“No. Elmer J. Goodlove. Goodlove Real Estate, 1006 Guerrero Street. Surely all the proof necessary for his arrest and eventual conviction is to be found there.”
Brinkman repeated the name and address, then went to his desk and wrote them down. When he came back to face Sabina, he said, “I still want to know how you came by this information.”
Time for another white lie. “It was revealed during the course of an investigation that has nothing to do with Goodlove,” she said. “Or with real estate, except indirectly. An ancillary discovery, as it were.”
“What does your investigation have to do with?”
“I am not at liberty to divulge that. Suffice it to say that it is extensive and completely legal, for a client who shuns publicity and demands discretion.” She paused for effect. “Nabbing an elusive swindler is the important thing, isn’t it, Lieutenant?”
“As long as what you’ve told me is the truth.”
“It is. And I ask no credit for it.”
“No? I suppose you brought this to my attention out of civic duty.”
“Exactly. As I said before, my partner and I believe in cooperating with the police.” Sabina favored him with a conspiratorial smile. “You could say in your report that you received an anonymous tip.”
“So I could.” And so he would, if she was any judge of character. A resolute gleam shone in his eyes now. Plainly he was thinking that not having to share credit for closing an old and nettlesome case would be a large feather in his cap.
He said, “Very well, Mrs. Carpenter, I’ll take you at your word. Is there anything more you have to tell me before you depart?”
Sabina took a tighter grip on her well-stuffed handbag. “No,” she said. “Nothing more.”
At Carpenter and Quincannon, Professional Detective Services, she consulted the office set of various city business directories. As she’d suspected, Western Pacific Supply and Cosgrove Ironworks were nonexistent companies created by Vernon Purifoy. Their alleged respective owners, Aurelius D. Jones and George Cosgrove, were established aliases, their invoices for goods supplied to and paid for by the Hollowell Manufacturing Company bogus. It had been simple enough for Purifoy, masquerading as Jones and Cosgrove, to regularly withdraw funds from the two dummy accounts and to then arrange for the drafts to be sent to the New Orleans bank. A clever and profitable embezzlement scheme that had gone undetected because Purifoy, as chief accountant, authorized payments of all monthly invoices submitted by Hollowell suppliers and sub-contractors. Obviously he was considered a trusted employee and his books had never been audited.
She had already decided what she must do. The proper course of action was to personally deliver the two envelopes to the Hollowells, per et fils, but that was out of the question for the same reason she had not informed the police of Purifoy’s crime: it would mean admitting that she had come into possession of the evidence by means of illegal trespass and theft from a locked desk. Nor could she attempt to swear the Hollowells to secrecy; if they refused, she would be subject to an additional criminal complaint. Not only would her freedom be in jeopardy, but so would the agency’s good name and her future with John.
But neither, in all good conscience, could she allow Vernon Purifoy to continue misappropriating funds from his employers. The only way she could see to prevent that, and at the same time protect herself, meant once more compromising her professional ethics. So be it, then. As John was fond of saying, the end did sometimes justify the means.
From the office storeroom she fetched a small carton, a roll of wrapping paper, and a ball of stout twine. Then, on a sheet of plain paper, she wrote in a slanted backhand: Vernon Purifoy is an embezzler. Here is proof. She put the manila envelopes into the carton, wrapped it several times around, and secured it with the twine. In the same backhand she penned a gummed label to both Lucas J. and Norman A. Hollowell at the Stevenson Street address, and marked it PERSONAL AND PRIVATE in large letters.
It was past five o’clock by the time she finished, too late to have the package delivered to Hollowell Manufacturing today. She locked it in the office safe for protection overnight. First thing tomorrow she would arrange delivery by messenger, utilizing a trustworthy service that guaranteed the sender’s anonymity.
What was not guaranteed was that she would remain anonymous. It was possible that either Purifoy or Gretchen Kantor would connect her with his unmasking and so inform the authorities. It was also possible, if less likely, that Elmer Goodlove would make a similar connection to his sudden exposure and arrest and tell of their illegal trespass into Purifoy’s cottage. If either or both should happen, she would have to confess and explain that she had acted with the best of intentions. The only alternative, weaving another web of white lies in the hope they would be believed, was out of the question.
What a muddle these two intertwined cases had turned into. She had brought about the downfall of two felons in the span of two days, an accomplishment that under normal circumstances would have been a source of pride. Instead she faced the possibility that her rash actions would result in a downfall of her own.
And all because she had allowed herself to act on not just one but a series of whims.
The headline topped a page 1 news story in Tuesday’s edition of the Morning Call, a copy of which Sabina picked up at the newsstand operated by the “blind” vendor and underworld informant known as Slewfoot. She read the story avidly. Lieutenant Brinkman had wasted no time in making the pinch and obtaining a full confession, and if Harold Newcastle alias Elmer J. Goodlove had said anything about Mrs. Jonathan Fredericks, there was no mention of it. Nor were any of his actual victims mentioned by name. The story focused on the nature of his crimes and his audacity in operating a swindle identical to the one he had perpetrated in the city in 1889. It also applauded the swift action taken by the head of the Fraud Division after receipt of an anonymous tip.
Sabina was both satisfied and relieved, her conscience now clear on at least this case. The doing of her “civic duty” had been rewarded in more ways than one.
Not long after the private messenger service picked up the package on Tuesday morning, a Western Union messenger brought her another wire. Again it was from Henry Flannery, this one a report that pleased her as much as the arrest of Newcastle/Goodlove.
Bartholomew Morgan had in fact returned to the state capital after being forced out of Downieville in 1887, four years later if not immediately. B. Morgan had been the proprietor of Delta Metallurgical Works in West Sacramento since 1891. And there could be no doubt that he was also Jedediah Yost, for he fit exactly the supplied physical description.
Now she had another decision to make. And she made it immediately, without a second thought.
20
Quincannon
He bid a none-too-fond farewell to the Monarch Mine and Patch Creek on Tuesday morning. A mixture of frustration and steadfast determination rode with him on the stage to Marysville. The various searches of Joe Simcox’s living quarters and belongings and those of the other high-graders had not turned up the slightest lead to the whereabouts of the elusive Jedediah Yost. Interrogations of the three night-shift and graveyard-shift conspirators proved equally futile.
Quincannon’s frustration increased in Marysville, for the train to Sacramento was delayed nearly two hours by some sort of problem on the right-of-way. He used part of the waiting time to compose and send a coded telegram to Sabina, informing her that he was alive and well and his undercover work at the Monarch Mine had been successfully completed. Naturally, he made no mention of such specifics as his arrest and overnight incarceration for the murder of Frank McClellan, or his narrow escape from the mine chute; those vexing matters were better discussed in person, if at all. About Jedediah Yost he wrote nothing, stating only that it was necessary he spend a day or two in Sacramento before returning to San Francisco and would be lodging at the Golden Eagle Hotel.