The Ninth Precinct
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“We’ve got a murder, miss,” the sergeant said. “And you’re to be our chief witness.”
“A murder?” The word sent cold chills of terror down her spine. It had been two weeks since she’d seen any sign of violence, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one now or it wouldn’t happen again soon. What was more disturbing than the news itself was how easy it was for someone to commit such a crime—all they needed was the right person and enough time.
The sergeant handed her an official-looking document that she assumed would help prove his case.
She couldn’t read it. Not that it mattered if she could because he was not only in charge of the investigation, but he was also her boss. And as long as she worked at the precinct house, he would always have a say over how her investigations were handled.
If he wanted her to be present during this trial, then so be it; but she would never allow him or anyone else to tell her what to do. She had too much pride not to stand up for herself when it came to working.
“I’m sure you’ll want to see the body,” he continued. “If you don’t mind, I think we should bring Miss Mather here immediately.” He gestured toward the open door, where she could hear several officers talking loudly about their suspicions.
One man had apparently found the murderer’s weapon. It had been wrapped inside the victim’s coat—and it seemed to be the same coat that she had taken from the scene of the previous murders. But why did that matter? Did it give them more information about who they were dealing with?
“You can take me there,” she said.
“Good,” the sergeant replied. Then he turned around and shouted at some other men outside. They all hurried into the room, grabbed their coats, hats, and boots, and followed her out of the precinct house.
As she walked through the crowded streets of New York City, she realized how lucky she was not to live in a big city like Chicago or Boston. People rushed past her on every side. Some wore fancy dresses; others wore nothing but rags.
Most were barefoot. Men pushed carts piled high with goods, while women held tightly to ropes that pulled the wagons. Pedestrians dodged between horses and carriages as they made their way along. A few times she almost bumped into a man walking alongside the street. He looked surprised for just an instant, then hurried away before she could apologize.
They took her to a row of tenements where she stepped inside a filthy doorway. A foul odor hit her nose, sending her eyes watering and her stomach churning.
It was impossible to avoid stepping in some sort of animal waste, whether it was a dog or human, but there was nothing to clean the streets with except snow, which rarely fell in this part of the country. The smell grew worse as she approached a large hole in the floor in front of her.
She had no desire to step into the hole; nor did she have a reason to believe that it was a natural formation. After all, there hadn’t been much of a blizzard in Manhattan since last winter. Was this man murdered somewhere else and brought here? Or perhaps he died here after falling into the hole.
Her curiosity was satisfied when she saw that the entire floor was covered in blood and that the hole went straight down. The sergeant pointed toward it, indicating she should look inside.
“How bad is it?” she whispered, knowing it must be gruesome inside.
“No more than your imagination makes it,” the sergeant answered.
He opened the front of his jacket and showed her a small pocket watch. He placed it against his wrist and turned around. “Let’s get going.”
When she followed the sergeant down the wooden stairs leading to the basement level, she expected to find something similar to the hole in the floor in front of her. Instead, she saw only a pile of dirt and a few scattered bits of clothing.
She glanced behind her to see if the sergeant had forgotten some piece of evidence he forgot to mention earlier, but he was standing in front of the hole, his hands clasped behind his back and staring downward.
The sergeant turned to her, and she could hear something in his voice that told her he knew exactly what he was looking for. His expression suggested that he was about to make a discovery.
“It’s been a long time coming,” he finally said.
***
The Tenth Precinct
She stood in the middle of the police station, feeling helpless and alone. No one was willing to give her a job until they had determined whether or not she would be useful in bringing this killer to justice. How did they expect to catch someone who was killing people in such a manner?
They already knew the man didn’t wear gloves, and now they believed he used his bare hands to kill. So what? That didn’t seem like very good news considering the fact that she had never seen a man without any form of protection.
After leaving the crime scene, the sergeant took her to a nearby restaurant where he ordered coffee and pie. Then he told her about the body they found in the cellar.
“That’s terrible,” she murmured. She had hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with a corpse again today. If she were ever to find her suspect, she wanted to do so without having to witness a dead person first.
“We think so too,” he said quietly, “but this is what happens when a man dies down there.” He gestured at the cellar with his hand.
She had no idea what to say.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll catch him soon enough.” He reached toward the plate of pie and offered it to her.
She shook her head. “I don’t eat meat.”
He shrugged and ate another bite of the pie, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She thought he would ask why she was eating pie instead of vegetables, but he said nothing else.
