The door opens and I’m met by a South-American woman with her dark hair swept back into a bun. She stares at me as I introduce myself and hand her my card.
She examines it, stares at me again, then nods and stands aside.
“Mrs Trollieti is in the parlour. She is having tea. She says she will see you anytime you like, so long as she is not entertaining or sleeping.” The maid speaks with barely a trace of an accent. She’s been in New York a long time.
“She gave you instructions, did she?” This place is… incredible. It makes the bile rise in my throat that dirtbags like Trollieti live in such splendour while the people they rake across the coals every day live in slums. Hell, a lot of men like Trollieti own slums.
“Mrs. Trollieti expects to hear from you often, yes. Would you like tea?”
I shake my head and thank her. I get her name before she leaves. Maria.
The parlour is well-decorated in the art noveau style. Brand new radio on the sideboard, full-length windows facing onto the street. Victoria Trollieti is sitting on a long while sofa, looking out over Manhattan, a teacup frozen in time halfway to her lips.
She’s a picture. Blonde hair well-kept despite the grief that keeps her eyes red. Lost in thought. Perfectly put together. I cough and knock lightly on the doorframe. She looks up like a deer startled in a clearing.
“Oh! Mr. Marley. Thank you for stopping in – do you have information on my husband?”
I wave her back down as she starts to stand.
“Not much yet, Mrs Trollieti. I have some suspects, but nothing solid.” I take a seat on an armchair at her insistence. I’d rather stand… I’m in the mood to pace, but when you’re asking difficult questions of a widow it’s best to keep her at her ease. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a few more questions for you. It’ll help me know who I’m looking for.”
She nods, sets down her cup and saucer on a side table. She folds her hands in her lap, knees together, feet tucked under the sofa. Perfectly put together. I can’t help but compare her mentally to Trouble, one Elizabeth Fairfax, with her wild hair and wild eyes, a natural disaster waiting to happen to someone.
“Some of these questions might be difficult for you to answer, but I want you to know that they’re all important for catching your husband’s killer.”
A trace of annoyance crosses her face and she waves a manicured hand. “Yes, all right, I know. I’ve had police in here already asking me questions. Was he on drugs, was I having an affair… just ask them, will you, and get it over with.” She sighs, and the tension leaves her face. Pretty smile. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marley. Do go on.”
I raise an eyebrow. There it is again, that spine. I can’t help but admire that.
“Alright, Mrs Trollieti. Do you know if your husband was having an affair?”
She picks up her teacup again and takes a sip. “It wouldn’t surprise me,” she says. “I understood – my mother warned me when I married him that men like him tend to have a wandering eye… and wandering hands.” She smirks to herself. Remembering the wedding night, maybe. “It was fine then. I loved him, wanted to marry him more than anything. And yes, there were indiscretions. But he always came back to me more nights than he didn’t. He still loved me, and that’s all I wanted.”
“Did you know any of the women? Any names, any descriptions you could give me? It’s possible one of them was with him when he died, even if she wasn’t the killer herself.”
She shakes her head. A faint chink of porcelain as she lowers the teacup to the saucer. “No. He always kept his work and home life separate, and the lovers, they were considered part of the work side of his life. Along with the men and the business dealings…. Wives of men like Nick don’t ask questions about his work.” Sharp eyes, suddenly. “Do you have a wife, Mr. Marley?”
“No ma’am. I don’t.”
“And would she ask you about your work, if you did?”
What a question. How should I know? “Ma’am, I’d be happy if she had a martini and a hot dinner for me when I got home. Anything else would be gravy.”
She huffs and sits back, one arm folded across her midsection.
Time to move on.
“Have you had the autopsy results yet?”
She shakes her head. “From what I’m hearing, they suspect poisoning. They don’t think it was strangulation because there were no marks on his neck…” she starts tearing up, but presses on, voice shaking slightly, “…but he could have been smothered. No needle marks, or anything… they were saying he could have been snorting cocaine. They told me someone else was with him, but nothing about them.”
I nod, get to my feet. “Thank you very much, Mrs Trollieti. You’ve been very helpful.”
She nods, gives me a tight smile. “My pleasure, Mr. Marley. You make sure to give me a call if you get any more information.”
She rises to shake my hand and I give Maria a wave as I pass her on my way out. Can’t make a widow escort some cad like me to the door. Would have been nice to investigate the place while I was there but I’ll put that on my to-do list. I want to pay a visit to the hotel where the body was found, and ask the man on the desk who was accompanying him on the night of his death.
The hotel is just a few blocks away and a street over. It’s a nice enough day, sky swept clean by the rain of the night before. I’ll walk. Save myself the money of the taxi.
One block down something catches my eye and I stop dead in the middle of the sidewalk. A man walking behind me smacks into me and hurls curses but I’m more annoyed that he interrupted my line of sight and I hunt around, scanning the other side of the street to find what had caught my eye.
