No rancor there, Pope thought.
They had an eight a.m. train in the morning. Sarah suggested eating in the hotel’s small dining room, packing and going to bed early. This time, Pope decided to keep his disguise outfit. If he could find a theatrical store somewhere, he even considered obtaining a bushy beard to add to the outfit. Assuming he could find one realistic enough to stand up to close scrutiny by someone on the next bar stool.
Pope and Sarah took a connector train over to the Mississippi River, then a commuter which took primarily businessmen down to New Orleans.
They got off at Biloxi. Pope rode out to the live oak reservation first and spoke with the Navy’s civilian manager.
“I may or may not lose my job. I’m not too worried either way. The Navy says they will keep it open along with the one over in Florida. They will still make small boats with wood hulls. They don’t really pay so well, so it’s no never mind to me if they close her down. I can find something else. Maybe something paying better,” he told Pope.
Pope returned to the hotel and got in his same disguise. He hit the bars and a couple of eateries catering to dockworkers. The complaints were similar to those in Pensacola. None were worrisome from a case standpoint.
The next day, he and Sarah reversed their rail trips and headed back to Washington.
“You know, John?” she began. “Walking around new places is only mildly interesting to me. Traveling with you without investigating as your partner is not a lot of fun.”
“What if I needed you to back me up?” he asked.
“I’d probably be shopping or in a hotel room, reading a book.”
“You know in this case with the cover we have, you accompanying me and asking questions would cause a lot of questions.”
“I know. Just saying, honey,” she said as the train rumbled through North Georgia.
The first day back, Pope wrote a ten-page report addressed to both secretaries. He had a clerk at the War office use one of the new typing machines to make it a formal record. Records of everything seemed to be the government way.
4
Several days later, he received a letter from Michael Kane. The former Knights of the Golden Circle executive told him he had information to impart in person. He went on to say he and Rita would be in Washington for shopping the following Tuesday at the Willard Hotel and wondered if they could meet then.
Pope wrote back and suggested they come to the Pope’s house and join them for dinner on Tuesday night. Sarah was pleased, especially during the doldrums of a hot summer in Washington.
He wanted to walk with the guard pair at the President’s House on Friday night and stayed later at the War office.
The guard tour was uneventful.
Walking back home from the President’s House in the dark, Pope felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. They had not given false warning yet, so he opened his coat and loosened the .44 double-action he wore in town in its holster.
He stopped and turned, squatting as if to tie his shoe. As he bent his knees and his head lowered, a shot rang out and knocked the hat off his head. It was the derby he wore in town.
Pope drew quickly but could not identify a target. He heard footsteps but could not see anyone. Squatting, he scanned the area from where the shot had come. The muzzle of the revolver followed his eyes. Pope could not identify a target. No additional shots followed.
He took off in foot pursuit, gun in hand.
The man must have ducked down an alley and hid motionless, because Pope was unable to see anyone. He quietly stepped between some buildings and walked on a parallel street. It was Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest. He would walk, turn and listen. When he turned, it was always at a place where he had a barrier to stand behind, such as the corner of a building. He sprinted a block and stepped behind another building but could not hear anyone coming for him. By then, he was a block from his house. He passed the house, not wanting to give away the address. Four houses up, he went between houses and walked back by way of the alley used for accessing the stables many houses on the street had.
He took out his key and unlocked the rear door, carefully identifying it was he who was entering. May greeted him from the kitchen and told him she had kept a plate from dinner warm for him in the oven.
Sarah came down and the three of them chatted as he ate. Once they went upstairs to the bedroom, Pope told Sarah about the shot from an unidentified person. She reckoned it was the first time somebody ever shot at John Pope and survived. It worried her a great deal. Things were different back East. She liked the Midwest plains and the diverse West better.
The next day, he told the attorney general and secretary of war about the attempt on his life.
“I’d say you are getting close enough somebody is pretty worried,” Brewster said.
“I thought so, too. My last week has been about the matter of switching from wood to steel hulls. I did not pick up on anybody being shooting mad. Certainly not down South at the live oak reservations. But somebody had to have telegraphed ahead to a shooter in Washington. Luckily, he was not very good. He was pretty good at disappearing though,” Pope said.
“Should we put protection on you?” Lincoln asked.
“No thank you, sir. I am a protector, not a protectee. If he tries again, I may be able to capture or kill him.”
“Or he might be successful.”
“Much of my life has been as a target. Against what I think are deadlier men than this one. I’ll chance it, Robert.
“On another matter, the former head of the Knights of the Golden Circle wrote and mysteriously says he has something to tell me. He and his wife are coming to dinner at our house in several days,” Pope said. “I just received their response by mail.”
“An interesting development, John. I will be eager to hear what his message is,” Brewster said.
“Ask his beautiful wife if her father is still alive,” Lincoln requested.
“Is she who I think she is?” Pope asked.
