Four

The windowless room was cold, so cold that Vivian couldn't feel her toes. She wanted to draw her feet up and curl her body around itself like a cat. But if anyone came back, she refused to let them see her like that. She kept her spine straight, her gaze fixed on the opposite wall, her hands clasped in her lap.

They had at least let her wash those when they got to the station. Looking in the mirror above the sink, she had discovered that at some point she had touched her face, and Mr. Buchanan's blood was smeared across her cheek as well. She had stared at the blood for too long, remembering his smile when he handed her the cup of coffee—or was she imagining it? Had he smiled? It had all happened so fast, and why would she have paid attention? And then she had stared at herself, dark eyes with darker circles under them, bobbed hair that she wished were longer. Maybe then she'd seem sweet and respectable, instead of looking like someone who folks assumed made friends with other women's husbands to pay her bills.

It wouldn't have made a difference. People thought whatever they wanted about poor girls who had to support themselves. And they'd think plenty more, if they ever found out she had no parents, no family at all except for a sister who had recently married a Chinese man. If they ever found out she worked at a speakeasy, or danced with other women as much as she danced with men…

Vivian had barely noticed how cold the water was as she scrubbed the blood away.

None of that needed to matter, she told herself. Leo was on his way. All she had to do was stay quiet for as long as she could.

The two cops that had brought her in had handed her over to the sergeant at the station. He'd been the one to let her wash up before she was brought to the windowless room and seated across from another officer whose name and rank she never learned. He had played nice at first, but that soon changed.

He hadn't liked her silence. He'd liked her one-word answers even less.

Alone, now, Vivian wondered if she should have called her sister instead of Leo. If Leo couldn't get her out, Florence would have no idea where she had gone, maybe not for weeks. But her sister couldn't help her right now. Even together, it wasn't like they could afford a lawyer.

The sergeant had taken her purse and work bag when they brought her into the station. Little wonder about that—the sewing kit had scissors in it, and pins and needles, things they weren't going to leave in the hands of a girl who might be guilty of murder. But she hoped that, one way or another, she could get it back. Those things weren't cheap, and she didn't want to be on the hook for replacing them on top of everything else.

It was easier to worry about money and work than to think about what might be coming next. She'd be sent to jail if she was lucky. Maybe in three or five years they'd let her out, if they thought she hadn't meant to kill him. Or maybe she'd end up at one of the state's workhouses, if they looked at her and saw a poor girl in danger of an immoral life, someone they needed to save from herself or save other people from.

And if they thought she'd killed him on purpose…

Vivian swallowed down a wave of nausea. If that was the case, at least Florence would know where she was, because it would for certain end up in the papers.

In the middle of that grim thought, the door banged open.

Vivian jumped, then tried to look like she hadn't. But there was no disguising her nervousness as she eyed the man who had just walked in.

He didn't look like a cop. He was wearing a suit instead of a uniform, and the up-and-down look he gave her didn't have the brittle edge of suspicion that she expected.

"Get your coat, young lady, and follow me."

"Who are you?" She didn't stand up.

"Jacob Dubinski. I'm your lawyer."

"I don't have a lawyer."

"You do today. Get your coat. We're leaving."

Vivian wanted to bound to her feet, to push past him and make a break for the door. She stood slowly. "They're just letting me walk out? Did something happen? Did they find who killed Mr. Buchanan?"

"No, and no, and I very much doubt it." He chuckled. He was older than she had first thought; his dark hair had only a sprinkling of gray in it, but the veins stood out in the back of his hands, and his eyes and cheeks folded up in creases when he laughed. It wasn't quite a friendly sound, and the look he gave her couldn't be called friendly either—curious, calculating, as though she were an odd-looking insect being examined under a magnifying glass. But there was no cruelty in it. "Your explanation is waiting out in the lobby, if you'd care to get a move on? Unless you've grown to like it in here." He glanced around the dim room, so small it felt like the walls were slowly inching toward them, and chuckled again at his own joke.

Vivian didn't ask any more questions. There was only one person who could have sent a lawyer for her. Grabbing her coat, she hurried after Dubinski.

She had lost track of time alone in that windowless room. The sun had begun to set, a single red ray snaking through between the buildings and hitting one of the station's windows in just the right spot to blind her for a moment as she came into the front lobby. She blinked rapidly, and when her vision cleared, her knees nearly gave out with relief.

In that sterile, uniformed building, the dark-haired man waiting for her stood out like a wolf in an alley full of city strays, sharp and handsome and dangerous if you knew how to recognize his type. A red plaid scarf was draped around his neck and his coat hung open as if he'd been waiting for a while. He would have looked relaxed as he leaned one elbow against the sergeant's desk, chatting with the young man on duty like they were friends out for a drink. But he was spinning his hat on one finger, over and over, a sure sign that he was more keyed up than he wanted to let on.

