The Engineer
CURIOSITY HAD ALWAYS BEEN one of Atticus Riot's failings. That, and a hot head. The latter had been tempered by time (or so he liked to believe), but his curiosity had only grown. After Isobel's nightmare and Jin's revelation about The Master, the pieces had clicked. The mastermind behind Sing Ping King Sur came into the light. But they had kept that card close, waiting to spring their trap. Only the mastermind hadn't been swept up in the resulting arrests. He and Isobel had expected as much.
Riot stepped into an elevator. The operator—a young boy in a red coat and polished buttons—asked him his floor.
"The very top please."
The boy snapped to his duties, and the elevator groaned upwards. When the lift stopped, the boy pulled back the doors. Riot flipped him a five cent piece, and walked out onto the polished marble, his shoes clicking with each step.
He stopped at a window to peer down at Market. The building lay in the shadow of two rivals: the Call and Chronicle. A fitting place for a mastermind to hide. Riot had walked this corridor four months before, on his way to the offices of Curtis Amsel. Only this time, when he handed his card to the desk clerk, he asked for a Mr. Jonathan Thorton—Curtis Amsel's senior associate.
Leather chairs, polished oak, and sweeping views. The office screamed successful, but practical—no different than most in the city. When Riot entered, the older gentleman behind the desk stood. "Mr. Riot, I expected you sooner." He offered an amiable smile. "May I return your courtesy and be the one to pour you a whiskey this time?" Mr. Thorton spoke with a slow drawl, his lips barely moving, his waistcoat straining to contain his girth. Riot had first glimpsed him sleeping in a chair in the brick building on Ocean Beach.
Riot glanced at the other man in the room. Bland eyes, brown hair, and whiskers that a thousand other men in the city sported. Unremarkable in every way. Nearly. The man was as calm and confident as a lion, and that pricked the instincts, stirring up a primal fear in most. Riot had also spoken to this man before.
"I'm glad to see you've found somewhere else to lurk other than my lamppost," Riot said.
Mr. Thorton chuckled. "Oh, don't mind Mr. Wolf." He rubbed his hands over his waistcoat, still chuckling. "Though I do feel that I'm standing between two predators. I assure you, Mr. Riot, we're civil. And I trust you will be as well, or I would have asked you to hand over your guns."
Mr. Thorton walked over to a decanter, and plucked the crystal top from its hole. He poured two glasses. "Won't you sit?" he asked, holding the glass out.
Wolf put his fingers on his coat, and slowly lifted it away from his chest. He showed Riot a gold cigarette case in his breast pocket, and slowly removed it. When he stuck a cigarette between his lips, Riot accepted the glass and sat.
Thorton settled in his own chair, and took an appreciative sip of whiskey. "You see, Mr. Riot, I'm a businessman, not a common thug."
"But you profit from thugs."
"I profit from human nature. If not me, someone else will. And I assure you that person would be less discerning than myself."
"Men like Parker Gray and William Punt?"
Thorton scowled, his bushy brows drawing together. "They were a disappointment. Damn sloppy. You know, I admire you and Mr. Wolf. There's an art to your…" He nodded to Riot's holster. "…craft. I had hopes for Gray, but he turned out to be a bully."
"So you sent him to silence Isobel and me?"
"I did not. They lost control of the game, and instead of rethinking their strategy, they reacted. But the damage was already done. Parker Gray acted alone yesterday. I thank you for disposing of him—you saved Mr. Wolf the trouble."
Riot waited, and Wolf smoked in that unhurried way of his.
Thorton folded his hands over his stomach and glanced out the window, letting silence build as he contemplated the view. "You have caused me a great deal of trouble, Mr. Riot."
"I only cause trouble for troublemakers."
Thorton chuckled. "I should think you're one of those troublemakers." He glanced at Riot. "The Southern Pacific Railway runs America. They own both the Democratic and Republican parties, but they haven't been able to completely control California. Why do you think that is?"
"I'll wager you're about to tell me."
"Because we keep the Southern Pacific machine in check."
"Sing Ping King Sur?"
