“Newcastle was already gone when the officers arrived?”
“Either he smelled trouble or just decided it was time to pull up stakes. The office was closed and empty of any phony transaction records he kept.”
“And nothing has been heard of him or his activities since?”
“Not until now. Went on practicing his grift in other cities, no doubt, and managed to stay out of the hands of the law. A slippery cuss. You know the type, Sabina — charming, slick-talking, shrewd, and like most of his breed, as cold-blooded as a snake.”
Sabina nodded; she knew the type all too well. “Refresh my memory on exactly how he worked his swindle.”
“By selling property, or shares in property, he didn’t own. Abandoned buildings for renovation, vacant lots for new construction. He collected down payments from the marks, mostly for alleged ninety-day escrow closings.”
“Tricky business. He couldn’t hope to remain in one place more than a few months.”
“The secret of his success,” Elizabeth said. “He must have a sixth sense about just when to close up shop and disappear. He made the mistake, or near mistake, of operating here too long in ’89, in order to complete a large score on a private home he claimed had just been put on the market. The buyer was completely duped, because Newcastle or whatever his true name is gave him a tour of the home before an agreed-upon down payment was made. It was the buyer who filed the criminal complaint, after showing up at the house without Newcastle for another look around and being confronted by the owner.”
“How much was the down payment?”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars. In cash.”
“No small amount. Was it the victim who chose the house?”
“Yes. He was looking for a certain type of affordable home in the neighborhood.”
“So what Newcastle must have done, then,” Sabina said, “was to scout up a place that fit the victim’s specifications.”
“That’s it,” Elizabeth agreed. “By wandering around, observing, and asking discreet questions. The one he picked was temporarily empty, the owner and his wife being away on an extended vacation. The place had no immediate neighbors, so it was a simple matter for him to let himself in with a skeleton key and take a general inventory of the premises, which he then passed along to the victim. Once he had the mark hooked, he took him to the house for the tour.”
“And did he steal anything from the home?”
“No. The owner found nothing missing when he returned.”
“Just as Vernon Purifoy found nothing missing from his cottage.”
“Clearly the same swindle and the same mountebank working it. He must have decided that eight years was long enough to allow him to come back here and run his swindle under a different guise in a different neighborhood. Bold as brass.”
“And twice as lucky, if he has never been caught.”
“I wonder how long he’s been operating in the city this time.”
“Five weeks or so,” Sabina said, “judging by when he had the business cards and stationery printed. Long enough for a mark looking for a Potrero Hill cottage to seek him out, and for him to scout up what he considered a likely place.”
“Fortunate for Mr. Purifoy that he returned home when he did and made Goodlove’s first illegal entry the last.”
“Not necessarily the last.”
“Oh? Do you expect him to try again despite being caught in the act?”
“He might be persuaded to, yes.”
Elizabeth paused in her stitching. “That sounds as though you intend to try persuading him.”
“I’m thinking of it.”
“But why?”
Sabina hadn’t confided her dislike and suspicions of Vernon Purifoy; they were best kept to herself for the present. She said only, “I have my reasons.”
“Well, I’m sure you know what you’re doing. But my advice is to report him to Lieutenant Brinkman straightaway before he bilks any more marks and disappears again. Even without evidence of present criminal activity, he can be arrested on the old fraud charges.”
Sound advice, but Sabina was not ready to take it just yet. Purifoy’s oddly secretive, violent behavior nettled her enough to warrant a bold effort to get to the bottom of it. And there might be a way to accomplish that, depending on just how reckless and just how greedy the swindler was.
10
Sabina
Vernon Purifoy’s address was listed in the city directory as 2675 Eighteenth Street, which put it at the foot of Potrero Hill rather than on the hill itself. Originally a Mexican land grant called Potrero Nuevo, Sabina had been told, the area had not been a convenient location to get to, separated as it was from the rest of the city by Mission Bay. It was not until the Long Bridge had been built in the mid-1860s that access to Potrero Hill was made easy enough to transform the area from a virtual wasteland into a desirable hub. In the years since, it had been settled by working-class families, many of whom toiled in the shipyards, iron factories, steel mills, and warehouses that stretched south along the bayfront between China Basin and Islais Creek Channel.
On Friday morning Sabina rode a trolley car across Long Bridge and another to Eighteenth Street to have a look at the Purifoy property. Gretchen Kantor had referred to the place as “a charming little cottage,” a decidedly rose-colored-glasses view. It was in fact an early, 1870s version of Pelton’s “Cheap Dwellings,” named for the architect who designed them and that proliferated in the Potrero and Irish Hill neighborhoods. Built on a lot no more than twenty feet wide, it appeared to be one of the four-room variety considered modestly stylish and attractive in its day, with a scrolled, Eastlake-style front door and a heavy projecting cornice. Time and neglect had taken their toll on it. Miss Kantor’s estimation that it was in need of renovation “to some extent” was another generous assessment; in fact it needed considerable work, including structural repairs, a fresh coat of paint, and a new roof.
What had made it ideal for Elmer Goodlove was that unlike many Pelton cottages, it was not one of a linked row built close to the street. Rather, it was set back a short distance behind a weedy front yard and screened from its neighbors, one a renovated and expanded Pelton, the other a brown-shingle dwelling, by clumps of unkempt shrubbery. A trespasser’s access to it, if casually managed, would be sure to go unnoticed.
Satisfied, Sabina proceeded to her next stop — Goodlove Real Estate, 1006 Guerrero Street.
As expected, this turned out to be a narrow storefront — what Elizabeth had referred to as a hole-in-the-wall. Goodlove had spent a minimal amount on rental space, but the sign above the door was artfully painted in a design similar to that on the Bromberg-printed business cards. Another sign on the door, equally artful, proclaimed: Peerless Homes and Lots for Sale. A good confidence man of Goodlove’s ilk knew when and how to put up a proper front while still minimizing his overhead.
A bell over the door tinkled musically when Sabina entered. The interior was one long room with a handful of functional furnishings — two desks, four chairs, a filing cabinet. One wall was adorned with photographs of dwellings in far better condition than Vernon Purifoy’s cottage and attractive vacant lots, under which another sign boldly lied: Purchases by Our Satisfied Clients.
The office’s only occupant had bounced up from one of the desks and hurried to greet Sabina. Elmer J. Goodlove in the flesh — short, roly-poly, with a fringe of white hair, shiny blue eyes, and skin as smooth and pink as a baby’s. “A hearty good morning to you, my good woman,” he said jovially, beaming. The shrewd blue eyes took immediate note of the fact that she was well dressed. “Welcome to Goodlove Real Estate. Elmer J. Goodlove, at your service. And you are?”