Dead Ringer

by Kat Ross

  “Money is not the point—” Mr. Kaylock began.

  “But I must insist that Miss Pell not face retribution. You should be grateful to have her considerable talents.”

  “You’re in no position to insist on anything,” Mallory said, his moustache bristling. “This is an official police matter and you have to answer my questions.” His eyes narrowed. “You don’t scare me, Moran.”

  “I’m not trying to, sergeant.” He shrugged. “Interrogate me if you must. What does Commissioner Byrnes call it?” Moran gave a dry smile. “Oh, yes. The third degree.” He held out his wrists. “You can arrest me and kick me down as many flights of stairs as you like, but I don’t know anything useful.”

  “Miss Pell,” Kaylock said. “If we may speak privately?”

  I swallowed. “Of course.”

  We stepped to the side. “He’s insufferable,” Kaylock seethed.

  “Trust me, I’m well aware of that.”

  My boss looked troubled. “Will there be more deaths?”

  I knew the answer, though I couldn’t explain how. “I don’t think so, no.”

  He nodded slowly. “What was it?”

  I sighed. “Kate and Wayne are solid investigators. Once they have hold of a thread, the whole story will unravel.” I gazed at the burning mansion. “That’s the first thread, but you didn’t need me to tell you that. I can’t say any more. I promised.”

  “I hope you understand that Mallory will be the least of our problems. He recognizes your value and might overlook the liberties you’ve taken. But this is going to get ugly before it’s over, Miss Pell. Uglier by far if you refuse to speak.” Kaylock shook his head. “Why are you loyal to him?”

  It was a good question and one I didn’t entirely understand myself. “Because he’s my client.”

  Kaylock nodded. “I admire your fortitude, Miss Pell.” He gave a grim smile. “And here’s Mr. Weston.”

  John strode up. He was soaking wet and his white shirt was covered with soot and ashes. He blinked in surprise when he saw Moran bantering with Sergeant Mallory. “Jesus, he’s alive,” John muttered.

  “I don’t suppose you’d care to explain the cable you sent from the Nineteenth Precinct, Mr. Weston?”

  John turned to me. I gave him a tiny shake of the head. John blew out a breath, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and rocking back on his heels.

  “Cable?” he echoed.

  “Yes. The desperate plea for assistance that dragged us from our beds in the middle of the night.”

  “Right. I’m afraid I sent that rather prematurely.”

  Kaylock sighed. “Prematurely? The house is being reduced to ashes as we speak.”

  “I wasn’t here when the fire started, sir. I was at the Nineteenth Precinct.” He glanced at me. “It took longer than expected because a raccoon got inside somehow and the officers thought it might be rabid. . . .” John trailed off under Mr. Kaylock’s withering stare.

  “A raccoon?”

  “Yes, sir. Probably wandered out of the park.” He jerked his chin at a group of policemen. “I swear it’s the honest truth. You can go ask them.”

  Kaylock raised a weary hand to his forehead. “Oh, I will, Weston. Cover-ups are bad enough, but I simply cannot abide baldfaced lying.”

  “Sir?” I ventured.

  “What, Miss Pell?”

  “I can affirm that a very unlikely chain of events occurred tonight that you probably wouldn’t believe even if I told it to you, which I can’t. So perhaps we can wait for Miss Prince and Mr. Copperthwaite to conduct their investigation. As for the Ninth Detectives Division, Mr. Moran is on his own. If they want to lock him up, it’s no business of mine.”

  “Fair enough.” Mr. Kaylock’s lips quirked in a rare smile. “I somehow doubt they will, despite Mallory’s threats. Moran hasn’t committed any crime. And spending the night in a cell down at the Tombs isn’t exactly the terrifying prospect it would be for another spoiled rich boy.”

  Indeed, as we looked over, Sergeant Mallory stormed off, Brach at his heels like a slender shadow. Moran sank to one knee and scratched Blue behind the ears.

  Both boy and dog were grinning.

  Chapter 18

  Kate Prince cleared her throat. She wore a smart yellow pinstriped dress and matching jacket, threadbare at the cuffs but neatly pressed. Wayne sat next to her in a somber coat that made his bright red hair and pasty skin look positively garish.