Thorton bobbed his head in confirmation. "Society of Peace and Prosperity. That is precisely what we do—we keep the peace. Men adore their secret societies, their little rituals and mysteries, playing at godhood. It makes them feel special. And it serves my purposes—it keeps them in the dark. Sing Ping King Sur is like the fog that permeates the coast. There's no substance; it's only a veil that romanticizes our city."
"Your meddling kills."
Thorton clucked his tongue. "So nearsighted." And then he looked to Riot's spectacles and chuckled. "But then you are in life, aren't you? Considering your… assassination of Hip Yee, I don't think you have room to judge me."
Riot took a sip of whiskey.
"By killing a few, you saved more." The leather creaked as Thorton shifted his bulk. "Hip Yee was poised to unite the tongs. A unified criminal organization would have dominated Chinatown and seeped into the city. Together, you and I threw the tongs into a chaos from which they have not yet recovered. It's no different than what I have been doing for years with the Southern Pacific—until now. You broke my chessboard, Mr. Riot."
"You had Ravenwood murdered."
"I'm afraid he knew too much. He threatened to expose me. As with Hip Yee, if Sing Ping King Sur wasn't here to keep the balance, the Southern Pacific would dominate San Francisco, and men like Alex Kingston would be able to do anything they pleased."
"Do you think that changes anything?"
"I am an honorable man, Mr. Riot. Your partner recognized that, and brokered a deal with me for your safety. But not for his own. He put himself at risk."
"Honor? Safety? You manipulated me into killing Hip Yee."
"Manipulated?" Thorton wheezed. "Is that how you comfort yourself? I did nothing of the sort. I simply used human nature to my advantage. Don't think yourself so far above the rest of us. I have honored that arrangement longer than I was required to. I have even extended it to your Miss Bel. Who did you think was keeping her safe in jail during the trial?"
Riot set down his whiskey. "Your men nearly killed us."
"And they paid for their lapses in judgment."
"Did Jones Jr. pay for his lapse as well?"
"He took the honorable way out."
Riot stood.
"I admire what you did with the court case. It was a bold move, but it entailed great risk and a heavy sacrifice. I can ensure that the verdict is favorable for your Miss Bel."
The offer was tempting. "In exchange for what?"
"That you stay out of my affairs."
"Your affairs are everywhere."
"I think you give me too much credit."
"It wasn't a compliment."
Thorton chuckled, and took a sip of his whiskey. "It's not an offer of friendship, only a truce. Why not shake on it." He extended his hand.
Riot stared at the offer. Isobel could go free. But the longer he considered accepting the offer the sicker he felt. "I don't like your methods," Riot finally said.
Thorton smiled. "What will you do now? Do you think anything will come of your stunt? Do you imagine I'll be imprisoned?"
"I could shoot you."
Riot glanced at Wolf when he said the word. The man didn't even flinch, only took a drag of his cigarette, and let the ash fall onto the carpet.
Thorton leaned back and spread his arms in surrender. "One human isn't behind corruption. It's money, Mr. Riot. Forces aren't changed by the killing of one man, or by putting another behind bars. San Francisco will only spew out another man like me, or worse."
"Death is too kind for you. I'll see you in a cold cell one day." Riot tipped his hat, turned his back, and started
walking for the door.
"I could have her killed tonight."
Riot stopped in his tracks, and cocked his head. Why was the man goading him? He turned slowly. The way Mr. Wolf stood behind Thorton pricked his instincts. Not so much bodyguard as guard.
Riot looked from the gunfighter to Thorton. "But you won't."
"Why is that Mr. Riot?"
"Because you were outmaneuvered."
✥
Jonathan Thorton grunted when the door closed. "Well, Mr. Wolf. I did try." Resigned, he loosened his tie and collar. "Who do you think would be left standing in a duel?"
Mr. Wolf smashed his cigarette into a crystal ashtray. "Gunfighters kill, Mr. Thorton. It's not a pissing contest."
"But aren't you curious?"
"Curiosity isn't the reason I'm still alive."
Thorton sighed. "No imagination. I used to like a good duel, back in the day. Damn laws make business so damn complicated nowadays."
Mr. Wolf inclined his head in agreement, but Thorton didn't notice. His gaze was on the city below. "So few men have vision anymore. I had expected better of Mr. Riot."
