by R A Wallace
There were several men everywhere trying to devise separate workspaces from the large area. Most of them ignored her. One gentleman paused in his work and fixed her with a stare. Delia saw a frown cross his face as she approached him.
“This area is a recruiting office.” He was perhaps in his fifties and was without a jacket. His shirt sleeves were rolled up due to his exertion and the heat on the second floor.
Behind him, men continued about their duties setting up chairs, desks, and tables. One man in the far corner stopped what he was doing and walked toward them.
“I would like to ask you some questions,” Delia said.
The first man didn’t attempt to hide his scowl as the second one approached from behind him.
“What’s this?” the second one asked.
“Another one of those suffragettes, I’ll wager.” The first man began to turn away.
“Sir, if I may.” Delia held out the telegram. “This is from Admiral Hobart Jennings of the United States Navy.”
Both men stared at her. Finally, curiosity won out. The first man reached for it. The second one read over his shoulder.
“I’ll be.”
“As you see from the message, my name is Miss Delia Markham. And you are?”
The second man answered. “I’m Ray, miss. This here is Paul.”
Paul held up the telegram. “How is it you know an admiral in the Navy?”
“I served under him.” Delia nodded at the telegram. “What can you tell me?”
“You have to understand, we process a lot of men.” Paul frowned at the paper in his hand.
Ray tapped his arm. “We have the records in the boxes.” He pointed behind them. “I was just starting to work on them.”
“We’re in the process of moving from a smaller location,” Paul said as Ray walked away.
“Understandable. I’m sure you’ll have things in order in no time.” Delia watched as Ray walked back toward them holding a file.
“Here it is. Carl Lawton, age twenty.” Ray looked up from the folder. “He volunteered just in time. If he had waited any longer, he wouldn’t have been allowed.”
Delia nodded her understanding. Once the age for the draft was lowered to eighteen, volunteering was no longer an option. The men would now be draftees and had to wait to be called to duty.
“How long ago did he volunteer?” Delia asked.
“Been about six weeks now. He’s probably on his way over to the fighting.” Ray closed the folder in his hand.
Delia left the bank building and walked to the Electric Shoe Repair. She wasn’t surprised to find Sadie Lawton hard at work. This time when Delia entered the shop, Sadie’s eyes filled with fear. The buzzing of the sewing machine stopped. Sadie remained where she was, staring at Delia.
Delia closed the distance between them and gentled her voice. “I know that he was trying to protect you.” She watched as Sadie’s eyes closed. “You may not know this but he sent a letter to one of my students. Carl asked Claude to look after you while he’s gone.”
A tear worked its way from Sadie’s eye but she remained quiet as Delia continued.
“Sadie, I know he joined the service. I just received confirmation from the recruitment office.”
More tears joined the first as Sadie began crying in earnest. Delia reached for her handkerchief. She put one hand on Sadie’s shoulder and pressed the handkerchief into Sadie’s hand with the other.
“Sadie, an innocent man is about to be convicted. Only you can help him,” Delia said.
Sadie pressed the handkerchief against her eyes. “Carl was only trying to protect me. He’s a good boy. He couldn’t stand by and watch his father treat me like that anymore.”
“Carl began to poison him with the arsenate of lead,” Delia said. It wasn’t a question.
Sadie nodded as another sob broke free.
Delia needed to know. “Did he take the poison from the school?”
Sadie’s head came up. “Carl is not a thief.” Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Arsenate of lead is sold everywhere. He bought it himself. I can prove it. He wrote a letter confessing everything and left it with me.” Fresh tears threatened to spill over. “He said it was in case the police suspected me.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’m sorry. Though I am familiar with many in Glennon, I have never had the occasion to socialize with any of the members of the police.” Mena removed her spectacles and began cleaning them with a daintily embroidered linen handkerchief.
Delia felt her hopes sink. She stood on the other side of the front desk and watched Mena situate the gold-filled frames with riding bow temples to their proper position. Delia looked down at the letter she clutched in her hand.
“Why are you asking me about the police?” Mena’s eyes dropped to the letter.
“I have to do something.” Delia took a step away from the front desk.
“You aren’t planning to go to the police station alone, are you?” Mena sounded slightly alarmed.
“I believe I shall have to. I hold the evidence in my hands to free Mr. Keaton,” Delia said as she turned to leave.
“Wait!” Mena’s eyes widened at the volume of her own voice. She quickly came around the front desk to reach Delia. “Have Principal Glennon go.”
“What? Why him?”
“He knows the chief of police.” Mena put her hand on Delia’s arm. “It is the perfect solution. The captain is technically responsible for the employees here. It makes sense.”
Though the thought of yet another combative encounter with the captain was less than appealing, Delia couldn’t argue with Mena’s logic.
“Very well. I will go to him directly.” She patted Mena’s hand. “You are correct. Both his position and his connections should hold more sway. Thank you.”
