"Lincoln Howe. I'm told he went missing this month."
Kinyoun stared at him blankly. "This month? No, long before that. I was supposed to meet him back in January. In a correspondence, he told me he was arriving on the SS Australia from Honolulu, but he didn't keep our appointment. I made some inquiries, but the police didn't seem concerned."
"Is he an officer?
"A bacteriologist. He was assigned to the City Health Department in San Francisco. During the plague outbreak in Honolulu, I'd sent inquires hoping to acquire samples of the bacillus. When I heard Mr. Howe was coming to San Francisco, I made arrangements to meet him. The police insinuated that perhaps he was simply avoiding me."
"Do you happen to have a photograph of him?"
Kinyoun rolled his eyes. "Do you keep a photograph of every half-baked detective with a card?"
"It never hurts to ask."
"What University did he attend?" Isobel cut in.
"London University," Kinyoun bit back. "If both of you will excuse me. I have immigrants waiting for my inspection."
"One more question, Doctor."
Kinyoun wiped a handkerchief across his brow. "Yes, the plague is real."
Riot gave the man a self-deprecating smile. "I'm hardly the scientist that my partner was, but I'd like to see some of your work."
"If I showed every naysayer my work, I'd never get any done."
Riot folded his hands over his walking stick.
"I could always have a guard escort you off this island," Kinyoun added.
"You could do that. But you'd be perpetuating a plague of ignorance. I'd like to leave this isle with a pinch of enlightenment."
"I see you possess more charm than your late partner."
"That's why he kept me around, Doctor."
Impatiently, Kinyoun gestured at them to follow.
"Even he thinks you're charming," Isobel said under her breath as they were led out of the building. More roads of mud and cold, then Kinyoun ordered them to wipe their feet at a doorstep. Shoes cleaned, they walked down a lifeless corridor. He stopped at a door that had bold words painted on it: Keep Out.
The doctor looked to each of them in turn. "Don't touch anything."
Kinyoun stepped inside. As Isobel passed the threshold, she ran her hand up and down the door jamb. Riot cleared his throat. He didn't dare meet her dancing eyes.
Kinyoun had gone straight for a microscope.
Riot was no scientist, but he had spent enough time with Ravenwood to know what was what in a laboratory. Beakers, glass tubes, Bunsen burners, microscopes, and centrifuges. All the various apparatus of a fully functioning laboratory. A glass window looked into a smaller room, where a row of cages lined the walls, each with an animal awaiting its executioner.
Kinyoun opened a case, and selected a slide. "This was taken from the latest suspected plague death—a middle-aged laborer who collapsed in some twisted little alleyway: Oneida Place. Wilfred Kellogg performed the postmortem, and brought me the samples. I injected the lymph fluid into those animals yesterday. They are already showing symptoms of plague."
"The newspapers are claiming that the deaths are being caused by a venereal disease," Isobel said.
"The newspapers are run by businessmen who take payouts from merchants."
Kinyoun adjusted the microscope, switched off the overhead light, and stepped back. Riot removed his spectacles. A swarm of tiny organisms came into view. Clusters of gray bacilli were huddled under the lens. Short, rod-shaped, with rounded tips, they reminded Riot of safety pins.
"What am I looking at?" he asked. Isobel nudged his elbow, and he stepped back. As she skillfully adjusted the knobs of the microscope, he wondered when she had used one before.
"The plague bacillus. Causative agent of the bubonic plague, commonly known as the Black Death. Bacilli don't lie, Mr. Riot. The plague has arrived in America."
"How do you think the plague came to San Francisco?"
"From Honolulu, of course. We have steamers arriving every month. We are as thorough with our disinfecting practices as possible, but… obviously we failed."
A man with an ego, but an honest one. The Quarantine Station was the gateway, and Kinyoun was ultimately responsible for protecting the United States from infectious disease. Another man might have brushed this lapse under a rug, and hope it didn't spread. But he had been the first to sound the alarm.
Kinyoun switched on the light. "Doesn't it strike you as odd that the same man who owns the Call, one of my biggest critics, also owns the Oceanic Steamship Company? J.D. Spreckles is more concerned with his pocketbook. Confirmation of the plague would bring his steamers to a standstill. That's why San Francisco is so keen on discrediting me."