"You thought he'd join us?"
"Hoped." Thorton turned in his chair to smile. "He keeps his emotions close. I appreciate that. Hard to find anymore. Curtis went after that sister of his because he was paranoid. Jones failed to notice a murderer under his nose. Parker thought too much with what was between his legs. And William Punt." Thorton slapped his hand on the desk. "Panicked! But Mr. Riot and Mrs. Kingston would have gone far."
"And you?"
"I put my faith in the wrong men."
Wolf reached into his breast pocket. "That you did, Mr. Thorton." He placed a token on the desk.
Thorton tugged his waistcoat taut. "May I finish my whiskey, Mr. Wolf?"
Wolf nodded, and walked out of the office.
41
A Final Card
Tuesday, May 1, 1900
AFTER A STRING OF witnesses, cross-examinations, accusations, and droning testimony, Isobel Kingston had one final card up her sleeve. That card sat on the witness stand.
Mrs. Alice Wright was a woman of a certain age. Tall and robust, with a gold-plated pince-nez perched on her prominent nose. Wisps of red hair curled out from under a flowery pink hat, adding a good six inches to her six feet.
"Where are you employed, Mrs. Wright?" Farnon asked.
"The Pacific Telephone and Telegraph Company, on Montgomery." She was taciturn and direct. Judge Adams grunted with approval.
"What are your responsibilities?"
"I supervise the switchboards."
"How long have you worked as a supervisor?"
"Six years. Pacific Telephone acquired my husband's telephone company. I was in the habit of running things, so naturally I kept at it."
"Would you relate to the court the events you witnessed pertaining to this trial?"
Mrs. Wright gathered herself up, an imposing presence in a witness stand that suddenly seemed too small. "On the twenty-third of March, the offices of Alex Kingston were connected to the San Francisco Gas and Electric Company. The conversation lasted thirty seconds. Five minutes later, a connection was made between the offices of Alex Kingston and Spring Valley Water Company. Again the conversation lasted approximately thirty seconds.
"On the twenty-fourth of March, the offices of Alex Kingston were connected to Pacific Telephone's billing department. After some questioning of my personnel, I learned that a gruff man had ordered the line at Ravenwood Manor to be disconnected. When I checked the records, I confirmed that Ravenwood Manor had settled their bill. In fact, they had always been prompt in paying it. I reconnected the line.
"The following day, on the twenty-seventh of March, another call was made from the offices of Alex Kingston to the San Francisco Gas and Electric. I overheard a brief exchange while I was helping an operator with a static issue. A man ordered the gas to be turned off at Ravenwood Manor."
"Can you identify that voice, Mrs. Wright?"
"I can."
"Can you name the speaker?"
"It was Alex Kingston. He was quite upset."
"And how do you remember the exact time and dates, Mrs. Wright?"
"I have an excellent memory," she replied briskly. "But operators also keep records for purposes of billing."
Farnon smiled, and picked up a stack of neat papers. "I'd like to submit the billing reports for the offices of Alex Kingston, as evidence of his tampering. Thank you, Mrs. Wright. I have no further questions."
"Does the prosecution have any questions?"
"I do, your honor," Hill said. He stood, and placed his hands on the table. "Mrs. Wright, you do know that eavesdropping is a criminal offense?"
"Yes."
"Do you often eavesdrop on telephone conversations?"
"I often fix connection issues, Mr. Hill. Telephone clarity is a matter of pride at The Pacific Telephone and Telegraph Company."
"I see. That's commendable. As someone who has experienced such issues, I know how difficult it is to make out a voice on the end of a line. Why, I wouldn't know the voice of my own mother with such distortion."
"I know your mother, Mr. Hill. You haven't spoken with her for two years."
The court room snickered. And Judge Adams gave a warning growl.
Mr. Hill smiled. "I'll be sure to ring her after this trial, and convey your regards. But that doesn't change the fact that there was a connection issue." Hill looked to the jury. "I'm sure any number of these fine gentlemen have experienced crackling on a line, and know how difficult it is to make out what the other is saying, let alone identify the caller."
