New York Nocturne by Walter Satterthwait Page B

Burton’s, what Amanda’s testimony might be. He couldn’t have known that she’d mention Mr. Madden and Mr. Fay.”
    â€œMaybe Madden or Fay heard that Burton got nailed, and they decided to be included out. All it would take is a call to Becker.”
    â€œWhy should they care?”
    â€œDunno. Something we’ve got to find out, I guess.”
    She turned to me. “All right, Amanda. Mr. Becker brought you down to police headquarters. What then?”
    I told them about Vandervalk and Becker.
    Once again Miss Lizzie turned to Mr. Lipkind. “They can’t really believe that Amanda’s uncle tried to . . . harm her?”
    â€œNah. Like I told the kid—”
    â€œAmanda,” corrected Miss Lizzie.
    â€œRight. Like I told her, they’re up against it. They got no one else. She’s handy, right? An out-of-towner. No family, no friends, no connections. They tie the can to her; they can close out the case.”
    â€œThat’s despicable.”
    â€œYeah. Cossacks. They had her in a little holding cell they got downstairs. Wanted to spook her. Even brought in some bull—” Lightly, he covered his mouth with his fist and cleared his throat. “They even brought in some hard-nosed babe from the streets, stuck her in there with her.”
    He grinned. “Turns out the babe got decked.” He turned to me. “What’d you hit her with? The sink?”
    â€œThe wall,” I said. “Sort of.” I turned to Miss Lizzie. “She was going to—”
    â€œI’m sure you did exactly what needed to be done,” she said.
    I looked over at the lawyer. “Mr. Lipkind?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œThe room I was in, with Becker and Vandervalk. There was a big drain in the floor. What was that for?”
    â€œFor when they rinse the room down. Afterward.” He turned to Miss Lizzie. “Sometimes, the cops, they get a little carried away when they ask people questions.”
    â€œCharming,” she said. “All right. Where, exactly, do we go from here?”
    Before he could answer, someone knocked at the door to the suite.
    Miss Lizzie said, “Who on Earth . . .”
    Mrs. Parker set the dog on the carpet and stood. The dog looked up at her, expectant. “Let’s find out,” said Mrs. Parker.
    His tail twitching, the dog followed her to the door.

Chapter Nine
    It was Mr. Lipkind’s chauffeur, Robert. He strode into the room, holding his cap in his left hand and carrying a suitcase in his right. I recognized the suitcase as my own.
    Panting, the Boston terrier danced around him.
    Mr. Lipkind rose from his chair. “Okay, Robert, thanks. You can just set that down.”
    Robert lowered the suitcase, placed it against the wall, and stood straight up, waiting. Taller than he had seemed in the car, he was broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted. And still very handsome in his well-cut gray uniform.
    Mr. Lipkind turned to Miss Lizzie. “This is my right-hand guy, Robert Jenkins. Robert, this is Miss Borden.”
    Miss Lizzie smiled. “How do you do?”
    â€œMa’am,” said Robert in his smooth, rolling baritone, and he nodded politely.
    â€œAnd this is Mrs. Parker,” said Mr. Lipkind.
    â€œDorothy,” said Mrs. Parker.
    â€œMa’am,” said Robert.
    â€œDorothy,” said Mrs. Parker and smiled.
    â€œGrab a seat, Robert,” said Mr. Lipkind. He looked to Miss Lizzie. “That okay?”
    â€œOf course,” she said.
    Only one more seat was available, a small upholstered chair pushed up against the wall. With a dancer’s grace, Robert lifted it, swung it out into the room, set it back on the floor, and sat down in it. He held himself upright, holding his cap in his lap with both hands, the terrier sniffing and snuffling at his shiny black brogues. Robert leaned forward and used his right hand to scratch the dog behind the ear. The terrier