“Stacy, stop!” her mother yelled, as Stacy swirled through the dining room, her book bag giving her momentum as she spun towards the side door. Tomorrow’s the C.Y.O. dance, she thought, and Paul will be there! she thought, recalling the conversation she’d overheard on the playground during recess the previous day.
“Your shoes!” her mother said. “Don’t forget to pick up your good shoes from Mr. Schuster’s on the way home from school! You can wear them to the dance Friday if they’re ready.”
“I will!” Stacy shouted back as she traipsed down the steps to the driveway. She spotted her mom in the window, giving baby Georgie a bottle and smiling down at her. She looked up the street and saw Carol and Sue waiting for her at the corner. She rushed to catch up with them and the three walked together towards school, all dressed identically: green v-neck jumper with the school’s insignia in gold on the left, white blouse with Peter Pan collar and saddle shoes. The difference was their hair. Carol had poker straight blonde hair that she rolled in a coffee can nightly to stay that way. Sue had irrepressible black curls hanging down her back and Stacy, her long brown hair in a braided pig tail she liked to swing at her brothers when they harassed her.
The dance was the topic of conversation enroute to school. They chattered over each other about who would be there, what they were going to wear and what the music would be. In school, Sister Agnes had to tell Stacy twice to calm down, for her incessant foot tapping was disturbing the class. The three picked up the conversation where they had left off on their way home. Sue talked the most and Stacy was looking at her feet listening when she realized they had passed Mr. Schuster’s shoe repair shop.
“Oh my God!” Stacy said, “I almost forgot my shoes at Mr. Schuster’s. You guys go ahead, I’ve got to get them!” Stacy ran back to the shop and rushed inside, the bell tinkling over the door. Bald Mr. Schuster looked up, held up a finger for patience, then went back to the machine where he was stitching new soles on a pair of work shoes. Stacy stepped across the room to look at the new shoes for sale arranged on a cloth covered table and the ads on the wall beyond for the latest style shoes while the belts and pulleys to the machinery whirred and the smell of leather permeated the room.
When he finished, she handed him the ticket and he went to the back of the shop where pairs of shoes were arranged in wooden pigeon holes on both sides of a ring curtained opening to the back room.
“Here we are young lady. Some beautiful black shoes for you. I polished them up like glass special,” he said, smiling. She looked them over and they were dazzling, just the way she wanted them. “Hold on, let me put them in a bag for you,” he said, reaching below the counter.
As she pulled out the dollar thirty-five to pay him, a sound of breaking glass and crunching wood came from the back room. Mr. Schuster looked towards the back room and they heard a wobbling noise and then a bang as a door crashed against a wall.
“What the hell? You…,” he said as he parted the curtains to the back room.
BLAM! A shot went off, knocking Schuster back and slicing through the top of his head. Blood flew off him as he tried to grab onto the counter. Stacy shivered and gasped. She couldn’t get a scream out as Schuster hit the floor. Steps approached from the back room and she dove under the covered table, hiding underneath the cloth that reached almost to the floor. She grabbed her knees and closed her eyes. Please God, please God, was all she could think.
She heard the curtain rings clatter as someone yanked the curtains to the back room all the way open. The approaching feet made a crunching sound on the wooden floor. She heard wheezing just inches from where she sat, opened one eye and saw two brown loafered feet under the tablecloth.
BLAM! A second shot exploded. The loafers moved away. The cash register rung open and she heard dollars being pulled from under the clips and change being scooped out of the drawer. The feet spun, hesitated, spun back another way, then stomped back towards the back room, rattling the curtain rings, coughing as he went out the back. Stacy rocked back and forth under the table.
After a minute the bell to the front door tinkled and someone entered. A female voice screamed and a grocery bag fell to the floor, glass breaking and cans scattering. Shortly after that, sirens howled and two sets of heavy feet stomped through the front door.
“Buffalo Police!” a man’s voice shouted.
“Oh Christ, it’s old man Schuster,” another voice said. Someone rushed to the back room.
