Death of a Robber Baron Read Online Free PDF Page B

manslaughter and gave his parental rights to me.”
    â€œI mean no offense,” said Prescott, “but why should you, rather than someone else, take charge of Brenda? She could have gone into an orphanage.”
    â€œThat’s what my husband thought. As Monica lay dying, she asked me to raise the girl—a reasonable request. I had known Brenda almost from her infancy and loved her. At the time, I also had sufficient financial resources. No one else was as suited for the task. Monica believed orphanages were loveless places and wrong for Brenda. In the end, my husband and the court agreed.”
    Prescott had listened intently to Pamela’s account. Now he remarked, “The fate of the Reilly family is sad and all too common, especially in the poorest neighborhoods. Brenda is fortunate to be under your wing. Still, Dennis Reilly now wants his parental rights restored.”
    â€œSurely the court wouldn’t change its mind. Reilly may be free from prison, but his character hasn’t changed.”
    â€œTrue, but he may have won a powerful patron in the New York Police Department. I checked earlier. He had a ten-year sentence. His early release intrigues me. I suspect that the police intend to make him work for them.”
    â€œThen he’s a serious threat to me—and to Brenda. What should be done?”
    Prescott’s brow knotted with concern. “You and Brenda must move to a safer neighborhood. My secretary will help you find a suitable apartment. I’ll immediately look into Reilly’s situation.”
    â€œThank you. I’m greatly relieved.”
    Then he said, “I wasn’t expecting you so soon, Pamela. May I ask if you’ve come to a decision yet?” His expression was businesslike. He would not patronize her.
    She nervously smoothed her gown, breathed deeply, and nodded. “Since we last met, I’ve been mulling over your offer. First, I have a trivial question. Would I be the first female private detective in this country? I can’t recall ever hearing of one before.”
    â€œYou would not be the first. A few months ago while visiting the Pinkertons’ head office in Chicago, I learned about one of their operatives, the late Mrs. Kate Warne, a young widow like you. The agency’s founder, Allan Pinkerton, hired her personally and held her in high regard. He even engaged her in thwarting a plot to assassinate President Lincoln. That led me to think that a female operative might have investigative skills peculiar to her gender, like keener powers of observation and greater attention to detail. I’ve seen those qualities in you. Hence, my offer.”
    Embarrassed, she hesitated before continuing. “You said earlier that I should ‘blend in’ among the shoppers in Macy’s jewelry department. Look at me. I would stand out like a scarecrow.” She gestured to the patches on her gown, the scuff marks on her shoes.
    He waved a dismissive hand. “My agency equips its operatives for their tasks and charges the client. Buy what you need at Macy’s. One of my clerks will authorize your purchases. Tell me when you are ready, and we’ll begin your training.”
    With her heart pounding she said, “Then I accept.”
    â€œCome into my private office, and we’ll go over the details.”
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    He sat down at a cluttered desk, opened a file box, and fingered through documents. Meanwhile, Pamela surveyed the room. On one of the dark oak-paneled walls were shelves bending under the weight of thick legal books. File cabinets and cases of maps stood against another wall. A telephone hung on the wall behind his desk. Finally, a locked cabinet caught her eye.
    Prescott noticed her curiosity. “Firearms and other lethal weapons,” he remarked dryly, then pulled a document from a file box and read it to her. The brief contract specified her wages—fifty dollars per month—and her