He turned when he heard the click of her heels on the cold tile floor. His posture didn't change, but the relief in his eyes was plain, and his lips curved up in a smile.

"Hey there," he said, slowly standing up straight.

Vivian didn't move. She didn't know what he had told them, didn't know what was actually happening, and she didn't want to risk revealing something he had kept hidden. It was dangerous enough that she had called him in the first place. "Hello."

Leo turned back to the sergeant on duty. "We all square? She have any bags when they brought her in?"

The sergeant frowned. "I don't think I'm supposed to hand those back over to her. It's evidence, isn't it?"

"Of what?" Leo said, leaning his elbow back on the desk. "She's walking out of here, right?"

The sergeant shrugged. "Guess that's fine then. But I'm blaming you if anyone comes after me for it."

"You do that, my friend," Leo said with a smile. But for all he looked and sounded relaxed, the hat was still spinning on his finger.

Dubinski was holding Vivian's coat, and he helped her into it. She felt like she was in a dream, like she was floating inches above a fast current of water that would pull her back down at any second, as Leo buttoned up his own coat and perched his hat on his head.

"Thanks for your help," he said, nodding to the young officer as he accepted her purse and workbag. Turning to where Vivian and the lawyer waited—was he even a real lawyer, or just someone pulled in to play a part?—Leo gave them a friendly nod. "Shall we?"

Vivian walked out the door between them, still not knowing what had happened, sure that at any second, she would hear the shriek of a police whistle and be dragged back inside.

They walked in silence until they were ten blocks away. Vivian had no idea where they were taking her, but the last place she expected them to stop was in front of a little diner, the placard in the window advertising a three-course dinner plus coffee for twenty-five cents.

"What are we doing?" Vivian asked warily.

"When was the last time you ate today?" Leo replied.

"I… I don't think I did," Vivian admitted. The morning seemed so long ago that she couldn't remember if she had grabbed breakfast or not.

"I figured," Leo said. When he saw her shiver, he pulled the scarf off his own neck and draped it around hers, his hands gentle. "You need to eat on a day like this."

The concern in his eyes made her feel warmer than she had in hours. But it also made her wary. What he meant—what he wasn't saying—was that her trouble wasn't over. She had a reprieve. But she didn't know for how long. Vivian took a shaking breath and nodded.

Leo's hand crept around hers, their fingers locking together, and she wished he would do more than that, wished he would wrap his whole body around hers until she could feel safe again at last. But then he glanced over her shoulder, and she remembered that they weren't alone. "Plus, I promised Dubinski dinner. So let's see what's on the menu tonight."

Leo was right: dinner helped.

It didn't make her nerves go away. But they were a hell of a lot easier to handle when she didn't feel like she was about to keel over from hunger.

Leo barely touched more than the coffee. But Dubinski—who, she learned, was indeed a real lawyer, or had been before he retired—ate twice as much as either of them and looked like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "Not as good as dinner at home would have been," he said, giving them a stern look, though the lift of his eyebrows said he might have been teasing. "But good enough for now."

"We appreciate you coming, anyway," Leo said.

Vivian nodded as the waitress placed three slices of cake in front of them and began to clear the dinner plates. "So what did you actually do?" she asked when they were alone again. "What happens next?"

"Oh, the usual," Dubinski said, giving the cake a slightly wary look before trying a nibble. "Hmm. That's not too bad. Show up, throw some fancy legal terms around, give the sergeant on duty a bit of a scare. Helps to have someone like Leo here pulling a few strings behind the scenes. As for what happens next…" He raised his eyebrows at her. "I assumed you planned to disappear. A murder charge is a serious thing."

Vivian had just put a bite in her mouth, and she had to swallow quickly, making herself cough. Her eyes darted to Leo. "You mean the charge isn't gone?"

He shook his head. "You're not officially charged with anything. Not yet. But the case isn't going away."

The taste of the cake on her tongue suddenly felt sickly. Vivian dropped her fork with a clatter and pushed the plate away. "Then why'd they let me out?"

"We'll get to that," he said quietly.

Vivian stared at him, waiting for him to say more, then turned to the lawyer. "What d'you mean, disappear?"

"If they can't find you, they can't arrest you again, right?" Dubinski said, looking unconcerned as he dug into his own dessert. "I assume you gave them a fake name?" When Vivian shook her head, he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Well, why the hell not?"

