Jourdan lunged for Briggs, knocking the cigar out of his mouth. Briggs retaliated with a knee to his groin. Lucette screamed. Jourdan had just socked Briggs in the abdomen when the two officers got between them to break it up.
During the scuffle, Roscoe Rodriguez was laughing hysterically.
32
Mary had spent two and a half days camped out at the Twelfth Street Post Office. She got there an hour before it opened and stayed until an hour after closing. Her reasoning was based on the premise that old habits die hard. Kate had consistently received her mail there since Mary had first met her, and if she was still in the city, chances were that wouldn’t have changed.
On the third day at lunchtime, for those who had jobs that allowed for such a luxury, people poured in and out of the post office. Mary leaned on a lamppost, trying to appear casual but watching carefully for any sign of Kate.
A policeman rode up on a horse and stopped in front of her, blocking her view. She moved to the front of the horse, so she could still have a decent line of sight to the post office.
“Madam,” the policeman declared, “you’ve been loitering here for days, and the storekeepers are nervous.”
“Nervous?” Mary replied, keeping her eye on the post office. “Why in the world would…” And then she understood his implication. “I’m no whore, sir. I defy anyone to say I left with a man.”
“Madam, no one accused you of being good at it.”
This was a delicate situation. She was lucky that the officer didn’t recognize her, because she was supposed to be off the case and working incognito. Yet she couldn’t divulge who she was in order to get rid of him for the same reason. She was pondering this problem when she spotted Kate across the street. She had just rounded the corner and was on her way to pick up her mail. Mary abruptly scooted to her right and hid behind the horse’s rear. The policeman took exception.
“What in the world do you think you’re—?”
“I’m leaving, Officer. Good day.”
Having seen Kate enter the post office, Mary scurried across the street to position herself for when she left. The policeman watched her walk the length of the opposite block, then turn the corner. Satisfied that his job was done, he rode on.
Kate came out ten minutes later stuffing the last of the letters into her handbag. She didn’t realize that some were actually sticking out as she headed to the corner from which she had come. Mary had counted on her returning in that direction, and to avoid detection, she was behind the opposite corner, checking periodically for Kate. She followed, keeping a safe distance behind, and watched Kate turn down a side street.
Mary turned down the same side street, but there was no Kate. She had disappeared. Looking from side to side, Mary ran along the rows of brownstones that covered each side of the street. Still no Kate. It didn’t make sense. It was possible Kate had an apartment in one of the brownstones, but this was a higher-rent district and Mary doubted she could afford one here.
Walking back up the block, Mary was more meticulous in her search and was rewarded when she spied an envelope on the sidewalk next to stairs that led down to the basement of a brownstone. It was addressed to Kate. Instead of walking down into the unknown, Mary climbed a few steps up toward the entrance and peered over the banister. Kate was there, hiding at the side of the bottom staircase, crouching and waiting.
“Hello, Kate,” she called out.
Startled, Kate’s head jerked up in the direction of her voice as Mary continued.
“I always loved games. Hide-and-seek was one of my favorites.”
“If you had grown up in Haddonfield,” Kate said as she stood, gathering herself, “you’d know not to hide behind the hind legs of a horse. Most times you’ll get kicked.”
Kate pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Mary. She motioned with it.
“Please join me.”
Mary had no choice but to comply. At this point, she was convinced that Kate was good with weapons. Her voice had also taken on a strange detachment, which meant, Mary concluded, that Kate might be capable of anything.
“All of Brooklyn’s looking for you, Kate,” Mary said as she took her time descending the stairs toward the basement.
She was almost at the bottom when Kate pulled the trigger. The bullet hit Mary in her right shoulder, the impact knocking her to the ground.
“I can’t allow you to arrest me, Mary,” Kate said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “Please don’t be upset. It’s not serious, I promise.”
It certainly felt serious, but Mary knew she had to ignore the pain as much as she could. Keeping the conversation going became her priority, or one of two things was going to happen: Kate would either leave or kill her.
