The Cutthroat (Isaac Bell 10)

knew the ins and outs of show business.

Finally, Bell beckoned her to join them.

Helen Mills had apprenticed under Isaac Bell and become his protégée. Mr. Van Dorn had ordered her on the Philadelphia posting to broaden her experience. She hadn’t seen Bell in months, and the first thing she noticed was a face so joyless, it looked hacked from granite. She exchanged a quick glance with Archie, who confirmed with a nod that Bell was deeply shaken by Anna Waterbury’s murder. She went straight to business.

“I found Lucy Balant.”

“A wire would have saved time.”

“Wires can be confusing. I thought this was too serious a case not to report in person.”

Isaac Bell raised an eyebrow and gave her a knowing look. Helen Mills possessed a strong drive to be in the heart of the action. Not a bad quality in a detective. At least when tempered with common sense. “Go on,” he said. “Report.”

She told Bell what she had learned and concluded, “It seems to me that it’s a question of how old that producer was. Too old to be strong enough to kill?”

“Young people,” said Bell, “see everyone as old. The middle-aged recognize middle age. And the old see everyone as young. Anna was only eighteen.”

“Young enough,” said Archie Abbott, “to believe a man who claims he can pull wires to get her a role.”

Bell said, “For all we know, he’s only thirty-five and limps because he got shot in the Spanish–American War or hit by a trolley.”

Archie said, “He picked the right show to lure the poor girl. Jekyll and Hyde is a sensation, packed with modern scenic effects. Barrett & Buchanan are going to clean up with that tour.”

“I saw it with my father,” said Helen. “Women were fainting in the aisles.”

“Who played Hyde? Barrett or Bu—”

Bell cut them off. “Helen! Before you go back to Philadelphia, go to the Almeida and ask did Anna Waterbury read for a part in Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“I stopped on my way here,” said Helen. “They’re rehearsing a new play. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde has already left for Boston— Do you want me to go to Boston?”

“No, I’ll wire the office.” Bell signaled an apprentice who rushed to his desk. Bell handed him a copy of Anna’s picture. “Run this over to Grand Central. Put it on the night mail to Boston. On the jump!” To Helen he said, “The Boston boys will have it in the morning—what’s the matter?”

Helen Mills said, “Talking to Lucy made me realize something. If the murderer wasn’t Anna’s boyfriend or didn’t even know her, what happens to the next girl he catches alone?”

7

“Would you tell me your name, miss?”

Most girls in the business made up a name. But Lillian Lent had decided that if she was giving away everything else for two dollars, why stop at her name, if acting friendly with a decent sport could lead to a buck or two tip. This sport, decked out in an old-fashioned cape and limping on a cane—and doffing his topper, no less—had nice manners. He even looked her straight in the face as if he remembered he was talking to a human being. He might disappoint her, but she bet he’d be charitable, so she raised her head—he towered over her—to look him back in his eyes, and answered with the biggest smile she could smile without showing her rotten teeth, “I am Lillian.”

“What a lovely name. It suits you.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.”

“What is your family name?”

“Lent—like the holiday—but I’m not religious.”

“Lillian Lent. Alliterative. Very pretty. It suits you. When did you come to Boston, Lillian Lent?”

“How do you know I’m not from Boston?”

“Your accent sounds like Maine.”

“Oh. I guess it does. I’ve been here a couple a three months. Maybe four.”

“Did you grow up on a farm?”