Second Street Station by Lawrence H. Levy

Author:Lawrence H. Levy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Published: 2015-06-08T16:00:00+00:00

19

Mary’s first stop after her encounter with Muybridge was Charles Goodrich’s brownstone. She had previously searched it and so had the Brooklyn police. No one had found anything they deemed relevant. She didn’t remember coming across a journal, though if someone had, it might have easily been passed over. Charles Goodrich was a bookkeeper. It was only natural he would have logged numbers and transactions. Muybridge seemed earnest enough, but Mary gave little credence to his claim that those figures would besmirch the pristine reputation of Thomas Edison. Muybridge had an air of desperation about him, of a man grasping at straws. Taking him at his word would be a giant leap of faith. It would also make Edison a suspect, and the whole notion of Thomas Edison’s being a murderer was not only absurd but anathema to her.

Mary did realize there could be many other reasons why such a journal would be in demand. Even if the journal didn’t exist, the rumor that it did was a dangerous one. A man of Edison’s phenomenal success was bound to have business rivals out to ruin him, and if he didn’t, a good old-fashioned blackmailer would view the journal as a money machine. It didn’t matter if Charles Goodrich had such information or not. Any refusal to cooperate could have been considered hostile, and it could have easily hastened his demise.

So far, searching the Goodrich brownstone a second time had turned up nothing new. Mary was in his office, rummaging around in his desk drawers, when the steamer trunk in front of the couch caught her eye. An image of it from her last visit drew her to the trunk. She lifted the lid. It was empty—as it had been before. This time she noticed something odd, though, and she chastised herself for not having detected it before. Searching the steamer, feeling around with her hands, Mary eventually found a small lever camouflaged by a luggage strap. When she turned it, the bottom popped up. Mary removed it, revealing a new bottom containing a lone book pressed against the right side of the trunk wall. She snatched it up and eagerly started leafing through it.

“Good work, Miss Handley. I never would have suspected the steamer trunk.” Mary looked up. The voice belonged to a bony man of medium height. He was smiling, and she immediately pegged it as false bravado. He wasn’t comfortable being there, and his clothes suggested that if he was a criminal, he wasn’t very successful at it. She didn’t think he would provide much trouble, but there was one complication. He was pointing a pistol at her.

“It makes perfect sense,” she coolly and calmly explained. “A man of Mr. Goodrich’s impeccable taste would never have a steamer trunk in his study, unless he had something of value hidden there.” Her eyes fell on an ashtray situated on the end of the desk. She slowly made her way toward it and closer to the bony man.

“Hand over the journal.

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