The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fiction

Bequeathing the crime scene at the Union Square Bank to the precinct police sergeant and the medical examiner, Dutch and Bo walked the few short blocks to No. 5 Gramercy Park West, and declared themselves with the large brass knocker on the front door.

Wong peered out the small side window. If it was those two men who brought Miss Esther home, he would send them away. But it was Dutch Tonneman and Bo Clancy who stood on the steps, and Wong opened the door before Dutch could knock a second time.

“Miss Esther is resting in the parlour,” Wong said. “She wrenched her knee, and I’ve made her a cold compress.”

“Esther!” Dutch rushed into the parlour.

Esther was sitting on a chaise holding her Kodak camera. The parlour was warm as toast thanks to the blazing fire, and the spicy smell of pine cones filled the air.

Esther looked up, not really surprised. It was logical that the police commissioner would call up his special squad to investigate the bank robbery, as the robbers were Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. And it was probable that someone had mentioned a girl with a camera.

Bo overrode his partner. “Esther. We’d like to talk to you about the bank robbery.” He glanced at Dutch, who was already holding his beloved’s hand. “That is, if you two love-birds can put your minds to something important.”

“Sit down, please, both of you,” Esther said. “I’m all right.”

“You’ve been hurt,” Dutch said.

“It’s nothing. A sprain. Wong has me in an ice bandage.”

Bo removed his derby, as did Dutch. Wong placed the hats on the tall stand in the front hall.

“Tea, Miss Esther?”

“Yes, thank you, Wong. And please bring me that parcel we prepared.”

Before they sat, Bo said, “It has to do with the small matter of the Union Square bank robbery, which we think you may have witnessed.”

“Yes. I was there.”

“It’s a pity,” Bo said, “that you didn’t wait a few more minutes until the investigating team arrived.”

“I don’t understand. If I did do anything wrong, I do apologize. But, what was it I did wrong?”

“Damn it, Esther — ”

“John, please.”

“Sorry, but this is serious. Three people are dead. We understand that you were seen in the company of two men who might have some connection with the robbery.”

“Your understanding is wrong.” Esther squared her shoulders and held her head high. “I did speak to two men. They were very kind to me when I was knocked down by one of the robbers, and they were in my sight when the two robbers ran off. They were proper gentlemen and saw me home. They went out of their way to help me, as they had planned to be on the road to Inwood.”

“The man who knocked you down?” Bo said.

“His friend called him Sundance,” Esther said. “And he called his friend Butch. I may have some photographs, but I won’t know until they’re developed. And, oh, I have something you might find of interest.”

When Wong brought the tea, he also brought a brown-paper-wrapped parcel.

Esther handed it to Dutch. “Sundance dropped this when he fell on me.”

Dutch unwrapped the parcel and whistled. A Colt revolver. He spun the cylinder and removed the bullets.

Bo said, “Esther, you got a good look at them. You think you and Sergeant Lowry — he’s a good sketcher — can come up with what the two mutts look like? It’ll get on the front page of every newspaper in the city. It’s a good bet, even in the country.”

9

Inwood Hill Park was desolate in winter. Evenings were formidable. Snow shrouded steep hills, and rocky battlements and sharp ridges jutted like monsters in brittle moonlight. When the prevalent winter winds weren’t howling, a good listener could hear the crunch and rustle of wild animals prowling through the fallen twigs and branches.

Only in the summer was the desolation mitigated. The park became dense with vegetation, thick with a forest of tulip trees, hickory and oak, the air filled with bird song and the buzz of bees.

Because of the country atmosphere and the cool breezes in this northernmost corner of Manhattan, summer brought the owners of assorted mansions — boarded up in winter — to Inwood, and it was for the wealthy that, near where the Harlem and Hudson Rivers meet, the New York Central Railroad created the Dyckman Street stop.

The influx of the wealthy, and the rocky nature of the land, did not discourage the active fruit and vegetable and dairy farms in Inwood. These thrived in the summer when the slopes of the year-round farms became green, and corn stalks could reach the height of the abundance of fruit trees. Milk cows lowed, joined by the occasional na-na-na of goats.

It was to one of these farms that Robbie and Harry directed Jack West. “De Grout,” Harry said.