Isobel looked up from the microscope. She cocked her head, and then wandered over to the window of caged animals.
"Do not go in there, young man."
Isobel folded her hands behind her back in innocent compliance.
"Wouldn't passengers be infected as well?" Riot asked. "I arrived in January on the SS Australia."
"The incubation period varies," Kinyoun replied. "The first signs of illness could show themselves within the first day, or it could take as long as seven. The plague bacillus is hardy. It can survive in a corpse for days—animal or human—and even longer in soil. Yersin—the man who discovered the bacillus—found that rats are vectors of the bubonic plague. Paul-Louis Simond even suggests it's spread by fleas."
"What do you think?"
Kinyoun dismissed his question with a wave of a hand. "I'm conducting my own research on the subject. I don't trust anyone else's opinion."
Riot glanced towards the animals. "How do you account for the fact that the plague skipped six blocks—from the ports to Chinatown—to kill a laborer in the Globe Hotel?"
"Chinatown is overcrowded. Its basements are filthy."
"The Barbary Coast isn't precisely paradise."
Kinyoun looked towards the south wall, as if he could see San Francisco. "A rat could easily have skittered down a mooring line, swum across a harbor, climbed onto a wharf, and gone straight into the sewage outflow."
"And traveled six blocks?"
"They're rats. They go where there's food."
Isobel turned away from the cages. Her eyes were steely, glittering from across the room. "How did you infect the animals with the disease?"
Kinyoun smoothed his mustache. "During the postmortem on the latest victim, Kellogg extracted fluid from the inflamed lymph nodes and placed it into a glass tube." He gestured to a rack of tubes. Slim, corked, and airtight. Pink, pulpy tissue floated in straw-colored fluid. "You simply pierce the cork with a needle, withdraw a sample, and inject it into a lab animal."
"That's a very simple process," Isobel noted.
A dark scowl came over his face. "If you are suggesting that Dr. Kellogg botched the collection process—"
"I am not," she said, interrupting his tirade. "Only noting that it sounds foolproof."
"Anyone can do it with minimal training," Kinyoun confirmed.
Isobel arched a brow towards Riot, and the penny dropped a moment later. His gaze traveled to the rats and guinea pigs—all of them injected with death.
20
Meeting of Minds
But together they were something entirely different. The lists were a map. A key to the shadowy lives of San Francisco's elite. —Z.R. Journal Excerpt
WATSON PERCHED ON A rail of the Pagan Lady, swishing his tail in annoyance, as Isobel lowered the dinghy into the water. "Stay or come. It's your choice," Isobel told the cat. Rather than tie the Lady to the wharf, she had moored her in the harbor. One more step for any unwanted visitors to take.
"I will stay and watch the boat," Jin volunteered. The girl stood by the tiller, arms crossed, lips pressed together.
"And I'm not gettin' in that," Tobias said, pointing at the little dinghy.
With a quirk of his lips, Riot climbed over the rail and sat in the boat. "I'll hold it st
eady for you, Tobias. Besides, your mother will kill me if I leave you out here."
"No, she'll thank you for not drowning me."
Seeing that his favorite human was going ashore, Watson quickly hopped into the dinghy and took up his position as masthead. Isobel looked at the children. "Tobias, get in now, or I'll make you walk the plank."
Tobias' eyes widened, and he quickly scrambled over the rail. Riot reached up to help him over. Not trusting the bench, Tobias planted his rear on the bottom of the dinghy, and stretched his arms to grip the sides.
"I will not go back to the mission," Jin said. It wasn't defiant, but quiet, her fingers picking at the beaded bracelet. "I'd rather walk the plank."
Isobel believed her. "I'm not leaving you here."
"I'll clean. I'll scrub the deck. Whatever you need."
Isobel glanced at Riot, who answered her unuttered question. "Sarah's dining at the house tonight. Miss Lily will be laying a fine dinner. You're welcome to join us, Jin."
"And after?"
"As long as it's fine with Miss Lily you can stay at Ravenwood Manor for the night, but you'll have to speak with Miss Cameron tomorrow."
