In the spring of 1935, Eunice Hunton Carter found herself with an assignment that, well, was considered lesser compared to her male peers at the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office.
Carter, who made history as New York’s first black female prosecutor, was placed in the women’s courtroom—a section dedicated to prostitution cases. Almost alone, she sifted through the case files, preparing indictments against the women constantly arrested by the city’s vice squad.
What she stumbled upon, though, would ultimately unravel one of the most significant organized crime cases in U.S. history. Unfortunately, her contributions were mostly overlooked in the trial, as well as in historical accounts.
A new historical fiction novel, “A Pair of Aces” (Berkeley), by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray, seeks to shine a light on Carter’s overlooked role.
This groundbreaking prosecutor discovered a troubling trend: numerous women jailed for prostitution kept appearing, all represented by the same lawyers and bail bondsmen. It seemed ignored by white men, who deemed the issue insignificant, but this detail pointed to Charles “Lucky” Luciano, the most formidable gangster in New York.
Luciano had cleverly sidestepped serious legal trouble for years by steering clear of high-profile crimes. However, Carter connected the dots, recognizing that the lawyers and bail bondsmen were tied to him. What seemed like uncoordinated street-level offenses unveiled a grand, organized scheme that had Luciano at its helm.
She brought her insights to Special Counsel Thomas Dewey, who was skeptical. Still, she persisted. Then, on the evening of February 1, 1936, police conducted a massive raid across five boroughs, apprehending over 100 sex workers and madams in one fell swoop. The subsequent trial concluded with Luciano being imprisoned for 61 counts of forced prostitution, marking the beginning of Dewey’s political ascent.
Dewey earned accolades, while Carter remained a mere footnote.
“We were surprised to discover she was part of Dewey’s team aimed at dismantling the mob,” Benedict shared. “When we found out that her idea to link mob activity to prostitution led to Luciano’s downfall, we realized her story had to be told.”
Murray, who penned Carter’s chapter, reflected: “We imagined Eunice poring over files for hours—first searching for basic facts, then uncovering coincidences, and eventually recognizing a system at play.”
The authors paired Carter’s narrative with that of Polly Adler, another woman often overlooked by history. Adler was the city’s most infamous madam of her time, serving a clientele that included notables like Luciano and Dutch Schultz, as well as writers like Dorothy Parker.
The novel kicks off with Adler navigating a room, unaware that Schulz was present, all while being surrounded by a slew of Tommy guns meant to protect her and her daughters.
Adler’s life story is equally intriguing. She was a Russian-Jewish immigrant who arrived in New York at age 12 without speaking English or having any money. In 1920, she opened her first brothel, coinciding with Prohibition’s start, but had aimed for a short-term solution until she could find a legitimate path. That goal never came to pass.
“She survived by any means necessary,” Benedict noted. While immersed in a problematic world, “she managed to exert some control, albeit in a unique way, driven by a sense of justice.”
Luciano faced a 30 to 50-year sentence, but Dewey later commuted it after a decade, acknowledging Luciano’s wartime cooperation with naval intelligence, and deported him to Italy. Dewey would later become New York’s governor for three terms and even sought the presidency twice. Meanwhile, Adler retired to Burbank, penned a memoir titled “Home Is Not Home,” and passed away in 1962.
As for Carter, she was excluded from the trial she had helped make happen, spent another decade in relative anonymity, and passed away in 1970 without receiving any public acknowledgment for her significant contributions.
Murray admitted that the authors fabricated the relationship between Adler and Carter; there’s no proof they ever met. “What we do know is that Eunice crafted a robust case against Luciano, which likely required some insider cooperation,” she remarked.
Adler consistently claimed that she never aided law enforcement. Murray interprets this denial as telling in itself.
“She wanted to survive, didn’t she? Eunice also never wanted to disclose her sources. That’s the charm of historical fiction.”
