Fallen Women Page 8

  “Then I’ll continue. You can’t get rid of me so easily, Detective. I intend to go to the Arcade with you.”

  “It’s not a place for a lady.”

  “Neither is the House of Dreams.”

  Mick choked off a retort, then blew out his breath and took Beret’s hand. “Miss Osmundsen, you’ll forgive me for saying so, but this whole investigation is no place for a lady. Do you think Teddy Star is going to talk about your sister in front of you? Things will go much faster if you’ll let me do my job by myself, and I promise to keep you informed. I’ll even take you with me if I think you might be of help. After all, we have the same goal. We both want to find your sister’s killer, and you’re hampering me in doing my job.”

  “Not so far. You are aware yourself that you knew nothing about Joseph Summers until I brought up his name. And his father.” Beret said the last slowly, distastefully, because it was awful to have to say such a thing out loud. “If I find I am an impediment, I will withdraw, but for now, I intend to stick.” She thought a moment. “I do not question that you want to find Lillie’s murderer, but after all, this is just a case to you, and tomorrow, there will be another one. For me, however, the victim is my sister. No, Detective, I will not go home. And because I have my uncle’s approval, you may not dismiss me.”

  “I feared you’d say that.”

  “There is one more thing I want to ask,” Beret said slowly, thinking. “Was there any sign that my sister was a doper?”

  Mick pondered the question. “I don’t remember any needle marks, but she was covered with blood, and I wasn’t looking. Of course, she could have been on something that didn’t need a needle. Why do you ask?”

  “I’m not sure. Elsie had marks on her arm. I just thought it was possible…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Maybe she was a snowbird. Cocaine doesn’t leave a mark.”

  Beret thought about that.

  “I can’t see that it matters much,” Mick said.

  “Maybe the man she let into the house sold her drugs.”

  “Could be. But we didn’t find any sign of them in her room. I’d say she was clean that way.”

  He started off down Holladay Street, Beret beside him, as snow began to fall, heavy, wet, late-spring snow that drifted down from the sky. Beret pulled on her gloves, but Mick ignored the weather as he said, “I always despised a man who lived off a woman. I admit I hope the killer is Teddy Star or whatever his real name is. I expect he’s scum.”

  “You don’t know him?”

  “I never heard of him. So he must be new around here. These leeches show up from time to time, get a girl or two on their string and make trouble. Then they disappear. There’s always another to take their place. I wonder how your sister got involved with such a man. Maybe he did give her dope. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Beret said nothing, and Mick continued, “They’re funny, these prostitutes, especially the pretty ones. It’s not enough they got men willing to pay them for their company. They need somebody they think loves them, and when they find him, they can’t do enough for him. Maybe they never had anybody care about them before.”

  Beret bit her lip. What Mick had suggested wasn’t true. Lillie had never known anything except love.

  “There’s girls that don’t have much choice but to turn out. I guess working in a mission, you know that. They get disgraced, and when their family finds out, they’re kicked out. Or maybe they’re starving and can’t get any other job. Hooking’s a lot nicer than going hungry, at least in the beginning. Some of them are widows with children. I don’t know the reason your sister ended up in the House of Dreams.” He turned to Beret as if he expected her to satisfy his curiosity, but she was silent. She didn’t know, either.

  “It’s not such a bad job when you think about it—good food, nice bed, and the work isn’t so hard,” Mick said.

  “Beatings from drunken sots, disease, drugs, ill-treatment from anyone they encounter, scorn. You wouldn’t call that bad?”

  Mick didn’t reply, because they had retraced their steps and were now in front of the Arcade. “You sure you want to go inside?” he asked.

  “I told you before, Detective, I have my reasons for accompanying you.”

  “You ever been in a gambling hall before—gambling hell they call it.”

  “Indeed I have.”

  “Not as a patron, I take it.” Mick grinned to soften his words.

  “To rescue girls. And to raise money to support the mission.”

  “By gambling?”

