“Gretchen,” she called.
A few moments later, a young woman, perhaps seventeen, entered the room. “Yes, Mother,” she said. Her diction was flawless, genteel. There was no hint of the German accent so evident in the older woman’s voice.
“This is the wrestler your brother spoke about,” she said. “William Muldoon. He has come to show his respects.”
“Thank you,” the girl said. “So few people have come. Just the policemen.”
He allowed her to reminisce about her brother for a few moments. He hadn’t actually liked the man. He didn’t want to overstay his welcome, and it was getting close to dinner. If he stayed much longer, the women would feel obliged to ask him to stay, and politeness would require him to accept. Quickly, he posed the question he most wanted to ask.
“Are you set?” he asked. There was simply no other way to ask, no delicate way to put it. “Has your brother left you in good condition? Financially, I mean?”
“That is so good of you, to be concerned. But no, we don’t need your help.” The old lady had misunderstood him. “Karl left an inheritance. It’s enough to maintain this house, and also to provide a nice dowry for Gretchen.”
“I’m so glad. That takes a great weight off my mind,” he lied, and tipped his head as if hurt they’d declined his offer.
He stood, and took his hat from the seat next to him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I only had a moment. Really, I have to get back.”
The two women rose, and followed him to the door. Taking each by the fingers, he lightly kissed the back of their hands, first the girl, then her mother. They giggled like schoolgirls at his gesture. What a picture, he thought. The copper acting the part of a gentleman. Someday, he promised himself, he’d be wearing top hat and tails when he kissed a girl’s hand.
As he walked down the street, he wondered where Schneider had come by his money. He certainly couldn’t afford a brownstone, so how could Schneider? Not on his wrestling money, that was certain. The highest paid wrestler in this town was himself. He placed his hand in his jacket pocket, and lightly rubbed the bible he kept there. He pulled it out, and gazed down on its blue leather binding. Slowly, he began thumbing through the pages. He hadn’t done so before, other than to flip quickly through for some loose bit of paper slipped between the pages. There hadn’t been anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for now, but he had nothing else.
His pace had slowed to a near halt when he found it. Pencil markings written in the margin. It wasn’t particularly unusual for a man to write in his book, but this was a Bible, and he hadn’t seen any other marks. He read the verse. Deuteronomy 20. “When you march up to attack a city, make its people an offer of peace.” It made little sense to him, aside from its biblical context. He studied the marks written there. First was a long rectangle. Inside was a vague sketch of an eagle. It looked to him like the shoulder insignia of a Colonel. Next to it were several hash marks. The following pages showed the same hash marks, though the insignia wasn’t repeated.
He puzzled over this for a moment… realization slowly dawned. Perhaps this was the connection. Quickly he signaled for a cab, leaped in, and directed the driver to the home of Colonel Hamm.
CHAPTER 42
The
Colonel didn’t see him at first. The butler had shown him into the man’s office, a disapproving frown on his face. The family was at dinner, so Muldoon waited. Nearly forty-five minutes later Colonel Hamm entered the room. He walked slowly to his desk, opened a humidor, and selected a cigar. He didn’t offer one. Then, he motioned toward the sturdy leather chairs before the fireplace.
“What have you found?” asked the man as he lowered himself into a chair.
Muldoon sat, too. He admired the Colonel’s poise during such distress. “Tell me about Schneider,” he said.
Eyebrows raised, the Colonel gazed across the cigar held loosely between his teeth, struck a match, and touched it to the other end. He puffed slowly, drew in the aromatic smoke, and let it out in a cloud of gray.
“I know you paid him off,” said Muldoon. He really wasn’t certain, but he played the hunch.
Lowering the cigar, Colonel Hamm sighed heavily, resigned. “Yes, I knew the man.”
“He was blackmailing you?”
“In a way. But he felt it was owed him.”
Now it was Muldoon’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He settled back in the chair.
“It was during the war,” the Colonel said. “I was just a major, then. Karl Schneider was a sergeant.”
He glanced up at a picture above the mantle, an oil portrait of himself in uniform.
