Julia balked in disbelief. “But they couldn’t completely make something up, say whatever mean and untrue thing they wanted, could they? Not without some kind of proof. I know things are terribly unjust for Negroes in the South, but this is New York.” She looked around the spacious kitchen with its sparkling Frigidaire and its gleaming white cooker, as if only reason and justice could prevail in such an orderly and modern place. “I’m sure they couldn’t just outright lie. It doesn’t seem possible. Not here?”
The certainty faded as soon as it left her lips. She felt a second flush of shame at her own reluctance to believe something so loathsome. Hadn’t she just witnessed Eva’s violent mistreatment? Didn’t everything she’d seen and heard confirm what Fee had told her, that Julia’s New York was not Eva’s New York? She couldn’t keep peppering Fee with questions. She ought to start facing those questions herself, learning her own answers.
Fee swallowed again. “Here, miss.” She began slicing a waterfall of potato disks into a pan of water. The pieces fell in a calming, steady stream.
Julia stepped back. She understood. Fee tried to take things in stride. She was a “just is” pragmatist, accustomed to disappointments and obstacles Julia would protest if she knew about them. Yet indignation was itself a kind of luxury, an indulgence of time and effort that only those with plenty of both could afford. To Fee, negotiating a path through the troubles was achievement enough. It was a good day’s work not to be nearby when a scuffle broke out, or not to be accosted in that moment between bagging the vegetables and paying for them.
Fee lit the gas ring under the potatoes and adjusted the flame. As she turned to Julia, she untied her apron strings. “Oh yes, miss. Very right here.”
CHAPTER 15
The sentence passed beneath Julia’s eyes for the third time, and still she did not follow it. Something about Countess de Kerninon, likely to be convicted for shooting the count. Yes, yes, of course she was. Julia dropped the newspaper into her lap with an exasperated rustle.
Philip’s voice sounded in the hall. He’d been out since well before noon, leaving no hint of when he might return. After yesterday’s debacle in Kessler’s office, she was strictly in for the day, still feeling unsettled. She had time only to throw off her lap shawl before he pushed open the library doors and joined her.
“I’m beastly company,” she warned.
“Thought you might be.”
She grimaced. “I have every right to feel aggrieved. I was whisked into a closet like a bad puppy and then made to witness my friend being harassed and attacked by men claiming to ‘interview’ her. I’ve never seen such flagrant abuse of power.”
“I did warn you the law’s gloves come off when there’s a dead body to account for. Fighting crime is not always pretty.”
It was true he had said something about bracing herself for strong language and the reek of cigars, but she’d never expected outright violence. She scoffed at the word pretty. “Don’t patronize me. Eva was treated like a convicted criminal, as if she had no rights at all. You tried to confuse her with your mumbo jumbo. That’s only marginally better than Sergeant Hannity’s outright thuggery. You both wanted to make her say what Kessler wants to hear. How is that possibly right, or even legal?”
Philip dropped into a facing chair. “I’ll concede it was a bad show. Hannity had some bee in his bonnet; I don’t know why. I suspect he was irked she didn’t look like a Negro. He felt tricked, and no one likes to be made a fool of.”
“She never denied she was colored. She tricked no one. Only the police did that.”
Philip lifted his hands in surrender. “I suppose I’m jaded, having seen how this works too many times. There’s a certain latitude, shall we say, when investigating major crimes. Timson was dispatched violently, so surely his killer can’t whimper about a bit of rough treatment in return. That’s the thinking, anyway,” he added, seeing Julia’s brewing retort.
“Hannity was beyond the pale, but you, Philip? I expected better of you.”
He sighed and lit a cigarette. “Then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve spent the morning making a great nuisance of myself on behalf of your unforthcoming friend. Kessler’s seen the wisdom of releasing her.”
“She’s not arrested?” Julia sat upright. “No longer a suspect?”
“No longer one in custody.”
“You persuaded him? How?” Given Kessler’s certainty that Eva was only a confession away from a murder conviction, this seemed miraculous.
“I pointed out the flimsiness of his case. A premature arrest would only make it weaker. I think he relented in order to entice me to help.”
“He wants you to help with his investigation?” It was the most cheering news she’d had in two days. With Julia to hound him, Philip could make sure they kept searching for other suspects. “That’s marvelous.”
“I told him no.”
“Philip! You have to help. You know otherwise she won’t get a fair shake.”
He lifted a hand. “Not my patch, either the Harlem set or your literary crowd. Kessler needs fresh eyes and ears for this, but mine won’t do.”
Julia’s brief pleasure sank. “Let me do it, then.”
His eyebrows rose. “You? You hardly endeared yourself to the man yesterday. He’d never agree.”
Julia was astonished at the notion too. But once it sprang out, she warmed to it. There were ways around Kessler’s rigid fussiness. “Don’t tell him. Deputize me, Philip. Tell him you’ll talk with Eva again, but let me do it instead. She’ll speak with me, I’m sure of it.”
“No doubt—because you’d help her run the other way. The point is to gain her cooperation, not fuel her resistance.”
Julia cooled her gaze. “I thought the point was to find Timson’s killer.”
He exhaled. “You know what I mean. Murder is serious business. Your friend is thick in the middle of a very explosive situation. She’s as answerable to the law as any