“Clear back here Sully,” the second voice said. “Back door’s been forced.”
The first policeman stopped. “Listen,” he said. “I hear crying.” They both bent down and pulled back the tablecloth.
The store swarmed with policemen, an ambulance crew and people taking pictures. Others spread black powder with brushes on the register, the back door, the counter. Stacy sat in a chair and stared at her shoes on the counter, now splattered with Mr. Schuster’s blood.
A man in a tan sportscoat and a blonde crewcut came in the shop and all the policemen got quiet and waited for him to say something. The man looked around, spoke briefly to the two policemen who had arrived first and then looked at Stacy, sobbing quietly in the chair. The policemen went back to work and he came and knelt in front of the weeping girl.
“You’re Stacy, the girl who was here when this happened?” he said, handing her an ironed handkerchief from his back pocket.
She nodded and wiped her eyes.
“I’m Lieutenant Dunleavy, Stacy, and I’d like to talk to you about what you remember. Do you think you can do that now?”
She stared at the floor.
“The photographers got their pictures, Chief. Ok to take the body out now?” one of the coroner’s men said.
“Yes, go ahead,” Dunleavy said, looking at Stacy, whose gaze was now transfixed on the bloody sheet covered body as it was loaded onto the gurney.
“Rico,” Dunleavy said, addressing a curly haired detective. “Take charge in here and let me know what you turn up. The rest of the squad is out there looking for suspects. I’m going to take Stacy here,” he said, looking out at the nearby stores on the street, “over to the candy store across the street. When her parents get here, send them over.”
“Got it, Chief.”
Gently taking her by the arm, Dunleavy led her across the street. In the doorway to the candy store, a woman in a striped apron said, “What happened over there?”
Dunleavy cut her off, and commanded, “We’ll take that booth in the corner. When her parents get here, send them over.”
Once seated on the leather divan in the curved booth, he spoke quietly to her while the woman in the apron hovered nearby. “Would you like some pop, Stacy? Maybe a glass of water?”
Stacy coughed, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Get her a glass of water,” he told the waitress.
When the water came, he waited for her to take a sip and gestured the waitress away with his head.
“That was terrible, what happened to Mr. Schuster. I’m glad you could hide under the table, Stacy, that was quick thinking.”
Stacy shivered. Dunleavy paused a few seconds.
“Stacy, can you tell me what happened?”
“I…I was getting my shoes for the dance,” she said, thinking of the glossy shoes, now stained with blood.
He nodded.
“Mr. Schuster was getting a bag to put them in when there was this noise from the back.”
“What kind of noise, Stacy?”
“A crunching sound, like something breaking.”
“Uh huh, go on.”
“Mr. Schuster went to open the curtains and then…he flew backwards. There was blood…” She covered her face with her hands.
“That was when you hid under the table? Did you see the man who was in the back room?”
Stacy looked up. “No, I never saw him. Just his shoes. There was another loud bang…”
“What were his shoes like, Stacy?”
“I dunno, brown, I guess.”
“Did you hear anything, Stacy? Did the man speak at all?”
She shook her head.
“Did you smell anything. Was the man stinky? Wear some kind of after shave like men do?”
She looked up. “I smelled smoke. And the leather smell from the shop.”
“Ok, that’s good Stacy. Can you tell me…” he began when the door of the candy shop crashed open and Stacy’s parents rushed in, escorted by the detective called Rico.
“Stacy!” her mother shouted. Kneeling, she put her arms around the girl. Her dad put his arms around both of them and looked at Dunleavy, who stood up.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, Stacy’s ok. She’s shook up after this terrible experience, but she’s not hurt.”
“We’re going home now, officer,” the dad said. “We want her home.”
As the parents led Stacy to the door, Rico whispered to Dunleavy, “They picked up six possibles, Chief, but no sign of the gun. She see anything?”
Dunleavy shook his head. “Just his shoes. Any of the suspects have brown shoes?”
“I’ll check.”