“Like the boy you shot in high school?”
“Oh, you know about that. You wouldn’t have liked him, Mary. He was vulgar, nothing like your Charles.”
“Was your Charlie vulgar?”
For the first time, Kate showed some real emotion. Remembering Charles Goodrich stirred up unpleasant feelings of anger, rejection, and resentment.
“He had it in his date book. ‘Eight a.m. to seven p.m.—work. Eight thirty p.m.—Pick up clothes at Lin’s Laundry. Nine p.m.—Break up with Kate.’ ” She turned to Mary, full of hurt and rage. “I came after laundry, Mary. Laundry!”
Now Mary knew who had torn the pages out of the date book. More important though, they had stopped talking, and that wasn’t good, especially considering how angry Kate was.
“I don’t know if it’ll make you feel any better,” Mary said, wracking her brain for topics to keep Kate engaged. “But I just discovered my Charles is a morphine addict.”
“Well, what do you know,” mused Kate. “Men are scum. You and I are too good for them, Mary.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
Mary was trying to figure out how she was going to get to her feet and knock the pistol out of Kate’s hand. She tested her shoulder by trying to move. The pain was too great, and she groaned. Luckily, Kate was lost somewhere in the recesses of her mind, traveling on a road meant only for the pathologically insane.
“I showed Charlie what true love is. I spent all night holding him, cleaning him, changing his clothes. My Charlie was going to look perfect. When I left, he was more handsome than when he was alive.”
In spite of all that had transpired between them, Mary felt pity for her.
“Kate, let me get you help.”
But Kate would have none of it. “I’ve been to Taunton. I’m not going back!” she vehemently declared, and started up the stairs to the street. Soon Kate’s emotions did an about-face, and so did she. She returned and bent over Mary.
“I’m really going to miss you, Mary,” she said sweetly. “Please don’t make me kill you.”
Then, in a flash, she disappeared onto the street above. Mary struggled to get to her feet. She knew she had to somehow overcome the pain. She thought of all that had taken place since she took the case—the giant German who attacked her twice, Edison, Morgan, Wallenski, the Chungs, Charles, and now Kate. She became angry, very angry. It soon turned to outrage, and it was more than enough to propel Mary to the railing, where she grabbed on to it with her left hand and lifted herself up. There was pain, but it didn’t matter. She made her way up the stairs and stumbled onto the street.
Mary spotted Kate halfway down the block, and the folly of chasing after her set in. In her state, it would be almost impossible to catch her, and if she did, what could she do? Frustrated, Mary anxiously looked around for an answer. She saw the policeman who had rousted her earlier coming down the block on his horse.
“Officer, officer!” she screamed. “That woman’s the Goodrich killer!” And she pointed to Kate.
She was afraid he wouldn’t believe her, but her being shot was evidence enough. The policeman broke into a gallop, heading toward Kate.
“Be careful,” Mary called after him. “She has a pistol!”
The policem
an pulled his pistol out of his holster and pointed it skyward as he was riding. Kate kept walking, minding her own business as if she hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on.
The policeman closed in on her. “Halt, madam. Halt!”
With the cool alacrity of a trained killer, Kate turned, dropped to one knee, and shot the policeman. He fell like a duck in a shooting gallery, his horse galloping off down the street. Mary was shocked. She wanted to help him, but now was not the time. Pistol in hand, Kate was marching up the street toward Mary.
Mary scrambled for her life. She tried to run but soon discovered it was useless. Her wound slowed her down too much, and all the time Kate was gaining on her. She ducked down the stairs toward the basement of another brownstone and hid behind a wall where she couldn’t be seen by anyone on the stairs. It was a desperate move. Mary didn’t have a pistol or knife or anything to defend herself when Kate came down those stairs. And she was coming.
