Ava nodded and they fell into silence. She was rather surprised; she’d fully expected him to tell her to get as far away from this career of hers as she could—that she’d made a mistake and it might not be too late to get out of it. She watched him work idly on the boxing glove and her thoughts turned elsewhere. She began to think of Clarence and how she’d not yet done much to really dig into the case of his murder. She’d not had the chance, honestly, and no one had ever brought it up to her. The little bit she had looked into it had been in secret and very quick. She thought she had enough to go on in order to start looking, but…

  “Hey, Dad. You okay if I head out later? Maybe just go for a walk to clear my head?”

  “Seems like that might be a bit dangerous, given all that you’re going through.”

  “I’m a detective now, Dad. I know the safe parts to stick to.”

  He shrugged, keeping his attention on the laces which he’d nearly gotten untangled and back to form. “You’re a grown woman,” he said. “And a detective. You’re fully capable of making your own decisions. I may be asleep when you come in, though.”

  “Okay. I’m going to make sure Jeffrey is fast asleep before I go anywhere, though. And you’re sure you’re good in your throne?”

  He grinned and said, “I’ve spent many a night sleeping in this chair. It won’t be anything new.”

  With that, Ava got to her feet, kissed her father on the head and started back for the bedroom.

  “Hey, Ava?”

  She turned to him and saw that he was smiling. “Yeah?”

  “I’m proud of you. Just…stay safe.”

  “I will.”

  When she turned back around and headed down the hall, she could feel her father’s eyes on her, caring and comforting.

  ***

  While Ava had come mostly clean with the mob business, there was another secret she was keeping. Ava had one more secret she’d been holding on to for about ten days now, something she would not dare tell Frank. As far as she was concerned, she was doing nothing wrong but she was sticking her nose where it didn’t quite belong.

  She thought of this secret as she watched Jeffrey sleeping, the gentle rise and fall of his chest like her own beating heart. She went to her purse and pulled out the sheet of paper she’d folded and placed inside ten days ago. As she unfolded it, she could easily recall the woman she’d been speaking to when she took the notes written on the paper. The woman’s name was Gloria Richland and she’d been confined to a hospital bed when Ava went to meet her. Beyond that meeting with Gloria Richland, though, there was something else—a conversation she’d overheard outside of Captain Minard’s office shortly after she and Frank had closed their first case. Staring at the sheet of paper, she called the conversation to memory.

  Minard’s voice, coming through his door as he spoke to another officer: “That description sounds too damned familiar to me. One more time. What did the witness see?”

  “A man in a workman’s coat,” the other officer said. “Sort of short. Fired four shots and took off with a woman’s purse.”

  “And the woman? I assume she’s dead?”

  “Not as of half an hour ago. She’s barely hanging on in the hospital.”

  That was the only snippet of the conversation she’d heard but it had been enough. Even after receiving a threatening note from an anonymous officer, that conversation had stuck with her. The description of the criminal was exactly the same as the man that had killed Clarence during what had, at first, sounded like nothing more than a simple robbery.

  Ava had waited until later in the afternoon and picked up the name of the woman who had been shot through casual conversation down in the Women’s Bureau offices. Frances had heard about it and was tasked with filing the report when asked to interview Gloria Richland. Ava waited another day, when Frances had already spoken with Gloria, to make a visit of her own.

  She read over the notes she’d taken during her own secret interview as she sat on the floor of the small bedroom.

  A man of small stature, but with shoulders like bookshelves. A driver’s cap that looked almost silly. Not sure, but sounded like he had some sort of speech impediment. All he said to her was: “Give me than damned purse or I’ll be taking a hell of a lot more from you.” And then he shot anyway. Three of his four shots landed—one in the chest, two in the leg.

  Gloria will pull through but, at the age of 37, may always walk with a cane.

  Ava put the paper back into her purse and checked on Jeffrey. He was dead to the world and, much like his father, would be pretty much impossible to wake up at this point. She kissed him on the cheek and headed out, thinking of Gloria Richland and the short-statured man that had robbed her and then tried to kill her—a man she now believed could very well be the same man that took Clarence from her.

  She knew better than to go looking for someone like Tony Two, hoping he might provide some information. If she willingly went to the mob, that might be the end of her career—or even her life. Besides, there was no way in hell he would offer to help her after what she’d done to him during the hatchet-killer case.

  That meant the only place she could expect any hope of answers would be the same places that had gotten the ball rolling on the hatchet-killer case. She was going to have to go back to the Key Factory and ask around. Jack Dooley liked to pretend that he kept his hands clean, but running a small jazz club that also dealt on the speakeasy scene, he couldn’t help but get those hands dirty from time to time. Besides that, Jack had always liked her and was a loyal friend—which he’d showed in spades the last time she spoke with him.

  With that in mind, she left her father’s apartment and hailed a cab. It was a ten-minute drive down to the Key Factory and she was surprised to find that she still got excited at the thought of going inside. She’d performed there as a ruse to get the hatchet-killer to come out of the shadows just several days ago and, even though it had not gone down as planned, it had still been a pivotal moment in her life. It had showed her that she did still have some of that magic that spun itself around any performer on a stage. She had missed it during the time she’d spent away from such clubs and it was encouraging to know she still had it.

