The Devil's Dime (The Samaritan Files)

by Bailey Bristol

  “Do you think you could hide these? Just until I can get them to a new bank box?”

  Addie looked at the bundle wrapped in newsprint, just like fresh fish from the market only not soaked with oil. She snatched it up and sashayed into the kitchen, and made one full turn before deciding her first instinct was the best.

  With a great dramatic flare, Addie pulled open the door of the small ice box and dropped the bundle onto a cool rack. She was just straightening up when she felt Jess’s hands on her waist. She closed the door and caught her breath when he spoke close to her ear.

  “Now you’re thinking like a criminal, darlin’.”

  . . .

  The smooth, cold bricks of the morgue floor sent their penetrating chill through Jess’s cotton shirt within seconds after he lay down. He rocked his head from side to side and then looked straight up at the maze of pipes that hung from the ceiling.

  “So this is where you found him?”

  Gus looked back and forth from Jess to the bookcases that formed the ‘walls’ of Ollie Twickenham’s office and shook his head.

  “Close.”

  Jess was grateful — for Gus’s sake — that someone had done a thorough job of scrubbing away the blood. But now there wasn’t even a trace to help him recreate the scene. He had to rely on Gus for that.

  “That’s not good enough, Gus. I need to know exactly where he was.”

  “Okay, okay. Umm. His right foot was caught right here and his knee was twisted back.”

  “Like this?” Jess scooted down the cold floor and arranged his leg as Gus had described, with his foot caught in the corner of the lowest shelf next to the office entrance.

  “Yes, yes, that’s it. Only his whole foot fit in there.”

  “You casting aspersions about the size of my boots, pal?” Jess laughed as he sat up and pulled off his right boot. Even without the boot his foot barely fit into the space.

  Gus was still uneasy returning to the scene and ignored Jess’s attempt at humor.

  “It still doesn’t look right, though, I mean, something’s still different.” Gus was nervously stroking his bald spot again.

  Jess closed his eyes and pictured what the scene might have looked like based on Gus’s description.

  “Of course, his head would have ended right about here.” Jess put both his hands on the third button down from his collar.

  “That’s it!” Gus snapped to attention, clarity suddenly descending on him with Jess’s observation. “And his arms weren’t clear up there. They were down here.” He pointed to a place just beyond the butted feet of the two bookcases facing Ollie’s cubbyhole.

  Gus rubbed his forehead, feverish now as he recalled the scene. “His left hand was clear under the case.”

  Jess bent his knees and slid his torso closer to his feet.

  “Here?” he asked as he slipped his left hand beneath the bottom shelf of the bookcase.

  “So then...” Jess was about to ask about the position of the right hand when he felt something beneath the back of his hand. Arranged as he was, it was physically impossible to turn his hand over, so he carefully pulled his left arm back and rolled over to reach under with his right.

  What he withdrew was a scrap of paper that looked like it had been torn off a larger sheet. He brushed it off and looked for the traces of age he’d expect to see on paper that had sat for a while beneath the shelf. But while the scrap showed normal yellowing along its two straight sides, the torn side did not.

  This was a fresh tear.

  The word ‘bridge’, trailed onto the scrap from the torn edge, followed by a flowery company monogram.

  “That’s probably been there for decades, Jess.”

  Jess rocked himself up to one knee and held the scrap up to the dim light. “Nope. Don’t think so, Gus. Look here.”

  On the bottom corner, printed lightly in pencil were the initials O.T.T. followed by a slash and a second set of initials.

  J.S.P.

  There was no mistaking it. Gus and Jess both recognized Ollie’s precise hand. And there was no doubt in either of their minds that Ollie had intended for Jess to see whatever was on the page this scrap belonged to. He’d branded it with both their initials.

  Jess tore a clean page from the small notepad he carried in his pocket. He folded the page around the scrap and slipped it into the small pocket that held his pocket watch. He was just pulling on his boot when Gus pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow.

