The Girl in the Glass Read online

  Antony, Schell, and I stood up, and Emmet slid over to the edge of the booth to shake each of our hands. "Great to see you guys again," he said.

  "I may be back for some more," said Schell.

  "If you need to get something quick, call the library and leave a message for me at the desk. They all know me."

  Brogan bummed one more cigarette off Antony and then turned to me and said, "Listen, son, the future's in information. That's where the money and power are going to be. By the time your kids reach your age, they'll have machines that do what I do. And they'll be free. Only one problem."

  "What will that be?" I asked.

  He waved a hand in the air. "Don't worry about it. First we have to get through the next war."

  We bid good-bye to Grace, who told us to come back and see her soon. Then we were out in the alley.

  "Brogan's crazy as a loon," said Antony as we traced a path around the ash cans and junk.

  "Yeah," said Schell. "He knows his facts, but when he starts to talk about the future, it's time to inquire as to how many of those piss gins he's consumed."

  "I guess they call him The Worm because he's a bookworm?" I said.

  "No, kid, they call him The Worm because he's a fucking worm," said Antony.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Can you imagine hanging around with that guy for any length of time? He's murder at a party."

  "Emmet can't turn it off," said Schell. "The world to him is merely an accretion of facts. After a while, he burrows under your skin, and you just want him to shut up. Hence, The Worm."

  "Does he live in a freight car or something?" I asked.

  "He's got a place up on Park Avenue. Nice place," said Schell. "You wouldn't believe the people who hire him. The guy has dough."

  "He dresses like a bum," I said.

  "Life of the mind," said Antony.

  After leaving Grace's Paradise, we went back to the station and caught the two o'clock train out to Port Washington. For the first part of the journey, no one spoke, but after Jamaica, Schell bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together, and said, "Why would the Klan want to kill Barnes's daughter?"

  Antony and I sat there in silence, waiting for the answer.

  "Well, if the Klan killed her," said Schell, "considering it was a group, and a group with a political agenda, no matter how screwed up, I'd say it would have to be either revenge for something or to make a statement. Otherwise, why leave a calling card? Obviously, the girl couldn't have done anything to warrant it."

  "Does the mother's use of the term 'dybbuk' indicate that she's Jewish?" I asked.

  "I'm wondering about that," said Schell. "Not necessarily, but it's a strong possibility."

  "So maybe they killed the girl because she was half-Jewish?" I asked.

  "Why, though? There's a good-size population of Jews on Long Island. Why pick this girl?" asked Schell.

  "Emmet said they don't like the blood to mix," said Antony. "Maybe, like the kid said, it was because she was half-Jewish."

  "But Barnes and his wife didn't seem really up-front about her being a Jew. I'd bet in that blueblood landscape he travels, that's not the best advertisement. If she is, most people don't know, so how would the Klan find out?"

  "What do you want the guy to do, put an ad in the paper? Headline: 'My Wife's a Jew,'" said Antony.

  Schell cocked his head to the side and vaguely nodded. "Good point. It just doesn't seem to make sense, though. From what Emmet said, it doesn't wash with the law-and-order faзade of the Long Island Klan."

  "There's one other thing," I said.

  Schell looked over at me and sat up straight.

  "The hat?" asked Antony.

  I nodded.

  "Okay, go ahead. We'd have to spill it sooner or later," he said.

  "What hat?" asked Schell.

  "Remember that hat I wore when I was Parks's mother?" asked Antony.

  Schell nodded.

  Even though he'd told me to relate the story, the big man jumped in and proceeded to lay out the entire adventure of the hat, our attempts to recover it, and our overall deceit. As much as I cringed as Schell told the tale, I was thankful to Antony for ending with the statement, "Don't blame the kid, Boss. I put him up to it."

  "Deception seems to be the order of the day," said Schell, looking over at me.

  "Sorry," I said.

  "Make that two, Boss," said Antony. "I just didn't want you to think I was losing my professional edge."

  Schell laughed. "Your professional edge?" he said.

  "I didn't want you to think I'd try to do anything but a good job."