  Of course, there would be no performing tonight. As she watched the streets and buildings pass by through the cab windows, she tried to figure out just how much to ask. She did not want to get Jack Dooley in trouble with the mob or even lowlife criminals like the man she was currently investigating. She figured she should keep the questions to a minimum and not give any hard information.

  When the cab dropped her off, she could hear the bass notes and trumpet of a song she was not familiar with. When she stepped inside, she saw a small crowd and a simple little jazz trip up on the stage. There were only about twenty or so people in attendance, bobbing their heads in a haze of smoke and sweat. Because the crowd was so small, she had no problem spotting Jack. He was sitting at a table over near the counter, speaking animatedly to an attractive young woman. Ava made her way over to him, again amazed at how something as simple as the thrumming of a bassline could help to settle her heart. She almost hated to interrupt Jack because he seemed quite enamored with the young lady he was speaking to. But when he saw her coming, he seemed not to mind. He said one last thing to the woman before excusing her politely. The woman got up, nodded to Ava as she passed, and ventured off to another seat.

  “Ava Gold, what can I do for you, sweetie?” Jack asked.

  “Hey, Jack.” She nodded up to the stage and said, “They aren’t too bad.”

  “Glad you think so. All three are pretty new to the scene. They asked if they could come up on the stage tonight and just sort of riff. I think I might have them back sometime soon.” He grinned and said, “Is that why you’re here? Want to lead another set?”

  “No, not yet. Maybe some other time, though. But for now…I was hoping you could maybe help me out. I’m looking for information on a certain man. I don’t have a name and not a very good description. But I know you get all kinds in here and that you tend to hear murmurings from some of the seedier crowds.”

  “Ah, so you want me to be a pigeon.”

  “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

  He smiled, though it was clear he was a bit nervous. “The way I hear it, the last time I gave you some information, it ended up with you arresting a mob associate that was released pretty quickly afterwards.”

  “That’s true. But then I came in here and performed a few nights later and blew the roof off the place. I’d say that makes us even.”

  “Would a similar trade be in the cards if I help you out?”

  Ava enjoyed the back and forth banter but felt that it might be getting a little too light-hearted. “Let’s see if you can help first. I’m looking for a man that is probably a little on the short side, but with a decent build. He has something of a speech impediment and wears a driver’s cap of some kind.”

  “Well, the driver’s cap thing isn’t much help because those stupid-looking things are everywhere.” He thought for a second and then slowly started to shake his head. “Nothing like that is ringing any bells. And let’s face it…someone with a speech impediment is going to get a nickname in a place like this. You think this guy is another mobster?”

  “Doubtful. I’m thinking more a small-time thing. Purse-snatching, things like that.” She thought, but did not say, and murdering my husband.

  “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head,” Jack said, “but I can ask around.”

  “No, don’t ask. Don’t stir up any suspicion. Maybe just listen extra closely and keep your eyes open.”

  “Short guy with a dumb hat and a speech impediment.”

  “That’s right,” she said, rather disappointed that she’d come up empty handed. “Thanks, Jack.”

  She got up to leave, but Jack reached out and took her hand. “Why the rush? Stay a while and listen!”

  That was all the convincing Ava needed. It felt good to just sit there and watch three musicians playing, welding their craft on stage. She could tell that the trumpeter was still learning, but he was insanely good all the same. Before long, Ava was bobbing her head right along with the other patrons and for even the smallest little fraction of time, all of her burdens slipped away—including the fact that she was right back to zero with finding Clarence’s killer.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  When Ava arrived at work the following morning, Frank was waiting for her near the front desk. He had an annoyed look on his face and when he saw her, he waved her over.

  “You don’t look happy,” Ava said.

  “That’s because I’m not happy. Minard wants to see us. I asked what it was about and he refused to tell me. He wanted both of us to be present.”

  “That can’t be good, can it?”

  He frowned and shrugged, trying to play it off even though Ava could tell that he was nervous. There was a moment when Ava was worried that maybe Minard had somehow found out about her late-night escapades the night before. She knew that was very unlikely but the worry was there all the same.

  They crossed the bullpen and came to Minard’s office, where Frank knocked on the door. Minard barked for them to come in and Frank wasted no time opening the door. Upon entering, Ava closed it. She could already tell just by the look on Captain Minard’s face that her hunch was correct: this was not going to be a good-news sort of meeting.

  “Sit,” Minard said gruffly, pointing to the chairs in front of his desk.

  They did, Ava a little slower than Frank. While Frank was quick to obey pretty much anything Minard barked his way, Ava was genuinely confused as to why he would be angry with them. Then, just as she thought she might have an answer, Minard started speaking and confirmed it. just as it came to her mind.

  “Betty and Mack Duvall had filed a complaint against the two of you,” he said. “They’re demanding apologies.”

  “Well of course they’d file a complaint,” Ava said. “I arrested Mack.”

  “Yes, that’s part of it. But they claim it was unprompted.”