Jin tensed as if to run, but there was only the gray sea.
"Oh, get in, Jin," Tobias said. "Even if they send you back to the mission you'll just run away and hide out in my fort, anyhow."
This bit of reasoning decided the girl. She hopped overboard and Isobel passed down a rucksack full of Ravenwood's journals and her own notes. Someone had known enough to ask after Mr. Morgan and the Pagan Lady. She didn't want to leave anything of value aboard. Locks had a way of opening, especially with the company she was presently keeping.
Riot reached for the oars, but she shook her head. "Let me. It'll look suspicious otherwise." A captain would hardly allow his chartered client to row a dinghy ashore. He frowned at her, eyes full of concern.
Isobel leaned forward. "I intend to take a long soak in your bathtub tonight," she whispered. With that promise, he grudgingly surrendered the oars. She gritted her teeth, and put her back into it.
As she rowed, Riot kept an eye on the docks. A pair of sailors were arguing in Italian between feluccas, their voices carrying over the water, as did their broad gestures. A group of Chinese shrimpers sat on their boat repairing traps, and a yachtsman in a white sweater yelled at his crew as he fought with a sail. No one seemed to be taking an interest in the Pagan Lady or their dinghy.
Isobel drifted alongside a ladder, and Tobias scrambled up, followed by Jin. Watson yowled at Riot, who kindly picked the lazy cat up and carried him to the dock. Isobel tied off the boat, and followed.
As soon as she'd set foot on the dock, Mr. Covel came stomping towards them. With the sun ready to plummet into the sea, he was already well into his cups, but he maintained a relatively straight line.
"Cap'n Morgan." He tipped his cap, and then to them all, "Did you have a pleasant sail?"
She looked to her charter, and Riot answered, "That we did, sir. Morgan is a fine captain."
"Yes, yes." Mr. Covel stuck his thumbs in his waistcoat. "Erm, might I have a word?" The watchman jerked his head to the side, and Isobel followed. As the man leaned close to whisper, his breath nearly felled her. "A fella came looking for your sister. Yesterday and today."
"Did he leave a name?"
"No, no, just said he was a friend."
"Hardly sounds like a friend."
"Didn't look the sort, either. I didn't want to tell your charter there, but he looked a bad sort."
"How so?"
"Average, but he had a gun on his hip. I saw it when he turned."
"Most men have a gun on their hip in this city, Mr. Covel."
"True, true, but he had an air to 'im. Just like that fella there."
Isobel glanced at Riot, who was talking with the children. It was hardly a menacing scene, but still, there was something about Riot—the way his eyes watched and the way he stood. Completely at ease. Ready, calm, and altogether dangerous.
"What did you tell him?"
Mr. Covel turned redder than his nose. He stammered, and scuffed his foot against the dock. "What was I supposed to tell 'im but the truth? That the Lady was docked right here, and that 'er capt'n was a hard one to peg."
"You didn't think it odd that he didn't leave a card?"
"Like I was sayin', a dangerous sort. I'd keep myself scarce if I was you. Is your sister in some sort of trouble? Angry husband, maybe?"
"I think that might be it," she muttered.
"Looks like you got yourself into another fight."
"I'm always rarin' for one." She tipped her cap, and walked to the end of the wharf to hail a hack. Keeping in character as the junior member of Ravenwood Agency, she held the door open for Riot, Watson, and the children before climbing in herself. The cat stood on Riot's thigh to look out the window, its tail twitching as the carriage rolled forward.
Jin listened with narrowed eyes and Tobias with wide ones, as Isobel told Riot about her conversation with Mr. Covel. In her experience, keeping children in the dark was the quickest way to put them at risk. They'd ferret out the truth one way or another—and it was usually the dangerous way.
Riot said nothing, but Tobias had a whole heap to say. By the time the carriage rolled to a stop in front of Ravenwood Manor, the boy had convinced himself that a band of outlaws were after her buried treasure.
Without a word, Riot exited the hack. Alert and tense, he searched the quiet street. Isobel was unnerved as well. They had a number of enemies, and for all she knew there might be a band of outlaws after her.
Jin looked at the boy with disgust. "Wun dan."
