Death at Tammany Hall (9 page)

“Tell me more about Big Tim.”

A flicker of distaste flashed across Florence's face. “He's been the boss here in the sixteenth ward for only a couple of years. Before that he was in Sing Sing.”

Pamela raised an eyebrow in surprise.

Florence smiled wryly. “While alderman for Chelsea, he was convicted of fraud and taking bribes in the great ‘Boodle' scandal.”

“I vaguely recall,” said Pamela, “that Jake Sharp's street railway company bribed several members of the Board of Aldermen for the franchise to run a line down Lower Broadway.”

“Big Tim was the ringleader of the thieves,” Florence explained. “A competing company cried foul and forced the district attorney to investigate. He found that Sharp had paid twelve aldermen, mostly Democrats from Tammany Hall, about $40,000 each for their votes.”

“A princely sum!” Pamela exclaimed. “Each alderman could have built a mansion on Fifth Avenue and lived the rest of his life in splendor. How could they imagine that they would get away with such a huge deception?”

“Hard to fathom indeed,” Florence replied. “Their lust for wealth and power overrode their common sense.”

“I must leave now,” said Pamela, shaking Florence's hand, “I'll go out the back door. Big Tim might grow suspicious if he learned that I was visiting you.” She left her card on the tea table. “If you need help, Florence, you can reach me at the office on Irving Place or at my apartment on Fourteenth Street.”

 

Pamela met Harry in a tearoom a few blocks away and reported on her visit with Florence Mulligan. “We may have found a new suspect, Big Tim Smith. He and Palermo had quarreled over a parking fee.”

Harry nodded. “You might be right, Pamela. Big Tim looks mean enough. I can imagine him paying Kelly to injure, if not kill, Palermo. The fatal thrust to the throat might have been unintended. We need to find out how well Big Tim knew Dan Kelly. Unfortunately, Joe Meagher, the bartender, is too fearful and cautious to be of much help now.”

“Then we must begin to investigate their relationship from Kelly's side.”

“Right. It's a fact that Dan Kelly killed Palermo. But did he act in self-defense or for another personal reason? Or, had he acted on behalf of someone else, such as Big Tim?”

 

That afternoon, in a crowded lunchroom next door to Tammany Hall, Harry recognized a retired police officer sitting alone at a table and reading a newspaper.

“May we join you?” Harry asked.

The officer glanced up from his paper, blinked, and smiled. “Miller, I haven't seen you in years. Sit down. I like company.” He put the paper aside and tentatively studied Pamela.

“The missus?”

“My partner, Mrs. Pamela Thompson. We're taking a lunch break.”

During the meal the two men caught up on news about old mutual acquaintances. In the exchange, Harry managed to bring up Dan Kelly. “What's he doing these days?”

“He's one of the guards at Tammany Hall. You'll see him at the main door in an hour. During elections he earns city money as a poll watcher. Eats and sleeps in Sadie's boardinghouse up the street. Otherwise, he's in Tammany Hall's poolroom.”

Harry looked doubtful. “He used to be called The Knife and spent some time in jail for cutting up a guy. Has he changed his ways?”

“I guess you can say that he's now on the right side of the law,” the officer replied. “I'm told that he gathers information for the police and collects payments for their protective services.”

Pamela caught Harry's eye. He nodded slightly. So Kelly was now a police informer and a feared thug who forced neighborhood merchants and proprietors of gambling dens and houses of prostitution to pay into the police department's protection rackets.

 

After lunch, Pamela and Harry observed Kelly from a distance outside the busy Fourteenth Street entrance to Tammany Hall. He was a short, thin man, nearly bald, with sharp features and a sallow complexion. For about an hour, he studied everyone entering the building with quick, keen glances. Then another man took his place.

While Pamela went off to Sadie's boardinghouse, Harry followed Kelly into a saloon. He walked up to the bar, where the bartender offered him a beer, “compliments of the house.” Kelly took the beer without a smile or a thank-you and joined a pair of ruffians at a table off to a side of the room. He appeared to give them instructions, his hands chopping the air to stress his points.

While nursing a beer, Harry noticed how most customers watched Kelly with fearful eyes and darting glances. A few others couldn't fully conceal their dislike. He didn't appear to notice. Behind Kelly's back, another man slouched in a chair, his cap pulled down to his eyebrows, and mimicked Kelly's gestures. Alcohol must have fortified his courage, Harry thought.

His beer finished, Kelly left the saloon, while his companions remained at the table. Harry picked up his glass and approached the slouching man. “May I join you?” Without waiting for an answer, Harry signaled a waiter for two beers and sat down. “I'm Harry, could I have a word with you?”

