Felicity Carrol and the Murderous Menace

by Patricia Marcantonio

  “You held a knife to her face. Now tell me everything you can about these dead women,” Pike said.

  “A dead whore is a pure waste, that’s all I can say.” Ransom burped.

  “You murder them?” the sheriff asked.

  Ransom sneered. The eggs he had eaten plastered his teeth. “I love women. I’m a businessman and not a killer.”

  “If you want to save your hides, tell me the truth. Where were you Thursday between eleven at night and three in the morning?”

  Ransom scratched his head. “Let me recall. Oh yeah, me and Jenksy played poker at the Longbow Gambling House over on Slag Street. Right, Ben?”

  “Yeah,” the man muttered.

  “For how long?” Pike said.

  “Till ’bout two thirty in the morning; then we walked back to our boarding house on Vein Boulevard.”

  “We lost a lot of money,” Jenkins volunteered.

  “Who’d you play poker with?”

  “Don’t recollect, Sheriff. But the owner served us drinks all night. He’ll vouch for us. We tipped him pretty good. Right, Jenksy boy?”

  “Right,” his accomplice grunted.

  “You still had time to kill Mattie Morgan. Her body wasn’t discovered until five in the morning. Anyone see you at the boarding house when you returned for the night?”

  Taking a cigarette from his pocket, Ransom lit up. “Sheriff, sorry to say, no one.”

  Finally, Jenkins lifted his head. “The manager of the boarding house was cleaning the floors. We went to our rooms and slept. She’ll tell you we didn’t kill none of them hussies.”

  “If you didn’t, then who did?” Pike said.

  Ransom and Jenkins cocked their heads at each other. Jenkins shrugged and scratched his slim belly.

  “My partner and I thought up some ideas, what you might call conjectures,” Ransom said. “Those girls of the line were done in by a doctor or butcher who went plumb crazy.”

  Jenkins nodded his head in agreement.

  “Why do you say that?” Felicity asked, and Pike tossed her a harsh stare.

  Ransom chewed his food slowly. “I’ll tell you, Miss. Whoever sliced up those women knew what lay inside a body. All me and Ben can tell you is where to insert our man parts.”

  Jenkins lifted his head to snicker along with Ransom and then continued eating. Felicity noticed that Pike delivered the men a powerful stare for using such language in her presence. How quaint. She had seen the bodies of murder victims, so not much else would disturb her, least of all foul language from this pair.

  “Seriously, Sheriff, the jackass cutting up those chippies is reducing our profits and scaring off potential business partners. If I knew the identity of the bastard, I’d cut his throat,” Ransom said.

  “Then you admit to being members of the Midline Gang.”

  “The what gang?”

  “Now you’re being funny,” Pike said.

  “Hey, what about our case? When do we get out of here?” Ransom asked.

  “The judge hears the evidence next week. You might get one year in prison if you’re lucky and the judge is in a good mood. But then you’re going to Helena. Word got out you’re my guests, and Helena law wants you for malfeasance in that town. If your stories don’t check out, it’s the noose for killing the women in Placer.”

  Ransom grinned. “They will. Can I have seconds?”

  Without asking this time, Felicity followed Pike in her wagon to the gambling palace, where the barman confirmed Ransom’s story about what time the men had left. At their boarding house, the hefty manager said Ransom and Jenkins had returned at three thirty in the morning, drunk and making so much noise she had told them to hush.

  “See any blood on their clothing?” Felicity asked before Pike got out the question.

  “No blood.”

  “Sure they didn’t leave after you saw them?” The sheriff wedged in the query before Felicity could open her mouth.

  The manager yawned and shook her head. “I worked until six and didn’t see them go out again.”

  Pike mumbled a curse and asked to see their room.

  Not waiting for him to ask, Felicity helped search, looking first in the small chest of drawers.

  On the bed, Pike placed a rifle and three more handguns as well as ammunition he had found under their mattress.

  “No long thin knife.” But then, she hadn’t believed they would find one.