  “In reference to Case No. 462901, Kate Prince and Wayne Copperthwaite acting as primary investigators, the following report shall be read into the record of the Society for Psychical Research this 31st day of October, 1889.” She glanced around. “Present are Mr. Harland Kaylock, Vice President, Mrs. Orpha Winter, Second Vice President, Miss Harrison Fearing Pell and Mr. John Weston, Agents at Large.”

  We sat in the spacious library at Pearl Street. A fire burned in the hearth, but my hands were still ice cold. My fate had been delayed for the last month while the two agents completed their inquiry. Now I had a strong feeling the axe was about to fall.

  “Summary first, if you will,” Mr. Kaylock said, steepling his fingers.

  “Allow me,” Orpha Winter cut in with a smile. An attractive blonde in her middle years, she had a penchant for dramatics and scant tolerance for dissent. “James Moran’s maternal aunt, Emma Bayard, sought revenge for the murder of his father by summoning doppelgängers of Mr. Moran and his friends.” Mrs. Winter looked at me expectantly. “Is that correct, Miss Pell?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  Her green eyes narrowed.

  “Let’s hear from Miss Prince,” Kaylock said hastily. “Please proceed.”

  Kate glanced down at her report. “This case involved a heretofore unknown entity described in German folklore as a doppelgänger. It is the exact double of a living person, though from another plane of existence.”

  “The Dominion?” Kaylock asked with a frown.

  Kate and Wayne exchanged a quick look. “It is our opinion that they do not come from the land of the dead. Some accounts claim they are spirits, but others assert that they are alive and the evidence supports that. It is possible they come from a world that is a mirror reflection of our own.”

  “Interesting hypothesis. Continue.”

  “Based on interviews with various experts, it is our opinion that doppelgängers are not inherently evil,” Kate said. “However, as the victims of Emmeline Bayard discovered, they distort the laws of probability in our world to such an extreme degree that it is nearly certain the twin will meet with a freak accident, usually within days of the initial encounter.

  “That is precisely what happened to Daniel Cherney and Francis Bates. Mr. Cherney was struck by an omnibus when a gust of wind blew a newspaper into his face, obscuring his vision as he stepped off the curb at Herald Square on August 13th. Cherney’s doppelgänger was seen by Francis Bates, who then died of accidental suffocation at the Union Square Theater on August 31st, the same day Miss Pell and Mr. Weston unmade the golem Mr. Cherney had summoned to protect himself.”

  “Good Lord, that’s convoluted,” Orpha Winter remarked. “I wondered about the golem. How did Mr. Cherney raise such a creature?”

  “It was undoubtedly his ability to warp chance,” Wayne Copperthwaite replied. “Mr. Cherney had displayed a run of extraordinary luck the same evening at the faro tables.”

  “So anything he attempted, no matter how unlikely, would have been successful?”

  “Or a complete and utter fiasco. The golem can be viewed in either light.”

  Orpha Winter looked thoughtful. “Indeed.”

  “Moving on to the third victim, Cashel O’Sullivan,” Kate said, “it is our opinion that his death was a suicide, but one driven by extreme terror and therefore also attributable to Miss Bayard.”

  “And she hasn’t spoken since the fire?” Kaylock asked.

  Kate shook her head. “She remains in the critical ward at Bellevue. We went there yes
terday. Her burns were superficial and they’ve mostly healed, but the doctors say the brain damage from her aneurism is severe. Emmeline Bayard will likely require constant care for the rest of her life.” Kate paused and glanced at me. “Rather surprisingly, Mr. Moran has agreed to pay for that care.”

  “Yes, let’s talk about Mr. Moran.” Orpha leaned forward. “He refused to say a single word, but you deposed his mother, I believe?”

  “She agreed to an interview. Tamsin Moran admitted to knowing about the affair between her half-sister and husband, but claimed she despised him and didn’t care.”

  Orpha looked amused. “In fact, she said, and I quote, ‘It spared me the necessity of warming his bed.’ Is that correct?”