“Sure. They call me Fred.”

Harry asked evenly, “I wonder why Dan Kelly gets special treatment here?”

“He has the ear of the ward boss and can do favors for people he likes. The bartender is one of them.”

“Do you know Kelly well?”

“Yes, but I don't care to talk about him when I'm drunk. I'll go home and sober up. Thanks for the beer, but I couldn't drink it.” He walked out the door on shaky legs. Seconds later, Kelly's two companions got up from their table and followed Fred.

As soon as they were out the door, Harry went after them.

Fred walked a couple of blocks and turned into a narrow passageway. The two ruffians followed him. Harry kept a short distance. When he rounded the corner into the passage, he saw that one of the ruffians had pinioned Fred's arms behind his back and the other had drawn a knife.

Harry dashed up to them and knocked the knife out of the ruffian's hand with his blackjack. The two ruffians fled, leaving Fred swaying on his feet. Harry caught him before he fell. “I saw that those two men meant to harm you. May I take you home?”

“I'd be obliged to you. They knocked me on the head. I'm dizzy.”

Harry took him under the arm and they walked slowly to the entrance of a boardinghouse. Harry rang the bell.

The landlady opened and exclaimed, “Mr. Grant! You look dreadful.”

Harry explained what had happened, then helped Fred up the stairs to his room. Harry told him, “Stay in the house. The ruffians may lurk in the neighborhood for a few days, waiting for you. Your landlady will care for you. I'll see you tomorrow. Hopefully, you'll feel better.”

 

Meanwhile at Sadie's boardinghouse, Pamela met the landlady and identified herself as a private investigator looking for a missing young woman who was said to have known Dan Kelly. Pamela concocted the woman's name and general physical appearance.

“She's not living here,” said the landlady. “Mr. Kelly lives alone in a small basement apartment. I keep track of who comes and goes. He moved in about seven years ago and is a quiet tenant who regularly pays the rent.”

“Does he have any female visitors?”

“From time to time, he brings one home but she doesn't stay overnight. That's not allowed. In the first few months he used to have a particular visitor but she stopped coming. I think they had a falling out.”

Pamela showed interest.

The landlady shook her head. “She's not your missing young woman. Kelly called her Alice Curran.”

With this new lead Pamela narrowed her search to Alice Curran. She might have known Kelly about the time of the cabdriver's murder. Her family name was common Irish. There would be dozens of Alice Currans. Still, she might have had a brush or two with the law and be known to the police. Pamela would speak to her friend, Larry White.

 

Larry had come home from police headquarters for supper. Pamela joined the family meal. When the table was cleared, Larry lingered. “I think you have a question for me, Pamela.”

“Yes, have you heard of Alice Curran?” Pamela briefed him on the Kelly investigation and described Alice. “I know she's a needle in the proverbial haystack. Nonetheless, could you find her for me?” She gave him the bits of information that she had gathered.

“I'll try,” he replied. “I assume that she was a prostitute and might appear in police lists from 1887. But don't raise your hopes. By now, she might have lost her wits or her life.”

C
HAPTER
10

 

T
he next morning, Pamela and Harry went to Fred Grant's boardinghouse and inquired about him. Mrs. Scott, his landlady, told them that he had been with her for several years and worked as a clerk in Tammany Hall. He had occasional visitors, all of them presentable men and women. She didn't know their names or what they did.

Pamela and Harry climbed upstairs to his room. Fully dressed, he was sitting at a table, the remains of breakfast before him. He had sobered up but complained of a headache that reminded him of yesterday's assault.

Harry introduced Pamela as a social worker and friend. “Can I be of help?” she asked Grant sympathetically. “How shocking to be attacked in broad daylight!” She offered him a small oilcloth bag filled with crushed ice. “Put this on your head. It'll reduce the swelling. Your landlady has more crushed ice for you in the kitchen. As the ice melts, the bag will leak a little. Wrap it in a towel.”

He put the bag on his head and leaned back. “I appreciate your kindness.” He motioned for them to sit facing him at the table.

“Your head must still be hurting,” Pamela continued. “So we won't be long. Do you know the two ruffians who attacked you?”

He nodded. “Paddy McBride and Bill Cook. They work in Kelly's protection racket.”

Harry added in an aside to Pamela, “According to Officer Malone back in January 1887, they also witnessed Kelly stab the cabdriver.”

“Yes, I recall,” commented Pamela ironically, “they just happened to be there at the time.” She turned to Grant. “Tell us why Kelly attacked you.”

“He must have noticed that I made fun of him behind his back. He demands respect and resents that I've always disapproved of him. So, he set out to punish me.”

