Dash shook his head.
An exasperated, smoke-filled sigh. “Alright. A few months ago, Karl confessed something to Tyler and Tyler came to me. At first, I thought he was joking. Then I thought he was drunk. But he managed to convince me.”
“Convinced you of what?”
Paula paused to squash out the finished cigarette and light a new one. As she went through the ritual again, she said, cigarette bobbing in her mouth, “Do you know how Walter makes his money?”
“I know it’s not from the Committee of Fourteen.”
A smirk. The snick of the lighter and the inhale of smoke. “You have been busy. Good, we can go straight to the good stuff. Walter is a professional blackmailer.”
Dash stared at her. “You mean, Walter was extorting money from other people?”
“He blackmailed you. Why wouldn’t he do the same for others?”
“But who?”
She gestured with the lit cigarette in hand. “Us, dearie. Pansies. Bulldaggers. And everyone in between.”
Dash paused. The pieces started to fit together. Karl saw what was going on, and Dash could only imagine the pain it caused. Even though Walter rejected Karl’s true self, there’s still something unnecessarily cruel about one’s own brother persecuting men and women like him.
Cruelty is in our nature more than kindness, I’m afraid, Karl had said that night at the Oyster House.
“No wonder he wanted to leave,” Dash said, then rubbed his forehead. “Poor Karl.”
“Poor Karl? Poor Karl?” Paula’s voice turned mean and vicious. “How do you think Walter found the people to blackmail in the first place?! He’d have Karl go to an underground club, get to know a few targets. Rich targets. Then Walter would have the club raided and everyone arrested. After the raid, he’d send a letter, demanding money or else.”
Dash watched Paula. “Is that the truth?”
She relished ruining Dash’s memory of Karl. “Oh yes. Everyone thought Karl was such an innocent. So kind-hearted, so naive. Ha! The boy was a spider, just like his bluenose brother. Worming his way into Tyler’s life like he did. It was clear as day he just wanted Tyler’s money and influence. You saw that wristwatch Karl just had to show off? A gift from Tyler, the fool, who had it engraved with that, that spider’s initials.” She shook her head. “The fool. In love with a traitor.”
Dash tired of Paula’s character assassination of Karl. He said, “And this is the case Pru is working on? Walter’s blackmail?”
“It’s quite extensive. His list of victims I would daresay is over a mile long.”
Dash leveled his gaze at Paula. “Were you one of them?”
She scoffed.
“What about Tyler?”
“That’s a ridiculous question.”
“Did you kill Karl?” Dash demanded again. “You obviously loathed the kid. He took away your best friend, he betrayed your kind. Seems like a perfect motive to me.”
A satisfied smirk. “It’s a good theory, except I was with Prudence Meyers all evening. After we left your club because of Walter’s sudden appearance. You can ask her, if you like.”
“Oh, I will.” Dash looked off to the side. He didn’t like this development, and Paula knew it. “Did you call the Committee of Fourteen and report that their finance maestro had a homosexual brother?”
“Why on earth would I do that?”
Dash just looked at Paula.
She smirked. “Sure, I did it. Why not? The man had it coming.”
“Was that before or after Tyler came to you with Walter’s blackmail scheme?”
Paula didn’t answer.
Dash answered for him. “It was before, wasn’t it?”
“How do you figure?”
“Because Walter’s blackmail scheme was his new way of income. You effectively ruined his career. New York’s a small town at its core, so word would have gotten around about his brother.” Dash paused. “In effect, one could say it was you who caused the blackmails. Without your little stunt—which, let’s both be honest, was to get back at Karl, not Walter, who would certainly punish his brother—Walter never would’ve come up with such an idea.”
“That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. Blaming me? For what the goddamn Müllers did? Ha! That’s rich as all get out.” Paula adjusted her handbag over her shoulder. “Now. You have wasted enough of my time, and I am quite late to an engagement.”
She started to turn away.
Dash asked, “How did you lose your keys?”
She stopped. “My what?”
“Your keys,” Dash said. “Marjorie said the night Karl died, you didn’t have your keys and she had to let you in.”
Paula replied with gnashed teeth, “Why that little busybody—”
“Where are they, Paula?”
“Oh, for goodness sakes. I lost my keys running out of your club when Walter Müller came barging in.”
Dash watched her face. “Is that the truth?”
“Why are you looking at me? I’m not the dangerous one.” Her voice turned shrewd. “You want to know who’s dangerous? I’d look to the Baroness. Miss Zora Mae? Don’t you find it strange she knew us so well? Even to the point of my address?”
The question was so obvious, Dash was startled by it. “Yes. At the time, it didn’t seem odd but . . .”
He didn’t finish the thought, which was I was so desperate to get out from under Walter I took it at face value.
Paula seemed to read Dash’s mind and smirked once again. “She knew us because we spoke with her. You see, she was a victim too. Or rather her little moll, Sonya Sanders. She was arrested in one of Walter’s little raids. Imagine what a woman like Zora Mae would do once she found out the little boy who was handing out her rent party cards got her girlfriend locked behind bars.”
Dash returned to Pinstripes, pulse racing. Zora Mae was more than just a passing observer of the Müller drama. She was a key player. He thought back to how she had toyed with him, teased him, and ultimately extracted a promise from him. Expertly done. He never considered she was involved.
When there was a break in the crowd, Dash told Joe and Finn about the