  Kate nodded. “Mrs. Moran referred us to the former nursemaid Klara Schmidt, who in turn gave us the name of an alleged black witch named Hannah Ferber. Unfortunately, Mrs. Ferber had already left the city by the time we located her lodgings on West Twenty-First Street. Further inquiries proved fruitless.”

  “She’s vanished,” Wayne said glumly.

  “I would too if I had helped to put a curse on James Moran,” Orpha said dryly.

  “Yes, what about the curse?” Kaylock asked. “I find the fact that Moran survived to be the most puzzling aspect of this case.”

  “It is our opinion that he found a way to break the chain,” Kate replied. “We can’t adequately explain why, but none of the surviving members of the Pythagoras Society have reported anything unusual and it’s been a full month. We interviewed all three.”

  Orpha turned to me, her green eyes sharp. “No doubt Miss Pell can shed some light. She was there that night.”

  “So was I,” John said evenly. I could see he was trying to keep a tight rein on his temper. Weston was slow to ignite but once he did . . . beware. “And you know we’re not at liberty to discuss it. Mr. Moran was a private client and according to her contract with you Miss Pell had every right—”

  “It’s not a matter of taking on a private client,” Orpha Winter said, an edge to her voice. “It’s a matter of loyalty. You threw a few breadcrumbs our way, but you withheld everything of actual importance.”

  She returned her wrath to me. “Your behavior is a slap in the face to your fellow agents and a disgrace to the Society as a whole.”

  “If I may, Mrs. Winter—” Kate ventured.

  “You may not,” Orpha responded. “So, Miss Pell. Let’s see if I have my facts straight.” She shuffled a stack of papers but didn’t look down at them. “Mr. Moran was a member of a secret club at Columbia College called the Pythagoras Society, is that correct?”

  “I’m afraid I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

  “And he induced his fellow members to sign a document in blood, which was then used by his aunt to curse the lot of them?”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  She stared at me with disgust. “In fact, your illustrious client is suspected of involvement in organized crime and corruption of public officials, is that correct, Miss Pell?”

  “I can neither confirm—”

  “Oh, yes,” she said acidly, waving a piece of paper at me. “The infamous confidentiality agreement.” Mrs. Winter tore it in half and dropped the pieces to the floor. Even Kaylock frowned at that.

  “Just because you rip it up doesn’t make it invalid,” he muttered.

  Orpha Winter snorted. “It was never valid to begin with. Miss Pell accepted a case that was already under the jurisdiction of the S.P.R. and Ninth Detectives Division. And her client is a notorious convicted murderer!”

  Kaylock sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Weston is right, Orpha. There is nothing in her contract that explicitly precludes taking other work.”

  “A technicality. It’s a miracle no one else died. Am I the only one troubled by her actions?” Orpha frowned at John. “Yours too, Mr. Weston. Honestly, I expected better of you.”

  John gave her a flat stare. “Miss Pell is my partner and I support her wholeheartedly. Please note that for the record.”

  “Oh, I will, Mr. Weston.” Orpha brandished a piece of paper. “Speaking of the record, this is a letter from Mr. Moran’s attorneys. They’re threatening to sue us for slander and harassment if any of these allegations are publicly repeated. It’s ridiculous considering the amount of evidence corroborating Miss Prince and Mr. Copperthwaite’s report, but there you have it. Such a legal battle could bankrupt us. I’ve been advised by our own attorneys that the files must be sealed once this inquiry is concluded. The Moran name is not to be mentioned in connection with the case under any circumstances.”

  “Agreed,” Mr. Kaylock said wearily. “Let’s just bury this one.”

  “But there remains the question of how Miss Pell should be disciplined.”

  “She’s already been put on unpaid leave for a month,” Kaylock protested. “I think that’s more than adequate.”

  “Do you? Well, I don’t, and nor does the Board of Directors.” Orpha Winter rose to her feet. “I hereby exercise my prerogative as a vice president of the Society to suspend Miss Pell for one year—”

  “A year!” John exclaimed. “That’s excessive.”

  “For one year,” she continued, “at which time the issue will be revisited.”

