender replied.
“Ralph,” Captain Murphy said, addressing his colleague informally.
“How much more evidence do you need? Nora Button went missing to be sold to a brothel, apparently not the only young girl in Smythe and O’Malley’s district.
Timothy and Josephine Button were drugged and abducted to stop their search for Nora.
Button was murdered and Sweitzinger jailed.
Hendricks, Brown, and I and a couple of Pinkerton agents rescued Nora when Bruner moved her from that brothel, knowing there was heat coming down on him. What else do you need?”
“I just want to know why Smythe did it. Why would an officer of the law do it?” Bender asked.
“That’s fair. I’ll look into his finances if you’d like.
I think that’s where the answers will be,” Hendricks said.
“But that doesn’t change the fact that Sweitzinger didn’t murder Josephine Button.
He couldn’t have. He was unconscious, and Smythe confessed to Nora Button and to Brown and me that he’d been the one to kill her. Let Timothy out of jail.”
Bender glanced around and nodded. “I’ll see to it. Pick him up in two hours at Station Ten.”
Phillip pulled Virginia in front of him on Daisy and went to Wolfe Street. Everyone was waiting to hear what had happened, and a cheer went up when they heard Timothy was to be released.
“Patrick said his rooms were torn up,” Miriam said. “We better get over there and straighten things up.”
“He could stay here,” Sarah said.
“He won’t want to stay here, girl,” Eliza said. “You’re the one who said he was thin and looking bad. Let the man recover himself in some privacy.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Sarah said and looked at Eliza. “Will you make some soup and bread to send over later? Miriam and I will go straighten his rooms right now before he gets home.”
Phillip went to Station Ten and met Hendricks there after sending for Turnbull to take Virginia and Miss Hughes home.
Phillip checked his pocket watch several times and looked up when he heard the station door open.
Timothy walked out the door, shading his eyes from the bright sun.
Phillip was shocked at his friend’s appearance.
Timothy stopped and stared at Phillip and Hendricks.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Phillip stood. “It’s over, Timothy. Let’s get you home.”
He walked toward them, swaying on his feet. “Best to leave me alone.”
“Get in the wagon,” Hendricks said with a smile. “I paid for it out of my own pocket.”
“A strong wind would knock you over,” Phillip said. “Get in the wagon. Don’t be an ass.”
That brought a small smile to Timothy’s face. When they arrived at his rooms, they were greeted by his landlady, Mrs. Kowalski. She kissed Timothy’s face on both sides.
“The Brown women have been in your rooms, Timothy. They’ve straightened everything up, cleaned up all the mess those men left.” She reached in her apron pocket and handed him an envelope. “The young one, your sister, Sarah,” she said, looking at Phillip, “she wanted me to give this to him.”
Phillip glanced at Timothy, who was turning the letter over in his hand. He shook his head. “I don’t . . . I’m not sure. Don’t think I want to read it.”
Mrs. Kowalski took his hands in hers. “It can’t hurt to read it, Timothy. Give the young lady some comfort. Read it because she wrote it to you and wants you to read it.”
He nodded and turned to the stairs.
Phillip called after him. “Do you want me to come up?”
Timothy shook his head. “Thank you for bringing me here. And for everything you’ve both done.”