There, going into an apartment building: a flash of dark hair and a fluttering edge of a coat. It could be anyone but I’ve learned by now to trust my gut.
I want to follow her but there’s no point, I don’t have anything on her. I couldn’t make a citizen’s arrest if I wanted to. I could ask her some questions… but she has no reason to let me in, and security would soon be escorting me off the premises.
I pull out my notebook and scribble down the name of the building. High-class stuff… not quite as nice as anything the Trollieti’s would live in, with their high ceilings and huge rooms, but she must be rolling in money to afford to live in here.
Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking, Marley, fuck, there are people in this world ready to give you the information you want and she is not one of them. Get the woman out of your head!
Dames.
I suppress a shudder and thrust my notebook down into my coat pocket. Head down, keep walking. The hotel. Focus on the hotel, and get the information you need.
The hotel’s easy to spot from a mile away: there are police cars all over the place, coppers standing on the sidewalk smoking cigarettes, eyeing passers by.
One of them notices me, recognises me. Holds my gaze for a moment.
“Officer,” I say. “Any news?”
“You here on a case, Marley?”
“Aren’t I always? Think I would be on this side of the Hudson if I wasn’t?”
He smirks, but the expression melts into a genuine smile. He’s no enemy, this man.
“Anything you can tell me, Sully?”
“Nothing that’s classified, Marl’. You’ll have to do my own digging.” He gives me a sympathetic look. “Who hired you, anyway? The blonde dame?”
“The wife, yeah.”
“She’s a pretty chit, anyway. Not bad to look at.”
“Nor’s their house. Could stand to spend a few hours in there. Nice break from my office.”
Officer Sullivan nods. His police station’s no better. I’ve been in there often enough… invited along for a drink or invited along to visit their cells.
“You got the autopsy report yet?” I ask him.
Another officer gives me a sharp look and opens his mouth to say something but Sully waves him into silence.
“Parts of it, yeah. Nothing I’m going to give you, though. You want information, you’ll have to get it through your client.”
I nod. I hadn’t expected anything more. “I’ve spoken to her. She tells me you’re suspecting poison. Maybe cocaine overdose. No needle marks, no signs of strangulation.”
Sullivan shrugs. Not planning on giving me any more than that.
I pull out a cigarette and Sully leans over with a lighter. I nod my thanks. Take a long draw. They say this stuff’s good for you but I don’t see how it can be.
“Is the desk jockey in?”
“The one who was working on the night of the incident? He’s still at the station, giving evidence.”
“Figures.” I take another draw. “Bellhop?”
“Inside.” He jerks his thumb toward the hotel doors. “He didn’t know much. It’s not like they had a lot of bags with them. Just took them to the room and left.”
“Who found him next morning?” I flick some ash into the gutter. Sullivan avoids my gaze.
“Room service. He’d ordered breakfast. The girl was pretty shaken up. She’s off sick, and I’m not giving you her number.”
“Thanks a bunch, Sully.”
“Not my place.” He meets my eyes, giving me a steely look. “The chief has a niece her age. Got himself attached to her. Won’t let us bother her more’n necessary. That means no Private Eyes calling on her.”
“Suit yourself.” I take one last puff, drop my cigarette into the gutter. Last night’s rain washes it down into the sewer. “Guess I’ll see ya round, Sully.”
He nods. “Poker next week, Marl’. Bring money.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Money. Good fucking joke.
I expected the hotel to be full of police officers. It isn’t. Apparently the men in charge here decided that cops bring down the class of the place and made them stay out of sight. Men with money can do that sort of thing. If only the rest of us could get away with that.
A man with a long nose and a talent for sneering down it steps in front of me.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“John Marley. Private eye.”
The concierge or whatever he is makes a show of rolling his eyes. “Another one of you riff-raff asking questions?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Point me in the direction of the bellhop who showed Trollieti to his room and I’ll be outta your hair all the faster.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but he holds his tongue, snaps his fingers and a kid in a red jacket is at his heels in a trice.
“Mr. Marley here has a few questions for you, Geoffrey. You are a popular boy today.”
The kid looks pushed past his limit, nerves worn through. He could have been answering the same questions all morning – cops, more cops repeating the same shit, reporters, rubberneckers…
“Please, Mr. Marley. Our parlour is at your service.”
Keeping the riff-raff out of sight. “I get ya. I won’t bring down the atmosphere of the place for long. Thanks for the help.”
Geoffrey takes a seat by the window, in the sun. Closes his eyes for a moment to soak it in. He relaxes visibly.
“Long morning, kid?”
“Long day. Feel like I didn’t get a wink of sleep after yesterday – god, don’t get me started on yesterday…”
“It’s the day before I’m worried about.” I beckon a waiter over and slip a note into his hand. He takes a look at the kid, nods, hurries off. The kid needs a drink and any man knows it.