  “He charged me, sir,” Ava said. “Not only that, but he was being very difficult when we were trying to ask questions and get more information about what happened to Penny Pickett.”

  “You understand we had to let him go, though,” Minard said.

  “So was I wrong to arrest him?”

  Minard thought about it for a moment before answering. “Maybe. Maybe you could have handled it differently. Whatever the case, you need to offer that whole family an apology—and likely the Picketts as well.”

  “Sir,” Frank said, “that’s a little much. Don’t you think it’s nothing more than a rich family that isn’t used to being treated like the common man?”

  “That’s not for me to decide.”

  “With all due respect,” Ava said, “it’s exactly for you to decide.”

  “Watch your tone, Gold,” Minard said.

  She chewed on her next question before finally speaking it. “Would you have taken this bunk as seriously if it had come from any plain old guy off the streets?”

  She saw a flicker of annoyance in the Captain’s face and she knew she’d hit a nerve. “Probably not,” he admitted. “And you know what…if there weren’t a dead sixteen year-old girl wrapped up in all of this, I may have waved it off. But the fact remains that your arrest of Mack Duvall makes it seem like this case is more about proving a point to the wealthy than anything else.” He then looked to Frank and said: “The same goes for you. You could have stopped her. Instead, the Duvalls say you were in full support of her.”

  “I was. He was being belligerent and difficult. Plus, like she said, he charged her. If he’d charged me, I would have done the same thing.”

  Minard steepled his fingers and leaned forward across his desk. “You want me to come out and say it? Fine? Treat these rich assholes with kid’s gloves. The last thing we need is for a group of wealthy citizens to start railing against the police. Keep that in mind today as you go out and find this girl’s killer.” There was an awkward pause between the three of them, which Minard ended by gently slapping his desk. “Get out there, already.”

  Ava was the one fast to respond this time, mainly because she wanted to be out of his office. She had already opened the door and stepped out of it before Frank had made it all the way out of his chair. He caught up to her halfway across the bullpen and gently took her by the arm, doing his best not to draw attention to themselves.

  “Come on, Gold. Did you really think we were going to get away with arresting Mack Duvall? If you ask me, that moment in there with Minard just now was no worse than a simple slap on the wrist.”

  “I agree. But it wasn’t warranted. Did you not hear the part where the captain of the police force instructed us to treat the wealthy differently than we would anyone else?”

  “I did. And no, I did not appreciate it.”

  They passed through the bullpen and lobby, out into the morning. It wasn’t quite chilly, but the heat of summer had long ago packed it in. Ava started to walk in the direction of Fifth Avenue, her feet already aching from the thought of the rather lengthy walk.

  “No walking today,” Frank said. “Didn’t you hear? We’ve moved up in the world.”

  “How’s that?”

  “As of this morning, at least one policeman per squad and every detective has access to an automobile. There’s about a dozen Ford flatheads parked in the back lot. I filled out the form this morning. You and I are scheduled to use one for the next week.”

  She couldn’t contain her smile, which was saying a lot since she was still riled up from the meeting with Minard. “My feet thank you,” she said.

  As they headed to the rear lot, the sudden presence of a car in their line of duty slowly started to make a lot of sense. Maybe that was why Minard was so worried about angering wealthy citizens. Maybe there were ultra-wealthy people that had some sort of say in how much financing went into the police department. And if word got out that those with deep pockets were being harassed by the police in any way, extravagances such as Ford flatheads would be harder to come by.

  The thought triggered another thought in her head as they approached their car. Frank opened the door for her and she nodded her appreciation as she slid into the front seat. She kept thinking about how quickly George Pickett had disagreed with Mack Duvall when it had come to his daughter. If it had been that easy for him to lose it on Duvall—one wealthy man to another—surely there had been other hiccups in their relationship. They were, after all, businessmen that ran and operated successful businesses and factories. If there was some sort of merger on the horizon for them, she didn’t see how they would never have an argument.

  “Hey, do you know where George Pickett’s workplace is?” she asked.

  “Vaguely,” Frank said as he slid behind the wheel. “I don’t even know the name, really, but it’s the rubber factory over in midtown. He’s doing so damned well for himself because these things,” he said, tapping on the car’s steering wheel, “are only going to be in more and more demand. And with tires…” He made a whistling noise to finish the sentence, as if he could not comprehend the amount of money the man stood to make in the coming years.

  Ava grinned when she saw how comfortable and happy Frank looked as he slid the key into the ignition. The car did not look brand new; she supposed it could have been a model automobile from a dealership elsewhere in town—the example that dealers would let interested buyers test out.

  “I think we should head over there,” she said. “Ask around to see if we’re getting the entire picture of what’s going on between the Picketts and Duvalls.”

  “I have to admit, that’s a good idea. But if Pickett finds out…”

  “Then Minard can slap my wrist again.”

  “My wrist is being slapped, too, you know?”

  “Well, we’ll say we were allowing the family time to grieve…waiting for the Duvalls to cool down from yesterday’s unfortunate events. We thought it would be prudent to look elsewhere.”