“Was he now. Why? He knows we have no vacancies.”
“It isn’t a flat I’m seeking, Miss Malone. It’s your friend Esther Jones’s son, Walter.”
The woman eyed him speculatively. “Policeman, are you?”
“No.”
“Then why are you looking for him? You don’t look like one of his sort.”
“A private matter.”
“Not the same kind of trouble as Mr. Funderburke had with him?”
“Well... yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Confound that young whelp! He swore to his mother that he didn’t know the bill was counterfeit. She believed him, but I had my doubts. He’s shiftless as they come, never possessed so much as a ten-dollar gold piece in his life, at least not one come by honest and sober. And now I find out that counterfeit hundred-dollar note wasn’t the only one he had. How many did he give you?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“More than just one, then,” Miss Malone said, misinterpreting his comment. “The devil only knows where he gets them.”
“Have you any idea where he is?”
“No. Esther knows, but she wouldn’t tell me. Loyal to a fault, she is. She worships that bibulous rascal—” Miss Malone broke off as a thought struck her. “Now I wonder,” she said, more to herself than to Quincannon. “Could those counterfeits have something to do with that trunk?”
“Trunk?”
“No, I suppose not. Wasn’t anything valuable in it, so he told Esther. Just old books and things.”
“Dinger received a trunk from someone?”
“No, Esther did. Unexpectedly. Walter... I refuse to call him by his nickname... Walter was living with her at the time and he picked it up at the express office and opened it while she was out on an errand.”
“When did the trunk arrive, exactly?”
“Three months ago, about.”
“Who sent it, and from where?”
Miss Malone scratched at the hairs on her upper lip. “What difference does it make from where?”
“It may be important.”
“I don’t see how. Wouldn’t have been counterfeit money in a trunk full of old books and such. I don’t know why I thought there might’ve been. It was sent to Esther, like I said, not Walter.”
“I would appreciate knowing its origin just the same.”
“Well, I’d rather not say,” Miss Malone said staunchly. “It’s Esther’s private business, poor woman. I shouldn’t have mentioned the trunk in the first place.”
Quincannon gave it up. Prodding her any further would only put her back up. He shifted topics instead, asking, “Is the name Paddy Lasher familiar to you?”
“Lasher? No, I can’t say it is. Who is he, one of Walter’s good-for-nothing comrades?”
“You might say that. A heavyset man with a thick mustache and one brown and one blue eye. Have you ever seen Walter with anyone who answers that description?”
“No, and I hope I never do. Is this man Lasher involved with the counterfeit money?”
“Perhaps.”
“If you find Walter, I suppose you’ll have him arrested. It will break poor Esther’s heart if he’s put in prison.”
“I may not have any choice in the matter.”
Miss Malone sighed. “You know, there was a time when I wished I’d married and had children of my own, but watching Walter grow up put that notion right out of my head.”
There was nothing more to be learned from Vera Malone. Quincannon thanked her and exited the building just in time to swing onto a cable car headed back downtown.
21
Sabina
She was thinking of silencing the rumblings in her stomach with a meal at the tearoom around the corner when John came bounding in. Just in time, or so she thought at first. The prospect of having more filling fare in his company in Pop Hoffman’s Café or another good restaurant brightened her welcoming smile. But food was not what was on his mind.
“Ah, you’re still here,” he said as he closed the door. “I was afraid you might have gone out.”
“I was just about to. Now you can join me for luncheon—”
“No time for a leisurely meal today, my dear. I need you to do me a favor this afternoon if you have no plans.”
“What sort of favor?”
“Interview a woman whose son has been passing those counterfeit hundred-dollar bills.”
“Oh, so you’ve uncovered a firm lead. I thought you might be on the trail when you came and went so swiftly earlier.”
“A lead, yes, thanks to a stroke of luck. But a stalled one at the moment.” He went on to explain about the information given him by Barbary Coast scruff Owney, the Red Rooster prostitute Mollie, the tailor Funderburke, and Esther Jones’s friend Vera Malone.
Sabina said dubiously, “And you think I may be able to convince Dinger’s mother to reveal his whereabouts, is that it?”
“You stand a better chance than I do. A woman is apt to confide more readily in a member of her own sex.”
“Not in this case. I’m as much of a stranger to her as you are. Chances are she wouldn’t even talk to me.”
“She might, with the proper approach.”
“Meaning the use of feminine wiles.”
“Of which you’re blessed with a considerable amount.”
“Oh, bosh. Frankly, I don’t much like the idea of resorting to trickery to deceive a protective mother.”
“The son she’s protecting is a criminal helping to take honest citizens for a ride. Mrs. Jones’s loyalty is misplaced.”
“Perhaps so, but no matter how I approached her or what I said, it’s quite unlikely that I could induce her to betray him. And you know it.”
“I have great faith in your abilities, my dear, as I hope I made clear on Saturday evening.”
“Soft soap has no effect on me, John. You ought to know that, too, by now.”
“Even if you’re unable to pry loose Dinger’s whereabouts, you may have success in finding out from whence came the trunk Vera Malone mentioned. That knowledge could prove to be important.”
“What are you thinking it contained besides old books?” Sabina asked skeptically. “Counterfeit bills made by Long Nick Darrow?”
“Not many, if so. The ones currently being passed were manufactured by a photoengraving process not in use ten years ago.”
“What, then?”
“I don’t know,” John admitted. “Perhaps I’m grasping at straws, but I have a hunch Dinger’s involvement in the new coney game is somehow connected to that trunk.”
A hunch, she thought wryly — the male equivalent of feminine intuition, which he had been known to scoff at.
“If I’m wrong,” he went on, “then that avenue of investigation can be eliminated. But I won’t know if I am or not until I know who sent the trunk and for what reason.”
It seemed to Sabina that the wisest course of action was to turn over to Mr. Boggs what he’d discovered about Dinger and Paddy Lasher. But John was mulish when he was on the trail of lawbreakers, and inclined as always to chase personal glory as well as the causes of justice. Not that he had any intention of attempting to prove his methods superior to those of the Secret Service and his former chief. It was ingrained in his nature to act as he did, right or wrong, and she had long ago given up trying to change him. But on the other hand, she didn’t have to aid and abet him, did she?
He smiled at her and said in gently cajoling tones, “So will you please make an effort to see Esther Jones and find out whatever you can?”
She sighed. The answer to the question she’d just asked herself was yes, she did, at least in this instance. “Very well,” she said. “But it will cost you.”
“Cost me?”
“Dinner at a restaurant of my choosing. Delmonico’s, perhaps.”
John winced — Delmonico’s was among the city’s most exclusive dining emporiums — but he knew better than to argue. “Anywhere you like, my dear. Your wish is my command.”