  "Okay," said Schell, "let's move on before this slides into the mawkish. You've told me you lost the hat the night of the sйance, then you went to retrieve it from the girl, and Diego lost it again when he was attacked by bootleggers on the beach. You two live an eventful life. But my question is, what does this have to do with the murder of Charlotte Barnes?"

  "After that, the hat turned up again," I said.

  "The kid saw it on a guy at the wheel of a car we passed on the drive when we were leaving the Barnes place the day we met Lydia Hush," said Antony.

  "The same hat?" asked Schell.

  "I think so," I said.

  "I figured maybe Barnes was running a bootlegging operation, bringing booze in from Canada, and those guys in the car worked for him," Antony said.

  "A guess," I whispered.

  Schell took it all in and then answered me by saying, "No, no." He held his hand up. "That makes sense actually. So you two think the girl was murdered in revenge for her father's rum-running operation? That makes a lot more sense than a random kidnapping and murder. Emmet said the Klan are strident Prohibitionists."

  "Seems a rather severe punishment," I said.

  "I don't think making sense is their strong suit," said Antony.

  "This means that we're going to have to pay a visit to the Exalted Cyclops," said Schell. "He might know if there's that kind of bad blood between Barnes and the Klan. When we get back to the house, Antony, I want you to get the Broomhandle out and get it ready."

  "Boss, really, the Mauser?" said the big man. "Do we need the stock?"

  "No, it's got to be concealed."

  "What's the Broomhandle?" I asked.

  "This old pistol," said Antony.

  "A gun," I said. "I didn't know we had one."

  "Oh, yeah," said Antony.

  "Have you ever used it before?" I asked.

  "Once," said Schell.

  "Do we really need it? Guns make me nervous," I said.

  "People who'd kill a little girl wouldn't think twice about offing two con men and a Mexican."

  "You have a point there," said Antony.

  "Just think, Mr. Cleopatra, if you hadn't lost that hat, we'd have never suspected this connection," said Schell.

  "I try to do what I can," said Antony.

  DOWN THE TOILET

  The next day, using the simple means of a local phone book covering Freeport, we found the home of the Exalted Cyclops on the outskirts of that town. It was an unremarkable, one-story dwelling, painted brown, with a lawn and rosebushes, at the end of a cul-de-sac.

  "I thought somebody so exalted would have a bigger place," said Antony as we drove past to give it the once-over. "I guess cyclopping doesn't pay a hell of a lot."

  "That's probably him right there," I said, pointing to an old man, thin and slightly bent, heading slowly around the side of the house toward the backyard.

  "Go back around," Schell said to Antony. "Diego, you and I'll find him. Antony, you wait a minute and set yourself up at the side of the house."

  Antony nodded, turned the car around, and passed the place again. This time he pulled over to the curb ten yards beyond the edge of the property. We got out, closing the doors quietly. Schell and I took the lead, and the big man followed. We didn't head for the front door but strolled around to the backyard. The old man was there, sittin
g at a picnic table, smoking a cigarette. He didn't hear us approaching and only looked up at the last minute.

  "What do you want?" he asked when he saw us. His head looked like a dried apple; his hair was an afterthought-a few strands blowing around in the breeze. Behind big glasses, his eyes shrunk down to slits, and he made a face like he was chewing glass.

  "Mr. Andrews," said Schell. "I need to ask you a few questions concerning the Klan."

  "Well," said the old man, "I'm not answering any questions, and I think you'd better get out of my yard."

  "I'm afraid that won't do," said Schell, and he sat down across from him at the picnic table.

  Andrews looked over at me and his eyes widened. "What the hell is that?" he asked Schell, pointing to me.

  "Ondoo, spiritual savant of the subcontinent," said Schell.

  "May the scales fall from your eye, my most exalted one," I said and gave a little bow.

  "That's border nigger," said Andrews. The veins in his scrawny neck bulged and his hand shook.

  "'Border nigger?'" said Schell. "Mr. Andrews, I have to inform you that Ondoo is considered a prince in the mystical realm."

