The Black Midnight

by Kathleen Y'Barbo

  “Let us through,” Isaiah demanded. “This is Pinkerton business. Move away unless you’re a police officer.”

  At that, the men stepped back to reveal the victim. Annie’s stomach roiled, and she looked away. “Oh Eula,” she whispered as she stepped away to find the man with the dogs. “There’s a print on that fence board. Set your dogs on a trail on the other side and see if our killer jumped the fence after he…” She paused to find the right words. “After Eula was murdered,” she finally said.

  “Yes, ma’am.” The handler lifted his dogs over the fence and into the adjoining yard. Instantly they took off, with the poor man being left behind to try to keep up.

  She looked back at the house. The distance was some 140 feet. Not as far as he’d taken his previous victim, but far enough to be out of sight.

  Still, Eula Phillips was not a serving girl. Not even close. They might be dealing with the same man, but it was just as possible they were not.

  “Are there other victims?” Annie asked the man nearest to her.

  “I only knew about Jimmy until they found her,” he said, nodding toward the body. “Could be more, but that’d have to be determined.”

  Annie nodded and moved away from the circle of light. Ike caught her gaze and turned back to the men.

  “No one touch her,” he shouted. “This is a crime scene, and as such you all are going to have to step back and keep from disturbing anything. A few of you will need to remain with your lanterns.” He pointed to an older man with a beard. “You go fetch the lawman in charge inside the house and tell him we’ve got something he needs to see.”

  The man hurried away while the others remained. “I told you to move on,” he said to the men. “You in the red shirt and you in the black jacket. You stay here with your lanterns. The rest of you go comb the lawn for clues. There could be a knife or something else hidden in the grass that we need to find.”

  A few of them murmured until a man shouted from a short distance away. “Do as the Pinkerton detective says, men. We want to find this madman. Standing around talking about it isn’t how we do that.”

  He stuck his hand out to acknowledge Isaiah. “Deputy United States Marshal H. M. White. I believe you’re one of the Pinkertons?”

  “Isaiah Joplin,” he said. “And this is my partner, Annie Walters.”

  “Please to meet you, Deputy Marshal,” Annie said, “though these are tragic circumstances.”

  “But for poor aim, we might be dealing with two murders,” the marshal said. “Or if not poor aim, then something else. I haven’t given up on the theory that Jimmy Phillips did that to himself after he killed his wife.”

  “I haven’t examined the crime scene inside,” Annie said, “but given the look of Mr. Phillips and the fact there is blood on the fence, isn’t it possible that he wasn’t the one who did this? Why would there be an indication that an escape was either attempted or made if the perpetrator was so gravely wounded?”

  To his credit, the marshal did not seem surprised to hear such a question from a female. “That’s what we need to determine, isn’t it?”

  “There’s something you ought to know about your crime scene,” Isaiah told him, his expression grave. “The killer left three strategically placed pieces of firewood on the victim.”

  “He did,” Annie agreed. “What do you think the meaning was behind it?”

  “I don’t know about the meaning,” Isaiah continued, “but I believe I know where they came from.”

  Isaiah told the marshal the story of hearing footsteps and finding tracks in the snow, of the pieces of wood he had left in case the intruder might have needed a source of warmth for a family. Then he let out a long breath. “I think whoever killed Eula Phillips was on my property earlier in the evening.”

  While the two men discussed the details of Isaiah’s possible near-meeting with the killer, Annie became aware of a disturbance in the front of the home. “Excuse me,” she told them. “I’m going to go see what’s happening.”

  She walked toward the sound of men shouting until she spied a familiar face: Cameron Blake. “I thought I might find you here, Miss Walters.”

  “Hello, Mr. Blake. Do you know what’s got these men so excited?”

  “I do,” he said. “We’ve had a second murder tonight. Susan Hancock over on Water Street. Her girls came home at midnight and found her murdered in her daughter’s bed. Her husband, Moses, is a suspect, but my money is on our old friend the Midnight Assassin.”

