The Last Legal Hanging

by Mae Berry

  “Miss Lawton,” he cleared his throat, “I should… I moos’ apologize.” He cleared his throat again. “I did na’… did not treat you… I mean I…” He stared at the boardwalk. “I… I stepped on yer foot.” He looked up at her. “I mean, I want ta say it were an accident, but it weren’t.” Her stare turned to him and he swallowed. Well, he deserved it. Finn tried a feeble smile. “I’m… sorry.” She continued to glare at him. He was bungling this. Finn paused, noting the tired bruises under her eyes. He’d turned her world upside down overnight. A breeze ruffled his suit coat as he checked his pocket-watch, twelve noon.

  “We’ll head to the prison later. Let’s get something to eat.” He smiled and extended his elbow. “If we show up now the person we need to talk to may be at dinner.” She gave a nod and ignored his proffered arm. He dropped it with a sigh.

  The two crossed the street and headed to the Monroe House Hotel, a three story brick edifice that faced the intersection of Monroe and High Street, taking up several feet of frontage in both directions. The hotel’s location, at two blocks from the state capitol, insured the dining room operated at full capacity during the noon hour. As they stood in line waiting for a table, Finn blurted, “You appeared surprised at Gittin’s prison stint.”

  Miss Lawton kept her posture erect back to him, eyes straight ahead. “Yes. Yes, I was,” she murmured.

  Getting this woman to talk was like looking for hen teeth and he tired of her high and mighty manner. Time to rile her. “Something like that should have come up during the investigation.” He noted her stiffened back.

  “As I mentioned, the Gittin case was my first case,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Ah, so what, you didn’t know how?” Nothing. She didn’t even flinch. “Didn’t someone mention it in follow up? I’m surprised the lead agent didn’t have you check it out.” Still nothing. Warmth crept up his neck. “I hope you learned better on later cases.”

  She turned“The Gittin case was my first and last as a Pinkerton operative,” she snapped.

  Finn’s eyes widened and his eyebrows rose. One case? This woman had worked one case? “Your last? Why? What happened?”

  “Well, Assistant Deputy Marshal Finnley, if you must know, Mr. Allan Pinkerton died.” She clamped her lips together and turned back around.

  Finn frowned. “I don’t understand, Miss Lawton. The agency still exists today. I thought Mr. Pinkerton’s sons kept things running.”

  She sighed and faced him. “When Mr. Pinkerton died,” her patient long-suffering tone grated on him, “his sons decided the female division had served its usefulness and closed it. Except for a few women offered positions as clerks or secretarial staff.” She shot him a sour glance. “They discharged the others.”

  “I see. When?”

  “End of August 1884.”

  He paused a moment. “When were the Gittin murders committed?”

  Miss Lawton shifted her feet half-turning away from him. “July 22, 1884.” Her voice held a hint of challenge. Weeks. The woman had been a Pinkerton agent mere weeks. Good thing Brownlee wasn’t here. Finn wouldn’t be able to stop himself with just blackening the man’s eye.

  They made it to the front of the line and were directed to the back corner near the kitchens. The small linen-covered table was barely big enough for two and pushed against the wall, the seats sat adjacent to each other. After the day’s revelations, Finn wasn’t sure he could sit that close to Miss Lawton. As he considered asking for a different spot, she seated herself. Finn sighed and pulled out his own chair. At least the blasted woman had taken the seat by the wall. He’d insist she move if she’d chosen to sit in the aisle. He fidgeted and glanced over his shoulder. A marshal always kept his back to the wall. He registered Miss Lawton’s voice and jumped when she tapped her fingers on his coat sleeve, nodding beside him. He turned to see a harried waiter.

  “Will that be acceptable?” Miss Lawton removed her fingers from his arm and raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, yes fine.” She rattled him. He needed to settle himself, now. The waiter returned and set two mugs in front of them. Finn grabbed his and downed a large gulp, scalding his throat. He gagged but kept from spewing the vile brew.— coffee. She had ordered coffee. For them both. He wondered if he’d agreed to lunch too. With the way this day was going it would be liverwurst. He hated liverwurst. Almost as much as he hated coffee.