Dunleavy sighed. “Take them downtown, Rico. Keep them separated and interrogate them. See if there’s any corroboration to their stories… and make note of their shoes. It’s about all we’ve got unless the canvass in the neighborhood comes up with any eyewitnesses.”
“Right boss.”
Dunleavy observed the Evidence Collection crew and photographer finish up and spoke to the policemen checking for witnesses. “We picked up the ones people saw around the store Chief, but we couldn’t find anyone who saw someone go in or out of the shop,” an older detective said.
Dunleavy went downtown to police headquarters and met Rico outside the interview rooms.
“Get anything yet?” he asked the senior detective.
“Not much,” he said, looking through his stenographer’s notebook. “None had a weapon on them. Checked all of them for gunshot residue, nothing. Two of them are college kids, one was in a barber shop when it happened, the other selling his books in a used book store. Of the other four, one’s a worker at the Cantalician Center, he was walking one of those handicapped kids home from there who’d got sick. The second one, his name’s Slavin, says he was in the pool hall just up the street of the shoe repair shop – he had a bunch of money, crumpled up small bills and coins on him when we had him empty his pockets – we’re checking to see if they saw him in there. Another one’s about half in the bag. His name’s Trimble, said he’d been drinking up at Bitterman’s because his wife locked him out and is cleaning his clock in a divorce – and he had a bunch of small bills and change on him, says it was what he had left from the saloon. The last guy’s a bartender downtown named Spearman, also carrying a mixed bunch of cash, said he was taking his tips to the bank when we stopped him.”
“Carrying his tips, huh? Lots of change and small bills?”
“Yeah, mostly change and just one bill.”
“Nothing but one bill and a lot of change?” Dunleavy said, thinking of nights he spent tending bar years before hustling beers for small change.
“Yeah. One two-dollar bill, and eight thirty-two in change for a total of ten thirty-two, Lieutenant.”
“Almost all change. Huh. How many of them have brown shoes?”
Rico flipped through the notebook. “Three of them. Spearman, Trimble and Slavin.”
“Ok. Check those three’s stories, find out if they have a record and get details on their shoes. Who’d you send to notify the widow?”
“Ostrander.”
“All right. When we find out if their stories check or not, we might be able to narrow it down. When the interviews are finished, find out what Ostrander found out from the widow about Mr. Schuster. We’ll look over what we got, then we’ll bring anyone likely back for a second interview. We haven’t got much. It may all depend on the interviews, so pay attention,” he said, clapping the younger man on the shoulder.
Rico flipped his notebook closed and nodded.
***
Stacy stayed home all weekend. When she would wake up screaming at night, both parents rushed to her room and wrapped their arms around the frightened girl.
“It’s ok, Stacy, it’s ok now. You’re home with mom and dad.”
“I dreamt a ghost shot Mr. Schuster!” she would cry. “He coughed but I couldn’t see him!”
When she went back to school, she stuck close to Carol and Sue. Sister Agnes had warned the kids not to ask her about the shooting. Paul was one of the first kids to approach her on the playground during recess.
“Hi Stacy,” he said, hands in his pockets and staring at the ground.
“Hi,” she answered, also looking down.
“You ok?”
“I guess.”
“It’s too bad you had to miss the dance,” he said, twisting his toes on the pavement. “I was hoping…”
Hearing the grinding sound, she looked at his shoes and screamed, “Penny loafers!”
Paul jumped back. “What!? I didn’t say nothing bad!”
Dunleavy looked at the report from Rico and checked the calendar. About a week now, the parents have calmed down, sent her back to school. Time to talk to the girl. He called her parents that evening and both of them were on the line, one on the wall phone in the kitchen, the other on the extension in the basement.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harrington, this is Lt. Dunleavy from the Police Department. I know that Stacy was upset about the awful thing that happened in the shoe shop, but I was hoping I could talk to her, just ask her a few questions about what she may have heard there.”
“Have you caught the man who did it?”
“Is she in any danger?”
“No, she’s certainly not in any danger, the man who did it never saw her. We’ve got a few leads on who did it. I just want to see if she saw or heard anything that might help us. I could come to your house and you’ll be there when I talk to her.”