“Was he going to kill you?”

“No, typically, he would have slashed my face to leave a scar. That would serve as a warning to me and others never to speak ill of Dan Kelly.”

Pamela winced. “Your dislike for Kelly appears deep. How long have you known him?”

“We grew up together in Hell's Kitchen. He was born in a brothel near the docks and raised in foster homes. A runt, he learned early in life how to use a knife to survive. Over the years, he has perfected that skill. He can thrust and slash faster than the eye can follow, and he throws the knife with deadly accuracy.”

“Amazing!” Pamela encouraged Grant to continue.

He smiled wryly. “Once in our youth, we went to a circus and watched a man in fancy clothes throwing knives at a pretty girl standing with her back to a large board. His knives came very close but never scratched her. Kelly went right home, drew a figure on a board, and started throwing knives like the man in the circus. He was soon good at it and tried to force neighborhood girls to stand at the board. Their parents called in the police. By that time, he was already a petty thief so the police put him away.”

“Why does Tammany Hall allow such a dangerous man in its organization?”

“They think of him as a vicious guard dog that they control and can put to good use.”

“We know,” said Harry, “that Kelly stands guard at the entrance to Tammany Hall and watches the polls during elections. Is that all they ask of him?”

Fred fell silent. “My mouth has a way of getting me into trouble. I've already said more than I should about Dan Kelly, and not just yesterday in the saloon. I'm grateful for your visit and for the ice. I'm beginning to feel better already. I'll rest now.”

Harry handed his card to Grant. “Later, you might want to talk to us again and figure out a way to protect yourself. Kelly will hear of this incident and will order his ruffians to try again to punish you. Why should you have to live in fear? He's a bully. Isn't it time to confront him?”

Grant replied with a doubtful smile.

 

In the Irving Street office after lunch, Pamela asked Harry, “When Fred Grant considers his situation, do you think he'll get back to us?”

“I'm worried for him,” Harry replied. “He may go to Kelly, confess he was drunk when he mimicked him, and beg for forgiveness. Kelly would then ask about us driving away his ruffians. Grant would have to admit that we had helped him. Kelly might pretend to forgive him and defer punishment to a later, more opportune date.”

“So, do you think we should deal cautiously with Mr. Grant?”

Harry nodded. “Kelly might use him to mislead us, even draw us into danger.” Harry glanced at his watch. “An hour from now, Kelly will return to his post at the entrance to Tammany Hall. Fred Grant will have rested, thought things over, and may have come to a decision. Let's see if he goes to Kelly.”

 

A few minutes before three o'clock in the afternoon, Pamela and Harry hid themselves in a coffee shop on Fourteenth Street across from the main entrance to Tammany Hall. At three o'clock, on schedule, Dan Kelly assumed his place.

Pamela studied him in her opera glass. His face was a mask, devoid of expression, but his eyes were in constant motion, taking in everything around him. After ten minutes, Fred Grant appeared on Fourteenth Street, walking slowly toward Tammany Hall. Was he going back to work in his office? Pamela wondered.

Near the entrance, he stopped momentarily. Kelly noticed him and glared. Grant walked up the steps and held out a hand. Kelly ignored it, frowning. Grant seemed to plead. Finally, with a rude jerk of his head, Kelly sent him inside, presumably to wait out the hour.

Pamela said to Harry, “I feel very sad for Fred Grant. His attempt to reconcile with Kelly will not end well.”

Harry nodded. “I'll ask Fred's landlady to send a message to our office when he returns. There's nothing more that we can do here.”

 

That evening while waiting to hear from Grant's boardinghouse, Pamela and Harry searched through their law firm's files on Tammany Hall. Prescott had occasionally represented clients associated with Tammany and communicated with the organization's legal office.

“Here he is!” exclaimed Harry, handing Pamela a brief message. Five years ago, the clerk Frederick Grant informed Prescott that a client was too ill to make a court appearance.

Eventually, their search yielded a sketchy profile of Grant at work. Pamela concluded, “He checks the legal language of Tammany's business contracts and researches questions from his superior. I'd say he holds a responsible position, similar to Peter Yates's in our firm.”

Harry was gazing at a message in his hands. “I agree. Grant seems appreciated. His boss, Mr. Dodd, expresses condolences when Grant lost his wife a couple of years ago.”

Late in the evening, as they were about to leave the office, a messenger arrived from Mrs. Scott and reported that Mr. Grant hadn't returned.

Pamela slowly turned to Harry.

He anticipated her question. “Dead or alive, Grant should turn up in the morning. It's late. I'll walk you home now.”