  “Why is that? It doesn’t sound like Mrs. Hancock was a serving girl. Was she?”

  “She was not, but then, neither was Mrs. Phillips.” He paused and looked far too pleased with himself. “No, Mrs. Hancock was killed with an ax and her body displayed much like the others. I’ve heard Eula met a similar fate, except it was Jimmy who was almost killed in the bed, and Eula ended up out in the back of the property like several of our other victims.”

  “You are a callous man, Mr. Blake. You speak of these people as if they’re not human. Have some respect.”

  He shrugged. “The killer treats them as if they’re not human. I’m merely reflecting what he does in an impartial way. My point is, if you remove the fact of who these women are and stick to the details of how they met their demise, you end up with the undeniable fact that our killer has returned.”

  “How could he kill two women in one night?”

  “Given the proximity of the two crime scenes, it isn’t impossible to believe. Of course, that all depends on what time the murders happened, I suppose.” Blake gave her an even look. “I have a prediction on how this will all end up though.”

  “What is your prediction?” she asked, only to hear another perspective on the subject.

  “No one in this town wants to admit the killer has returned. Not after an absence of murders since the end of September. The powers that be will find a way to charge Jimmy Phillips and Moses Hancock in the deaths of their wives. Case closed. Nothing to see here.” He shrugged. “That’s my opinion, and I believe it will happen that way.”

  “Are you planning an article to give your reasons why it shouldn’t?” she asked.

  Blake grinned. “I haven’t decided yet. It might be fun to write, but then, it will also be fun tearing apart whatever theory the police come up with in order to hold these men accountable.”

  He paused. “What do you think, Detective Walters?”

  “I think there’s a possibility we are dealing with the return of our madman, but there is also just as strong a possibility that these men took advantage of what they knew about the killer’s previous crimes and used that information to their advantage.”

  “Well said. I suppose we shall see which way it goes. But I have one final prediction.”

  “What is that?”

  “I predict this is the last we see of our killer. He won’t be back this time.”

  “You seem certain of this.”

  “Do I?” Blake chuckled. “I’m not, truly. But it would make a great ending to my series, wouldn’t it? Midnight Assassin’s swan song is a double murder. Now he’ll never be found. Or something like that.”

  “I hope he’s found,” she said. “I want him put away.”

  A fellow she’d seen holding a lantern at the murder scene loped up. “Miss Walters, you’re needed. The marshal would like you to go over your testimony again from the point that you and the other detective arrived on the property.”

  “Yes, tell him I’ll be right there.”

  Blake chuckled. “They’re already looking for holes in the theory that the killer has returned, and they’re trying to put Jimmy Phillips away. Mind what you tell them. It will all be twisted.”

  “Have you always been this cynical, Mr. Blake?”

  “Only after I actually figured out what was going on. Until then, I thought justice always prevailed.” He paused. “It’s never a nice day when you figure out for yourself that it doesn’t.”

  Chapter 18

  A
few hours later, Ike walked back home with Annie. The two deaths had stirred up the citizens of Austin to the point where they’d taken to the streets. Men and women, and even children, were clustered along Pecan Street talking about the crimes and lamenting the fact they could not be home and safely asleep in their beds.

  “I understand,” Annie said. “It must be awful to believe the killer has returned.”

  “He might have,” Ike agreed, “but my worry is whether these people would rather prefer believing he hasn’t.”

  As expected, the lights were on, and Pop was likely waiting up for them inside.

  Still, Ike slowed as he reached the house.

  “I know it’s freezing out here,” he said, “but I think it’s important to discuss what we saw tonight before the details are gone from our minds. As soon as we go inside, we’ll have to give an edited version to Pop, and those details may be lost.”

  “All right, well, my first thought is I am not sure whether Jimmy Phillips injured himself or was a victim as well. I suppose that’s for a doctor to determine.”