  “From gamblers. Many of them are kindhearted and are happy to donate to help the needy. I’ve seen more than one give his entire night’s earnings to help some poor unfortunate. I am surprised you don’t know that.”

  “Oh, I know it.” Mick looked at her sourly as he opened the door. “Of course I know it. Ladies first.”

  The Arcade was nicer—and smaller—than the gambling halls Beret had seen in New York, dank warehouses with dirt floors and overflowing spittoons, whiskey spilled on the counter, drunks passed out on the floor, prostitutes searching their pockets. Instead, the Arcade was like a men’s club with a wooden floor and a mahogany bar along one wall. The brass rail in front of it had been polished, and behind the bar, bottles were lined up in neat rows. A bartender, a starched white apron over his white shirt, poured a drink for a man standing in front of him. On the other side of the room under gaslights that hung from the ceiling, men were gathered at gaming tables and around a roulette wheel. There was the clatter of dice, a murmur of voices, as the men placed bets. Although it was early afternoon, the gambling hall was crowded. Many of the men were well dressed, bankers and mining men, merchants, visitors to the big city who had come to see the sights. They stood out from the gamblers and sporting men, who wore string ties and florid vests and did not appear to have much to say.

  Beret scanned the room and saw that she was the only woman. The bartender must have been aware of that, too, because he frowned when he saw her. Mick led her to the bar. “Well, Harry, how are you this fine day?” he asked.

  “Can’t complain, Mick. Yourself?”

  “The same. We’re looking for someone.”

  “I thought so. You hoping to find a husband that’s skipped out with the rent, are you?”

  Beret gave the bartender a dark look, and Mick said quickly, “A fellow that goes by the name of Teddy Star, dark, swarthy. A mac, by all accounts, maybe new to the city. I’m told he hangs out here.”

  “’Tis a fine place.” The bartender raised an eyebrow.

  “Now don’t be giving me any of your palaver, boyo. It looks to me like someone I see over there at the faro table is only a lad. You wouldn’t want me to report it to the chief that the Arcade caters to youngsters, now, would you?”

  “Ah, Mick, your Irish comes out when you want something, does it not? I don’t know the gentleman by name, but there is a dark fellow sitting with his back to you. I thought to throw him out the first time he came in, because he looked like a Negro. But he’s as white as you and me, and the lady.” He bowed to Beret.

  “There’s a good lad. I’ll give you a pass the next time a complaint is made.”

  “So far, there’s been none.”

  “I can see to that, too.” As they turned away from the bar, Mick explained, “We’re chums. We grew up together. Our dads were from Ireland and worked the mines together.”

  “And your Irish comes out when you talk to him?”

  “I do what works, talking Irish to an Irishman, street talk to a tout, and proper English to a lady. Have you an objection?”

  Beret didn’t answer. Instead she stared at the back of the man the bartender had pointed out. Mick started for the table, but Beret stayed where she was, as if she couldn’t move, gathering her courage. “Well, have you given up?” Mick asked, and Beret took a few steps, lagging behind the detective.

  Mick went to the table and put his hand on the arm of the dark man. “I’d have a word with you,” he said,
showing his badge.

  The man scowled. “And why would that be, Officer?”

  “Are you Teddy Star?”

  The other men seated at the table stopped playing to watch the detective, glancing from one to the other. Teddy Star threw down his hand. “I am. What’s the complaint?”

  “No complaint, but I have a few questions.”

  “Such as?”

  “You want to discuss it here or in private?”

  Teddy smirked as he told the others, “A misunderstanding. I’m out for now, but I’ll be back when I clear this up. He’s mistaken, whatever this is.”

  The men didn’t care and returned to the game, while Teddy rose. He was broad, powerful, with black hair and dark skin. But his hands were small, almost a woman’s hands. His face was handsome, the nose straight and long, and his eyes were like black diamonds. He moved gracefully, almost like a dancer. “Well, what is it?”

  “Over there.” Mick pointed to a table.