A few moments later she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, and the sergeant nodded toward the door. He was ready to leave, she guessed. She thanked him and followed him out of the precinct house. On the way to his office, she asked him if it would be safe to walk home, and he replied, “Of course.”
As he led her through the streets of the Tenth Precinct, she realized that she was beginning to feel comfortable walking with him even though he wasn’t wearing his uniform. She wondered how many crimes he solved each day.
Did he have a special talent that allowed him to spot clues and determine the best way to approach every case? What would happen if someone accused him of being a fraud?
He stopped suddenly in front of an abandoned building, and she followed his gaze, wondering what caused him to stop.
“Is this yours?” she asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Then you know the owner?”
“The owner has other places,” he said. “This isn’t his main residence.”
“Why does he live in the Bronx?” she asked.
“He likes the quiet life,” the sergeant explained.
She thought he might be telling her what she wanted to hear, but when she looked at him, his expression betrayed no falsehoods. He seemed to speak the truth without hesitation.
She wondered what kind of person was living next door. It sounded as if he was a recluse who had chosen to live far away from society and its rules.
They walked up the stone steps, and when she reached the top, she looked at the front door. A few boards lay across it, and a few others were missing. There was a narrow strip of wood left on the right side of the door, and it appeared as if whoever owned the property had tried to patch a crack in the middle.
The sergeant pointed to the right side of the cracked part. “He’s been in here lately, that’s clear. Someone broke his window and pried it open.”
A shiver ran down her spine, and she remembered that she wore only one shoe.
“Wouldn’t be easy,” the sergeant said. “Not unless he had help.”
“Did you find his fingerprints inside?”
“No.”
“But you found something else?”
He smiled. “You’re learning fast.”
Her face grew hot as she realized that her new friend knew more than she did about how criminals worked. Was that why he had taken an interest in her? Because he believed she could do a better job investigating this killer than anyone else?
They stepped over a pile of newspapers and climbed up the creaky wooden stairs to reach the third floor, and he showed her a small room filled with papers and books. It reminded her of the old bookshop she once visited in San Francisco. This place must have belonged to someone who shared his love for reading.
The sergeant opened the window and glanced around outside before saying, “He doesn’t like people coming onto his property, so he installed some sort of alarm.” He pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the lock on the right side of the door.
He slid the key into a slot near the bottom of the door and twisted it, then waited while the mechanism clicked and turned to make sure the door was securely locked. They both listened intently until they heard the soft clunk of metal hitting wood.
“Now we can come back whenever we want,” he said, stepping away from the door, “and I doubt he’ll bother us anymore.”
“How often do you visit him?”
He shrugged. “When the case requires it.”
She wondered if she would have to spend days alone in such a gloomy place. Would he bring her back there when the case required it? How long would it take him to find out what really happened to her mother and father?
He held the door open for her and said, “Let’s go now. I don’t like sitting around when I’m not working.”
***
Back home in the Bronx, Sarah went straight to the kitchen and began making dinner. It would be her first meal in her new apartment since leaving her parents’ home. The sergeant would soon return to work, and she didn’t think she could stand spending another night alone with him.
As much as she liked him, she couldn’t deny that he gave her strange feelings. And it was hard to tell when someone lied to your face or told you the truth. She hoped he was honest with her because she felt as if she had a lot to learn.
She had already begun to wonder if there were any other cases where a woman was killed. Did they all die in their homes? Or was this just what happened if someone came after them? But as she prepared the meal, she kept thinking about the way they met: in an alleyway behind the Tenth Precinct. Where else would criminals meet to plot against others?
She had learned so much today, and yet she hadn’t even been in his presence very long. When he returned, she would ask him what he meant by saying he liked the quiet life. Was he referring to this particular case?
She finished cooking as quickly as possible and put everything on a tray. As she carried it back to the dining room, her mother entered the living room carrying two large bags from Macy’s department store.
“I bought clothes for my new job,” her mother said with pride. “It took me half a day to get through all the racks, but I finally found some things to fit.” She placed the bags on the floor. “Now you sit down and eat. Don’t worry, you won’t have to share my food. I’m going back to buy shoes.”
Sarah sat at the table and watched her mother leave the kitchen again. Then she picked up her fork and tasted her steak and mashed potatoes. It was good—the best meal she’d ever made. Maybe she should consider becoming a chef when she got married and had children.
***
As Sarah drove down the streets, she saw the familiar sights that had once been so familiar to her when she lived there: the park, the school, the corner drugstore, and the church that had become her sanctuary. Her mother would never walk into that church, though. Not after what happened to Sarah’s parents.