  "Listen, mister," said Andrews, launching his cigarette butt at Schell with a flick of his finger, "my boy is just inside that house, and if I call him, he's going to come out here and break your neck."

  The cigarette hit Schell's shoulder and bounced off, dropping ash on his sleeve. Schell swiped the ash off himself and said, "Call him."

  "Calvin," yelled Andrews.

  "Yeah?" we heard from the kitchen window.

  "Get out here, we've got trouble."

  Two seconds later the screen door opened with a squeal and there appeared on the back steps a young man with a crew cut and a baseball bat. He wore a white T-shirt beneath which his muscles bulged. "What's wrong, Dad?" he said.

  "Remove these two assholes from the yard," said Andrews with a smile.

  "What the hell's this one?" asked Calvin, pointing the bat at me as if he was the Babe, indicating a home run.

  "I'm not sure," said Andrews.

  Calvin took a step toward me, and I backed up. Schell didn't need to call for Antony because he was already in the backyard.

  "I brought my own," said Schell.

  Calvin shifted his sights from me to focus on Antony. Andrews's son was big, but Antony dwarfed him. "Put down the bat, sonny," he said.

  There was a tense moment or two, and then Calvin grunted and ran at Antony, cocking the bat over his shoulder. The big man went into a sort of half-assed crouch, and when Calvin swung, Antony came up with his left hand and caught the fat end of the bat in midswing, stopping it with seemingly little effort. The right fist followed, catching Calvin on the temple and dropping him to his knees. Then Antony lifted his own knee and caught his attacker directly under the jaw. The young man, blood leaking from his nose and mouth, fell backward, flat out on the grass and leaves.

  The old man started to stand up, but Schell leaned across the table and pushed down on his shoulder, returning him to his seat. "Ready to talk, Mr. Andrews?" he said.

  "Go to the devil. I've got nothing to say." He trembled with anger, and I thought for a moment he was going to keel over.

  "Blow his brains out," Schell said to Antony.

  The big man dropped down to his knees, straddling Calvin. From within his jacket, he drew the Mauser out of a shoulder holster, cocked the trigger, and lightly pressed the end of the long barrel against Calvin's closed right eyelid.

  "Okay," said Andrews. "What do you want to know? Tell him to stop."

  Schell held his hand up, and Antony pulled the gun back a few inches. I breathed a sigh of relief. This was a side of Schell and Antony I'd never witnessed before. My stomach churned. I felt a little dizzy and walked over to take a seat next to Schell on the picnic bench.

  "I need some information about the Klan," said Schell.

  "You a cop or a reporter?" asked Andrews. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his sweater, his hand still shaking.

  "Neither," said Schell. "And the information you give me stays with me."

  "Okay, what do you want?" asked the old man, putting a cigarette to his lips. He brought up a silver lighter and sparked it.

  "Back in the mid twenties, the Klan ran their own operations to stop bootleggers along the shore of Long Island."

  Andrews blew smoke and nodded.

  "You must have known who the money was behind the illegal imports," said Schell.

  "Some of them," said Andrews. "We stopped a lot of it from coming in."

  "Does the name Harold Barnes ring a bell?" asked Schell.

  "Barnes," said the old man. "Yeah, Barnes and Parks. They had one of the biggest deals going. We tried to get the law on them, but they had too much money. We stopped their shipments more than once."

  "Do you remember any particular vendetta against those two?"

  "They were a couple of the worst. Some of my people got involved with some of their people in a shoot-out one night up by Matinecock Point. They killed a constable who was part of our organization."

  "You know Barnes's daughter was recently kidnapped and killed?" said Schell.

  "I read about it," said Andrews. "But look, Mr… what's your name?"

  "Forget the names," said Schell.

  "What happened that night they killed one of our own happened a long time ago. That murder was avenged pretty quickly. It's all ancient history. You can't pin this girl's death on us."

  "Did you know that there was a Klan symbol found with the girl's body?"

  "You don't know what you're talking about," said Andrews. "That's impossible."

  "So you say," said Schell.