  It was chilly here in the basement morgue, but Gus had broken a sweat. The whole ordeal of recreating the scene was getting to him.

  “You know, Gus, I think we’ve done as much as we can here today. Shall we head on up?” He clapped a hand on Gus’s shoulder and turned him toward the door.

  Gus pocketed his handkerchief and cast a grateful look to Jess and they headed for the staircase.

  Walking two abreast, they filled the narrow aisle, and just as they emerged from the end of the aisle, Jess stepped on something hard that didn’t crumble, even under his heavy boot.

  Jess bent to toss aside the offending lump and was surprised to find a shiny white cube peppered with black dots. Half of a pair of dice.

  He chuckled. “Hope losin’ this didn’t break someone’s lucky streak.”

  Gus started up the steps and said casually, “Old Ben and the boys were raising a ruckus down here on payday and Twick chased them out. They were hoppin’ mad.”

  Jess caught the cube he’d been flipping and stopped on the bottom step. “Gus.”

  Gus stopped and turned.

  “Payday was yesterday.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess it was.”

  “Crap shooters were down here yesterday?”

  “Right after paycall. Twick was fuming. Last thing I heard him say was—God, Jess, last thing he said was ‘over my dead body.’”

  Gus turned and leaned on the stair wall. “You don’t think—”

  “No, Gus, I don’t. It’s too easy to find a place to shoot craps. The morgue was close. But nothing to kill over. But—” Jess moved on up the stairs and Gus followed.

  “But what, Jess?”

  “It gives me an idea.”

  . . .

  Everyone knew Old Ben. He was seventy if he was a day, and still lugged heavier loads than half the young bucks that worked for him. Jess found him loading bundles of a special edition onto pallets in the bundling room.

  “Ben! Got a second?”

  “Sure ’nuf, Pepper. Give me a minute, here.” The overalled laborer pulled at a red bandana that hung from his back pocket and mopped his face. “Whew. It’s a hot one.”

  Jess leaned casually on a support pillar and tossed the orphaned die to Ben. “Found something o’ yours.”

  Ben caught it easily, with the sure reflexes of a man who’s shot craps all his life.

  “Hah! I knew she’d show up. Thanks, Pepper.”

  He rolled the white cube through his pop-knuckled fingers and stuffed it into the center front pocket of his bibbed overalls.

  “Ol’ Twick didn’t give you time to collect your things, huh?”

  Ben laughed. “He was on a rampage, all right. Chased me outta the morgue more times than I can count.”

  “Just yesterday, was it? Payday?”

  Ben shook his head, remembering the tragedy that had followed. “Yup. Don’t think I’ll ever go down there again. Won’t be the same.”

  “You didn’t mind him chasing you out all the time?”

  “Heck, no. That was half the fun.”

  “So, you skeedaddled right outta there when Twick started hollerin’?” Jess kept a casual pose and idly knotted a piece of twine he’d found on the floor. But he watched Ben closely.

  “Naw. We come up to the landing and tried to agree where we was gonna go, but it was hard yellin’ over the noise from the presses.” Ben put his hands on his lower back and flexed and stretched his shoulders. “That’s why we like the morgue, y’know. If we get a little too ex
cited they don’t hear us squawkin’ over that racket.”

  “I s’pose not. So, you were on the landing decidin’ where t’ go?” It was habit to fall into a lazy drawl when he wanted to put people at ease. And it was working with Ben.

  “Yup. But those hunyocks kept gawkin’ at the hussy, an’ by the time they was ready to talk, I had to hustle on back t’ work.” He shook his head slowly in disgust.

  “Aw, Ben, I think you were seein’ things.”

  “Naw. It was her all right. The hussy from Georgia. Works up there in the typin’ pool. Guys got stupid on me the minute she started swingin’ her hips down the stairway.”

  “You’re sure it was her?”

  “They was fallin’ all over theyselves cuz she had her skirt hiked halfway up to ’er knees goin’ down those steps. It was her, all right.”

