Page 36 of The Gilded Heiress

Leo

I never thought I’d willingly walk into a police station, let alone New York City Police Headquarters.

But here I was, strolling inside the great stone building, the center of Gotham’s law and order, of my own free volition.

In broad daylight. All by myself.

There was no choice. This morning I had stopped by the local Pinkerton office to inquire, under the ruse of writing a newspaper

article, as to the identity of the last investigator on the Pendelton case. I was informed it was a William Porter, who’d

gone to work as a police detective several years back.

Therefore, I had to speak with Porter. I had to find out what accusation this man made all those years ago against my father

and do whatever I could to restore his reputation. Because Steven Hardy was neither a kidnapper nor an accomplice to a kidnapper.

It may not matter to anyone anymore, but it mattered to me and my family.

Once I dealt with my father’s legacy, I needed to come clean with Josie. Last night had changed something between us. It was

more than screwing—I’d screwed plenty of women. No, this had to do with how I felt about her. I wanted her, and not for a

few hours or a few days. I wanted her forever.

She was mine.

That meant I had to tell her the truth about my background, as well as the reason I brought her here.

A cold sweat broke out between my shoulder blades. I wasn’t used to confessing the truth. But perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad? Now that she knew about my father, I was mostly confident she would understand and forgive me.

Fairly confident.

I hoped, anyway.

I couldn’t lose her—and not because of the money I knew she was going to earn one day. It was because I was lost without her,

just a man with no moral compass or direction, no foundation upon which to build something meaningful. Josie helped me discover

that I have an ability to handle people, to open doors for her. I was able to negotiate on her behalf. Who better to know

when she was being swindled than me?

All that combined with her talent? The two of us could take over the world.

This wasn’t about the Pendeltons any longer. This was about Josie. She deserved a good man, a decent man. The man I knew I

could be, if given a fair chance.

And it started just as soon as I cleared my father’s name.

Bounding up the steps, I strode inside police headquarters, where an officer sat behind the entrance desk, scribbling in a

book. A heavy beard hung over his collar, bushy brows peeking atop his spectacles. He didn’t even glance up at my approach.

“What is it?”

“Good morning, Officer. I wish to see a Detective Porter.”

“What for?”

“To inquire about the old Pendelton kidnapping.”

“Son, that case is more than a decade old. What business is it of yours?”

I could tell my straightforward approach wasn’t going to work with this old-timer.

I leaned against the desk and relaxed, merely two men having a friendly conversation, my smile wide.

“I bet you were just starting out in those days, a brand-new patrolman. Cracking heads, arresting drunks and gangsters. It must’ve been exciting, the days before Commissioner Roosevelt got involved. ”

Most of the old guard resented Roosevelt and his reforms. I hoped this man was one of them.

The officer finally looked up at me and shook his head sadly. “You don’t know the half of it. All these new rules? They take

away the power we had, give it right to the hopheads and thieves. A damn shame, if you ask me.”

“Well, what can you expect? Fancy boy from Upper Fifth Avenue. What does he know about walking the streets, putting his life

in danger every day?”

“Exactly!” The officer slapped his palm on the desk. “And if we take a little somethin’ extra on the side every now and again,

who’s to blame us?”

“Not me. Not all of us were born on a gilded blanket in a gold bassinet.”

The officer chuckled. “I like that. Gilded blanket in a gold bassinet.” His mouth hitched as he looked me over. “You an officer,

too?”

I smelled an opportunity, so the lie fell out of my mouth easily. “Patrolman in Boston. I’m here for a short visit, but I

remember the old Pendelton case from when I lived here as a boy. I was hoping to get a sense of where the investigation stalled.”

“I know some boys in Boston. Where are you stationed?”

I was familiar enough with the police back home to say, “Station House No. 3, over on Joy Street. You know it?”

“Can’t say that I do. My cousin is at No. 4, on Lagrange.”

“Ah, not far. I’m friendly with a few of the patrolmen there. They have the Commons, not an easy assignment.”

“That’s what my cousin tells me. Vagrants and hoodlums all hours of the day, guys running bunco games. It’s a real mess.”

He knocked the wooden desk a few times with his knuckles. “Let me see what I can do about finding Porter.”

“I’d really appreciate that, sir.”

He stuck out his hand. “Call me Gilly. Last name’s Gilbert, but everyone calls me Gilly.”