Tobias scrambled after. "What does that mean?"
"Cracked egg," Riot answered. He flipped the hackman his fare.
"What's so bad about a cracked egg? They taste good, don't they?"
When the hack had pulled away from the curb, Riot addressed the children. "Not a word about this." He stared at Tobias until the boy scuffed his feet, looking about to crawl out of his skin. Satisfied, Riot turned up the drive, Watson at his heel.
"I thought that was your cat," Tobias said to Isobel.
"I don't keep pets. He's his own man."
✥
The scent of candles mingled with honeysuckle, and paper lanterns bobbed like fireflies in the conservatory. It was fogged with warm bodies. And warmer conversation.
"…there he was, no bigger than Tobias, cocky as could be, facing Wildeyed Hatfield with an old Colt Sidehammer that looked like it come from a gutter. So I says, 'A.J., how about a drink before you shoot this fella. It'll steady your hand.' Do you know what he says?"
All eyes looked to Tim. "He says, 'Don't think it matters. I can't see 'im anyway.'" Laughter erupted around the table, and Riot primly removed his spectacles to polish the lens. "So I says, 'A.J., Mr. Hatfield can see you just fine. As your second, I'd advise you to bow out of this duel.'
'No, sir,' he says, 'I just need to get closer.'
'That don't seem like such a good idea.'
'Hatfield accused me of pinching his billfold.'
'Well, did you?' I asked. And here he raises that stubborn chin of his and tells me straight to my face, 'Course I did. I can pinch any pocket in San Francisco.'
'That's mighty fine, A.J.. Let's celebrate that.' So I pretend to take a swig from my flask, and hand it over. He takes a mighty draught, screws on the cap, and looks at me. His eyes fly open, and a tick later he falls flat on his face." Tim cackled, and even Riot chuckled.
"So I says to Hatfield, 'I'll pay you what he stole, and we'll shake hands on it.' And Hatfield shakes his head. 'That boy is trouble. You best teach him a lesson or he'll not reach fifteen. But I'll take your offer. I wasn't going to shoot him anyhow. Just scare him. He stole twenty-five dollars.'
"I whistled low. That kind of cash hurt. What the devil did he do with it? I wondered, but it didn't matter, 'cause I didn't have twenty-five dollars. So I says to Hatfield, 'Give me two hours
, and I'll have your money.' He was an honorable killer, so we shook on it, and I hoisted that son of a…gun over my shoulder, and marched straight to the nearest port. I looked over the ships, and recognized an old friend of mine. A captain he was, and sailing for Hong Kong. So I handed A.J. over to him, and told him to make sure the boy learnt some sense. And do you know the best thing of it?" Tim slapped the table. "I got fifty dollars for his head."
"And I've never forgiven you for it," Riot said when the laughter died.
"Did he learn any sense?" Miss Lily asked.
Tim cackled. "He learned to gamble and swear like a sailor."
She clucked her tongue. "Then I suppose it won't work for Tobias."
The boy's mouth fell open as he stared at his mother, betrayed.
"What did you do with the money, Mr. Riot?" Sarah asked.
Riot shifted. "I had used it to pay off a debt for a friend who was…" He cleared his throat. "…in service to another."
Jin narrowed her eyes. "You paid a whore's debt to a pimp," she said bluntly.
Maddie gasped, and covered her mouth with a hand. Isobel wasn't at all surprised. Young or old, Atticus Riot had a large and generous heart.
"That's an indelicate way to put it, but yes." He smiled.
"Why didn't you ask Mr. Tim to help you?" Tobias asked.
Riot considered the question. "It's not easy asking for help when you don't know what help looks like."
"Well, I for one am thrilled that Tim shanghaied you," Lotario Amsel said, patting the slight bulge that passed as his stomach. "Otherwise, I would not have been introduced to Miss Lily, her fine cooking, and her pleasant company."
"You make it sound like I'm three different people, Mr. Amsel."
"We all wear different masks. I'm honored you've graced me with your divine trinity. Dinner was superb." He plucked up Miss Lily's hand and kissed the air above her knuckles with a flourish. "You were trained in France, weren't you?"
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 12