by Bill LeFurgy
Clara’s carriage headed southeast, toward the waterfront. While Sarah appreciated the motorized efficiency of the taxi, she regretted that the landaulet roof was down as the streets grew increasingly crowded with wheelbarrow and pushcart traffic. Men yelled at each other demanding the right of way, horses snorted, and wheels skidded into and out of ruts among the paving stones.
Every so often, all traffic lurched to a stop at freight train crossings, where everything was subsumed under the shriek of the locomotive and the earthquake rumble of steel wheels. Thick dust raised from tearing up nearby streets rolled across them with every gust of wind.
As they got closer to the water, a succession of powerful smells appeared: ground coffee, raw sulfur, putrid meat, rotting produce. Turning onto Thames Street, Sarah almost swooned at the overpowering smells of coconut, chocolate, and burned sugar coming from the candy factory on the corner.
“You may be correct about a meeting with Lucas Patterson,” Sarah said. “The carriage is stopping in the vicinity of the Children's Benevolent and Protective Society.”
Jack told their driver to stop. He flipped open the door and got out. “Whatever happens, stay here,” he said. “If worse comes to worst, flag down a cop.”
“You said the police are of no use in this matter.”
“They’re the only option if shooting starts.” He pointed to her thumb. “Take care of that, hear?”
“I refuse to be left behind.” She tried to leave the carriage but couldn’t get past him at the door. “Your ability to act physically is limited. You need my help. Let me pass.”
“Yeah, I’m bushed. But I’ve got enough energy to keep you pinned in this buggy long enough for the bad guys to get away.”
She eased back into the cab. “Very well.”
“You sit tight. This will all be over in half a jiffy.”
Sarah stared straight ahead, a lump rising in her throat, as Jack walked away. She was confident that “half a jiffy” did not mean safely, as it was obvious the encounter would end violently.
Chapter 24
Jack—Friday, October 15, 1909, 10:00 a.m.
Clara’s cab stopped half a block from the Children's Benevolent and Protective Society. She got out and spoke with a swarm of street kids before handing over some coins. As soon as the money dropped into their hands, the children ran and threw rocks at two uniformed cops lounging across the way from Patterson’s building. The kids scattered, with the cops lumbering in pursuit. Once they were out of sight, Clara continued down the street and went into the building.
“Mister! Mister! My baby sister’s real sick. Got a penny?” The commotion had alerted another pack of children, who ran up to Jack and began working their cons. Jack looked at a small girl holding the hand of another kid about two years old. Both had thin, tubercular chests, ragged clothing, and filthy bare feet. When the older kid stopped wheedling, the younger one stuck out her lower lip and began crying right on cue.
“You two got a good sympathy racket going.” He held out a dime to the older one. “Keep that kid quiet, and this is yours.” The crying stopped, and Jack handed over the coin.
The rest of the kids crowded around, and he pulled out all his change, which was about a dollar’s worth. He pointed at a shifty-eyed boy. “I’ll give this to you to spread evenly, all right?” The kid nodded, and Jack forked over the change into his grubby hands. The whole cluster of kids disappeared into an alley. Better they got his change than the cops or morgue flunkies if this went bad.
“Don’t you be giving them money.” A big foreign-sounding woman stood in the open doorway of the Children's Benevolent and Protective Society. “Handouts hurt their character, mister.”
“Can’t help it. Just a natural sucker, I guess.” He mounted the steps. “I’m with that red-headed gal who just came in.”
“Are you now.” She didn’t sound the least bit convinced.
Jack stepped inside and looked around at the big tables that filled the front room. A couple of small boys were lugging baskets of foodstuffs into a rear kitchen. “Just point me to where she and Patterson are at and I’ll announce myself.”
The woman pointed a thick finger at a closed side door. He opened it without knocking. Clara and a well-dressed guy stood over a satchel full of money. A black Bible sat on the table next to the bag. Two pistols were leveled at his chest.
“Jack,” said Clara, “you look like a mummy with that stuff wrapped around your head. How can you even see? You should have stayed in your hospital bed, poor man.”