“Well…I’m not sure. What do you think Tom?”
“I guess it would be ok, as long as we’re there when you talk to her.”
“Certainly, I want you to be there,” Dunleavy said in a quiet voice.
The following evening, Dunleavy sat in an overstuffed chair, elbows on his knees and hands folded in front. The parents bracketed Stacy on the couch.
“Stacy,” Dunleavy said, “I know it was scary, and you were smart to hide under the table. It kept you safe. Now back when I spoke to you in the candy shop, you told me that the robber had brown shoes. Can you remember anything else about them?”
Stacy closed her eyes and exhaled. “They were brown, like I said. Penny loafers. And they made a crunching sound when he walked.”
“Like maybe he had broken glass on the bottom of them?”
“Yes, like that.”
“Ok, Stacy, now think hard. Did you hear anything the robber said? Or anything Mr. Schuster said to him?”
“No, he never said anything. Mr. Schuster shouted something, I don’t remember exactly what. ‘You’ something, I think. He was wheezing and coughed. I remember that.”
“Who wheezed and coughed, Stacy?”
“The robber.”
“That’s fine, Stacy. You’ve been very helpful.”
So, Schuster knew the guy…
***
Dunleavy looked at the file and reread Ostrander’s interview with the victim’s wife. Schuster knew everybody in the neighborhood. These suspects are all local guys. Mrs. Schuster doesn’t know what she’ll do now with no money coming in. Hmm, our Mr. Schuster was a card player, lost a lot, too. Good job, Ostrander, you got the names of some other players, too. The report in hand, Dunleavy spoke to Rico in the fourth floor hallway. “All of them been kept downstairs for a while?” he said.
“Been stewing down on the first floor for twenty five minutes, boss.”
“Good. We haven’t got much. The interviews are going to have to do it, Rico.” Dunleavy walked down the hall and shut off the elevator. When he returned, he told Rico, “Send up Slavin, the guy from the pool hall, first. Put him in Interview Room 1.”
Entering the interview room after the suspect, Dunleavy looked Slavin right in the eye and sat down, putting a pack of cigarettes on the table which Slavin ignored. Opening the report file, he cleared his throat and said, “Nate Slavin, you had a number of small bills and a lot of change on you when we picked you up. Was that what you got from Schuster’s register?”
“No, no you got it all wrong…”
Dunleavy looked at the report. Nate Slavin, gambler. Pennyante pool hustler. Arrested for gambling three times.
“… that money…it was from shooting pool, Lieutenant. I swear!”
The report also said his presence was confirmed by three witnesses in the pool hall, including the manager. No glass stuck in his shoes, either.
“All right, get the hell out of here. And if I hear about you hustling anyone…”
Dunleavy left the room with the cigarettes and smiled. Rico smiled back as Slavin fled red faced. “Send up Trimble next.”
Trimble found himself looking away from Dunleavy’s intense blue eyed stare. He reached for a cigarette from the pack Dunleavy tossed on the table and coughed while Dunleavy looked at the file. His hands shook lighting up. He was taking a big drag when Dunleavy said in a loud voice, “You had glass in the bottom of your loafers when we picked you up, Trimble. You clodhopper, you got that busting the glass in the door when you broke into Schuster’s shop.”
Trimble coughed again. “No, I was never there. I told you I was in Bitterman’s, drinking…”
“Half the stick up men we catch have been drinking. Have to get some Dutch courage to pull it off, Trimble?”
“No, like I said, I’m going through a divorce…”
“…And she’s taking you to the cleaners. You’re desperate for cash, and, all drunked up, you figure it makes sense to knock over Schuster’s shop. He recognizes you, you panic and shoot him. So how’d the glass get in your shoes?”
“I didn’t…She’d locked me out. I was thinking about breaking in. It’s my house too. But I…I chickened out after I busted the glass… I was headed back to the bar when your men stopped me.”
“A real four flusher, eh?”
“Wha? What’s that?”
