In the Shadow of Gotham - By Stefanie Pintoff Page 0,107
atop her desk. “Check Horace’s desk,” I directed Tom.
“All these papers appear to be hers,” Tom said. “I expect she spread out, using all available desk space.”
I began to examine more thoroughly the pile of documents Isabella had been reading.
Alistair paced the length of the room. “Where could she be?”
“She’s not in danger, is she?” Mrs. Leab asked, and her voice betrayed a sharp edge.
That was the last I really heard of what they were saying. Isabella was a diligent record keeper, and I had located some notes she must have jotted down this very morning. On one page, in her clear, rounded handwriting, I saw she had meticulously tabulated all moneys allocated to Alistair’s research from Dean Arnold’s discretionary fund. Funds supposedly earmarked for Michael Fromley’s case. Funds signed for and spent with forged signatures. Next to the list was a name—the Golden Dragon—one of Chinatown’s most notorious gambling joints.
There were hundreds of gambling houses throughout the city, but they were not created equal. When we had examined the recreational habits of first Michael Fromley and later Lonny Moore, names like the Bronze Door and the Fortune Club had surfaced. The former was a high-class gentleman’s establishment; the latter was a workingman’s entertainment hall. But the Golden Dragon was of another species entirely. Run by a man called Lou “the Bottler” Oaks, it was a gambling house of last resort, patronized by only the most desperately addicted. Any vice—be it gambling, opium, prostitution—could be indulged at the Golden Dragon.
What set the Golden Dragon apart even from rough joints like Saulter’s was its credit system. Loan sharks were on hand, ready and willing to loan money on the spot so patrons might lose even more. A loan from the Golden Dragon came at a steep cost, and most customers who took advantage of it paid dearly, with interest rates so high a $100 loan quickly became a $1,000 debt. And anyone unfortunate enough to miss their installments would pay first with their limbs, then with their life. It certainly placed the large sums taken from Alistair’s funding in an understandable context. If Isabella had somehow figured out who had taken the money and why, then her discovery may have placed her in danger.
Yet—unless she’d questioned someone about the matter—how could anyone else have known of her recent discovery? She had wanted to speak with Alistair, presumably about what she had learned. Failing that, what had she done next?
The pit in my stomach deepened, and I looked at Alistair with trepidation. He had been less than forthright with me throughout this investigation and I did not wholly trust him. But I knew he would not risk Isabella.
“Isabella may be in grave danger,” I said. “It’s imperative for us to find her right away.”
“Why is she in danger? Ziele, this kind of talk is completely unhelpful if you cannot also tell us where to look!” Alistair was becoming overwrought with worry.
“Isabella wrote down a name, the Golden Dragon,” I said, going on to explain what that meant. “She didn’t dream it up; she found it somewhere in the papers she was examining.”
“Then let’s split up these papers and take a look,” Tom said.
But soon we had finished scanning through each stack to no avail.
“Whatever she found,” I said, “she must have taken it with her.” Agitated, I tapped my fingers on the desk.
Alistair was despondent. “That makes it almost impossible to figure out where she went.”
Tom did not complain, but he rubbed his forehead as though he had a terrible headache.
“There’s no reason to dwell on what we don’t know,” I said. “We need to focus on what we do know—and what we can find out. But I need you to think hard, Alistair. Stop panicking and think.”
I walked over to the blackboard that lined one wall of the small office, and I redrew my triangle showing Sarah Wingate, Michael Fromley, and the unknown killer. Under each name, I abbreviated everything we knew. For example, Sarah had discovered funds gone missing. Michael Fromley had frequented Mamie Durant’s as well as numerous gambling joints until he found himself blacklisted because of his behavior. For the killer, I wrote that he had access to Fromley. That he owed significant sums of money and likely had stolen from Alistair’s fund to cover his debts. That he had increasingly managed to threaten our own investigation and the well-being of those helping us. “What else?” I tapped the chalk against the board.