And the sergeant was wrong. If she wanted to solve a crime, it wouldn’t happen in the middle of nowhere. Someone in New York City might know something about these killings. There must be someone who could help.
The next morning, Sarah woke up feeling refreshed for the first time since her mother’s death. She knew she owed it to herself to be happy for one whole day. So she decided not to mention the case to anyone and try to enjoy the rest of her last week of freedom before starting her new job. She planned to spend the afternoon exploring the city on foot.
Her plans changed when she received a call from Sergeant Bowers asking if he could see her in his office. She arrived at the precinct ten minutes late. He greeted her and offered her some coffee, which she declined.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, slipping into the chair across from his desk.
“That’s fine.” He poured more coffee and sat back, crossing his legs. “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up during your training.”
She waited a moment, then asked, “Is that all?”
“No. Just sit tight,” he said, staring off into space as if lost in thought. After a few moments, he glanced at her. “Did you finish your reading?”
“Yes. It was quite fascinating. I can’t believe people were so different in those times.”
He leaned forward. “What I want you to learn is how to be invisible; that means no more telling everyone what you do or talking too much.”
She laughed at the irony. A month ago, she had talked so much about her job that nobody could get a word in edgewise.
“I understand,” she said.
“Do you?” His voice suddenly became harsh, and he looked ready to explode. “Because if you don’t, we’re going to have trouble.”
This was why she had come to the precinct. To learn about law enforcement so she could eventually find ways to bring criminals to justice without having to rely on the police. This wasn’t what she imagined. She felt as if she were being punished.
She didn’t say anything as he stared at her and then stood up abruptly. He opened the door and walked out of the office, leaving her alone once again with his empty mug. She tried to hide the hurt expression on her face. How dare he treat her like that!
She spent a restless night worrying about her first day of training. In the end, nothing seemed as terrible as she feared it would be. The only problem she faced was that she had so many questions and no one to ask.
By the time she went home, she decided to go through the reports and files again before going to bed. She couldn’t wait until Monday morning to start learning about her new job. And besides, she needed to know as much as possible before meeting with Sergeant Bowers to discuss his findings from the crime scenes.
After dinner, she read as long as she could before going to bed. But she still had to work on her homework assignments, so she stayed up later than usual and kept working. She had no idea if this kind of hard work was acceptable. Did other women in her profession stay up all night? Or did they have time to relax and enjoy themselves after their jobs were done for the day?
Her alarm clock rang at six o’clock, but she snoozed it twice before finally getting out of bed. The first thing she noticed was her headache, which she thought must have been caused by the lack of sleep.
But then she realized she also had a sore throat and felt exhausted despite the fact that she hadn’t gone to bed until two hours before.
When she took a shower and dressed, she felt even worse. She was certain she was coming down with a cold or the flu or something else that would take away most of her vacation days. It was too bad. She had so many plans for her remaining time.
In spite of her worries, Sarah felt better by the time she left for work. She made sure to eat a light breakfast at home and brought along a sandwich and some fruit salad for lunch. When she reached the precinct, she saw her new deskmate, Officer Haggerty, standing outside smoking a cigar.
“Good morning,” she said, stopping to shake his hand.
“Morning,” he responded, his dark eyes taking her measure. “We’ll be spending a lot of time together on the force.”
“How nice. We can get to know each other.”
“If you want to. I don’t mind working alone.”
Sarah wondered what he meant by that. Did he prefer to work alone and was he trying to make a point? Was he afraid someone would suspect him because he was gay and wouldn’t feel comfortable having a female partner?
Or did he think that she might leave town and never return if his partner quit after a short period of time? That certainly wasn’t true. “Well, if we do work together, it will be good practice for me.”
“For both of us.”
“So, you’re married?”
“Yeah,” he said. “It doesn’t bother you?”
“Not at all. What about children?”
“Two sons. They just turned three.”
“They look cute in their uniforms.”
“They’re already bigger than me. I tell them not to grow any taller or they’ll get sent to war.”
She smiled at his obvious pride. “Does your wife mind that you smoke cigars?”
He held up the cigar. “I’m quitting now.”
She watched his lips move as he spoke with another officer and knew he was doing just that. Her own father had quit smoking years ago when he learned he was suffering from emphysema.
“Did you hear about yesterday’s shooting?” Haggerty asked as he led her into the squad room.
“No. What happened?”
“A man came in and shot one of the detectives after he arrested him on a warrant.”
