Daniel Stashower - The Dime Museum Murders

"You give him too much credit," Harry said. "That man is a shmendrick."

"A what?" Bess asked.

"A good-for-nothing," I, explained. My brother tended to fall back on Yiddish whenever he felt especially frustrated.

"Lieutenant Murray will never solve this case," Harry declared. "Not because he isn't clever enough, he simply doesn't care enough. Soon enough he'll have to turn his attention to all the other crimes and killings and thefts that plague this city."

"Branford Wintour's murder won't be forgotten. His money will see to that. His wealthy friends won't let the police rest until they close the case."

"His wealthy friends will prefer a verdict of death by misadventure to an unsolved murder. There will be meetings behind closed doors and the entire matter will be swept under the carpet. You wait and see. As for the Graffs, they'll be forgotten soon enough-especially now that the Toy Emporium is to be sold."

"Sold?" I asked.

"That's why the rabbi took me aside as we were leaving. Apparently there has been an offer to buy the building, and the rabbi hoped I might help to clear out the

shop, so that the stock can be sold to benefit the congregation."

"Father's old congregation," I said.

"Yes," Harry said. "That's why the rabbi asked."

"How sad," said Bess. "Of course you'll help."

"Later," Harry said. "It will have to wait until after we've found Harrington."

"The shop is being sold?" I asked again.

"Yes, Dash," Harry said. "Why does that surprise you so?"

I clawed at my jacket pocket for my note pad. A memory was struggling to emerge from the depths of my mind, but-like Harry battling his way out of a strait-jacket-it seemed to be having a hard time of it. "Who's buying the place?" I asked.

Harry shrugged. "A downtown firm. It seems they plan to tear down the building to make room for something new. There's been a great deal of building going on in the old neighborhood lately."

"Do you recall the name of the firm?"

"Dash, you're looking very strange all of a sudden. Of course I remember the name. Daedalus Incorporated. One could hardly forget such a name."

"Daedalus," I said, flipping through several pages of notes. "I wonder if-ah ha! How very odd!"

"What is it, Dash?" Bess asked.

"You'll never guess who just bought the Toy Emporium."

"I told you. Daedalus Incorporated."

"And do you know who owns Daedalus Incorporated?"

"Who?"

I snapped my notebook shut. "Branford Wintour," I said.

Lieutenant Murray was not on the premises when Harry and I arrived at Mulberry Street to share this fresh revelation with him. We were advised that his shift would end within the hour, and that there was some slight possibility of finding him in Donnegan's Tavern, around the corner on Bayard.

Donnegan's proved to be a dark and fragrant establishment, with sawdust on the floor and paintings from County Cork on the walls. We took a booth near the door, and sat watching an energetic pair of arm wrestlers at the bar. Soon enough Lieutenant Murray appeared, looking even more rumpled than he had that morning, if possible.

To my surprise, he greeted us quite cordially. "Mr. Houdini!" he cried. "Mr. Hardeen! A pleasure to see you again! Come to set the department to rights? Got some fresh information on the Lincoln assassination, have you?"

To his credit, Harry took this in good part. "I have already apologized for my-my exuberance the other evening," he said. "I did not mean to suggest that your investigation had not been thorough. As a further expression of my remorse, we should like to buy you a drink."

"Would you now? That's very grand of you, Mr. Houdini. Mine's a Jameson's and water."

I went to the bar and ordered whiskies for the Lieutenant and myself, and a glass of minerals for Harry.

"Your health, gentlemen," said the lieutenant, when I had carried the drinks back to the table. "I'm pleased to see you. Saves me the trouble of bringing you down to headquarters. I had a few more questions about-"

"That can wait," Harry said. "Did you know that Mr. Graff's shop has just been purchased by Branford Wintour?"

Murray cocked his eyebrows at me, amused. "I had heard something of the sort, Mr. Houdini," he said drily.

"You don't find it at all curious that a dead man should be acquiring business property?"

The lieutenant took a quaff of his whiskey. "Not especially," he said. "Branford Wintour had dealings all over the city. Toys-pardon me, juvenile goods-were just a small part of his trade. I happen to know he had money in several department stores, a baking concern and at least three clothing manufacturers. An empire like that doesn't just shut down over night. Wintour's businesses will keep going for years, even if he isn't around to pull the strings."

"But the Toy Emporium! It's too much of a coincidence!"

"Is it? I've been checking around. Branford Wintour had a finger in nearly every property deal south of Canal Street for the past three years. Apparently he was fond of the neighborhood."

Harry folded his arms. "But who authorized the purchase?"

"The directors of Daedalus Incorporated."

"Do we have their names?" I asked.

The lieutenant shook his head. "I'm working on it, though. I don't like coincidences any more than you do. But you're not going to find any sinister conspiracy here, gentlemen. In all likelihood, the members of the board were simply adhering to a policy established by Wintour before his death." He knocked back the rest of his whiskey. "Of course, there is another possibility."

"What's that?" Harry asked.

"That Branford Wintour has returned from the dead in order to gain control of every toy shop in the city. For all we know, Wintour's tortured spirit is doing a brisk business in cloth bears even as we speak."

Harry lowered his chin, offended by the lieutenant's flippant tone. "I suppose you're prepared to disregard our information about Mr. Harrington just as readily?"

"Ah. That's what I wanted to speak with you gentlemen about. 1 had an interesting conversation with Lord Randall Wycliffe this morning."

"And?"

"I'm afraid he's denying all knowledge of any Mr. Harrington."

"What!" Harry leapt from his seat. "The man is a bald-faced liar!"

"He's a bald-faced liar who's taking advice from his attorneys," Lieutenant Murray answered. "Sit down, Houdini. I know you're telling the truth. I'm only saying that we're not going to be getting much cooperation from his lordship. It's clear he doesn't want to be involved, and he's willing to stake his word against yours to stay clear of the thing."

"I've never told a falsehood in my life!" Harry insisted. "The very idea is insulting!"

"Is it?" Lieutenant Murray asked. "Were the two of you being strictly candid when you represented yourselves as employees of the Cairo Club last night?"

"We never actually said that we-"

"Be that as it may, Lord Wycliffe won't be volunteering any more information, and there's very little I can do about it."

"Where does that leave us, Lieutenant?" I asked.

"Same place we were last night. Three bodies. No way of knowing if their deaths are even connected to one another."

"Harrington," Harry said grimly. "He killed them all."

"So you say, Mr. Houdini, but we have precious little evidence of that. All we know is that he approached Lord Wycliffe about brokering a deal for Le Fant ф me. That's not a crime, so far as we know. I'm telling you, boys, my superiors would be very happy to see this problem vanish." He fingered his empty glass. I stood up and went to the bar for another round.

"Lord Wycliffe mentioned Wilson's saloon on Mott Street," I said when I returned. "He told us that he met Harrington there."