  “I strongly object, Orpha,” Kaylock said. “This was a remarkably peculiar and complicated case. There is a high likelihood that Miss Prince and Mr. Copperthwaite would never have learned the truth without the information unearthed by Miss Pell, although I give them full credit for their subsequent investigation. Everything hinged on James Moran and it is eminently clear that he would never have come to us willingly. Why he chose to place his confidence in Miss Pell and Mr. Weston, I don’t know, but I think they acted to the best of their abilities under trying circumstances.”

  “I second that,” Kaye Prince said quietly, and her partner gave a grudging nod.

  “Moran reversed the curse, his aunt is in no position to harm anyone else, and the Society has a new entity to add to the archives—” Orpha opened her mouth and Kaylock rode over her. “And it hardly matters if those archives are sealed, we can still share them with the London branch. So I fail to see what great harm Miss Pell and Mr. Weston have done.”

  Orpha sighed. “And what sort of precedent will this set, Harland? That our agents can sell their services to the highest bidder regardless of how it might undermine our own active investigations?”

  Mr. Kaylock opened his mouth and closed it again. He raked a hand through his unkempt chestnut hair.

  “And what about confidentiality? You trusted Miss Pell with intimate details of the case under the rightful assumption that she worked for us. In fact, her loyalty lay with James Moran, who, without beating a dead horse, is a man of tarnished reputation and dubious character. In truth, I find it rather inexplicable that Miss Pell would risk her future on such a client, and that in turn speaks to her own judgment and character—”

  “Don’t you dare!” John erupted, leaping to his feet, and then the two of them were yelling at each other and Mr. Kaylock was scowling and I felt the whole situation sliding irretrievably over a cliff.

  “Stop!” I shouted, and the room fell silent. I looked at Orpha Winter, who lifted her chin defiantly. “You raised some valid points, I can’t deny it.”

  “Harry—” John began, spots of color burning in his cheeks.

  “No, she’s right. It does set a poor precedent for the organization. I never planned it this way, but I ought to take responsibility for what I did.”

  Orpha listened with an expression that was hard to read, but she didn’t interrupt.

  “I can’t break my agreement with Moran, I just can’t, but I hope you believe me when I say I had my own reasons and that they are of a personal nature.” I sighed. “That’s all. I don’t blame you for being angry and I’m willing to accept a year’s suspension. Frankly, I expected worse.”

  Orpha Winter gave a slow nod. There was a new respect
in her eyes. “Thank you, Miss Pell. I appreciate that you have your reasons, although without knowing what they are, it is impossible for me to gauge whether they constitute extenuating circumstances that could modify this disciplinary action. Therefore, if Harland withdraws his objection, I move that we proceed with the penalty as previously endorsed by the Board of Directors, with the proviso that Miss Pell will be reinstated in one year’s time barring any new outrages.” The ghost of a smile touched her lips. “The same goes for you, Weston. Don’t think you’re off the hook.”

  “You don’t have to suspend me,” John said coldly. “I intend to stand by Harry and in fact, I would insist on sharing her penalty.”

  “Very good.” She straightened her skirts and reached for the sheaf of papers. “That’s settled then.” Mrs. Winter’s gaze fell on me one last time. “I don’t dislike you, Miss Pell, whatever you might think. In fact, I admire your chutzpah, as the Hebrews say. But you invited a snake into the garden and I’m not sure we’ve seen all the consequences of that yet.”

  With those words, she donned her ostrich plume hat and swept out the door, leaving Kate and Wayne to shake our hands and offer commiseration. Mr. Kaylock sat down by the fire, a weary look on his face.

  “I warned you, Pell,” he said softly.

  “Yes, you did.”

  “And now I’m down two investigators.” He gave me a sharp look. “Don’t get any ideas about taking other work. Do what you must to stay occupied, but I fully expect you to return next autumn.”

  I suppressed a smile. “Don’t worry, I will, sir.”

  He studied me for a moment. “That sister of yours. I don’t suppose she’d ever . . . .”

  “Probably not,” I replied. “She doesn’t have much interest in the supernatural.”

  He nodded glumly. “How’s her leg?”

  “Healing cleanly, sir.”

  Kaylock let out a long sigh. “That was such a terrible thing, Pell. I read about the trial in the paper. Those thugs were vicious, thank God they’re behind bars.” His lips thinned. “Though there are always more waiting in the wings, aren’t there?”