Dear Sister Dead, page 16
A moment’s silence.
“Shit,” he whispered.
“It would be all or nothing,” I said. “The detective who’s in charge of the case—his name is Blackie, John Blackie—“
“He’s the guy I talked to before, right?”
“Right, and he’s the person you’d probably end up talking to again. You can’t lie to him. He’ll know it in a minute. And you can’t lie to the D.A. If you decide to do this, then you’re in it all the way. There’s no half-stepping, no turning back.”
“I know,” he said, his voice low. “I know what can happen to people who go up against Sharkey. But if it means saving Lettie, protecting her and the baby, then ...”
He did not tell me where he was calling from. He didn’t offer and I didn’t ask. He did ask me if I'd be willing to go with him when he surrendered to the police. I said I would be.
“You’ll need a lawyer,” I said. “I know a good one. An affordable one.”
“I don't know any mouthpiece, and even if I did, I ain't got the money to pay him.”
“Don't worry. This one will take care of you, I'm sure.”
He paused. “All right," he said finally. His voice was weary. "We'll do it your way." Then he told me where he’d be.
Next, I put in a call to David McKay, a friend and neighbor who also happened to be a criminal defense attorney. He’d known Vera, too, and had followed the story in the newspapers.
“Now, let me get this straight,” he said, “You want me to defend the man who killed her? You want me to appear on his behalf?”
“I know. It sounds strange. Even to my ears, it sounds strange. And yet, somehow, it feels right. That’s all I can say. It just, somehow, feels right.”
I shared what Lettie had told me of her husband's story. avid listened intently. A veteran himself, he said he better understood my request and agreed to represent Hiram Glenn. He had only one question: Where and when would he find him?
“At the foot of Vera’s grave,” I said.
"Her grave?!"
“He said this would be his last chance to go and ask her for forgiveness. Because, after his surrender, he wouldn’t have another.”
CHAPTER 25
David McKay and I met with Glenn, as arranged, in Queens, at Woodlawn Cemetery, at the foot of Vera’s grave. We stood by as Glenn, head bent and hands clasped in front of him, murmured a prayer over her gravesite. I don’t know what he said, but I saw the sparkle of tears in his eyes. I’ve seen a lot of killers at work. Some of them are expert liars. I would’ve taken Glenn to be one, too. But every time I found myself questioning his sincerity, I remembered what happened, or rather did not happen, at the hotel, that he’d had us cornered and could’ve easily killed us, but had deliberately chosen not to. I remembered too that for him there was no escaping the consequences of his actions. As far as he was concerned, he’d told me, “there’s only death or death. The only choice is whether I go it alone or take Sharkey down with me.”
David and I said a prayer, too. After that, he took Glenn aside to talk and I stepped away. My presence might've endangered any attorney-client privilege between the two. It might've opened me up to being subpoenaed to testify about anything I heard that was said between them.
But I also stepped away because of another reason. I had my own person to visit: Hamp.
I didn’t come out here that often to visit him. I supposed I should be ashamed of that, but I didn’t really think he’d mind. I told myself I didn’t need to be here to speak with him or feel his presence. I spoke to him in my heart every day and his presence still filled every nook and cranny of the townhouse we’d shared together.
But being there, next to him, I had to admit I felt a certain peace and comfort and closeness I often didn’t feel back in Manhattan. I felt his love.
The surrender of Hiram Glenn barely rated an inch in the back pages of the major white newspapers but it made the headlines of Negro ones across the country. And it most certainly sent shockwaves through a small jail cell at our local police station.
Blackie told me later how he’d delivered the news to Sharkey. The loan shark had been lying down on his bunk bed, but, at the sound of Blackie’s approach, sat up. The detective stood there, hands on his hips, a small smile tugging at his lips, obviously enjoying the sight of Sharkey behind bars.
“Yeah? So, what is it?” Sharkey asked.
Blackie said nothing but the smile became more pronounced.
Sharkey lunged at the bars. “Don’t you stand there staring at me! When I get outta here, I’m gonna—“
“Do what? Do nothing. That’s what you’re gonna do. Cause you’re not going nowhere.”
“What the hell! You—”
“Hiram Glenn is now in police custody."
Sharkey fell back a step.
"He turned himself in," Blackie said.
"Turned himself in?" Sparkey repeated, dumbstruck.
"Yup."
"I don't believe you."
"Not only that. He’s confessed to the killings.”
"Confessed?" Fear flashed across Sparkey's eyes. He swallowed hard, then lifted his chin, and forced a smile. “Well, then, you must be here to apologize and let me go.”
“He told us all about how you ordered the hit on Slocum—“
“He’s lying—“
“And he’s willing to testify.”
“It’ll be my word against his.”
“He also turned in the weapon he used. We’ve examined it and guess whose fingerprints we found?”
“You flat-out lying. You ain’t got nothin' on me. You—”
“Your fingerprints. They aren’t on the weapon. They got smudged or wiped in all the handling. But you loaded the weapon and your prints are still on the shell casings. We found them. Clear as day. Just like they were waiting for us.”
