“We were as close as brothers, and every summer Jonathan and his family would come stay across the river at the neighboring homestead. I lived for those summers. We’d sleep outside with bedrolls under the stars, and when Grandfather came to put out the campfire, he told us the legend of Samuel Steele, who never once fired a gun, who rather was able to intimidate settlers with the mention of his name and ironclad reputation.
“We were always taking turns as Steele or the bad guy or the Indians on the prairies—everything was straight out of a Robert Service poem: a man finding his fortune and running into the law. Whiskey runners! Murderous men set on revenge. The brave Metis warriors.
“We blood-swore down by the creek that we would join the Force when we were grown and be dispatched together. Hopefully North, where the wolves and the moose roamed and the northern lights made the night bright as day. Everything was going to be an adventure!
“Jonathan was especially adept at everything Grandfather taught him about polishing his boots and laying out his kit. Grandfather told us all about his tales of survival out when there was nothing on the land but himself and the buffalo and the wind squalls on the prairies. Jonathan picked up anything he was taught: from tying an unwieldy horse to using a flint to strike a spark and make a fire. He took it further and became skilled at chemistry and playing with wires. He used to make firecrackers in the backyard on Queen Victoria’s birthday. All the kids would come from Riverton to see.”
Benny stopped and watched the girls: Jem’s chin was in her cupped palm as she listened intently. Merinda’s head was cocked to the side, those cat eyes of hers staring at him straight on. He took a sip of tea. Was the room suddenly warm?
Then he continued: “I should have been jealous of him, but I didn’t know how to be. I was in awe of him. When he started formal training in Regina, he was always getting in trouble. But he was charming and so gifted, I could tell even the staff sergeant hated punishing him. He was never discharged, just sent to clean the stables or scrub at the lavatories with a toothbrush.
“Jonathan was always the top student in class, but he’d sneak out of the barracks at night and find some local amusement, usually involving cards and liquor. He was an ace at gambling.
“Grandfather died right before Christmas, and Jonathan was devastated. I had never seen him so unlike himself. He canceled his trip and failed to show for the funeral. It broke my aunt’s heart. At this point, he made little more than seventy-five cents a day on top of his room and board. We always sent as much as we could home, saving a bit for a lark on the weekends and a trip to the nickelodeon. But soon Grandmother was receiving paychecks that didn’t quite add up. She was buying new dresses and choicer cuts of meat. Jonathan had found a way to make a little extra on the side.
“Of course, at home they just thought he was promoted. I knew better, and I confronted him on it. By now he was spending too many nights away, barely staying awake at reveille, and I knew they were going to sack him if he didn’t get his act together. I begged him. I entreated him. This was what we always wanted, and he was so naturally gifted at it! He would make inspector someday. But he didn’t listen to me, and we had a loud row about it. He said he had found something else. Something more important than just riding around the prairies. He told me that those glory days were over and the real law now was made of everyday men. No ranks! Just equals. He handed me a pamphlet from an anarchist group holding a rally in Saskatoon and recruiting in Regina. He found a few of them and told them he could make things blow up. It was how they were making a statement. If no one is going to listen to your words, he told me, he would have to make a louder noise.”
Benny stopped and gripped his knees with his hands. “And he left, asking me to come with him. But I had a future in the Force, and everything he did was at such odds with what we had always wanted. I thought we were the same! How could I break the law and run against the law when our childhood dreams were to be the law? We fought and screamed at each other until our throats were sore.” Benny blinked away the prick of a tear that started in his right eye. “And I knew it was over then, those stories and the days by the creek. It brought Grandfather’s death back again, and I was stabbed with hurt all over. Jonathan said good-bye, giving me a punch in the arm as he had done when we were little. And he turned and our paths were no longer the same.”
The sound of screeching tires outside the front window startled him from his reverie, and he used the moment to refill his teacup. The girls said nothing, hanging on his story. Jem’s own eyes, round and blue as a china saucer, were moistened. Merinda just watched him.
“A few weeks ago, Divisional Headquarters put out a warrant for Jonathan’s arrest. I was stationed up near Yellowknife for a spell and rarely made it into town. When I went in for supplies, there was a cable for me telling me about the warrant. So I made my way to Prince Albert, where they were starting to sniff around. The commissioner said I was better off going back north, but I volunteered to track Jonathan down.” Benny shrugged. “So here I am in civilian clothes, navigating a city I know nothing about, because this was as far as I could trace him. The trail’s gone cold, and I thought I might as well use whatever help I can find. So I looked for private investigators, and here I am.”