“Stay here,” Dunleavy said as he stood up to leave. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Outside, he told Rico, “Listen in for a while. Let me know if he coughs more, wheezes.”
“Sure Chief.”
The bartender came out of the stairwell out of breath. Rico led him into Interview Room 2 and sat him with his back to the door, so he couldn’t see out the small wired window to the hall. Dunleavy entered, leaving the door open a crack so Rico could listen in. He again tossed a pack of cigarettes on the table. Spearman cleared his throat and coughed. “No thanks, I quit,” he coughed out. “Doctor’s orders.”
Spearman placed his hands flat on the table and stared at a point on the wall over Dunleavy’s shoulder.
“So, Spearman, that cash, the two-dollar bill and all that change you were carrying when we pulled you in. Where’d it come from?”
“Tip money, Lieutenant,” he said, shifting his butt on the chair. “I told you. I tend bar downtown, work nights. I was taking it to the bank, you can ask them over at the Marine Midland. I do it a couple of times a week.”
“That’s right. Ever get any big tippers?”
“Ahh, the occasional winner at the track, that’s about it.”
That explains the two-dollar bill, he thought’
“Your shoes. The penny loafers. They had glass in the soles. Why?”
“Jeeze, Lieutenant, I leave the place I work at out the back, through the alley,” He wheezed, cleared his throat and nodded. “There’s always broken glass out there. Winos are forever busting bottles there.”
“You good at cards, Spearman? Ever get a Royal Flush?”
“Huh? A Royal Flush? Never,” he coughed out. “I win with whatever I’m dealt. I can bluff ‘em with a pair, even nothing,” He coughed again.
“Uh huh. It looks like you busted today, card shark.” Dunleavy said, looking up at Stacy’s face in the window. The girl had hid her face behind her hands as Spearman hacked again. Rico nodded to Dunleavy as he led her away back to her parents.
“I had you pegged from day one, Spearman. You know, I tended bar before I got on the force. All that change you were carrying made me think. One thing every bartender does is cash in their change and small bills at the end of their shift, but you don’t?”
Spearman started hacking. From behind the fist that covered his mouth he said, “What the…”
You’re not the best bluffer in this game, Spearman.
“We also got a witness, Spearman. That cough of yours, the wheezing? One of a kind. It gets worse when you’re scared…”
“No, I got emphysema…”
“The shoes, Spearman. Penny loafers, just like the killer – with plate glass in them, shards, like from a window, not from busted bottles in an alley.”
Spearman clenched his fists and stared down at the table. Dunleavy leaned back and crossed his arms. Outside, Rico shook his head.
No coughing fit, no wheezing for Trimble.
“Now, when my men get back, we’ll have the gun from where you ditched it.”
Outside, Rico’s eyes went wide, We haven’t found the gun yet!
Spearman’s eyes went wide. “How’d you…”
“…and the other card players, Spearman. We’re getting statements. Schuster owed you big…”
Rico’s jaw dropped, They never said that!
“Those sons-a-bitches!” he said, slamming his fists on the table. “I told them to shut up, I’d get all our money. That bastard Schuster, he never made good on the markers. He thought he was tough when he saw me come through the back. ‘You!’ he said. He wasn’t so brave when I pointed the gun at him…”
“And shot him. Had to make sure with two?”
“Yeah, I shot him twice. I shoulda shot the welshing bum with all six.”
After they had booked Spearman, Dunleavy went to the Homicide Office where Rico was regaling the other detectives about how their Chief had gotten the confession.
Dunleavy held up his index finger. “We didn’t have much. The girl saw the killer’s shoes, heard the broken glass, the killer’s cough…and the bartender’s change, that’s what tipped me. The rest was all how you talk to people. Pieces of the truth were in each of them. The story was inside, locked up. You use just the right key for each one, listen and the truth comes together.”
[Image Credit : Photo by Mandy Henry on Unsplash]
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My family and I currently live in Baltimore, MD. and my website is www.markhannonbooks.wordpress.com/.
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- Stacy’s Shoes - October 30, 2026
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