“Twelfth New York Cavalry,” he said proudly, yet tinged with something darker. “We went to North Carolina, and were stationed at New Bern. There wasn’t much action down there, at least nothing we didn’t create for ourselves. So, we raided. It was our main activity. We would leave our little enclave and scour the countryside for secessionists. Not all of us together, but in small units. Perhaps four or five at a time. We hit them fast, burned them out, and got back. You have to realize… I was just a young officer.”
Muldoon reached into his pocket and tapped the dead man’s bible. The Colonel hadn’t been that young, he thought. He didn’t speak, but let the story go where it would. The Colonel talked long into the night, reminiscing. But, Muldoon didn’t see how anything could have led to blackmail… and to murder.
“Get back to Schneider,” he said finally.
“Yes, well, it’s not something I’m proud of.”
“There’s little to be proud of in war.”
“It’s what we did, my little unit and I.” The Colonel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He glanced up again at the portrait, but his time his pride gave way to resignation. He sighed deeply.
Muldoon listened quietly.
“We… we plundered.”
Eyes narrowed, Muldoon leaned forward a fraction. The fire was dying now, but in the low flames he could see houses burning… women and children screaming. It was a picture he couldn’t clear from his nightmares. He shifted his gaze back to Hamm. A gray soldier stepped up behind the man, placed an unfelt hand on his shoulder before fading away. Muldoon shared in whatever this man had done. Not directly, but…
The Colonel sighed, a rueful smile pasted to his face. He placed the cold, forgotten cigar between his lips, then pulled it out again, and turned it between his fingers.
“There were five of us,” he continued. “I remember the first time. It seemed okay, as if everybody was doing it. We rode out with a huge force, eight hundred men led by Brigadier General Potter. It was a two-hundred-mile ride through Greenville, Tarboro, and Rocky Mount.
“On the third day out, Potter separated the force, and some of us went on to Rocky Mount. I stayed at Tarboro. We destroyed the town. It was a horrible sight to see. Steamboats, warehouses, the jail, everything was fair game. And the looting! We just went from building to building taking what we could.
“Major Clarkson took a force and followed some Confederates off into the woods on the other side of the river, but I stayed, my men and I. Maybe I should have gone. They were drawn into an ambush, and many of them died. Honorably. I stayed behind… and learned to loot. I wanted more than I could carry, and so did several of my men. So, we hauled what we could out into the forest, we buried it, and we mapped the location so we’d remember where it was. Of course, as the commanding officer, I kept the map.”
He laid the cold cigar on the table and stood stiffly, then moved to the fire and stirred it with the poker. “Karl Schneider was my man, my trusted sergeant. He helped me bury the booty.”
The Colonel reached atop the mantle and grasped a silver candlestick, one of a pair. He turned to Muldoon, proffering it. “One of my prizes,” he said with a dismal tone to his voice.
Muldoon sat woodenly. He had no jurisdiction here. He might think it a crime, but so many had done it… and this man was a Colonel. Muldoon had no one to tell.
“Schn
eider was blackmailing you?” asked Muldoon again.
“Not really, no. It’s more as though I was paying him his share. You see,” the man turned again toward the fire, and placed one foot against the grate. “We continued raiding after that. My small group of five. We would ride on a house, take what we wanted, and set it ablaze. Then we would bury the goods, somewhere far out in the forest. After the war, I went back… and I brought it all here. There was only Schneider and myself left. He took his part, and I took mine. But he wanted more, he thought we should have split evenly, but I am, after all, the officer. So, we worked out payments. Otherwise, he said, my family would learn all about the war.”
Muldoon nodded. He rose to stand beside the Colonel who had again grabbed the poker to stir the ash. Suddenly, Muldoon reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. He flipped the hand over, bared the wrist, and revealed what he had just momentarily seen. The Colonel tried pulling his arm away, but Muldoon held it firm. There, on the inside of his wrist was a small tattoo, five dots, like those on a die.
“Our symbol,” he said with a rueful grin. “Four of them, and me in the center.”
“You all had it?”