“You’re such a caring soul, Clara. Patterson, let me introduce myself. Jack Harden. Private dick.”
Patterson grinned. “I heard you’ve been snooping around. Put your gun on the table, real slow.”
Jack complied. “You’re a cool customer. If I were you, I’d be scared to death that Clara and I were going to take your money and that Bible. You don’t trust her any, do you?”
“Not in the least,” he said. “But Clara’s too smart to hang onto that Bible and too greedy to split her cash. That leaves you all by your lonesome, friend.”
Clara finished counting the money. “It’s all here.” She looked at Patterson. “What’re you going to do with him?”
Patterson ordered Jack to his knees. Jack didn’t move. Patterson cocked the hammer of his gun. “Get down. Otherwise I’ll shoot and tell the police that you came at me with that big pistol of yours. It’s clear from that bandage that you aren’t in your right mind.”
“Yeah, you got experience getting away with shooting guys in the head, don’t you?” A firm knock sounded at the door. Clara and Patterson exchanged a look as the door opened and Sarah joined them.
“Well, the gang’s all here. Hello, Dr. Goody-Goody,” said Clara as she closed the satchel.
“Lucas Patterson,” said Sarah, “there is evidence tying you to the murder of Nick Monkton. There is also reason to suspect you murdered Lizzie Sullivan.”
“That’s absurd.” The pistol shook in Patterson’s hand. “I haven’t hurt anyone. And you have no idea how much I cared for Nick. I did everything I could to help him, to promote his talent. Nick had his stubborn pride and wanted to make it on his own. He pushed me away—even though he still wanted my money.”
“Nick offered to sell you that Bible, right?” Jack nodded at the table, careful not to move his hands.
“He knew how much it would help me in the mayor’s race.” Patterson laughed softly. “Nick wanted cash for the Bible so he could move to New York. I’d hoped to talk him out of it.”
“I identified your fingerprints on a glass at the scene of Nick’s death.” Jack marveled at Sarah’s fearlessness. Her analytical mind kept right on going even with two guns trained on her.
“After I had Nick released from the police he sent me a message.” Patterson’s face relaxed as he looked off into the middle distance. “He told me the Bible was missing, but that he still had great news. Like a fool I hoped he wanted to reconcile, so I dashed over to that grubby stable where he was hiding. I brought a fine brandy to toast our love, but he laughed in my face after we drank. It was still just about money for Nick. He told me he’d found Lizzie’s dead body and shot her to set up Horace Shaw—as a favor to me. Then he had the nerve to demand a thousand dollars for the favor so he could go to New York. That was it for me. I wrote him a bank draft for fifty dollars and said I never wanted to hear from him again.”
“You gave that man fifty bucks for shooting Lizzie?” Clara turned to Patterson.
“I suppose I could have given him more,” he said with a shrug. “I was upset.”
In a single fluid motion Clara stomped on Patterson’s instep and kneed him in the groin, sending the man to the floor. She stepped to the door, leaning to one side from the weight of the bag of cash. “Jack, thanks for caring about what happened to Lizzie. I’m sorry you got hurt.” Her big eyes were full of sincerity. “Read the back of that Bible. It’ll make up for things. I promise.”
&
nbsp; “That look from you makes me think that a safe’s about to fall on my head.”
Clara gazed at him for a second, then left.
Jack picked up the Colt and walked over to where Patterson was gasping on the floor. Although the guy looked down for the count, Jack kicked his pistol across the room.
“What do we do now?” Sarah was moving like a cornstalk in a windstorm.
“Let’s look at the Bible. That’s what this whole mess has been about.” He flipped the battered book open to the title page. “Sarah, is it legit?”
She hovered over the book. “The American Bible Society published this volume in 1870.” She flipped to the back, where the notes were dated 1899. “There is no obvious reason to suspect forgery, as with the earlier book.”
They read the account, which began: “I, Rev. Charles Lombard, have recorded these words from the lips of Annie Monkton, former slave, according to her wishes in the year 1899.” The handwriting was neat, the story clear.