  "Whatever theory you've got cooking is bullshit, mister. The Klan's finished here on the island. Been finished for some time. You've got little groups here and there, glorified social clubs where the only thing burning is hot air. I'm not going to live much longer, and to tell you the truth, I don't mind. This country's going down the toilet. You've got all kinds of heathens mixing in here. The blood of our nation is corrupted to the point of being poisoned. That socialist dupe, FDR, is going to get into office, lift Prohibition, and then you'll see. Straight to the bottom."

  Schell stood up. "Thanks for the hospitality, Mr. Andrews," he said. "It's been a pleasure."

  "You better hope I never find out who you are," said the old man.

  "I'm the Exalted Cyclops," said Antony, releasing the trigger of the gun. Calvin had come back to consciousness and was lying motionless, eyes wide with fear. The big man stood up, holstered the gun, and stepped away from him.

  Once we were back in the car and driving away, Antony said, "Pleasant fella, that Andrews."

  "You guys scared the hell out of me back there," I said. "I almost puked."

  "There's all kinds of cons," said Schell.

  "Do you believe him?" I asked.

  "I think so, which means whoever killed Charlotte Barnes is working their own scam. We'll see."

  THIS CASE IS CLOSED

  After we'd gone to see Andrews, our pursuit of Charlotte Barnes's killer hit a stone wall. Schell judged the situation as still too hot to interview the other people on the list or go back to her father's estate to try to glean more clues, the Klan deal seemed to be a dead end, and Lydia Hush had melted like the snow queen she was.

  Schell resumed his zombie act, drinking too much at night, and I tried to return to my studies. The days were beautiful and clear and the nights were long. All of our hours were underscored by the magisterial dirges the boss spun on his Victrola. Antony, proclaiming himself "bored shitless," fled to the city to spend two days with Vonda, the Rubber Lady.

  On the morning he returned on the early train, he entered the kitchen and threw a folded newspaper onto the breakfast table so that it landed faceup, the headline showing. He took his coat off, hung it on the back of his chair, and said, "According to the cops, this case is closed." He tossed his hat onto the counter and headed for the
stove.

  Schell and I, who had been wearily sipping coffee, sat up and focused on the words-"Arrest Made in Barnes Case." The big man returned to the table and sat down with his cup.

  "What's the dope?" asked Schell. "My eyes aren't awake enough to read yet."

  "They picked up a guy, Frederick Kern, a hophead, connections to the Klan, a record of minor burglaries-one for assaulting an off-duty cop in a bar some years back. He's done some time, a couple of months here and there. The cops tell, I think for the first time, that the girl was found with that Klan rag. They say the cause of death was strangulation. The story they're telling is that Kern was a nut job on a lone mission to revive the local Klan. He picked on Barnes, because, as they put it in the article, back in the twenties it was falsely believed by the Klan that Barnes was behind a good deal of the rum-running on the North Shore. Of course, they go on to say that Barnes had been cleared of these false allegations a long time ago. I love what money can do."

  "Do you buy it?" I asked.

  Antony shook his head.

  "Obviously a railroad job," said Schell. "No doubt Kern's a lowlife, probably not all that smart. They needed a quick arrest in this case, so they went through their files after finding out about the symbol, came up with this loser, and dragged him in. Case closed. Everybody looks good."

  "I'd love for this to be over," said Antony, "but I have to agree with you, Boss. This reeks."

  "Strangulation," said Schell. He looked over at me. "Do you remember any marks on the girl's neck when you found the body? There'd be bruises."

  Now that some time had passed, I was able to think back to the image of the body without feeling I was going to get the dry heaves. I steeled myself and let the image come into my mind. "The light wasn't good," I said, "but what I remember is that she was very pale and that was it. No marks, no bruises."

  "I don't remember marks around the neck," said Antony. "But like I told you before, I was in a hurry to get out of there."

  "Maybe we could take that fed badge and papers I lifted off that guy a few years ago in Penn Station and put it to good use here," said Schell. "We go visit the coroner and tell him there's an investigation going on above the level of the local cops and see if we can get him to spill something. If he can prove to me she was strangled, I'll reconsider and drop the whole thing."