  She and Pike also timed the ride from the gambling house to the blacksmith shop and to the boarding house two miles away.

  “No way the men could have killed Mattie Morgan, mutilated her, cleaned up afterwards in the trough, and gotten back to their boarding house in time to be seen by the boarding house manager,” he said to Felicity.

  “I know,” she said. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  They returned to the courthouse. She noticed that the sheriff’s face tightened, probably from the disappointment of finding no evidence to link the two men to the killings.

  As they neared the courthouse, he exclaimed, “Damnation in a handbasket.”

  Felicity hoped the swearing wasn’t for something she had done, but she wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Jackson Davies had frequently let go of curses when she had proved her point about a case, though he was rather accomplished at murmuring them under his breath. No, the sheriff had cursed because he’d seen the mayor in front of the courthouse. Mayor Reiger was smiling, but it wasn’t so much welcoming as it was scary, with peaked eyebrows and too many teeth.

  “Miss Carrol.”

  “Mr. Mayor.” She curtsied.

  The town official directed his attention to Pike. “Word is you have two suspects locked up. I’m proud of you for solving these killings, Tom.” He had to reach up to pat one of the sheriff’s shoulders.

  “Thanks, Mayor. Too bad they may not have committed those crimes.”

  “It’s too early in the day for jokes,” Mayor Reiger said, the scary smile gone.

  “I have no evidence to use against them in court. Witnesses place them nowhere near the murders.”

  “That is most unfortunate.” Reiger smacked the tip of his cane down on the sidewalk.

  “There is a silver side. The men assaulted two women and are part of a gang trying to take over the prostitution trade in town. So I call that fortunate they’re all locked up.”

  “Good lord. What about the man killing the girls of the line?”

  “I have every deputy sniffing out clues and witnesses. But the murderer seems to live in the darkness.”

  “Since your investigation is proving ineffective, I will suggest to the city commission we offer a reward for information about this monstrous criminal. It might help where you have failed.”

  “It might.”

  Felicity didn’t want to be there while the mayor insulted the sheriff. Pike was due that for letting her follow him as he interviewed witnesses. “I should be heading home, gentlemen.”

  Reiger ignored her. “Five hundred dollars should be a sufficient incentive.”

  “It should,” Pike said.

  The mayor stepped into the street and patted his chest, as if letting in more air. “Such an ideal day, Miss.”

  “Yes, it is,” Felicity said.

  The mayor glanced at his watch. “Placer is a good place to live, except, of course, for these women getting cut into little scraps.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Unlike the dilapidated shacks and buildings along Viceroy Street, most of the brothels on Mineral Avenue were tall, red-brick buildings. They looked perfunctory as banks, except for the sound of popular tunes played on pianos without much skill. Behind one brothel, a thin black woman hung sheets on lines. At another, a naked young woman stood at a window brushing her brown curls. Her cheeks were rouged and her stare blank.

  At the end of the avenue stood the White Rose. The three-floor wooden structure resembled a home in the English countryside, which amused Felicity. The Queen Anne–style house had been
painted white with green shutters and gables. Trimmed hedges enclosed a lawn. White roses bordered a stone walkway and lined the sizable porch. Above the door a white rose was captured in stained glass. A grassy hill rose in back of the brothel.

  A tiny Chinese woman wearing colorful silks and a fierce expression answered Felicity’s knock.

  “Miss Felicity Carrol to see Mrs. Albert, please.”

  With a crooked mouth, the woman closed the door and left Felicity standing on the porch. A younger Chinese woman swept, keeping her head toward her work. The older Chinese woman returned. “This way.”

  Felicity had anticipated decor as tawdry as what she had seen at Sue’s Place. Instead she found good taste. The Chinese woman walked Felicity past what appeared to be the main parlor, which took up most of the first floor. Elegant wallpaper covered the walls. Almost demure paintings of landscapes hung on the walls, along with decorative mirrors that could have been found in any proper affluent home, be it in America or England. Over a shiny oak bar hung a huge canvas of a naked woman in repose, apparently a popular image in brothels, but this one was more classical than vulgar.