The Colonel nodded. “Each different,” he said. “To symbolize their position in our little group.” Suddenly, Muldoon realized that this was why Schneider’s wrist was flayed. The skin had been removed to hide the tattoo. Or was it to collect it? But, if Schneider’s death had to do with the war, why kill the girl?
“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” said the Colonel. “It’s getting rather late.”
Muldoon glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was after midnight. He hadn’t realized so much time had passed. Retrieving his hat in the hall, he exited the building, but not before he noticed the footman hurrying through the house. The man was dressed to go out, and carried his master’s hat and coat. Outside, Muldoon darted around the house in time to see the Colonel climb into his carriage. He couldn’t let the Colonel out of his sight. He ran to the street, and raised his hand to hail a passing cab. The driver slapped the horses and they moved quickly down the road, headed toward the poorer district.
CHAPTER 43
“Follow
that carriage,” Muldoon barked. He flopped back into his seat as the cab jolted forward. The horse wasn’t as good as the Colonel’s fine carriage horses. The distance between them grew, until he was afraid he’d lose them. Then, suddenly he saw the Colonel’s carriage stop. The man got out and started walking. As his own cab neared, Muldoon leaped out and handed the cabbie his fare. He sprinted down the road, past the waiting carriage. Five Points, he knew, was ahead. In particular, the corner of Cross Street, where it opened into Paradise Park.
What was Colonel Hamm doing here, he wondered? Ahead of him, the man stopped in the center of the road. Muldoon could see him, the weak glow of the corner streetlamp silhouetting his figure. He moved to the right, into the shadows, hoping he’d be invisible in the darkness. He had no idea why the Colonel was here, and he wasn’t going to be a target out in the open. Why had the man come here? Was it simply to see the location of his daughter’s death? Could he be the killer? Or had the murderer sent for him, with some message he couldn’t ignore?
Muldoon edged closer and scanned the shadows, but he couldn’t see through the darkness. A nightwalker passed, then paused and brushed up against the Colonel, but he murmured something to her, and she stumbled on around the corner.
Minutes dragged by, and still the Colonel stood, waiting just outside Kavanagh’s window… the spot where his daughter’s and Schneider’s corpses had been found. Suddenly, a slim figure broke from the darkness. Red orbs glowed where its eyes should have been.
“Hello?” Colonel Hamm greeted the shadow.
“Aaaargh!” the Colonel raised his hands, blocking a heavy arm as it descended. But the figure had hold of his coat. The Colonel spun about, quickly sliding out of the coat as it wrapped around the man’s fist. He ran, not toward Muldoon, but into the Park.
“Damn,” Muldoon breathed.
The figure shook free of the coat and chased after the Colonel. Muldoon ran, but there was too much space between him and the shadowed form. In the park, Muldoon could see the Colonel run to the fence. He grabbed hold as if he might climb, but then turned roughly to his left, glancing back behind him. The man ran hard, the killer just behind. Muldoon glanced wildly about the park, but he couldn’t see the officers stationed there.
Colonel Hamm neared the police box, and then veered wildly away. He grasped a door handle, pulled hard, and flung himself in the door of a dilapidated building. A stocky, lumbering figure disappeared into the building behind the Colonel. Was that the same thin man he’d seen attack the Colonel moments earlier? Had the weak light and deep shadows of the night played tricks on his eyes?
As Muldoon neared the box, he could see two bodies sprawled there—the patrolmen Mickey O’Brien and Danny Denehey. Muldoon squatted beside Mickey. His neck had been broken. Danny’s too. The force against the younger patrolman had been extremely powerful, and sudden. His neck bent oddly sideways, a scream frozen on his face. Neither man had put up much of a fight, as if they had known their attacker, or he’d come upon them very suddenly. Muldoon rushed across the street, and entered the dark chasm of the ramshackle building.
He paused, listening. The darkness was absolute. The sound of his own raspy breath filled his ears. A scraping sound broke the silence. A boot on a step? He moved toward the sound, where the stairway led upwards. He climbed the stairs slowly, his feet near the wall, where the steps squeaked less. The man’s footsteps above echoed eerily in the hollow darkness. Somewhere above him, the man paused, a door screeched open. A rush of cool air filled the space, and Muldoon realized he had exited to the roof.