“Yeah, the day before…” He lets out a shuddering breath and runs a hand through his hair.
The waiter sets a gin and tonic down in front of the kid and he looks up with true gratitude radiating from his face. No thanks necessary. He reads my expression and nods. Gin melts his features and he lets out a sigh.
“Right. The day before.” Voice much steadier now. Eyes more focused. “What did you want to know?”
“Not much.”
“That’s good, because I don’t know much.” He wrinkles his nose and takes another drink. “The cops keep asking me questions I don’t know the answers to, over and over, as if I’ll suddenly remember something.”
“Yeah, they’ll do that. Have another drink, kid.” He does. “All I want to know is whether the stiff in question was with anyone that night. Who did he take with him up to his room?”
His face splits in a grin. “Oh, her. Anyone in this hotel will tell you about her.”
“Come here often, does she?”
He swallows, sets down his glass. He shakes his head. “No. We’d notice if she did. Never seen her before myself – but she was the sort of girl you don’t forget, you know?”
“I know.” Boy, do I know. “What was she like? Can you describe her?”
He nods vigorously and takes another drink, to steady his nerves. “Ever see one of those girls and just know she could rip your heart out just by looking at you? She was one of them.” He sighs. Dreamy. Pathetic on an older man but kids just out of their teens can get away with that. “So much brown hair, like dark chocolate, running down her back in waves.”
“Don’t compose a poem, kid, just gimme the details.”
He smirks at me. Smirks, as if having seen her is this secret you can’t explain to anyone else. As if… yeah, but I know who she is. I’ve seen her before. All I’m waiting for, all I’ve been waiting for all day is for someone to open their mouth and confirm what I already know.
Trouble was with Trollieti in his hotel room that night.
“Brown hair, huh? And…? Eyes, height, weight?”
“Eyes are green-ish, I think. She’s tall, too, maybe five eight. Weight… maybe one thirty.”
Matches up. I take a deep, slow breath and let it out. “Right.”
The kid grins and leans forward over the table. “You’ve seen her, right?”
“’Scuse me?”
“You know the dame. That’s why you’re asking – you want to know if it’s the same woman, right?”
“Could be…” Could do with a drink of my own right now. “You catch her name?”
“No, Mr. Trollieti only called her – ” his lip curls “ – sugar-tits. I don’t think she liked it but she hid it pretty well. Like it was something she was pretending didn’t bother her, because it was worth whatever she was getting out of it. Like she was humouring him.”
Hmm.
“I’ve got a straight question for you, Geoffrey. You think that woman was capable of murder?”
Shock crosses his features.
“C’mon now, Geoffrey,” I say. “You know she was in that room with him last night. Yes, it could have been someone else,but I bet security in this place is pretty tight.”
“Sure, but… Listen…” he leans forward again, voice lowered to a whisper. “We do get people coming in through the back door. We never ask questions – not of the ones we recognise. There are men who come here and expect visitors.”
“And if some of these visitors are hitmen for the mob?”
“Hey, I’ve already said too much.” He starts to stand but I grab him by the jacket and pull him back down.
“You’re not leaving yet. Alright, alright, I get that you don’t make the calls here.” He calms down, nods. “I’m not blaming any of this on you. I just want to know who is to blame here.”
“Could have been anyone,” the kid says, all wide-eyed innocence all of a sudden. “We had almost a full house that night. Often we get people meeting other residents, or groups using rooms for the night. I got off work at midnight… I don’t know whether anyone else was here.”
“Fine. Fair enough. You still haven’t answered my question. Do you think the brunette could have been capable of murder?”
He blows air out his nose, angry with me. Anger comes quick when she’s around, I’ll bet.
“I don’t know,” he says at last. “Maybe she could. Maybe any of us could be capable of murder. I know a handful of guys here said they would kill for a night with her – what do you make of that?”
“Nothing.” Everything. That’s she’s the sort of woman who makes men do things they know they shouldn’t. And makes stupid kids say things they don’t mean. “None of them meant it.”
“Yeah? And what if one of them did?” His eyes flash, but then all of the anger leaves him in a second and he lifts a hand to play the ice about his glass with his straw. “No. You’re right… even if they meant it they wouldn’t actually do it.”
“You know these boys that well?”
He looks up, meets my eye. Honesty there. “I know Mr. Trollieti. I wouldn’t call him a regular, but… All the bellhops know that he tips high and that if you see anything in his room, you don’t speak of it to anyone. No one who works here would risk actually killing him. Trollieti… he knows people.”
Yeah. No kidding. And maybe one of those people killed him.
I leave the kid to finish his drink and light another cigarette as I step out into the afternoon sun. So. I hadn’t realised the security here was so lax when it comes to a certain type of clientele. Guess after the first few times stopping someone like that you learn not to make that kind of mistake.
Looks like my suspect list is growing.