Then she remembered. Mary ripped open her pocketbook and took out the broken piece of glass she had wrapped in a washrag and had kept as a symbol of Charles. It needed to be a lot more useful than a symbol now. She re-wrapped the washrag to protect her skin before placing it in her left hand. The jagged edge exposed, Mary raised it high, poised to strike. She was breathing heavily, and she knew that would give her away. So, holding her breath, sweating, Mary stood there, opposite the basement, waiting to see if she was going to live.
At first sight of Kate, Mary lunged, slicing wildly at her, hoping that if she didn’t hit her mark, she might scare her enough to have time to get the pistol out of her hand. How she was going to do that, she didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. Mary hit her mark. She cut a deep gash in Kate’s right forearm, causing her to drop the pistol. Mary immediately kicked it away. Kate staggered back, her left hand covering the gash on her right arm, but that didn’t stop the blood from oozing out. She was in a complete state of disbelief.
“But…you don’t carry a weapon.”
The adrenaline in Mary’s body was working overtime. She had never felt such a surge of energy. She tossed the piece of glass aside.
“Something else you don’t know about me. I’m a lefty, you crazy bitch!”
With everything she had, Mary drove her left fist into Kate’s chin. Kate’s head shot back, and the force of the blow propelled her against the wall, then down onto the cement. It would be a long while before she woke up.
The doctor patched up Mary’s shoulder and put it in a sling. She was lucky. Kate’s bullet hadn’t broken any bones, and he assured her the healing process would be speedy. Kate had promised that the wound wasn’t serious, and it wasn’t. Unfortunately, the news wasn’t as good for the policeman. He was going to live, but the recovery would take months and his career was over. Mary went to his hospital room and thanked him profusely, but she still felt awful. It had been his dream to be a policeman, and she knew only too well what it was like to have your dreams dashed.
Mary got a hero’s welcome from the men at Second Street Station. They stood up and applauded when she entered. Sean even planted a kiss on her cheek in front of everyone.
“Good job, sis. I’m proud of you.”
Mary searched his face to determine whether his display of affection was real or for show. It was real, and she was touched by it.
“Mary Handley,” boomed Chief Campbell’s voice as he came out of his office. “You were wounded in the line of duty and need to be home resting. Now go.”
He waved his hand for her to leave, but Mary didn’t budge. “I promise I’ll go home, Chief. Right after I see Kate.”
Chief Campbell turned to Sean. “My sympathies, Handley. Now I know why you were having so much trouble getting her to shoo when we first met. Your sister’s incurably hardheaded.”
“Yes, sir, Chief. Hardheaded and the smartest person I know.”
It would be a while before Mary got used to Sean complimenting her.
It was a good walk to get to the cell where Kate was being held. Mary and Chief Campbell had to pass a row of offices before entering an anteroom to the holding cells. On the way, the two of them chatted about the crime, a normal occurrence after a big arrest. As they entered the anteroom and the guard took out his keys to unlock the iron-bar door leading to the cells, Chief Campbell scratched his head.
“He breaks it off with her, so she returns the next night and blows his brains out.” It was hard for Chief Campbell to process. “I’m glad my courting days are over.”
“Somehow I knew I’d find her at the post office,” Mary said. “But I still don’t completely understand it. If she wasn’t writing her parents…”
“We looked through her letters. She was answering men’s personal ads. Apparently, that’s how she met Goodrich.”
The guard had opened the door, and they entered. There were only four cells. Chief Campbell stopped at the fourth and pointed. “Well, here she is.”
Mary froze. She had to see Kate, and yet she knew it was going to be difficult for her. She slowly edged closer. Kate was sitting on the cement floor, her back against the wall with her right arm bandaged. Without blinking, she stared ahead in what seemed like a complete state of stupor. Mary had read about this affliction in medical journals. Recently, doctors had given her condition the label of catatonia.
Chief Campbell pointed. “See that large locket around her neck?”