He hurried onward, still careful. Pulling out his nightstick he thought about the gun he’d left in his dresser drawer. He hadn’t carried a firearm since the war. And now, when he could use one…
He reached the roof and stood silently beside the door. Somewhere out there, hidden by darkness, was a multiple killer. The man with crimson eyes. Somehow, he’d lured the Colonel here. How, Muldoon didn’t know. The door was open. Carefully, he bent forward, just far enough to look out the door, and glanced about the rooftop. No one there. He stepped out. Crouched low, one hand on the rooftop below his feet. He peered into the gloom. To the left of the door several crates sat, abandoned. Behind them, he caught the glimmer of light off eyes! He stifled a shiver, then realized they weren’t red. It was the Colonel. Muldoon raised a finger to his lips, hush.
He moved along the wall, away from the Colonel. The rooftop was flat and open, a square access building at its center. He reached the corner, and peeked around it. Suddenly, something sliced through the dark, smashing him hard over the head! Lights burst behind his eyes, blinding him for a second. He didn’t know what he’d been hit with, but blood ran into his eyes. Sightless, he reached out and grabbed for the man.
His hand met flesh! He grabbed hard. A thick forearm. If this is Crimson Eyes, he thought, he’s a man… not a shadow. And he knew how to fight a man. He slid his foot forward, and pulled the other man off balance. He’d lost his nightstick. Now, he relied on his skill. Blood streaming into his eyes, he fought blind.
The man had skills. He tried for various locks, but unsuccessfully. Muldoon countered each move. He maneuvered himself behind, and grabbed the man, one arm about his neck, the other pinning his arm to his side. The man thrust his body hard, trying to break free. Suddenly, Muldoon felt his body rising off the roof. Air rushed up toward him. Still blind, he fought to remain upright, but his opponent surged up and back. Muldoon prepared for the body slam, but felt an odd suspension. And then they plummeted off the roof. The man screamed, but Muldoon held tight, until a sickening crunch took his consciousness.
CHAPTER 44
April 29
With
pain-filled steps, Muldoon limped from his bed over to a chair at the window. The short distan
ce seemed so much further than it really was, when agony accompanied every movement. He gazed through the glass, watching as traffic sped by. He couldn’t believe the case was over. Kelly McAllister had been exonerated.
He’d have died, had the other man not been beneath him when they crashed to earth. The other man. Sergeant Collins. He still didn’t understand why, but he’d been in the war, too. A member of the 3rd New York Cavalry. And they’d been in North Carolina with the 12th. Somehow, he must have learned about the pact between Colonel Hamm and his men. But they’d never know now. Collins had died… Muldoon’s arm around his neck… the way he’d killed the others. Karl Schneider, Margaret Hamm, and her maid, Lydia.
Three, now four deaths. Meg McAllister’s prophecies had been wrong. Of course.
The Captain had come to see him in the hospital. He’d stood quietly, his hands deep in his pockets, and stared down at Muldoon, where he lay on his hospital bed. His right arm, and several ribs were broken. But, the massive body of Hugh Collins had absorbed the main force of the fall.
Finally, Captain Hayle cleared his throat, and congratulated him on a job well done. He set something on the table beside the bed, then left. Muldoon reached across with his good hand. His fingertips just reaching the cold metal, and he slid the thing close, until he could grasp it. A detective’s badge lay on his open palm. With a deep sigh, he laid his head back into the softness of the pillow. The Captain hadn’t been able to say the words. He imagined how they must have stuck in the man’s throat. Muldoon, you’ve been promoted. No longer a sergeant over patrolmen, he was a junior officer in the Detective Force. He felt no pride in it.
Several days had passed, and now he was home, the case over. Kelly McAllister came home, too. But, the boy wasn’t the same. He’d been terribly injured in his match with Schneider. Muldoon remembered the fight, recalled the sickening motion of the boy as he bent toward the ground. Nearly in two, he remembered thinking.
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