“Quite. The Booths seem to play heavily in my life. One killed my father, his brother Edwin saved me from sure death on a train platform a decade ago, now his daughter shows up. I simply cannot get away from them,” Robert Lincoln said.
“Sarah came up with some news clippings about her. I will get her to go back and find some newspaper photos of her. Let’s see how she has weathered. I had lunch with them near Charlottesville. She was quite lovely,” Pope said.
“All of them were handsome. They had to be. They were America’s leading thespian family,” Lincoln said. “There have been reports of Booth sightings ever since the Ford Theater. Lafayette Baker said Vice President Johnson and maybe Secretary Stanton, in whose office I now sit, were involved. I never bought the story about the man killed at Garrett farm being Booth. It was just too clean and easy. Baker was the one who tracked them and even he thought so. Pinkerton, of course, denied the possibility. To me, Pinkerton was my father’s great misjudgment. I think the Scotsman meant well but believed his own horse manure.”
“I will keep my ears open, sir,” Pope said, having no plan whatsoever to get into the assassination with his dinner guests.
After the meeting, he called Sarah on the telephone.
“We cannot get used to this. Wherever we settle will probably be a decade or two away from most folk’s home having telephones,” he said.
“I am sure, darling. Is this just for the experience or do you just miss me terribly?” Sarah asked.
“All of the above and one more,” he said.
“Yes?”
“Before Tuesday, I would love to see as many pictures of Ogarita Booth Kane as you can round up.”
“Oh, boy. I would not doubt it was the old librarian for the Library of Congress who took a shot at you. He seems pretty infatuated with me.”
“Sarah, how could he not be? He’s a man. And he is breathing. At least for now. If age doesn’t get him, my friend Bowie here will if he keeps flirting with you.”
“We have to keep this close to the vest. I don’t even like speculating on the telephone. We don’t know who is listening in,” Pope said. As he said it, the central exchange operator wrote something on a notepad and slipped it into an envelope. She would be rewarded well, at least by her standards.
Later, a telegram was received in Scarsdale, New York. Sans the requisite “stops”, it said, “Somebody named Kane has information for Pope. Will be delivered Tuesday by a person named Kane and his wife, Booth’s daughter. Will advise when get time.”
The edited response was, “Do not mess this up like last night. Hire better people or do it yourself.”
Sarah went shopping with May on Monday to fill out the menu for Tuesday’s dinner. They decided on roasted beef, potatoes and salad with cherry pie. Sarah selected a mid-range Cabernet Sauvignon and bought two bottles.
Once they got home and the housekeeper began cooking, Sarah went to the library and found several newspaper clippings with pictures of Ogarita Booth. She “borrowed” them quietly for Pope to look at, thinking she might return them the following day. Or perhaps not.
Pope returned in the evening. He looked at both clippings with photos of Booth.
“I swear I don’t think it’s the same woman I met at the Kane estate. Her face was not as round and the shapes of both her eyes and ears seemed different. One can lose weight and the face changes shape a bit with fuller cheeks. Ears, especially, do not change shape. They just get larger with age. The shape stays the same. See what you think tomorrow. Kane is a mystery man. I don’t distrust him; I simply don’t know what to make of him. He is an enigma,” he said. “A very dangerous enigma.”
“Have you given more thought to the shooter situation the other night?” Sarah asked.
“I have. We need to apprise May without scaring her. Just tell her to keep an eye out for anybody or anything out of the ordinary. I don’t think we need to tell her somebody shot at me to kill me. The bullet flew past my ear. It was a miss, not a warning.”
“What could you tell about the sound?” Sarah asked.
“It was a heavier caliber. Probably .44 or .45. Definitely not a .32 or even a .38. Most folks are not good enough to intentionally fire a round past somebody’s ear. He was aiming for my head.”
“I wonder if he was from out of town? Wouldn’t a .32 or .38 be more usual for an Eastern townie? To try to hide a big gun takes some experience.”
“You are dead-on, honey. Look at what you faced in Chicago and I faced in San Francisco. Usually smaller, lower caliber guns which did not require Buscadero-type belt holsters. I struggle to carry one of my .44s hidden under a suit, but I also have them backed up by a badge. Or, currently, three badges,” he noted with a grin.
“If anybody sees a gun print on you or me, we just flip the vest lapel and the explanation glints back at them,” she responded.
Sarah told Pope the menu for the dinner with the Kanes. He said she and May were the experts and he was just a carnivore. She was continually impressed with the vocabulary and knowledge of the classics of a man largely home schooled by a mountain man.
“How did Israel know so many classical things to teach you? And words like ‘carnivore’,” she finally asked.
“By reading. Even during nights after a long day of working a trapline for beaver, he would go back to camp and read by the light of his small campfire.”
“Why a small campfire?” she asked.
“Let me answer by unintentionally misquoting an old Indian saying. It was something like ‘white man builds a large fire, tells everyone where he is and his front burns and his backside freezes. Indian builds small fire nobody sees, leans in close and gets warm’. It’s close to what he used to quote to me when I was a boy, and he was teaching me woodcraft and tracking. Ask him next time we’re all together.”