“Grandma Stoddard’s,” Mary said, remembering happier days. “That’s where she was going to put the pictures of her and Charles Goodrich’s grandchildren.”
“Her plans changed. The inside is smeared with Goodrich’s dried blood. She said it makes her feel closer to him.”
The more Mary heard, the sadder she got. She couldn’t help feeling that the part of Kate she had loved, the naïve country girl caught up in the big city, was real and was somehow being strangled by whatever disease it was that perverted minds like hers.
Mary got nearer to the bars. “Kate. Kate, it’s me, Mary.”
There was no response and no hope. They waited a little longer, then left.
When they were gone, Kate blinked. She thought she had heard something, a faint sound of a voice from long ago. There was no need to answer. That was another lifetime, when the world had waged war against her. Just the thought made her insecure. She desperately felt for her locket and found it. Its presence soothed her, and she slowly exhaled. It was silly to get upset. No one could take away what she had. Charlie was gone, but they would be together again someday. Their love was destined, and destiny could never be changed. She flipped open the locket, licked two fingers, then dipped them into the dry blood that lined its inside. She opened her mouth and eagerly pressed the two fingers to her tongue. Charlie was so thoughtful to leave her a part of him. This way they’d always have their moments together. Their passion would never die.
33
Just as you think the circus can’t get any more exciting, in come the elephants. During the next couple of weeks, Mary’s celebrity increased. One headline after another featured the miraculous woman who had done a man’s job in capturing the Goodrich killer. Then, as happens, the news cycle changed. There was a series of murders in Manhattan, and everyone went off to cover them. The circus pulled up its tents and left. Mary dropped out of print.
It didn’t bother her at all. It had been fun while it lasted. She had a wonderful evening with Sarah and her family. Chief Campbell invited her to his home for dinner, and she got to meet his wife. She was bright, observant, and really knew how to handle him: in short, she was everything Mary had imagined. Even Elizabeth congratulated Mary, though she soon backtracked, tempering her praise with suggestions on how Mary could use her celebrity to find a suitable husband. It became a full retreat when she concluded (out loud, of course) that most men would now be intimidated by Mary, and that would lessen her chances of finding a mate. Alphonse Karr again: the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Being out of the spotlight gave
Mary a chance to heal and think. Wondering about Charles was fruitless, so she concentrated on the case. There were still many things about it that bothered her. Who were these people who had tried to kill her? Kate couldn’t afford to hire anyone. She had seen J. P. Morgan’s carriage at the Russian baths and naturally assumed that in his determination to find Goodrich’s journal, he had hired Wallenski and then had him removed. But that didn’t explain the large German man who had attacked her before she knew there was a journal. And who was Roscoe? Was he just a business acquaintance or did he have some greater significance? The mere mention of his name had scared Mortimer, so there must have been something there. Questions like these plagued her. Merely solving the Goodrich murder was not enough. Being who she was, Mary would not rest until she had found answers.
During this period, she was able to come to one definite decision. She had had an acrimonious encounter with Edison. He had fallen from grace, her grace. She didn’t approve of his business practices and his treatment of scientists, nor of her, but she possessed information that could help him. There was really no point in withholding it. She decided to rise above her feelings and extend an olive branch. She contacted Mrs. Embry and made an appointment.
As Mary waited in Edison’s outer office, she couldn’t help noticing her reception was quite different than it had been at any time before.
“Mr. Edison had a meeting with J. P. Morgan,” said Mrs. Embry. “But he will return presently. He instructed me to request that you stay.”
“I have no pressing engagement.”
Just hearing J. P. Morgan’s name was unsettling. It was frustrating to know she could do nothing about what he had done, but Mary was trying to put that behind her. She was no longer in a position to obtain Goodrich’s journal, so the threat of another attack was minimal.
Mary glanced out of the window and saw J. P. Morgan’s carriage pull up. Edison emerged, shortly followed by the Bowler Hat.
Second Street Station Page 21