Delia walked quickly across the campus to the Biltmore Building. This time when she reached Bennie’s office, her eyes went straight to the principal’s door.
“Miss Markham.” Bennie stood from his desk and came around to join her. “Is anything the matter?”
Delia held up the letter. “Is he in?”
Bennie glanced at the paper in her hand before crossing over to the closed door. After he slipped into the principal’s office, Delia heard muffled voices on the other side.
When Bennie emerged, he left the door open. “Principal Glennon will see you now.”
Delia smiled her thanks before crossing over to the door. After stepping inside, she stood in front of the principal’s desk and waited for him to acknowledge her presence.
He finished reading the paper on his desk then reached for his pen. After signing his name, he looked up. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
Delia thought he looked anything but pleased. She stepped forward and set the letter from Carl Lawton on the desk. She continued standing while he read. When he was done, he pushed it away.
“Well?”
He looked mildly confused. “Well, what?”
She managed to control her impatience just in time. “I thought perhaps you might consider appealing to the police on the behalf of Mr. Keaton to set him free.”
“You believe the letter offers substantial evidence to acquit him of the crime with which he has been charged?”
She didn’t try to hide the disbelief from her face. “You do not?”
“Oh, I imagine the chief of police will find it of interest.” His gaze held hers.
Delia saw the amusement in his eyes. “You mock me.”
“Only insomuch that your presence here now surprises me,” he said.
“In what way?”
He motioned toward the letter. “You have found the murderer. I dare not ask what methods you employed to succeed.”
“Does it matter? The end result is the same. Arch Keaton can be set free.”
“I only wonder why you did not storm the police station yourself to demand the man’s release.”
She crossed her arms. “I considered it
.”
“Yet here you are,” he pointed out.
“I was persuaded to believe that given your role here…” She stopped when he laughed. It was an unexpected sound.
“No doubt the Navy regretted its decision allowing you to enlist before the ink on your papers were dry.” He pressed his fingers into his eyes briefly before dropping his hand. “I hope this means you will apply your full attention to your duties as a teacher from this point forward.”
His words stung but she still saw amusement in his eyes when he spoke. Delia stepped forward and reached for Carl’s letter of confession.
Wes placed his hand firmly over the paper. “I believe I can take it from here, Yeoman Markham.”
Delia felt her chin go up. “I should not wish to trouble you in any way, Captain.”
He lifted the paper and waved it. “You are dismissed.”
She considered continuing her argument but decided that she had succeeded with her mission. At least, she hoped she had. “You will take the letter to the police?”
“Yes, yes.” He looked past her toward the door.
She turned and saw Bennie standing there. He stepped away from the door to allow her to pass by. She didn’t miss the grin on his face before he closed the door behind them.
“Good job,” he whispered.
With one last look at the door, she smiled as she walked away.
***
“You know you’re very nearly out of the poultice he made up,” Otis said.
“I am sure I will survive.” Wes began unknotting his tie as he crossed through his private suite in Glennon House.
“Yes, but I may not. I have had much better use of my arm since applying it,” Arch said loudly so Wes could hear him in the other room.
Wes returned in the doorway with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looked longingly at the crystal decanter. “You would deny me a glass of Pennsylvania rye after working all day?”
“Not at all. I’ll be happy to pour it for you.” Arch crossed over to Wes and reached for his tie. “When you return from the police station.”
“If I have to go, you’re coming with me,” Wes grumbled as Otis fumbled with his tie.
Otis perked up. “I’ll drive.”
“With your arm? Hardly.” Wes batted Otis’s good arm away. “I haven’t seen Judson Heath in years.”
“You were friends with him?” Otis followed Wes toward the door.
“More like competitors.” Wes cinched his tie as he went out into the hall. “I’m not sure he’s ever forgiven me for the time I stole home in a baseball game.”
“You made the winning point?” Otis stepped into the elevator.
“I knocked him over as I slid across the base,” Wes said as he watched Otis work the controls. “He broke his leg in the process.”
Otis winced. “Tell me he’s forgiven you.”
“Doubtful.” Wes said. “It never did heal properly. He’s had a limp ever since.”
Otis stepped out into the main floor hallway first. “Do not tell me the story gets worse.”
“I’m guessing it’s what kept him out of the war,” Wes said as he followed Otis from the house.
“Perhaps he’s gotten over it,” Otis said hopefully.
Thirty minutes later they sat in the police station waiting for Judson Heath. When a dark-haired man finally emerged from his office and limped across the room toward them, he neither smiled nor held out his hand to greet Wes.
Wes stood and held out his hand. “Judson. Good to see you.”
Judson glared at him for a long moment before clasping Wes’s hand. “I heard you were back. One of my men told me you were here to see the prisoner after he was first brought in.”
Wes motioned toward Otis who had also risen to stand next to him. “Otis Hart.”
Judson’s eyes shifted from Wes to Otis. He gave a brief nod then returned his focus to Wes. “I don’t imagine this is a social call.”