  A bald man in a clean white shirt and green suspenders polished the top of the bar with fluid movements. A black man in a blood-red suit picked out a tune on a piano in one corner. Spittoons were polished as new silver. Dotted around the room were various sets of S-shaped tête-à-tête seats for the temporary lovers. Vines and hearts were sewn into the red velvet fabric. Tatted lace curtains decorated the windows. If the nuns who had created the lace found out where it had ended up, they would probably faint or recite additional rosaries, Felicity supposed.

  She hadn’t told Pike about her plan to visit the madam, nor about the times they had met at the cemetery and at the church run by Reverend Phoenix. Neither had Felicity mentioned her suspicions about the crazy clergyman. Although she was beginning to trust the sheriff, she didn’t trust him enough to share her preliminary assumptions. She required more information before she could present any findings to him—if she found any, that is. From dealing with Scotland Yard and Inspector Jackson Davies, she had learned that law enforcement officers appreciated the kind of evidence they could understand and touch. Her deductions were sometimes too elusive for them.

  She was fortunate that Sheriff Pike was off to interview barbers and butchers about the killings, probably so she wouldn’t do that before he had the opportunity. At any rate, she didn’t have the heart to tell him the enterprise would amount to a waste of time. The killer was far too intelligent to hold such a job. He was far too skilled with a knife and in knowledge of human anatomy. But Pike had to make that discovery for himself. Further, it would keep him busy elsewhere.

  Barely tall enough to reach Felicity’s chin, the Chinese woman led her to a small, stylish parlor with a fine Oriental rug on the floor. A settee of royal-blue brocade dominated the room. Chairs were painted with spring daisies and inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Porcelain lamps were set on round tables covered with embroidered white cloths.

  “Missy Albert will be here soon. You no touch nothing,” the servant said abruptly.

  “You have my word.” Felicity smiled with innocence.

  “Better not.” The woman left.

  On the mantel were finely carved figurines of angels holding up a clock between them. Felicity examined them. The carvings were perfect.

  She got a whiff of something. A hint of jasmine in the room.

  “I’ve always loved that piece.”

  Felicity reeled at the voice. Mrs. Albert stood behind her. The woman had the lightest of steps. “It is exquisite.”

  “Part of the furnishings that came with the house. It was owned by a miner who gambled away his fortune.”

  “Well, he had good taste.”

  “Please sit. I’ve sent for tea,” she said.

  “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, but you did say to drop in,” Felicity said.

  “You’re most welcome anytime. It’s pleasant to have civilized company in such an uncivilized place.”

  The Chinese servant brought in a fine silver pot and delicate cups. While she poured, Felicity observed her hostess. Mrs. Albert’s posture was impeccable, her dress flattering, and her manner refined. She would have fit in at any of the parties of the wealthy that Felicity had attended at her father’s insistence.

  From her purse, Felicity withdrew a notebook and fountain pen in her guise as a writer. “What can you tell me about Mattie Morgan?”

  “A very nice young woman who indulged too much in the drug of the East. Mattie wanted a job here, but I don’t allow such behavior under my roof.”

  “You must have thought a lot about her to attend her funeral.”

  “Unlike other girls on the line, Mattie had an agreeable demeanor.” The madam drank her tea with almost excessive grace. “She occasionally sewed dresses for me and the girls in this house. Despite her location on the line, she was very clean and smart.”

  “Were you also acquainted with Lily Rawlins, the other murder victim?”

  Mrs. Albert gave a long, resonant laugh. “Heavens, no. She worked the lower part of Viceroy Street and was quite grotesque. I saw her once. Fat and vulgar, but she did wear very pretty shoes.”

  “There does appear to be a clear line between the girls of Viceroy Street and those on Mineral Avenue.”

  Mrs. Albert poured more tea. “More like a vast breach between the women who offer themselves for cheap and those who put higher value on their talents.”