  Ike nodded. “It is, but I think Jimmy will be charged with this crime.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “You know as well as I do that the husband is always the first suspect.” He paused. “The problem with that is the issue of the wood. I know what I heard, and I heard someone walking behind our outbuildings.”

  “I believe you.”

  “I also found the tracks that had to be made by a man’s boot. I hadn’t walked out there today once it started snowing, and I know that Pop didn’t. If he was headed to Slanton’s house when he left here, which he was, then he’d be going the wrong direction if he walked that way. There were no tracks from the house to the outbuildings, only from the fence. So who else was there?”

  “If it was the killer, then the wood you put out in the alley will be gone.”

  “Let’s go see.” He directed her to the edge of the property so Pop wouldn’t see them walking past and join in. The last thing Ike wished to discuss with his father was that something from their home had been used by a killer. Not on a night that should be a happy one.

  They traversed the back lawn until Ike stopped at the place where he’d left the wood. The tracks were gone now, erased by the sleet and snow that had fallen in the hours since he’d been there.

  As he feared, however, the three pieces of wood he had stacked neatly against the fence in the alley were gone.

  “Oh,” Annie said. “You were right.”

  Ike let out a long breath. “I didn’t want to be.” He looked around on the ground around the missing pile while Annie’s eyes scanned the perimeter.

  “I don’t see anything unusual here,” she said. “What about you?”

  “Nothing.” He frowned. “That’s the worst part.”

  “What do you mean?” Annie asked.

  “The hallmark of the Midnight Assassin is that he leaves no trail. No trace of himself other than what he wants to be found.” Ike stopped to look around once more. “I’m not ready to say it was him just yet, but I’ll admit there are similarities.”

  “Jimmy being harmed is consistent with previous attacks,” Annie said. “We’ve got witnesses and companions who have been attacked. What we haven’t had until tonight is a victim who isn’t a servant. And if you believe the reports, two victims in one night. What are your thoughts on the crime scene at the Hancock home?”

  “More typical of the previous scenes than the Phillips murder. Same method of killing the victim.” He paused. “I’m just not sure. Unlike the Phillips murder, I don’t have a reason to disbelieve the allegation that the husband did it.”

  “I feel the same,” she said. “Her husband has no alibi, but he also has no reason.”

  “That’s true, Annie, but we both know sometimes there just is no reason,” Ike told her as they retraced their steps to return to the porch.

  “I would like to interview him. Maybe I could figure that part out. If there’s a cause or not.”

  “That isn’t going to happen anytime soon, Annie,” he said. “The police aren’t going to let anyone near him. Not when the case is still being built.”

  “But it all comes back to whether the killer could take down two women and one man on the same night. I just don’t know.”

  “Once the time of death is determined for each of them, that can either be proved or disproved.”

  The door flew open and Pop stood there with a rifle aimed in their direction.

  “Whoa, now, Pop,” Ike said. “Put that away. It’s just Annie and me.”

  “Come on in,” he groused. “You’re letting in the cold air.” He put away the rifle then nodded to the parlor. “I want to hear what happened, but keep your voices down. Hattie has slept through everything so far, and I’d rather she not wake up now.”

  “I’ll make some hot coffee,” Annie said. “I’m cold, and it won’t keep me awake, because there’s no way I can sleep anytime soon. Would any of you like some?”

  “Not me,” Pop said. “But do you need help finding everything?”

  “I think I can manage it,” she said. “Isaiah? Coffee?”

  “Thank you.” Once Annie had gone into the kitchen, Ike quietly gave Pop the edited version of the story.

  “Jimmy Phillips did it,” Pop said. “And I don’t know Moses Hancock at all, but I’d wager he is guilty too. It is no secret that Phillips likes to drink, though I’d heard from his mother that he’d given it up.”

  Ike sat back in the chair and regarded his father incredulously. “Pop, I’ll give you your opinion on Phillips, but why say a man is guilty if you don’t know him?”