“The real Bible has nothing to do with Shaw,” said Jack. “Clara lied about that, too.”
The door swung open and banged against the wall. A small girl with stringy blond hair and bright blue eyes charged into the room. She was about seven years old and wearing an ill-fitting, washed-out blue dress. Little legs churned under the billowy frock as she waved a handful of envelopes in her hand. “Mr. Patterson, here’s your mail.”
Patterson raised himself to his knees and retrieved a small derringer pistol from his jacket pocket. The girl slowed as she approached him, but Patterson reached with his free hand and pulled her close as mail scattered to the floor. His carefully combed hair spilled down his forehead. “Put the Bible on the table and leave,” he said. “I have great things to accomplish.”
“Let her go,” said Sarah. “You cannot achieve good through evil means.”
Patterson put the pistol to the girl’s head, a smirk on his lips. “Despite your education, Sarah, you are a simpleton. There is no hope for justice without blood. The corrupt forces of the rich ensure that. When I release this Bible, I will be elected mayor. I will make Baltimore a shining example of social justice. Think of it—Negro rights, child labor laws, votes for women. An end to police graft and violence. It’s worth any price. Even that of little Laurie here.” He pushed the gun barrel even harder into the girl’s scalp.
“Oww—that hurts,” Laurie said with a whine. “I don’t like this game.”
“Release the child.” Sarah took a step toward him.
“You have far too much bourgeois sentimentality to risk her life, dear. We both know that.” Patterson used one arm to press his hostage across her windpipe while keeping the gun nestled in her lank hair. Laurie’s bony arms and legs flailed as she gasped for air.
“Pal, there’s no skating away from this.” Jack raised the Colt, hoping his one good eye would permit a decent shot. Patterson’s kneeling form was blurry—it was difficult to separate his shape from that of the girl. Still, Jack had no trouble sensing the spiky ripple of unstable energy flowing from the man.
“Sarah, call off your barbarian. Do it now. I’ve got all the leverage.” Laurie’s eyes bulged as the full terror of the situation dawned on her. She clawed at Patterson’s arm, which led him to tighten his grip even more. The girl made a gurgling sound as her face began to turn blue.
“Jack, we have no realistic option other than to do as he instructs. We must leave.” Sarah set the Bible on the table and slowly backed toward the door.
“What, we’re going to let him get away with this?” Jack had to ask although he already knew the answer. He lowered the Colt.
“Good. Now get out of here. I’m going to hang on to this child for a while to make sure you don’t come back.” Patterson relaxed his arm. Laurie squirmed like an eel and almost broke free, but Patterson managed to grab a wrist. The girl screamed.
Jack experienced the next series of events as happening very slowly. The scream brought forth a bunch of ghostly brown children, all of whom were wailing. Then a new variation on the supernatural: Sarah leaping past the spirits with skirts billowing, right foot extended. So many people need my help. Jack stood frozen and watched Patterson’s mouth drop open as Sarah’s flying form came closer. Do something.
Patterson let go of Laurie, who scrambled away just before Sarah’s foot glanced off his upper arm. I’m letting it happen again. Sarah tumbled to the floor and Patterson stood, carefully aiming his pistol at her. She’s going to be killed. A thunderclap as the Colt bucked in Jack’s hand. Patterson jerked, looked in disbelief at the blood blooming across his crisp white shirt, and collapsed. The ghostly children stared at him for a brief moment through the gun smoke and vanished.
Sarah jumped up, grabbed her medical bag, and ripped open Patterson’s shirt. “Jack, press this gauze on the wound.”
Jack rushed instead to Laurie, who was sobbing in the arms of the big woman who had appeared in the doorway. “Are you all right?” he asked the back of the girl’s torn dress.
“What happened here?” The woman gave Jack an accusing look. “What happened to Mr. Patterson?”
“Get the cops. Patterson’s been shot.” Jack walked over and pocketed the derringer.
“Jack.” Sarah’s voice was very loud. “I need you. Right now.” She was pressing a bandage over Patterson, who looked at her glassy-eyed. “Place as much pressure on this as you can.”