Merinda choked down the cup of Turkish coffee too quickly. She collected herself and exchanged a look with Jem before settling her eyes back on Benny. She was used to Jasper’s open-book face across from her. But a man as tall and broad-shouldered as Benny surprised her. He sat in day clothes with the same rigid formality that must have seen him well situated atop a ceremonial horse. She deduced Benny wasn’t a man who knew how to be comfortable.
“How did you know he had come so far as Toronto?” Merinda asked, surprised when her voice croaked slightly.
“It was always easy to tell where he had been. Mysterious explosions. They always look accidental. Jonathan is so careful. In every instance, the police thought it was just faulty wiring. I was two steps behind him in Winnipeg and then again in Detroit. I followed him here when I heard about the trolley. And I saw the papers—another one yesterday.”
“So your cousin is very dangerous,” Jem said.
Benny nodded. “More than anyone realizes.”
“So why do you want to find him?” Merinda queried. “You’ll probably catch him just in time to bring him back for a hanging, if all is as you say.”
Benny swallowed. “If that is to be so, then I will see he has a fair trial. There are ways that… Sometimes skill sets can be used. Sometimes they use incarcerated men to help them track and trail other killers. There’s still hope that Jonathan can be of use to the Force. I would rather take him back to Regina properly than have him blown up in the middle of some strange city.”
Merinda wanted to throw the man a rope and drag him out of the mire of disillusion. Instead, she clamped her mouth shut before the sardonic words forming in her brain could funnel their way out and hurt Benny.
“What movement is he with?” Jem asked.
“The PLM—People’s Labor Movement. They’re based in the States but have started coming over to Canada. Some of them banded after the strike in Lawrence, Massachusetts. Perhaps you heard of it?”
Merinda and Jem nodded in unison. “You think that Jonathan was involved with the trolley explosions?”
Benny nodded. “I do.”
“How can we possibly predict their next move?” Jem wondered aloud.
“Emma Goldman is speaking tonight, is she not?” said Benny.
“She certainly is. Everyone from seamstresses to striking rail workers will be there. Bills are posted all over the city!” Merinda said excitedly.
“Jonathan’s actions are deplorable and reckless, but underneath it I know he really believes in something,” said Benny. “For all of our disagreements, he must think his philosophy is sound.”
“And you think he might attend the rally?”
“I have to believe it is an opportunity to find him.”
Silence fell between them, and Merinda and Jem watched Benny work the puzzle over in his mind. While he was thinking, Merinda studied him beyond the little nuances and clues of detection. The slightly off-center slant of his nose—it must have been broken and reset—was the only flaw in a face Merinda would describe as handsome. Close-cropped dark blond hair that probably shone in the prairie sun, eyes that were kind and hopeful but seemed to take in everything at once with an alertness Merinda envied.
“So you’ll take my case? You’ll help me find my cousin?”
“Oh, yes indeed,” Jem said.
“We’ll start with the Goldman rally,” Merinda announced, and Jem nodded.
Benny rose and the girls followed suit. “I am staying at the Empire Hotel at Yonge and Gerrard should you need to contact me.”
“Mrs. Malone, would you please show Constable Citrone out?”
“Wait!” A smile flickered over Benny’s lips. “I never told you my rank.”
“Process of elimination! You mentioned being admitted to formal training and that you were stationed up north. If you were a corporal, which I believe is the next rank you can aspire to, you would have the jurisdiction to pursue your cousin without consulting your commissioner.”
“You really are bright.” He looked impressed.
“For a woman?” Merinda scoffed, waving Mrs. Malone away and seeing Benny to the door herself.
“No. Just bright.”
Merinda extended her hand and Benny gripped it. As before, it was several seconds—a moment maybe—before he released it. “I look forward to finding your cousin, Benny Citrone. I just hope you are prepared for the ramifications of his discovery.”
Benny nodded gravely. “I am.”
Merinda returned to the sitting room and Jem.
“I hope Citrone’s sad story put your own whining into perspective,” Merinda reprimanded her.
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Jem murmured.
Merinda crossed to the blackboard and wiped the slate clean. In a bold hand, she wrote:
Benfield Citrone
Jonathan
PLM
Emma Goldman
Trolley
She set the chalk down and rubbed her hands together. “Here’s where you come in, Jemima.”
“Mmm?” Jem’s mouth was full of shortbread.
“DeLuca has been reporting the trolley strike and the explosions. He’s probably back there right now after yesterday’s accident.” She said the last word pointedly. “We need to find a pattern so we can figure out where Jonathan and his crew might strike next.”