  “Very observant, Mrs. Albert.”

  “So I’ve been told. For instance, you were born in privilege but don’t flaunt your wealth.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Just by looking at your dress, speech, and manner, only a fool would think you were common.” Her southern drawl lilted with delight at her observations. “You’re also a brave young woman to visit this house, given your social standing.”

  “Social standing means less and less, especially in this country.”

  “That’s easy to say for a woman who enjoys such standing in the first place.”

  Mrs. Albert had gotten the best of her on that point. Felicity raised her cup in salute and then took up her pen and paper again. “Have any of the women who work here ever reported a man who displayed, shall we say, strange and violent behavior? Specifically, a man carrying a long thin knife?”

  “I don’t stand for any violence in my house.”

  “Then your answer is no?”

  The older woman dipped her chin with appreciation. “I applaud your straightforwardness. Women are too often dim or taught to hide their cleverness.”

  “I’ve been accused of taking frankness to an extreme.”

  “I’ll wager a man made that accusation.”

  “Why, yes, as a matter of fact, and the answer to my question?”

  “The girls have never mentioned such a man, yet the fellows who do visit are lustful, and that is a type of brutality. Is that sufficient?” Mrs. Albert stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea. “Most of our male visitors come from the upper end of Placer society. Lawyers, judges, businessmen. We do see miners and cowboys, but only those who have more money to spend on their pleasures.”

  Felicity glanced around. “Your establishment does exude refinement.”

  Mrs. Albert lowered her head. “Why a long thin knife?”

  “Pardon?” The question threw Felicity.

  “You mentioned a man who might carry a long thin knife.”

  “According to postmortem reports, it was the type of weapon used on Mattie Morgan and Lily Rawlins.”

  Before Felicity could continue, a young woman draped in a sheer white robe tramped into the room. Under the robe, the woman wore white bloomers and nothing more.

  “Mrs. Albert, you just got to talk with Belinda. She’s stealing my corsets again. You should throw that no-good whore into the street. She steals from all the girls.” Her colored-red mouth warped with irritation.


  Mrs. Albert set down her teacup. She stood tall over the young woman and took hold of her forearm. “Can’t you see I’m occupied with a lady? I’ll talk with Belinda later. Now apologize to our guest for your inexcusable rudeness.” Her voice went even deeper. “Mean it.”

  The young prostitute cringed. Felicity noticed one new welt in the middle of the woman’s back. Another ridge appeared on the young woman’s upper arm. From the injuries and the girl’s cowering, Felicity thought Nellie might have been right about Mrs. Albert’s whippings. What disturbing and contradictory conduct for a woman who presented herself as refined.

  Mrs. Albert let go of the young woman’s arm. A red handprint remained.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” the young woman said to Felicity. She then curtsied and ran out of the room.

  “They’re like children. I have to watch them every minute. They tend to be lazy and untrustworthy. Most are uneducated and uncouth, but I try to teach them manners and how to act like ladies. It’s good for business. I can charge more that way.”

  Mrs. Albert’s tone implied contempt for the women who worked for her, but she smiled graciously as she disrespected them.

  “I’ll take your word for that,” Felicity said.

  Mrs. Albert smiled politely. “So you’re writing about a killer?”

  “One who hunts and mutilates prostitutes. Given your business, what do you think would motivate a man to commit those crimes? I mean, for my book.”

  Mrs. Albert sipped her tea and placed down the cup after a moment. “I believe he might have been hurt by them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perhaps his mother was a soiled dove. When his life proved disappointing, he blamed her and all in that occupation for his failures.”

  “A fascinating theory. Perfect for the profile of a mad killer.” Felicity spoke the truth to the woman. A good hypothesis she hadn’t thought of.

  “How exciting to help a writer with her book.” Mrs. Albert giggled like a young girl asked to dance at her first ball.

  “Speaking of profiles, Mrs. Albert, you don’t fit one of a woman in charge of this establishment.”