“I agree. I just don’t know how to make him talk.”
Through the door, they heard the creaking of stairs. Someone was coming down. A series of locks were undone, and then the building door squealed open. Walter had washed the drunkenness off his face, though the bruise was still a brash violet and crimson. Dash wondered how he explained it to Mother. He now wore a crisp white shirt underneath a gray vest and over gray slacks, the crease sharp, the fabric smooth with nary a wrinkle.
Walter made a show of checking his wristwatch, much like the one Karl had worn. The time annoyed him. “What did this Tyler Smith have to say?”
Dash kept his face neutral. “He hasn’t seen your brother in days, and he doesn’t know the female impersonator you followed.”
Walter stared at Dash. “You are lying to me.” He shifted his eyes to Joe. “You’re both lying to me. Do I need to remind you of what is at stake for you? For all of you?”
Knowing what he knew about Walter’s father, Dash saw the hatred for what it was: suffering. What had Dash said to Karl? When tragedy hits, people will need someone, or something, to blame.
Joe replied, “We’re not lying, Mr. Müller. He says he doesn’t know them.”
“Did you question him thoroughly?”
“We didn’t beat him to a pulp, if that’s what ya mean.”
Walter’s blazing blues were pitiless. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Dash said, “Mr. Müller, given how your father died, I would think you’d abhor such violent measures.”
That threw him off his stride. “What do you know about my father?”
Dash decided to play it cagey. “We know enough,” he said. “I think the better question is, does the Committee of Fourteen know about your father?”
“Lassie!” hissed Joe.
The three men stared at one another for almost a solid minute. Dash let the statement lie there, waiting to see what Walter would do with it.
The man licked his lips. “Are you threatening me? Because if you are, I will make you and anyone you love so very sorry.”
Dash kept his face blank. “That’s a no then for the Committee?”
Walter worked to get his anger under control. “Did you talk with the front deskman?” he asked, changing subjects completely.
Dash paused, considering how much to push him. No need. He knew where Walter was vulnerable. “We did,” he said.
“And the front deskmen never saw this pansy walking through their lobby?”
Joe shook his head. “You think they’d know what one looks like?”
“And the day shift?” Dash added. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with them, Mr. Müller, but most female impersonators don’t come out during the day.”
“Then you must return at night then.”
Joe was incensed. “We can’t just wait around the hotel lobby for her to show. We have a business to run!”
“A business that breaks the laws of this country.”
Dash stepped in. “Mr. Müller, what do you know about the woman who dresses in men’s clothes?”
That stumped Walter. “A what?”
Dash repeated himself.
“Unnatural,” Walter replied. “A woman who does that is flaunting herself against nature’s, nay God’s, laws.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, pausing to probe where the “fairy” had knocked out two of them. “I presume she is yet another one of my brother’s degenerate friends.”
“You’ve never seen her before?”
Walter shook his head.
“Would it shock you to know the woman is a lawyer?”
Walter stared at Dash. “A lawyer?”
“Yes. Do you know why your brother was socializing with an attorney?”
Before Walter could respond, an older female voice interrupted them. “Walter! Why do you keep the door open to let in the heat?”
The accent was even thicker than Walter’s. An older woman—Dash supposed her to be in her fifties, maybe sixties—stood ramrod-straight in the hall of the building, her posture perfect, her face determined. This was Mother with a capital M. The lines of age and experience creased her skin. She had on a dark blue dress with lavender daises printed everywhere. A long string of pearls decorated her neck with two strands hanging down to her waist, the white orbs small but gleaming fiercely in the dim interior light. A wide-brimmed straw garden hat was held in her hands, its lavender bow matching the daisies on her dress. The hat was a surprisingly modern choice given that Dash assumed her to be a Mrs. Grundy.
Walter turned and stood up even straighter when he saw her standing behind him. “Sorry, Mother.”
Mother stepped forward. “Who are these men, Walter?”
Her appearance unnerved Walter, and he couldn’t think of a lie fast enough.
Dash obliged him. “We work with your son, madam.”
“At the Committee?”
“Yes, madam, at the Committee of Fourteen. We work in the same department.”
Suspicion narrowed Mother’s eyes. “You don’t look like a Committee man. They don’t get into fights.”
This damnable bruise.
Dash gave what he hoped was a shy, embarrassed smile. “The truth is a bit more foolish, I’m afraid. My shoes came untied and I tripped on the subway stairs.”
Mother’s suspicion stayed put. “Why are you here? Can my son not be ill?”
Walter’s lie for not being at work today. A nice cover for his hangover.
Dash watched Walter’s face as he responded. “Normally we would, madam. Good health is very important. However, there was an emergency, and we needed your son’s immediate opinion on the matter.”
Mother was somewhat placated. “And is this ‘emergency’ resolved?”
Walter finally found his words. “Yes, Mother. Everything is all right.”
The old woman looked from Walter to Dash to Joe, who nodded in affirmation. “Good. Then you can be on your way, and my son can get back to resting.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “Come, Walter. The heat will do you no good.” She cast a glance to Dash and Joe. “He will return to the office tomorrow.”
Walter let his mother turn him around. He added over his shoulder, “The other matter we were discussing? Perhaps this woman can lead you to the . . . other person. You will give me another report Thursday.”
That was two days