Mrs. Wright looked down on Hill with abject disapproval. "I know what I heard."
"Did the caller identify himself?"
"No."
"So it may have been any gentleman employed at the Law Offices of Alex Kingston. Thank you, Mrs. Wright. I have no further questions."
42
The Verdict
Monday, May 7, 1900
A MOB OF MEN and women crowded the steps of the courthouse, trying to shove their way inside. Questions battered Riot as he pushed through the jam. He found no relief inside. Isobel Kingston's resurrection, and subsequent court hearing had whipped San Francisco into a frenzy.
"One word would ignite that mob like a wildfire," Tim said.
"At least it's not a lynching." The two men shared a look—both had lived through San Francisco's vigilante days. Those days weren't that far behind.
"Miss Bel definitely has public support."
"Will that matter?" a girl asked. Riot looked down, wondering how Jin had got there. She stared up, her dark eyes calculating. Hadn't he left her at home?
Instead of chastising the girl, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "It might. Stay close. You shouldn't be running around alone."
She scoffed, but didn't argue.
"I'll hang back," Tim said.
Riot and Jin bullied their way into the court room. The press coverage was worse than usual. Isobel Kingston would take the stand today.
Marcus Amsel, tall and bent, stood and gestured them forward. "Mr. Riot," he greeted. The old man's hands encompassed his own, warm and forgiving, and ever hopeful.
Riot returned the gesture, and inclined his head to a scowling Mrs. Amsel, who sat beside her youngest son. Lotario was as pale as death. He sat hunched forward, lines of pain marring his face. His left arm was in a heavy sling that immobilized his shoulder.
"Isobel is going to kill you when she sees you here," Riot murmured as he sat beside her twin.
"Dead is the only way I'd miss this." Lotario's voice was faint.
Jin leaned forward to glare at him across Riot. "Don't worry, we will carry you to sau pan po after you die in court."
Lotario stuck his tongue out at the girl. The gesture heartened Riot, until Jin replied with a crude gesture.
Riot pushed her hand back down. "Behave," he said under his breath.
"I don't
think that's possible for a Wu Lei Ching."
"Fahn Quai," Jin hissed at Lotario. Isobel's mother looked her way, and Jin quickly sat back to hide behind Riot. Those steely eyes could wilt anyone.
Conversation dropped as a side door opened, and the bailiff escorted Isobel into the court room. Wisps of hair stuck out from under her simple hat. Over the past month, her hair had begun to lighten and lengthen. The blue of her coat softened her eyes, and the ruffled blouse at her throat gave her an aura of polite society.
As she took her seat at the defendant's table, she caught his eye, and then her gaze slid sideways. A number of emotions passed over her: relief, joy, and finally anger. Lotario waved. Isobel set her jaw, sat down, and leaned in to speak with her attorney.
The chamber door opened, and Judge Adams marched in looking disgruntled and harried in black robes. This trial had lasted far longer than his others, where defendants had the good sense to plead guilty. The judge was notorious for dolling out maximum sentences to anyone who dared to plea 'not guilty'. In Isobel's case that maximum was six years.
"All rise," the bailiff announced. The audience rose, and Riot helped Lotario to his feet. The young man trembled from the exertion. "Court is now in session, Judge Adams presiding. Please be seated."
"The prosecution has the floor."
"The prosecution calls Isobel Kingston to the stand."
Isobel walked across the well with purposeful steps. After being duly sworn in, she sat, and Mr. Hill stood at his desk.
"Mrs. Kingston, the defense has done an excellent job of painting you as a victim of circumstance. And yet I have a statement from a man named Frederick Ashworth that paints you in a less than favorable light. Do you know Mr. Ashworth?"
"I spent an afternoon with him."
"In his statement, he claims you abducted, restrained, and interrogated him. Is this true?"
"No," Isobel said.
"You didn't abduct him?"
"Fredrick Ashworth was under the impression that I was a woman of the underworld. He invited me into his rooms, leaned in close, and whispered his pleasure. Mr. Ashworth requested a rather boorish service. I proposed another. He agreed to be tied up and throttled, only I didn't charge him for my services."
Conspiracy of Silence (Ravenwood Mysteries #4) Page 27