  Teddy started for it, glancing back at Mick. He didn’t see Beret, who was half-hidden behind the detective, and when he did, he ignored her. At first, that is. He took a step or two, and then as if the face finally registered, Teddy turned abruptly, and his mouth dropped. “Beret!”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you doing here? What do you want?”

  Beret thought for a moment she would faint. She was aware of the man’s identity before she entered the Arcade, yet she was stunned to see him. She said in a voice that seemed to slice through him, “Lillie is dead. Or do you pretend not to know that? I’ve come to find her killer.”

  “You always did believe in vengeance.” He smirked.

  “With good reason.”

  Mick, confused, looked from one to the other. “You know him?” he asked Beret.

  “Oh yes. He brought my sister to Denver.”

  “I did no such thing. You know that, Beret.”

  “But you’re here, and you’re her macquereau. Don’t deny it.” Beret’s face was pale, and the knuckles of her hands, clutching her purse, were white.

  “I will deny it! I wouldn’t stoop so low.”

  “No? Then how do you live? You were never much for work. Living off women seems to be the way you’ve always supported yourself.”

  The conversation was heated, and the men at the table stopped their game to stare, so Mick took Beret’s arm, then turned to Teddy. “You! You come along.” The three made their way to a corner and sat down.

  The bartender came over with a bottle and three glasses and said, “If you’re going to take up a table, Mick, I expect somebody to buy a drink. It’s on the house for you and the lady.” He lingered a moment, as if hoping to discover what was going on, but Mick waved him away. He offered the bottle to Teddy, who poured the liquor into a glass and drank it down in one gulp. Beret refused, and Mick set the bottle aside.

  “He lured your sister to Denver to set her up as a prostitute?” Mick asked Beret. “I believe there’s a law against that.”

  “That’s a lie. She followed me.”

  “Only she got here first,” Beret said.

  Teddy glared at her. “You know she lived with the judge, not with me. Maybe he’s the one who set her up as a whore.”

  “That is a disgusting thing to say, even for you, Edward. Did you kill her? Couldn’t you stand the thought that after what happened she didn’t love you after all? Did she discover you were a humbug and a fraud?”

  Teddy blanched. He picked up the bottle and poured himself another drink, sloshing the liquor on the table.

  Beret watched him, watched him lift the glass to his lips. Then his hand shook, and he spilled it over his shirtfront, wetting his embroidered vest. “You took that sweet child and ruined her. It was you who turned her into a whore.” The exchange exhausted her, and she felt drained.

  “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. It was her idea. I tried to talk her out of it.”

  Beret leaned forward over the table, oblivious to the fact her coat sleeve was soaked with the spilled whiskey. “No, Edward, you put her there. You ruined her. And then you tried to live off her. You put her to work and took her money.”

  “And who are you to talk? You were the one who cut her off.” Teddy leaned back, as if to get away from Beret. “I wouldn’t take what she earned.”

  “You would. Oh, you would.” She turned to Mick. “He is not above living off a woman.” At that, she slumped in her chair, as if done with him.

  Mick, who had not interfered in the exchange, turned to Teddy. “Did you kill her?”

  “God, no!”

  Beret’s head jerked up, and she started to say something, but Mick put his hand on her arm. “Where were you when she was killed? That was two weeks ago come tomorrow.”

  “I was in Leadville. There’s men there will vouch for me. I’ll give you their names. I wouldn’t hurt her. I loved her.”

  Beret stared at Teddy, her face like stone. She had never heard him say that, and the remark pierced her as if it were a knife slicing through a peach. She started to retort, but she could not. She hurt too much. She dug her nails into her palms so she would not cry.

  It was Mick’s turn now, and he hit the man with a barrage of questions. Teddy admitted that he had arrived in Denver months earlier, had followed Lillie to the city. He swore he wasn’t the one who’d set her up at the House of Dreams, but when Mick asked how he supported himself, he said that Lillie had “loaned” him money. He hadn’t known she was dead until after her funeral, he said.

  “You were heard telling Miss Osmundsen not to see some man. Who was the man?”