  Miss Lawton looked at him and he took a deep breath. He noted a twitch at the corner of her lip as she took a dainty sip. Glad she found him so entertaining. She turned her attention to the room and he waited as she scanned it. Her methodical gaze was unhurried as she took in the entire space. He frowned. It was something he did in unfamiliar surroundings. She sat with a poise at odds with her out-of-fashion suit. She took another sip of coffee and dabbed at her lips. Despite her dowdy appearance, she was an attractive woman. Sort of. Not a fashionable beauty, but she had pleasant features. Interesting almost. Not like the refined standard of the day. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed. Well, he’d noticed, a good marshal noticed everything. He hadn’t noted it. His eyes moved over her, then returned to her bow-shaped lips, until she pursed them. He jerked his gaze to her stare and cleared his throat.

  “Yes, well, I suppose it’s prudent to fill you in on the details of the case, Miss Lawton.” Prudent? Since when did he use words like prudent? Finn ran his fingers through his hair. Her eyes followed his motion.

  “That would be advisable,” she said in her too low voice. He thought he detected a slight curl of her lips, almost as though she knew his precise thoughts. Precise! What was happening to him? He wedged a finger and tugged at his too tight collar.

  “Tell me, Marshal, did you speak with the missing boy’s mother?” Miss Lawton took another small sip of her coffee and returned the cup to the table. He swallowed. Hard. Get a grip man, she’s just… Looking at him as if he was daft. Right, she asked a question. Boy’s mother.

  “Yes, well she was… upset,” he cleared his throat.

  Miss Lawton quirked an eyebrow and made an impatient gesture. He wrenched his thoughts away from their current focus and studied the table. He struggled to remember the face of Mrs. Richards and the gist of their conversation. Miss Lawton’s hearty laugh drove everything from his head. The woman threw back her head, exposing a creamy expanse of throat, compounding his problems with coherent thought further.

  “Tell me, you obtained more information than that? What events took place that day? What time did the boy disappear? How were they dressed? Had the father been acting strangely? Did anything strike you as odd?”

  Finn scowled then sighed in relief when the waiter appeared and plunked a club sandwich for each of them on the table. Good, no liverwurst. Things were looking better.

  “I am trying to order my thoughts,” he grumbled rubbing his palms together. She laughed again. Finn sobered. “The poor woman is so… well devastated.” He lowered his voice. “She set up a small shrine to her son in the parlor. She placed a photograph of her boy and his little brown, tweed cap on a lamp table next to the settee. Nothing else, just the picture and the wee cap. It was… heartbreaking.”

  Miss Lawton’s eyes dimmed. She tipped her head to the side and scrunched her lips together. He realized with a start she did that when she was thinking. How had he figured that out? Why had he figured that out?

  “That is odd. It sounds like something you do after a person dies, not while you are hoping he will return.”

  Finn let out a measured sigh. “Aye, I had the same thought. I suspect she’s given up on her boy.” He took a hefty bite of his sandwich. No liverwurst, but the meat was a mystery.

  Miss Lawton frowned. “Surely it is too early to give up. Mr. Richards could have tired of his wife and took off with the boy.” She tapped her fingers on the table then waved her hand in the air. “He might not even be Gittin.” She dropped her hand to the tablecloth.

  “Aye, though in my experience, just because a man is a fa
ther, it doesn’t mean he can’t be evil. Even with those he should protect.” Finn flinched at the bitterness that crept into his words.

  Sam cocked her head. He hurried to cut her off before she asked questions he didn’t want to answer.

  “What about your father? Was he a Pink too? If you don’t mind me asking?” He lifted his mug and tensed for another sip of the vile brew only to find a disgusting sludge in the bottom. He looked around the crowded room for their waiter. When he made eye contact he lifted his mug; the man waved an impatient hand. Finn turned back to Miss Lawton, her eyes fixed on her sandwich with its nibbled edges. He noticed the few bites remaining on his plate and reddened.