She flinched. "I was there working. The housekeeper already knew who I was, and she told the cops. So they know who I am, they know who I work for, if they talk to my boss they can find out who my sister is…" She turned to Leo. "Plus, I called you. And you got me out, which I'm guessing means you had to drop your uncle's name. And he…" She shuddered. "He probably remembers me."

She'd had one run-in with Leo's uncle before—a cold, manipulative man who, along with the rest of his family, had cut off Leo's mother for marrying a Jewish man. She never wanted to be in his sights again. The commissioner was happy to take advantage of Leo's connections to the bootlegging world when he needed someone who could work off the books and outside the law. But there was nothing like love or even affection between them. There was barely even respect. And a man like the commissioner of police always had an agenda.

"I did," Leo said quietly. "And he does. And they're probably tailing us right now to see where I take you," he added with a grimace.

"Oh, they certainly are, no question about that," the lawyer said cheerfully, having finished his cake and moved on to Leo's slice. He paused only to take a long drink of coffee. Vivian could smell the whiskey in it, and she wondered when he had added it. She'd been too wrapped up in her own thoughts to notice a flask come out. "Bit of a pickle for you, my dear."

"You don't sound too broken up about it," Leo said dryly.

Dubinski shrugged, returning to his plate. "You asked me to show up and promised me dinner. No one said anything about getting all worked up."

Vivian found her voice again, and there was an edge to it that she didn't bother trying to hide. "And you don't care that someone who doesn't deserve it might go to jail for murder?"

Dubinski gave her a sideways glance. For a moment Vivian caught a glimpse of something under his veneer of unconcern, something hard and sad and tired. "I spent decades caring, young lady, losing sleep and cases and friends, and sometimes losing my mind. It wears you down. I'm not going to let myself be dragged back into it, not even for a pretty girl and the son of an old friend."

Vivian flinched and looked away.

Leo let out a heavy breath, then nodded. "All right. Don't look so scared, Viv. It's going to be hard, but it's not impossible."

"But it won't matter for long, right? Once they find out who really did it, I'll be in the clear," Vivian said hopefully.

"Not to burst your bubble, young lady," Dubinski said dryly. His mask was back in place as he took another drink of coffee. "But the odds of them doing that are nothing to bet on. Your best chance is to present them with some evidence that shows it couldn't have been you."

"What kind of evidence?" she asked in a small voice.

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't know. But either you come up with something, or you need to hire one hell of a lawyer. One who's not retired, by the way," he added. "I, meanwhile, need to catch my train, or my wife will be very cross."

"Okay." Vivian nodded. "Okay. Swell. Thanks for getting me out, anyway." She hesitated, then asked the dreaded question. "How much do I owe you?"

The lawyer chuckled. "Oh, your young man knows that's already taken care of." He tossed his napkin onto the table as he stood. "Leo, tell your father after next week's game, he will be the one who owes me." He nodded to them. "Good luck, kids. I'll be hoping for the best for you."

Leo waited until Dubinski was gone before answering Vivian's unspoken question. "He plays poker with my dad. And I got his brother out of a jam last month, when his supplier stiffed him on half an order, and he was afraid he wouldn't be able to open for the week."

"You do get around," Vivian said faintly, looking back down into her own coffee mug so she wouldn't have to meet his eyes. "I guess you had to cash in a lot of favors to get me out of there. I owe you big time."

"Hey." Leo slipped a finger under her chin and lifted it gently. His hand slid sideways, the other one rising, and he cupped both her cheeks. Vivian found herself leaning into the gentle touch. "Whether I did or not, there's no favors between us, Viv. You know that, right? We're always square." He grinned. "What kind of fella wouldn't help his girl beat a murder charge?"

"Ha," Vivian said weakly, not quite ready for that joke. She hadn't beaten it. Not yet.

But his hands were warm and strong, and his confidence was catching. She found herself nodding. "Okay, then. First thing is to get home, because I have work tonight, and I can't afford to miss a shift."

"Hey, and that's a good starting place," Leo pointed out, standing and pulling out her chair for her. "Plenty of gossip at the Nightingale. Find the right person and they might know a thing or two about the Buchanans."

He wasn't wrong. Places like the Nightingale attracted all types, including the ones that lived on the Upper East Side. Normally, folks like that wouldn't give the time of day to a girl who wore catalog shoes and considered the Automat a pricey meal, never mind answer a question or spill a secret. But the rules were different when you wandered into back-alley dance halls.

Plenty of times, Vivian had found out secrets she didn't want to know and wished she hadn't learned. This time, hopefully, she'd find the ones she needed.

"Okay, then," she said again, taking a deep breath, gathering her confidence around her like a shield. She had no idea how, but she would find something. She knew people, she had friends who knew people, and she'd always managed to land on her feet before. She would this time too. "Let's get ready to go to work."