“We’re here about Arch Keaton,” Wes said.
“We have all the evidence we need to convict him. Thanks for stopping by.” Judson turned to walk away.
Wes moved to intercept him. “Judson, please. Hear me out. A man’s innocence hangs in the balance.”
“He had access to the arsenate of lead,” Judson said.
“Along with everyone else,” Wes agreed.
“Witnesses saw him arguing with the victim shortly before he died,” Judson said stubbornly.
“As we have argued over your failure to move away from home base?” Wes watched Judson debate his response. Just as he was sure the man was ready to walk away, Otis spoke.
“We have a signed confession from the real killer,” Otis said quietly. “Surely it’s worth your time to read it?”
Judson shifted his focus from Otis to Wes. “Why didn’t you say so?”
Wes reached for the letter in his pocket. “I wanted to make sure you would read it and not destroy it.”
Judson snatched it from Wes’s hand. He shook his head when he was done and walked away.
“Stay here,” he called back to them.
Otis started to follow Judson.
Wes stopped him. “Wait.”
“That is the only copy of the letter,” Otis pointed out.
“Judson may be angry at me but he isn’t a bad man,” Wes said quietly.
A moment later, Arch appeared with Judson behind him. Arch held Carl’s letter in his hand.
“We need to decide what we’re going to do about this,” Judson said.
“He confessed to killing his father,” Otis said.
“Yes, but he is now in the war fighting for our side,” Arch argued.
“I should think you’d be eager to have him brought back here to stand trial,” Wes said. “You were nearly convicted for a crime you didn’t commit.”
Arch shook his head. “Leave him be. If he makes it back from the war, you can deal with it then.”
Judson started to argue.
Arch held up his hand. “You didn’t know the boy’s father as I did. He most certainly was abusing his wife. No doubt he also took his anger out on the son. I’m sure Carl was only trying to protect his mother. Frank had her working her fingers to the bone at that repair shop nonstop day in and day out.”
Judson lifted his brows at Wes.
Wes nodded once and put his hand on Arch’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here. There’s a decanter of Pennsylvania rye wondering where I’ve been.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
He winced as the fingers seemed to bury themselves deep into the wound in his back. “You would think as often as you’ve done this you could accomplish it more quickly.”
“If you would bother to remain still, it wouldn’t take as long,” Otis said as he applied more of the poultice.
“Tell that to the fiend who shot me,” Wes snarled as Otis pushed against a particularly painful area.
“I do believe this new batch smells even worse than the last.” Otis dipped his fingers into the bottle before gently dabbing more poultice on Wes’s wound.
Wes clenched his teeth as another searing stab of pain radiated through him. “I hope his place in Hades does not have to be held long.”
Otis set the bottle down and reached for a bandage. “If only I had seen him at the time. I would have shortened the wait.”
It was a subject they had discussed many times.
“We were on the battlefield. It was chaos,” Wes ground out.
“Any fiend that would shoot another man in the back.” Otis let the sentence hang as he finished with the bandage.
Wes felt the pain begin to ease by small degrees. “As I recall, you had your own problems to deal with.”
Otis sank his fingers into the poultice and began applying it to his shoulder. “I only hope that one or both of us are there to see the man is given his just due.”
“We are no closer to finding the identity of the fiend now than we were at the time he shot us.” Wes
tried to unclench his jaw. “More to the point, the Army still believes I was running away from the fight when it happened.”
“I am your witness,” Otis protested.
“You were wounded at the same time. They determined that there was a margin of error in your assessment of the situation given the ordeal of your own injury.” Wes reached for his shirt. “While I appreciate your loyalty in defending my honor, I do not wish you to suffer my fate along with me.”
“I know what I know,” Otis argued. “It is what I keep repeating to them.”
“Let us hope it is enough for now.” Wes gingerly tried to slide an arm into a sleeve.
“Long enough for us to find the identity of the fiend who shot us.” Otis pressed a bandage over the poultice on his shoulder.
Wes managed to get his other arm into the sleeve. He turned to face Otis and saw him fumbling with the bandage.
“Here then.” Wes attempted to secure the dressing.
Otis batted his hands away. “With your abilities for healing, I’ll see Hades before the fiend.”
Wes gave up and crossed over to his chair. After sinking into it, he lifted his cup of coffee. What little was left was already cold. “At least the specifics about my injury have been kept from the general populace, thanks to you. If you hadn’t been there to argue that I wasn’t retreating in the face of enemy fire, I would have been the first to reach the infernal region.”
“Let us hope the Army allows it to remain that way,” Otis said pointedly. “We do not wish to have them telling any version of the story until we can flush out the fiend ourselves.”
“Have you learned anything from your contacts in Washington?” Wes pushed himself up from the chair.
“Nothing.” The frustration in his voice was obvious. “It’s as though the fiend were some sort of specter. He appeared from nowhere to shoot us down then was gone just as quickly.”
“More like a demon,” Wes muttered as he poured two cups of coffee.