“I will. You know, John, this thing of having people over to our house for dinner is kind of like being a normal, married couple.”
“It is. I like it. I will bet you find this couple as fascinating as I do,” he said.
May called them for dinner. Sarah asked her to join them as they often did.
“This is delicious, May,” Pope said of the fresh Chesapeake Bay rock fish, called striped bass elsewhere, and rice.
“May,” he continued, “not for mention anywhere outside of this house, but Sarah and I were brought in to investigate something for the federal government. She and I are both detectives.”
May’s eyes widened, probably at the thought of the beautiful, raven-haired woman being a detective.
“We are getting close, we think, in the investigation. The people we are after may begin to try to watch us and the house. There is nothing to be alarmed about but keep your eyes alert for strangers in the neighborhood. Particularly if they seem interested in us or the house. And let us know right away?”
“I will, Mr. Pope. I remember how careful we had to be in Washington during the war. I will be alert like I was then.”
Pleased with her taking the words without expressing a great deal of concern, the three continued eating and chatting. They learned May’s proficiency preparing fish came from growing up in Deltaville where her father was a fisherman. She talked about the beautiful, historic town on the Chesapeake Bay. Her father was still there, though ailing. They determined to try to take her to see him before cold weather set in and did two weeks later.
Tuesday proved another uneventful day from the standpoint of their investigation. Around six, Pope met the Kanes at the front of the Willard Hotel.
Kane beckoned him to climb into the carriage he had driven up from Charlottesville. It was pulled by a pair of beautiful horses. They were powerful white horses with gray manes and tails. Pope asked about them.
“They are Andalusians from Spain. My son brought them to me on his first visit to America two months ago. He’s still touring the country. He may move here once he gets his stepsister comfortable running her late father’s estate,” Kane said.
The trip did not require a light fast carriage, being a matter of only several blocks from the hotel.
They stopped at the front and Pope walked them up to the front door where Sarah greeted them. She was more striking than ever.
Fearing the horses would be stolen on the street, Pope recommended putting them in the rear stable and feeding and watering them after the over hundred-mile trip. The former cowboy quickly unharnessed, fed and watered the animals as he chatted with his guest.
“Guess you’ve done this before,” Kane observed.
“I grew up on my grandfather’s ranch in Alameda County. It was small, so I hired out for roundups, taking beeves to the market and all,” Pope said.
“How did you become a detective?”
“I joined San Francisco Police early as a patrolman. The rise to detective was pretty quick. Then, two years ago, I solved a big case for Wells Fargo. Their chief detective saw me do it and offered me a job. Later, I recruited Sarah and she became my partner. It has been a whirlwind to say the least.”
“You’ve almost become too famous in the West to be a detective. A disguise might work.”
“Mr. Kane, would you rather talk our business for a bit here, or over whiskey or brandy after dinner?” Pope asked.
“Please call me Michael. What is your first name, Pope?” Kane asked.
“John.”
“John, I reached out very quietly to a number of people. People with influence and also who know things. My results are vague, but a bit unsettling.
“I spoke to several railroad presidents. They are not overly miffed about the president’s stand on the Chinese. I spoke with some rather ardent expansionists. People who want to grow the borders of the United States. South and into the Caribbean both
. Most are old men and realize their time to see fruition of their dream has passed. I corresponded with a professor in Virginia. His mentor knew more about ships, navigation, and running a navy than any man alive. He literally wrote the book.
“The mentor said shipbuilders are ramping up for the change to steel hulls and the final throes of the death of sail power. Most are looking forward to opportunity, not retribution.
“Now, for the alarming part. I picked up several whispers of some dissident group out for the president any way they can get him. I can promise you these people are definitely not associated with the Knights of the Golden Circle.
“I have been unable to determine their motives, leadership or funding. I will keep looking if you want. I admit to being disappointed in my lack of success with this angle of your inquiries.”
“John, are you and Mr. Kane about ready? May says dinner is ready,” Sarah called out the rear door.
“Yes, darling, we are coming.”
They spoke quietly on the way in.
“Michael, thank you for all your work and interest in this. You have saved me a couple of dead ends. I have two cabinet secretaries who are aware of what is going on and will ask them about dissident groups. Neither has mentioned the possibility.
“I just returned from investigating the wood versus steel hull angle in Florida and Mississippi. They are the primary sources of wood for hulls. The next day—or rather night—someone shot at me on the way home. I was unable to identify him. Hell, I couldn’t even catch him. He missed the back of my head by no more than a couple of inches. It proved one thing. I must be ruffling somebody’s feathers,” Pope said.
“It’s damn troubling, John. Bushwhackers are cowards. I will stay engaged if you will allow me.”
“I am most appreciative, Michael. I take it your efforts should not be shared with the cabinet members?”
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