  “He died before I was born so I only know what Hattie says,” she said eyes locked on the table. “The two of them went on assignment spying during the war. While posing as genteel refugees in Richmond, my father became ill. They missed reporting in and Mr. Pinkerton became concerned. He sent two agents to check on them. Someone on the street recognized the two Pinkerton sent, and they were arrested. One, Hattie isn’t sure who, told the authorities my parents were there. Hattie and Timothy were arrested, tried, and found guilty of espionage. They hanged Timothy.”

  “That’s terrible!” He reached for her hand.

  She slid it to her lap and continued, never once looking at him. “In an ironic twist of fate, the Confederacy released the men who gave them up in a prisoner exchange. As far as I know they returned to work with the agency. Hattie never said. She was sentenced to Thunder Prison for a year but was released in an exchange six months later with three others. They were traded for the infamous Belle Boyd.”

  Finn gave a mirthless chuckle. “I’ve heard of her. She was quite the character during the war wasn’t she?”

  Sam glanced at him, a slight smile on her lips. “One of the south’s best. Hattie hated the woman.” Her smile grew to a grin. “Though I’m not sure if it was because of the enmity of being on opposite sides or professional jealousy. Knowing Hattie, probably the later.” Sam froze and looked up at him wide eyed. He chuckled as she resumed her prim posture. She cleared her throat, “What I mean is, Hattie doesn’t talk much about that time. It makes her uncomfortable.”

  “I can’t imagine prisoner of war and northern spy are things most ladies list as accomplishments.” Finn grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His lips turned down as he added, “not to mention losing a husband.”

  “Yes, well,” Sam’s entire body clenched, “let’s not forget Hattie needing to give up everything to provide for and raise a child alone.” Her sudden anger compelled Finn to drop his hand on top of her fist.

  “I’m sure you are a comfort to your mother. I’m sure she cherishes you.” The flat stare in Sam’s eyes caused him to shift. The waiter returned to the table with the coffee pot and offered it to Miss Lawton while trying to catch her eye.

  “Would the lady care for anything else?” The waiter leaned to wipe a spot, brushing her arm. His eyes never leaving her face.

  “No, thank you, the lady is fine,” Finn growled. The waiter shrugged and left the table, casting one last glance over his shoulder at Sam.

  She frowned at Finn. “What about you? What made you wish to become an assistant deputy marshal?” She raised her coffee cup to her lips and blew.

  Finn swallowed. This was not a line of questioning he wished to answer. “Wanting to serve and uphold the law? Aye?” he tried for a rakish grin.

  Sam narrowed her eyes and snorted. It was an unladylike sound. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Neither would surprise him. “Are you asking me? That has the sounds of a pat drawing room answer.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled. It changed her face.

  “I must remember that, pat drawing room answer,” He grinned even wider, “mind if I use it?”

  “Just as long as you stop evading my question.” Sam took another sip of coffee.

  “Evading?” He raised his eyebrows and looked affronted.

  “Yes, a term I’m sure you are familiar with seeing as how you are a member of law enforcement.”

  He chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fine. I’m the eldest of six children. My da had an accident when I was wee and could na work. Things were tight an’ I was always in a bit o’ trouble. A man named O’Connell helped me. He was a beat copper.” Finn tipped his coffee cup toward himself and grimaced. “I also like tea. Irish breakfast blend when I can get it. Na coffee.”

  Sam raised an eyebrow, her features sobering. “You truly aren’t comfortable talking about this are you?” She scanned his face. Her stare went into him. She was looking for… something.

  Finn glanced away for a moment then returned his attention to her and slid a smile in place. “Comfortable about mentioning me tea? Nay lassie, I’m na. A man who donna drink coffee is ‘ardly considered a man. Oh an’ I’ll be lettin’ you in on a secret,” he leaned forward conspiratorially, “I prefer it with cream an’ a touch o’ sugar.” He put his finger on his lips in a shushing motion and winked at her.

  Sam scowled. “E-va-ding,” she enunciated.

  Finn swirled his mug studying the mess in the bottom. “Waat makes ya say that?” He took a pretend sip.

