In the Shadow of Gotham by Stefanie Pintoff

Author:Stefanie Pintoff
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Tags: Police, Fiction, Westchester County (N.Y.), Investigation, Crime & Thriller, Murder, Murder - Investigation, New York (State) - History - 20th century, Mystery fiction, Historical fiction, Mystery, Police Procedural, Criminologists, Historical, Mystery & Detective - Historical, Detective, Historical mysteries, Mystery & Detective, American Mystery & Suspense Fiction, Fiction - Mystery, General, Police - New York (State), Suspense, American Historical Fiction, New York (State)
ISBN: 9780312544904
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2009-04-28T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 15

I began to walk briskly, my feet keeping pace with my turbulent emotions. My anger seethed red-hot, and as I made my way over to Riverside Drive, the peaceful sight of the Hudson glistening in the moonlight did nothing to assuage the raw emotions that had taken hold of me. By instinct, I walked downtown. The shock of betrayal stung sharply: My anger toward Alistair intermingled with disgust at my own failure to recognize his duplicity. If Horace were right, then I had been lied to and taken advantage of in a manner that was completely self-serving. And worse, Alistair had been derelict in duties both ethical and professional. Why hadn’t I questioned him more? Had I been so blinded by his learning that I forgot every instinct I usually followed?

After some twenty blocks, my rage had calmed and cold logic prevailed. The allegations Horace had let slip were serious—and before I could evaluate them, I needed to look Alistair in the eye and hear his response. He was at the opera tonight, Mrs. Leab had said. And for Alistair, attending an opera was a social event as much as a musical one. He maintained a box there, which he had no doubt filled with society friends this evening. It was a tangible reminder that he had been born into a stratosphere of class and wealth I did not fully understand. That, I accepted. But had it created in Alistair a sense of entitlement, of being above the law? That, I could never abide.

I walked back to Broadway and grabbed a cab down to Thirty-ninth Street where the Metropolitan Opera House was located. Fortunately, I arrived just prior to the first intermission—for though the flash of my police credentials yielded information about Alistair’s regular box, it did not persuade the recalcitrant house manager to let me enter during the performance.

“If it’s not a matter of life or death, I can’t do it. Especially during Caruso’s solo—Mr. Conreid would have my job,” the man said stubbornly, referring to the general manager at the Met who was notorious for indulging his newest star. “You’ll have to wait.”

I could have forced the issue, I supposed, but it did not seem worth the fight. From the lobby, I listened to Enrico Caruso’s full-throated tenor as it reached the solo’s crescendo, and found myself hoping that Horace Wood had been mean-spirited or grievously mistaken. Anything but right.

The moment the curtain fell and the lights came up, I made my way to Alistair’s box, pushing against the crowd of well-dressed patrons making their way to the bar. Alistair, luckily, was still seated, casually sipping a glass of champagne as he chatted with a woman wearing a green gown and glistening jewelry. He did not notice me until I interrupted him.

“Alistair. It’s urgent that I speak with you. Please come downstairs with me.” My voice sounded false and oddly formal, even to my own ears.

“Ziele! What on earth are you doing here?” he said in surprise as he rose halfway out of his seat.

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