“How do you do?” I said as I shook his hand. “Hugh Wright.”

“Pleasure, Wright. Have a seat. Give me a few moments.”

Gilly returned shortly with another man and waved me forward. “Detective Porter, this is Officer Wright.”

A slight man in a rumpled suit, Porter ignored the hand I offered. “What’s a patrolman from Boston doing here, asking questions

about our old cases?”

I tried to keep my expression as friendly as possible. “How do you do, Detective? It’s unusual, I know—and my apologies for

catching you unaware. I’m in town for only a few days, but I lived here at the time of the kidnapping. My cousin was friends

with one of the old Pendelton grooms, and we heard quite a bit about the investigation growing up. I wondered where it had

stalled.”

“It has not stalled ,” Porter said, annoyed. “I’ve worked the case on and off for the last six years as a detective, but I started back when I

was a Pinkerton.”

There were lots of eyes and ears around us. Doubtful Porter would offer any true insight into the case out here. “Is there

a place we can sit? I took a knife in the leg from a pickpocket a few years ago and it still bothers me from time to time.”

Porter grimaced and rolled his right shoulder. “Got one in Central Park twelve years ago. Still gives me fits every time the

weather turns. Come on. We’ll go to my office.”

I followed him through the corridors, trying not to meet anyone’s eye. Old habit, even though no one here would likely recognize

me.

Once we were in a small office, Porter closed the door. I took the chair opposite his desk, while Porter dropped into the

leather chair on the other side. “I only have a few minutes. What do you want to know?”

“Any new leads on the person or persons responsible for the kidnapping?”

“I can’t comment on that,” Porter said.

“Not even to another policeman?” I leaned in. “Look at it as confiding in a colleague. I can offer my insight, maybe break

the case open.”

“Doesn’t matter. The man who likely orchestrated it is dead, anyway.”

My throat dried out, so I swallowed. “Oh? Who’s that?”

“The old gardener. Guy named Hardy.”

It was a struggle, but I smothered any reaction. “How do you know it was him?”

“After I was hired, I found love letters between Hardy and the child’s nurse. The two were having an affair.”

I squeezed the wooden armrest so hard I worried it might break. Then I coughed to mask the rage punching through my gut. My

father never would’ve cheated on my mother. The two had been wildly in love.

But this explained a few things: one, why my father was abruptly let go from his position and not provided a reference. And

two, why he never wished to discuss any of this once we moved to Boston.

I hid my feelings behind a curious frown. “An affair, you say? But wasn’t he married?”

“Man like that? They’ll screw anything that moves.” Porter eased back and studied me. “How did you know Hardy was married?”

I waved this off with a flick of my wrist. “Like I said, my cousin knew one of the servants on the estate. We were fascinated

with the case.” I paused, as if I were considering this new information. “So why wasn’t the nurse arrested?”

“The police questioned her, of course, but she disappeared a few days after the kidnapping. She’s always been my main suspect.”

Interesting that he said “my” and not “the.” But Porter wouldn’t be the first detective to let his personal opinions cloud

an investigation. “No one ever found her?”

“Nope. Never seen or heard from again. But she must’ve had help getting the baby out the window and down the ladder. No woman

is strong enough to do it alone.”

“So you discovered these letters between Hardy and the nurse some time later, after the kidnapping? Isn’t that a tad suspicious?”

Porter frowned, his brows lowering over his eyes. “The letters were found because I conducted a more thorough search of the

estate than the police did at the time. Hardy had a shed containing a few personal belongings. Inside that shed, under a loose

floorboard, was a packet of letters.”

Which could’ve been planted by anyone.

“Do you happen to have one of these letters? I’d love to see it.” I hoped I sounded casual enough to be believable.

“I can’t show an outsider any evidence.”

“Understandable, but I’m an officer, too. I know the rules concerning ongoing investigations. I won’t tell a soul. And as

I said, I’m familiar with the old Pendelton staff from when I was a boy. Perhaps I can glean some clue from the letters.”

“I suppose there’s no harm in letting you see one.” Porter rose from his chair and went to the tall cabinet in the corner,

which he unlocked and opened. He withdrew a thick packet from inside and brought it over to the desk.

After some searching, he produced a few sheafs of paper. “These are addressed from her to him. You can have a quick peek.”

I took the letters from his hand, noting he hadn’t counted the number of pages he’d given me.