Sharkey gripped the bars. “That’s impossible. You can’t do that.”
“Oh, but we can.” Blackie smiled darkly. “Congratulations. The D.A. says you just got in line for a date with Old Sparky.”
Sharkey licked his lips. His eyes darted back and forth. Then they went back to Blackie. “I want a deal. I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll make your day, detective. I want a deal.”
“This business about getting fingerprints off shell casings,” I said when Blackie relayed the details of that last meeting with Sharkey, “is it true?”
Blackie shrugged. “Heck if I know. Maybe it is; maybe, it isn’t.”
“But it sounds like it could be.”
“Exactly.”
“And this deal. It’ll get Sharkey out of the electric chair?”
Blackie laughed. “What deal?”
“But you said—“
“I told him that a confession was necessary for any deal. Signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered. His lawyer told him not to do it, but I said no confession, no deal.”
“You said that.”
“That’s right. Me.”
I took another sip of my coffee. “I see,” I said. And I did. “Cops don’t make deals. District attorneys do.”
“That’s right. And even the smartest crooks don’t seem to remember that.”
CHAPTER 26
Levy held a special celebratory service at Mount Olivet, a service of thanksgiving. The church was even more packed than it had been for the funeral service. The one person missing, now as then, was Martin del Ray.
Levy nearly broke down in tears during his sermon, delivering words that he said were “borne of bottomless grief and relief that the perpetrator of this evil crime has finally, but finally, been caught.”
“Do I forgive him?” Levy asked, standing in the pulpit. “Do I? How can I? I know that I must, and yet ...” He paused, his emotional exhaustion evident. “I know that the Lord will give me strength. He is my Savior and He will see me through this time. He will see us all through it. And He will give us the strength to forgive as He forgave. Until then, let us raise our voices in a song of thanksgiving and bless His Holy Name!”
A full-throated chorus of "Amens" and "Hallelujah! Bless You, Jesus!" rose from the crowd.
I kept silent. Let it go, an inner voice said. He’s confessed. It’s all over.
Levy bounced on his heels and gripped the lectern. “I would like to add, have to add, special words of gratitude to someone here today. Mrs. Lanie Price. Mrs. Price, would you stand please?”
Surprised, I rose to my feet as dozens of faces turned in my direction.
Levy extended his hand toward me. “I’m sure you’ve all heard of her newspaper column, Lanie’s World. Well, I’m here to tell you, this woman here is not just a newspaper writer. She is a dear friend of my family, of this congregation. She is a woman of strength and integrity, a detective in her own right. She is the one who unmasked my wife's killer and brought him to justice. I would be remiss if I didn’t thank her, acknowledge her, for what she’s done for our family.” He started clapping and the others joined, surrounding me with rapt applause.
I shifted uncomfortably, smiled politely, and eased back down.
After the service, Levy stood in the doorway of the main entrance, saying goodbye to his people. I made my way over and when I was finally able to speak to him, I invited him for dinner.
They were holding Glenn at the Tombs prison. After the services, I made the trek down to lower Manhattan to visit him. I heard that still same voice in my head, telling me, He’s confessed. It’s all over. But somehow, I couldn't let it go. Not at least without checking on him.
“How are you?” I asked.
He gave a bitter chuckle. “I been better.” He, too, looked exhausted, right down to his soul.
The visit didn’t last long. He thanked me for coming and asked me to be fair when I covered his trial. “And before I forget, thank you for the lawyer. He’s good, but he can’t save me. Nobody can."
"Don't say that."
"It's OK, Miss Lanie. You know, I think I been waiting to die. Ever since I came back from the war, I been waiting. For a while there, a real short while, I had hope. But that didn’t last long.” He was quiet. “There’s no way out, is there? There never was. Not for someone like me.”
I did a lot of thinking on my way back to Harlem. I checked my purse for the letters, the one Beulah had found. I’d put them in my bag that morning, before attending Levy’s service. Now, I studied them, wondering if what I was about to do was right.
How could she have known ...?
Suppose the letters weren’t meant for Vera at all, but for someone else entirely?
I entered the police station, asked to see Blackie, and laid the letters on his desk.
He arched his eyebrows. “What are these?”
“Read them. Have them checked.”
“For what?”
“For fingerprints,” I said. “Fingerprints.”
CHAPTER 27
Sam laid a beautiful table that night. Roast beef and potatoes, with apple pie. Levy ate with a good appetite. Sam and I kept the dinner conversation light. Sitting at the table, we even managed to crack a few jokes, and share a couple of smiles.
“You two make a beautiful couple,” Levy said. “I’d be proud to officiate if you ever decide to tie the knot. And, of course, I’m hoping you will.”
Sam and I exchanged looks. He put his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. I suggested we take our coffee to the parlor.
Once there, Levy nodded toward the coffee table. “What’ve you got there?”
I’d laid out several newspaper articles and placed a jewelry box next to them. “Just some research.” I gestured to the armchair. “Take a seat and I’ll tell you about it.”
Levy cocked his head. His glance went back and forth from me to Sam. “Well, all right. I don’t mind if I do.”