  “If that don’t beat all.” Jess tossed the knotted string in the trash bin and winked at Ben. “Take care o’ that little gal now, y’ hear?”

  Ben patted his front pocket. “You bet I will.”

  Jess waved and sauntered out into the lobby. A quick thumb check of his own front pocket reassured him the paper scrap was still there. His morning had turned out quite profitably and his stomach was shouting for lunch.

  But first he had some questions for a certain Miss Birdie Tabor.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Addie paced around the small living room, anxious to share what she’d discovered. By three o’clock she’d found five of the women still living in the homes they’d occupied twenty years earlier.

  She’d been trembling so badly with the first woman she called on that the sweet woman brought tea and toast and fussed over her until she blurted out what she’d come for. After a tense moment of silence, the woman sat and closed her eyes.

  “I’ve not spoken of it for twenty years,” she’d said quietly. “And after today I shall never speak of it again.” And then she’d proceeded to tell Addie everything she remembered about the night she’d nearly been killed.

  “I was only sixteen, you know, and very independent for my years. Mother always told me nothing good would come of it, and she was partially correct.

  “It was just a month before graduation, and I was to give the valedictory speech. I wanted a new dress so badly and I was furious with Mother when she said my Easter dress would do just fine.

  “I cried and cried to my best friend, and she decided the two of us could make the Easter dress into something completely new.

  “So, for three nights I sneaked out after my parents went to bed and walked the three blocks to her house. The late evenings were so beautiful and still, and I would practice my speech all the way to her house and again on the way home.

  “By the third night we had the dress nearly finished. And, oh my, it was...well, it was everything I wanted. That last night I tried it on and the neckline made my shoulders feel slim and pretty, and the skirt! It just floated when I walked. I was so happy.

  “We worked as late as we could, but we still had several yards of hem left to finish. You see, even though it was a few weeks until graduation, we still had exams to study for. My friend and I always made sure we received top marks.

  “So we agreed to put the dress aside and we’d finish it after exams.

  “I just floated out the door that night. I felt so pretty and grown up, and I used this silly, dramatic voice to practice my speech on the way home.”

  “Halfway between our houses there was a small garden next to the church, and I was so carried away with how well my speech was going that I hopped up onto a bench and pretended I was speaking to a crowd.

  “I was just giving a pretty little curtsy and blowing kisses to the imaginary crowd when I was thrown onto the ground from behind. I broke my ankle when I fell off the bench and I nearly passed out with the pain.

  “Someone was grabbing me up off the ground and I thought at first he was trying to help, but he kept muttering, ‘Pretty one, eh? Such a pretty one’. He was dragging me along and I was screaming because it hurt my ankle so. I was begging him to put me down. Then he pulled me around and sort of slung me over his left hip and something metal on his belt was smashing into my hip.

  “I was screaming in pain and so confused and I remember being embarrassed because my skirt was clear up and I could feel the cool air through my pantalettes.

  “He brought his other arm around to cover my mouth with the back of his hand, but he was clumsy and I couldn’t stop screaming.

  “Then he flung me off his hip and grabbed my hair. But my hair bow came off in his hand, and I tried to run, but I just fell to my knees.

  “He grabbed my hair up like a horse’s tail and sliced it off and threw it in my face. I was crawling away and crying and he kept saying, ‘Pretty one, eh? Pretty one?’.

  “Finally he grabbed me by the top of my hair and yanked me up to my knees. He waved his knife right in front of my eyes and I saw why he was so clumsy with it before. He had the knife lashed to his palm, like it was part of his hand. Because his hand didn’t work right by itself.

  “It got very quiet and I could tell I wasn’t screaming any more. And I could tell that...that he was going to kill me. Right then.

  “I thought I was going to faint, but all of the sudden I heard this whistle blowing down the street and feet were pounding toward us.

  “He threw me to the ground and disappeared into the park. The feet went running past, but in a few seconds came back. It was a big, tall man, and he turned me over very gently and carried me to the park bench. He said he was going to leave me for just a minute to send for the police.