Patterson yelped as Jack pushed down on the wad of gauze over his right shoulder. “I can pay you,” he said between gritted teeth. “Pay you a lot.”
“Shut up.” Jack put his back into it, and Patterson uttered a piteous groan.
“Now lift him so I may apply this bandage behind the exit wound.” Sarah presented a clean bandage bundle. “Raise him gently.”
“What’s the point? Isn’t he a goner?”
“The wound is likely nonfatal,” Sarah said in her matter-of-fact voice. “It appears the bullet passed cleanly through while missing the bones of the coracoid process and scapula.”
“Too bad my aim was off.” After she placed the second bandage, Jack pointed out the door. “Now go check on the kid.” Sarah left just as a terrible dizziness forced him to sit on the floor, head between his knees. The other guy’s shot, and I’m the one about to pass out, he thought with a punchy grin.
Sarah returned. “Jack. You are pale. This exertion has been excessive, considering the seriousness of your head injury.”
“I’m fine. How’s the girl?”
“She has some bruises but is otherwise uninjured. She talked with the woman about what happened, and appears largely recovered from the trauma.” Sarah flexed her fingers while looking over his head. “I am grateful for your action to save us, Jack.”
“That was some chance you took, jumping at a guy holding a gun.”
“I used ballet: grand jeté—a horizontal jump. It was inelegant, as I have always been too clumsy to perfect the steps.”
“Looked dandy to me.” A wave of nausea was rolling in. “Look, we got to get our story straight before the cops get here.”
“Story? We must tell the truth, Jack. I insist.”
“We need to package the truth carefully. I’m not saying we lie, exactly. More like we just don’t tell the cops everything we know.”
“Lying by omission is still lying.”
“Sarah, just put the Bible in your bag and don’t say anything about it. Say nix about Clara. Just say we were having a friendly chat with Patterson. My gun went off by mistake and he got winged. I’ll talk to him before the cops get here—got a feeling he’ll be happy to chalk all this up to an innocent accident.”
“No. I intend to reveal the evidence connecting him to Nick’s murder. And I will provide details about what he did to that child.”
“Not a good idea. First off, the detectives won’t care about your fingerprint work—but they’d be happy to arrest us for tampering with evidence about Nick’s death.” Jack loosened his tie as clammy sweat ran down hi
s face. “Second, if we rat on Patterson, he’ll turn around and accuse us of charging in and attacking him. He’s got money—the cops are bound to like his story better. Don’t worry, though. That Bible’s going to come in real handy.”
“Are you planning to use the Bible for corrupt purposes? I am extremely disappointed with you, Jack.”
“Skip the righteous lecture. That book’s going to get Shaw cleared of murder.”
“You want to collect your fee. That is all you care about—not justice.”
“You’re getting a cut, don’t forget. Suppose you’ll donate your dough to charity. Or give all your servants a raise.” The room spun like a roulette wheel.
“Under no circumstance will I subvert justice.” She turned to minister again to Patterson.
“It so happens I do care about justice,” said Jack. “And we just might squeeze out a little bit of it in this case. But you know what makes me happy? You and me are almost finished.” The last thing he remembered was how soft the carpet was when his head hit it.
Chapter 25
Sarah—Friday, October 15, 1909, 1:00 p.m.
Telling less than the complete truth grew harder each time the authorities questioned her. First were the uniformed policemen. They made few inquiries, most of which she let Jack answer—fortunately he regained consciousness quickly. Then the same city detective she had seen at Nick’s autopsy showed up. He sauntered over while she was replacing Patterson’s bandage.
“Criminy, sweetheart, what have you got yourself mixed up in this time? Never saw a gal who liked blood and guts as much as you.” The detective turned to Jack, who was propped in a chair. “Why’d you plug Mr. Patterson, snooper?”
“Accident,” said Jack. “Patterson told us he was dropping out of the mayor’s race because he wants to take up target shooting full-time. He asked to see my Colt, so I pulled it out. The guy suddenly grabbed for it, and it just went off. Man needs to learn a lot more about handling a big pistol.”