  “All right, here’s my thought on that. If it comes out that there was any hint of disagreement between Susan Hancock and her husband, he’s going to be found guilty. If there’s any reason he can be charged, he will be charged. He might not have done it, but he will be guilty. See what I mean?”

  Ike let out a long breath. “I do, actually.”

  “Did you go over to that scene as well as the one at the Phillipses’ place?”

  “We did,” he said. “The deputy marshal took us with him to see what had happened once the news arrived.”

  “And?”

  “And I think it will come down to time of death.” He shook his head. “You know, Pop, it’s late. Why don’t you see if you can get some sleep. Tomorrow is Christmas, and Miss Hattie is going to want us all up for breakfast.”

  His father yawned. “I suppose I ought to.” He rose to walk toward the door and paused to turn. “You know, Son, I had really hoped that our Black Midnight campaign had actually chased off this monster.”

  Ike regarded him for a moment. “Maybe it has, Pop.”

  A few minutes later, Annie came out of the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Ike and took the other one over to the chair near the window.

  “My mind is going in a thousand directions,” Annie said. “We’ve got two murders tonight and a possible return of the Midnight Assassin. Or not.”

  “What did Cameron Blake have to say about it?”

  She frowned. “How did you know I spoke with him?”

  He shrugged. “I saw him there when we were leaving with the deputy marshal. If he’s anywhere near you, he will be talking to you.”

  “Rubbish,” Annie said. “He talks to everyone.”

  “Not to me.”

  Annie took a sip of coffee. “That’s because you refuse to speak with him.”

  “You might take a lesson from me,” he told her. “The less you say to a reporter, the fewer words of yours he has to twist.”

  He was right, of course, but Annie wouldn’t admit it to him. At least not tonight. She had too many other things on her mind. Too many facts swirling about in her brain that she feared she wouldn’t remember.

  And one too many images of poor Eula Phillips that she couldn’t forget.

  “I think we need to write down our notes tonight before
we sleep,” Annie said. “Same theory as you said outside. Record it while it is fresh.”

  Ike went to the sideboard and pulled out a pen, ink, and writing paper. “Do you want to write it all down, or should I?”

  Annie rose and grabbed her mug, then walked over to the small writing desk in the corner opposite the Christmas tree. “Your writing is unreadable on a good day, Isaiah. Imagine it in the middle of the night.”

  While he chuckled, she settled behind the desk. “All right, start at the beginning. If you get too far ahead, I’ll stop you.”

  Using that process, Annie was able to record the events of the night in just over an hour’s time. She looked at the pages of notes she had written and nodded. “Yes, that’s enough for tonight, I think.”

  When Isaiah didn’t answer, she looked up to find him stretched out as much as the settee would accommodate his long frame. Though he wasn’t snoring yet, he appeared to be sound asleep.

  Annie rose and went over to the chair to retrieve a crocheted afghan from the basket beside it. Covering Isaiah, she turned off the lights and tiptoed out of the room. By the time she reached the second-floor landing, his snoring drifted upward to reach her.

  The next morning she rose to the smell of bacon, and her stomach growled. She found Isaiah at the table, his plate empty and his coffee mug full.

  “Good morning and merry Christmas,” she told him. “I hope you slept well. You snore, by the way.”

  He shook his head, then winced. “A man of my height should never be made to sleep on anything that small. But it’s my own fault, and I’ll own up to it. I should have brought my bedroll down.”

  Miss Hattie came in and replaced Isaiah’s empty plate with another one full of eggs, bacon, and biscuits. “Oh, goodness, I didn’t hear you in here. Merry Christmas, Annie! Your breakfast is on the way.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, Miss Hattie. As to breakfast, that’s not necessary. I can—” The kitchen door closed on Annie’s words. “I guess my breakfast is on the way,” she said to Ike. “Does she know what happened last night?”

  “Pop told her. She’s upset, which is why she’s so cheerful. And cooking like crazy. It’s what she does.”