  “That,” Sam pointed at him, “right there. You slip into your brogue when you are excited or uncomfortable.” She flagged the waiter who came over smiling.

  “Hot tea, please,” she said, “Irish breakfast blend if you have it. Oh and cream and sugar.” She beamed a bright smile at him. The waiter’s eyes widened and with a delighted grin he hurried off. Sam turned her attention back to Finn.

  He stared at her, eyes wide and jaw open. What was with this woman? She had ordered tea. For him. He wasn’t sure if he was thankful or irritated. She had the boldness to tell him she could tell when he was upset? That she what, understood him? Not bloody likely. He drummed the table with his fingertips. His patience at an end.

  “Huh,” he said not willing to give her the final say. He took his time straightening his vest and smoothing his jacket. He picked up his dry sandwich and took a final bite then glanced at her. She had an amused smile on her face. The woman was too direct. Her speech. Her looks. Especially her looks. Finn swallowed the lump of sandwich, finding it had turned to sawdust in his mouth. Her smile grew bigger.

  The anger drained from him when a thought struck him with the same force as her smile. Somewhere during the meal, she had ceased to be Miss Lawton. She wasn’t even Samantha, she was Sam. He examined her tipped head and scrunched lips as she held her coffee cup in front of her mouth. He relaxed. Sam was… right somehow.

  The waiter returned with a pot of weak brown water, lumpy cream and two sugar cubes which he banged on the table. Figured out the tea was for him, huh? Finn shot Sam a weak smile and nodded his thanks.

  “So, you have brothers?” she asked propping her elbows on the table with her chin on her clasped hands. A most unladylike posture. “What is that like?” She kept her tone light, but Finn could see yearning on her face.

  He grinned. “Loud. Obnoxious. In your business. In your life. Wonderful.” His smile turned rueful. “Canna imagine me life without ‘em.” Sam quirked an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he enunciated, “two sisters, three brothers. Well, there were three brothers.”

  “Were?” She cocked her head.

  “The youngest died.” Finn stirred the lukewarm tea and took a sip.

  “Oh, Marshal!” the compassion on her face almost snapped his composure. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  His jaw clenched as he dropped his eyes to the table. “He. Died.” He repeated, his tone flat.

  “Forgive me,” Sam whispered, “it is none of my business.” She studied him. “Tell me about becoming a marshal. You never finished the story.”

  Finn released a drawn-out sigh. “A beat cop named O’Connell, helped me with training. Spoke for me to folks that could get me on. It was their influence that helped me become a marshal.” He shrugged.r />
  “Oh?” She examined her sandwich as if planning her next attack. “Who were the folks that helped you?”

  “Jimmy. Jimmy Pendergast.”

  “Big Jim Pendergast? The crime boss?” Her eyes widened as she dropped her sandwich.

  Finn frowned. “Mr. James Pendergast alderman of the first ward.” He clipped his words.

  Sam snorted and eyed him. “How on earth did you become involved with that—”

  Finn shoved his plate and stood. He pulled his pocket-watch from his vest, snapped it open then closed it with a resounding click. “Ya know, we need ta get to the prison if we want time afore the last train.” He threw money on the table and stalked to the front of the hotel weaving his way through tables and bodies without once checking to see if she followed.

  Chapter 13

  The walk down East High Street to the penitentiary was silent. Finn’s fury resulted in a rapid pace that kept Sam’s shorter legs struggling. The street was lined on both sides with elaborate mansions built by businessmen who made their fortunes off cheap prison labor. The luxury was in stark contrast with the limestone walls of the penitentiary that came into view as the street dead-ended. Finn scowled. The Lawton woman was deucedly difficult and, thanks to Brownlee, he had no choice but to work with her. He didn’t need a sanctimonious spitfire tagging along.

  “Stop,” called the object of his ire. She assumed the unladylike posture of hands on knees, panting. “I am not a racehorse.”

  Finn halted a few paces away, removed his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. He turned and followed the line of sweat dripping from her temples. She narrowed her eyes. Maybe he should try harder. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ‘ave—”