  “I begged him not to leave me and he took my hand and said in the kindest, most reverent voice I’d ever heard, ‘Fear not, darlin’’.

  “Well, I knew right then that he was an angel. God had sent his angel to save me. I could feel him watching until the police came, and then he was just...gone.”

  The woman was quiet for a long moment, and when she opened her eyes, Addie was weeping.

  “I’m so sorry, dear heart. I should have spared you the details.”

  “Oh, no, I’m grateful that you could...that you would tell me so much. I wonder, though, is there any possibility in your mind that...that the man who attacked you and the man who saved you were one and the same?”

  The woman looked at Addie, startled. “But that’s impossible.”

  “What makes you certain of that?”

  “Why, he was taller, broader, his hair was shorter, his eyes were...oh my goodness. I’d completely forgotten.”

  Addie leaned toward the woman. “What? What had you forgotten?”

  “Why, his eyes were dark. Brown like a hazelnut. And the other...his eyes were gray. Like a snake.”

  . . .

  Jess stuck his pocketknife into the apple he’d brought for Ford and handed it to him. Addie’s father seemed weak, clumsy, and dropped the knife twice before he settled into a rhythm and soon had the apple peeled in one long, spiraling strip.

  He ate the peel as they talked, and then the apple.

  “How’s Addie?”

  “She’s fine, Ford. She’s grateful to have a place to stay.”

  Jess watched him nod as he munched the apple.

  “She’s worried, though.”

  Ford shook the knife toward Jess and spoke with more energy than he’d heard yet today. “You tell that girl I’ll be fine. Hear?”

  “I will, Ford, I will. But...you have to help us. Chief Trumbull seems to think he’s got enough to trump up charges on you, and we can’t let that happen.”

  “Trumbull’s a sick bastard,” Ford growled.

  “I’m...I’m beginning to agree,” Jess nodded, “and we need to stay one jump ahead. So...” Jess pulled the small scrap from his watch pocket and held it up to Ford. “We need to know if this means anything to you.”

  Ford looked at the scrap and stopped chewing. He continued to stare at it as he swallowed and took another bite before answering.
“Where’d you get that.”

  Jess turned it around and studied the monogram, and the letters that trailed onto the scrap from its torn edge.

  ‘bridge’.

  “Friend o’ mine was awfully anxious to get something to me, but this seems to be all that’s left. I have a hunch Trumbull has the rest.”

  Ford harrumphed. “Lotta good it’ll do ’im.”

  “Point is, what good can it do us? Does it mean something, Ford?”

  “Oh, I’m sure it does mean somethin’. To somebody.”

  “On your feet, old man.” Jess retrieved his pocketknife and hauled Ford to his feet. He was not as heavy as he looked, and stumbled a bit once he was standing.

  “What’re ya gonna do, beat me ’til I tell you what you wanna know?” Ford sneered in challenge, as if that’s exactly what he wanted Jess to do.

  “No, my friend. We’re going to walk.”

  ”What?”

  “Walk. Now. And don’t stop ’til I tell you.”

  Jess stared him down until Ford finally turned and shuffled toward the end of the cell.

  “Now back.”

  Ford coughed with a wracking wheeze as he turned, but he shuffled back.

  Jess kept count as he kept Magee moving and soon Addie’s father was walking in smooth circles around Jess.

  “Addie will be happy to know you’ve decided not to shrivel up and die here, old man.”

  “Stop calling me old man.”

  “All right, old goat. You keep exercising like this while I’m gone. I want to see you fit when we haul you outta here.”

  “Don’t you worry ’bout me bein’ fit. I’ve survived worse than this,” Ford growled, but now he was panting just a bit with the tempo he’d accelerated to on his own.

  “Good to know, Ford. You keep it up while I go check this out and—”

  Jess waved the scrap of paper at Ford and turned toward the door to summon the guard. The old man charged him from behind and pinned him to the wall with unexpected strength.