Sam and I sat next to one another on the sofa. I slid one of the articles across the table to Levy. “This,” I said, resting my hand on it, “is an article about a civil lawsuit you took part in five years ago.”
Levy picked it up. “Oh, yes, I remember that one. The white folk thought they could stop me from buying the land to build my church. They were up in arms about it. Looked mighty arrayed against me. But the Lord stepped in. The Lord said, ‘This is my church and here’s where I’m going to build it.’ And He did, too.”
“You won that case.”
“That one and a couple of others more. You know, whenever I get to feeling low, whenever I grow weary, I think about all the effort and prayer and sacrifice that got me here—got our people here. From the building of that church to the building of our community.”
“And you’d do anything to protect it, wouldn’t you, Levy?"
"Of course, even die for it if I had to."
"Really?"
He gave me a pitying look. “You’re a wonderful, smart woman, Lanie Price. But you’re not a church-going one, and that could be your downfall.”
“Could it?”
“The church,” he said, warming to his subject, “is like an all-encompassing womb. It protects and nourishes. The love it provides is unconditional.”
“Is it?”
“Why, of course, it is.”
“I didn’t realize that,” I said. “I thought churches could be quite ... judgmental at times.”
Levy frowned. “I mean, we have standards, but—Well, what exactly are you getting at?”
Sam shrugged. “We’re just curious. That’s all.”
I slid another two articles over to Levy. “As you can see, these cover the trial of a man named Sam Sharkey.” I tapped the top article. “See the date?” I paused. “And the courthouse?”
Levy went still.
“September of ’22,” Sam said. “Harlem Courthouse.”
“Yes ... and?” Levy rubbed his lips.
“Sam Sharkey, policy banker and loan shark, was on trial. And your accountant—or former accountant—his real name was Mason Lou Chiles—was a star witness for the prosecution.”
Levy tugged at his collar. “That’s all quite interesting. Just goes to prove that I was right to fire him.”
“It goes to prove more than that,” Sam said.
“As in what?” Levy asked.
“As in that you were at the exact same place, at the exact same time as Sam Sharkey. You were there in the building with the man who would one day order a hit that would kill both Slocum and your wife.”
“That’s a horrible thought," Levy said, running a finger inside his collar to loosen it. "It would be an incredible coincidence, if true.”
“Oh, it’s true, all right," Sam said. "After the trial, Chiles left town. He changed his name. And he stayed away for nearly five years. Then he came back. And sought you out. Why is that?”
“I don’t know. I—“
“He could’ve kept his head down, stayed out of sight. But he chose not to. He was either foolish or desperate or both.”
Levy swallowed. “I ... I still don’t ...”
“Your paths crossing like that," I said. "Once might’ve been a coincidence. But twice? That indicates a pattern. Intent.” I paused. “A relationship.”
There was a long uncomfortable silence.
“You two act as though there was something underhanded about it," Levy said. "It was really quite simple.”
“Then explain it to us,” I said. “We really want to understand.”
Levy licked his lips. “All right, if you want to know, he and I .. we did become acquainted during the trial. He’d made a deal with the prosecutor to testify in return for ... well, a certain amount of leniency. But when it got down to it, he was terrified—of having to testify, of having to take the stand and say what he’d agreed to say. He didn’t seem like a bad man. But he was a gambler; he had debts. That’s how he’d ended up falling in with the loan shark.”
“How’d you meet?’
“Standing in the hallway. We ended up sitting on the same bench. Started chatting. He told me about his situation. So, being a minister of the Good Word, I talked to him, tried to build him up.”
“That was good of you,” I said. “But it didn't end there, did it?”
Levy didn't answer.
"The friendship between you two, it—"
"I don't know what you want me to say," Levy sighed. “If you mean that it went beyond one meeting, then you're correct. My business at the courthouse was done fairly quickly. But his case? It was two weeks long.”
“And you kept seeing him?”
“Yes. To share the Good Word. It was exhausting, but ...” he let slip a faint smile.
“It was worth it?”
“I guess you can say that. It's always worth it when you can help someone. I'm happy to say that he found the strength to do his Christian duty.”
“You mean testify?”
“Yes. He testified and the government won its case.”
“And what happened after that? After the trial? Did you stay in contact?” Sam asked.
“No," Levy shook his head. "When it ended, I thought ....” He shrugged. “Well, I figured that was that. Of course, I invited him to join my congregation, but he said he was leaving town.”
“So, five years later, when he showed up in your office ...”
“I ... I was unprepared.”
“But you took it in stride?” I said.
“Yes,” Levy gave a slow nod. “I took it in stride.”
“And gave him a job?” Sam said.
“It was the Christian thing to do.”
“Undoubtedly,” I said. “And you took up where things had left off.”
Levy cocked his head, a glimmer of anger in his eyes as he regarded me. “I’m not sure what you mean by that. I became his employer.”
I slapped the articles down on the table. “You were more than that, Levy, and we both know it.”
Silence.
“You were with him the night Vera got those bruises,” Sam said.
"No, I—"
"You spent the night with him," Sam said.