  “Who told you that?” Teddy asked.

  “One of the girls at Miss Hettie’s. Who was the john?”

  “An old man. She teased me about him, said he wanted to marry her. She wouldn’t tell me his name. Maybe she made it up.”

  After Mick finished his questions, he waved the man away. Teddy stood and stared down at Beret. “Beret, I’m sorry.”

  She wouldn’t look at him, refused even to acknowledge his words.

  “Maybe we can talk.”

  “Talk?” Beret flung the word back at him. “Oh yes, you are very good at talking. But do you think I would believe a word you said?”

  “You always were a jealous shrew, my dear.”

  “Here, don’t talk to her like that,” Mick told him. Then he added, “Get out of here. Your kind makes me sick.”

  Teddy shrugged and started for the poker game he’d left, but then he changed his mind and went out onto the street.

  Mick studied Beret for a moment, finally touching her arm and asking, “Are you all right, Miss Osmundsen?”

  “No, of course I’m not all right. If it weren’t for that man, my sister would be alive. He ruined her. She’d be alive if it weren’t for him.”

  “Maybe, but if his story proves to be true, if he really was in Leadville, he didn’t murder her. And if that’s the case, there’s nothing we can charge him with. If we charged every man who ruined a girl, the jails would be full.”

  “Then you should build larger jails, because whether he stabbed her or not, he’s guilty. You are right, Detective, he is scum.”

  “You knew him, I take it.” The remark was obvious, and the detective smiled a little as if to acknowledge that fact.

  Beret nodded.

  “Did you know him well?”

  She thought that over. “You could say that. Quite well, in fact.” Beret turned to stare out the door through which Teddy had disappeared. When she looked back at the detective, her face was rigid with pain. “His real name is Edward Staarman. He was my husband.”

  Chapter 7

  Beret did not remember leaving the Arcade or making her way through the crowd as she and Mick crossed the street to the restaurant. She was badly shaken, and all she could think about was the awful confrontation with Teddy. The memories of his betrayal—his and Lillie’s—consumed her. It was as if she were living it all over again. Not until she was sea
ted did she come to her senses.

  “Would you like tea or something stronger?” Mick asked. Beret focused her eyes, which were the color of the brooding sky outside, on the detective, not quite understanding. “Sherry perhaps?” he asked.

  “I would like tea. And brandy.”

  Mick summoned the waiter and gave the order: tea and two brandies. Then he sat back and watched Beret, waiting.

  She looked around the room and recognized the place then. It was Charpiot’s Restaurant, “the Delmonico of the West,” as it fashioned itself with gold letters over the entrance. Charpiot’s had good reason to brag. It was Denver’s finest restaurant, and Beret had been there before with her aunt and uncle. Unlike most of the other eating establishments she had seen in Denver with their stuffy and overbearing décor, Charpiot’s was simply decorated, plain even, but elegant, very expensive, and well beyond a detective’s salary. She wondered why Mick had brought her to such a fine place. Perhaps policemen ate there free, part of the graft that was so common in the cities. Mick did not strike her as an officer on the take, but no matter. She resolved to pay.

  Neither of them said anything until after the waiter set down the tea and brandy, placing the cup and the glasses just so, adding a plate with lemon slices, a cream pitcher, a sugar bowl, setting down a polished silver spoon. He bowed a little, glanced at Mick to see if anything more was wanted, and then slipped away.

  Mick waited until Beret picked up either her cup or her brandy, but when she continued to sit as still as stone, he said, “Well, Miss Osmundsen—or is it Mrs. Staarman?”

  “Osmundsen,” Beret said, shutting her eyes for a moment and taking a breath. “I resumed my maiden name when I divorced Edward. I didn’t want anything of him remaining in my life. That was last year. What happened today is a shock, although I had suspected Edward had followed my sister here. Still, I never expected to see him again.” She lifted the teacup but did not drink.

  “So,” he said, inviting her to continue.

  “So, you want to know what happened, I suppose.”

  “It might help with the investigation.”