“That’s awful!”
Haggerty nodded. “And then this morning, another detective died of his wounds at the hospital. He was a sergeant.”
Sarah gasped. “What? Why aren’t you wearing a black mourning band over your badge?”
“His family requested it be done.”
“Then why isn’t there a sign on his desk that says his name is gone?”
“Because his wife told us not to. She wanted everyone who passed his desk today to see the name on his desk, so they’d remember what he meant to us.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.” She paused and looked around the room. There was no sign that anyone missed the sergeant. In fact, there was barely any evidence that he ever existed. His desk was clean. His personal items—pictures and mementos and the like—were neatly stacked under the drawer.
She tried not to dwell on his death and the way it changed their lives forever. “You should put his name on his desk anyway,” Sarah said, “so future officers won’t forget him.”
He chuckled. “That was my next plan.”
The captain entered the squad room with another officer behind him. As soon as the two men saw Sarah, they stopped talking. “Morning, ladies,” Captain Kostas greeted her. She had met him earlier that week during a staff meeting, but that was the only time she’d talked to him. She couldn’t help wondering if he knew how much trouble she really was.
“Hello,” she replied, shaking hands with the other officer.
Captain Kostas motioned for her to take a seat near her new desk mate. “Sarah, this is Patrolman Haggerty.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said.
The captain sat across from her. “Now that we’re all here, let me introduce you to Lieutenant Dominguez. You’ve seen him before.”
“Yes,” she answered. “He’s a member of the police commission.”
“Yes, he’s very qualified to sit on that board, which is why he’s so busy attending meetings every month. But he also works for our department. He’ll be supervising patrolmen, detectives, and detectives who are in training for most of the day.” He glanced toward his office, where Sergeant Baskin’s desk stood empty.
“Sergeant Baskins died last night,” Captain Kostas said softly. “You probably haven’t heard yet since we just got the news this morning. The doctors were unable to save him.”
Everyone in the room went silent except for Haggerty who cleared his throat and began talking to his new desk mate, Officer Dominguez. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
The lieutenant turned to look at the man standing beside him. “How many years did he serve?”
“Forty-five,” he answered, obviously uncomfortable with this unexpected turn of conversation. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“He always worked out with me.” Dominguez shook his head sadly. “Always gave me hell for letting him get so fat. We even competed against each other to see who could lose weight first.”
“Was there something wrong with your leg?”
Dominguez nodded. “Fell down some steps and broke my tibia and fibula.”
“That’s terrible.”
“My whole leg was broken.”
“And it healed wrong?”
“No.” He shook his head again. “When I woke up, it was bent in a funny position.”
“What was that?” Sarah asked.
“I don’t know, exactly. It didn’t look right.”
“Well, at least you’re walking now.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I can walk just fine. But I have this funny limp.”
“It doesn’t sound funny.”
“Not compared to how I felt lying in the hospital bed for months. It was horrible.”
The lieutenant continued to stare at her. “What do you know about broken bones? You seem awfully calm for a woman who lost her husband last night.”
Sarah’s heart raced. If the lieutenant didn’t like her answer, he might think she was crazy and send her back home to her aunt’s house in Kansas City. But he was already too far along in his questions to stop them. And it was better, to tell the truth than a lie. So she decided to give it to him straight.
“A few weeks ago, while I was visiting New York with my uncle, a woman named Mary Beth Simpson hired me to find her husband, Walter. She told me he’d been kidnapped by his business partner because he stole money from them.”
“So?” the lieutenant said.
“So, I found him. He was living with a woman named Lorna and her mother.”
“What?” he barked. “What about the wife?”
“Walter has a brother who works in a factory here in Denver. When Mary Beth Simpson confronted him, he denied knowing anything about her husband or his whereabouts.”
The lieutenant leaned forward. “How did you know?”
“Because Walter was working at a shoe store owned by his brother in a town called Leadville,” Sarah explained. “But when I got there, I discovered that wasn’t true.”
“Walter was hiding out there for almost two years!” the lieutenant said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m going to need a full report on all of this, and I want it tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” she agreed quickly. “But I still don’t understand why this is so important.”
“It’s not that important.” He frowned at her. “I just thought maybe you had learned something else that may be useful to us.”
She sighed. He must be thinking she was trying to use Walter’s death to blackmail the department into letting her stay in Denver. “No, nothing like that.”
“All right, then.” The lieutenant looked at Captain Kostas and said, “Lieutenant, take Miss O’Malley back to the station and put her on a train home.”
The End