Of course, it might not be Trevor’s doing. Business had been good the last two years. When Madden bowed out, Jack’s share had steadily increased across the city. More saloons, more policy shops, more poolrooms . . . All of it added up to more money. More power. More influence. But that also made him a bigger target.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Some days he wondered if all the aggravation was worth it.
Then he’d count his money and decide, fuck yes. It was more than worth it.
Justine carried her notes up the steps of 300 Mulberry Street, otherwise known as New York City Police Headquarters. Patrolmen strode about, busy and serious, each looking smart in his navy-blue uniform. Though the department was rumored to be rife with corruption, she envied the officers. They held power, real power, to enact change. Having a badge meant the ability to gain compliance.
Unfortunately, many officers could be bought or blackmailed. Nobility was in short supply amongst the city’s police, at least according to the lawyers at the legal aid society.
Inside, she went to the raised counter that served as the entry point. Justine had made enough trips here that she wasn’t an unfamiliar face. At first, officer upon officer had stopped her to give directions, assuming she was lost. Now they knew better and ignored her.
After checking in with the desk sergeant, she walked deeper into the building. Men in drab suits stood in small clusters, laughing and talking, enjoying their male-only club. The holding pen for the inebriated was full, the tiny space packed with bodies. She kept her head down and focused on her destination.
Detective Ellison had been Justine’s contact at the police department for the past eighteen months. Ellison hadn’t wished to help her at first, but she had persisted, trying to convince him that husbands must provide for their families, until he finally relented. When she found that initial wife deserter—and the next—Ellison must have decided to tolerate her because he kept assisting her. While the police couldn’t officially allocate resources to finding these deserters, Ellison had said she was welcome to try, if she was so inclined.
Today was not about a deserter, however. This had to do with the other problem she often asked Ellison to help with: child labor.
The door to the office was ajar. She knocked on the doorjamb, not caring to catch any of them unaware by barging in. Once she’d seen an officer urinating into a spittoon in the corner. “Hello?” she called.
Several groans erupted at the sound of her voice. “Come in,” someone barked.
Four detectives sat at desks crammed into the small room. All heads turned her way. Three pairs of eyes were openly hostile while one set held a curious patience. The latter belonged to Ellison.
“Look who’s here with another one of her cases,” a detective said. “Shall we ring for tea, Ellison?”
She ignored them. “Good morning, Detective. Might I have a moment of your time?”
“Someone lose another husband?” another detective said, mockingly. “We better mobilize the entire force.”
Ellison sent the others a withering stare as they all chuckled. “Fellows, give us the room, will you?” Still laughing, the other men went out the door, leaving Justine alone with Ellison. Standing, he pointed to the empty chair opposite the desk. “Don’t let them bother you. They may be rude but they’re good detectives.”
“I’m not bothered. They are welcome to laugh at me. What I am doing is unusual but it is also important.”
“That’s the spirit.” He retook his seat and leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking underneath him. “What may I do for you, Miss Greene?”
She sat and placed her notes in her lap. “I learned of a shirtwaist factory on Rivington Street and went to see it for myself yesterday. There were women and children there, young boys and girls not more than seven or eight, all working past dark on the fifth floor. The owners had locked the doors from the outside to prevent the workers from leaving.”
He shook his head, his lips turned down in disapproval. She’d seen the look many times in their interactions. He was married with small children, and he hated the abuse and violence that many of the city’s children faced. “Absolutely abhorrent. Anything to make a quick buck. Unfortunately, I can’t help right now. I’m working a big murder case. Son of a politician, which means I have Tammany breathing down my neck.”