“Ray reports as best he can. He explained… ”
“Cracker jacks, Jemima! Think. Of course he didn’t report everything. There has to be something else. Go make him tell you everything he saw at the explosion,” Merinda commanded. “I am going to try to find some information on whatever happened in Winnipeg and get Nicholas and Del† to send me anything on Detroit. I’ll be ’round later to collect you for the rally, and you can repeat everything DeLuca said on the way.”
“And what if he doesn’t want to tell me?” Jem chewed her lip.
“Then you aren’t trying hard enough. Go put on a nice dress or bat your eyes or put on perfume. Whatever you silly women do.”
Merinda’s eyes fluttered in the direction of the front window, trying to catch one more glimpse of Benny Citrone. Wondering if he might have forgotten something. He hadn’t, of course, and her eyes moved Jem-ward.
“You all right, Merinda?” Jem asked.
“Mm-hmm.” Merinda said, calmly reaching for her coffee cup and toppling it over in her haste.
* * *
*The learned reader will, of course, have heard of Sir Samuel Benfield Steele, famous for enforcing law in the Yukon Gold Rush and undisputed hero and distinguished leader of the Lord Strathcona Horse in the War against the Boers under Her Majesty’s command.
†Merinda and Jem first met Nicholas and Del Haliburton in a case Jem recorded as Of Dubious and Questionable Memory.
CHAPTER FIVE
Anger is the least interesting emotion. In pursuit of a nuanced criminal, remember to look for jealousy, greed, love, revenge. Pure anger is rarely enough to develop a motive.
M.C. Wheaton, Guide to the Criminal and Commonplace
Jem was surprised to find Ray at home. He left for work so early and was rarely home in the middle of the day. But as she took off her gloves and removed her hat, she heard his paper rustling from the front room.
At her approach, he looked up from a copy of the Globe.
“Ray! Why are you home so early?”
“I was worried about you.”
“I was at Merinda’s. We have a client.”
“That usually leads to your chasing perpetrators across the city in trousers.”
“I was safe in Merinda’s parlor.”
“I wish you could find a job taking in sewing or at a tea shop.” The teakettle whistled, and Ray rose to tend to it. A moment later, he handed her a steaming mug, brushing her hair back behind her ear as she took it.
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him. “I was wondering if you might tell me about the trolley explosion.”
Ray cocked an eyebrow. “Safe in Merinda’s parlor, you said?”
“Our client indicated that all the accidents might be related.”
“Jem, you have to promise me you’ll be careful. No, don’t do that. Your eyes! They’re three times their size! You look like a wounded bird. You know I can’t resist you when… Fine. Fine.” He described the scene of the trolley explosion, his hands picking up the pace as he spoke. But the picture he painted was familiar to Jem already.
“You’re not telling me anything your readers didn’t learn in your articles!”
“I was telling the truth.”
“You’re telling part of the truth.” Jem leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. Her eyes widened. “I want to learn about the parts you didn’t write about. Anyone there who shouldn’t have been there? Did you think it was an accident at the time? I think you suspected that it was more than an accident. You’re not the kind to take something like that at face value.”
Ray looked at his teacup. “I have to. It doesn’t do for me to… hypothesize.” It took him two tries to say a word Jem knew he had difficulty pronouncing.
“The Goldman rally is tonight. Benny Citrone—he’s our client—thinks the anarchist will strike again. Will you and Skip be there?”
“Skip’s going.”
“Merinda and I are… ”
“No.”
“I haven’t finished!”
“If that sentence finishes with ‘going to the Goldman rally,’ then let me stop you right there. It’s no longer just your own life you’re throwing into danger, Jem. We just talked about this. No, I have to forbid it. You let Jasper and the police handle this.”
“I don’t recall needing your permission to do anything. You can’t just say no. You… ”
“Please, Jem. We’re trying to be honest with each other.”
“And I am honestly telling you that I am… ”
They turned at the sound of the door knock. On the other side was Kat, her face smudged with dirt and a smile on her lips.
“Message for you, Jem,” she said brightly. The girl then proceeded to relay every detail of her dash across the city so as not to be late in delivering the important message, including in her tale her theories on the trolley incidents and her concerns that a newsie named Buzz was trying to steal her beat. All the while, Jem was wishing Mouse had been given the task instead. Mouse rarely spoke.
Jem motioned for Ray to hand her a coin, which she pressed in Kat’s dirty palm. She waved her off with a smile and then opened the note.
Jem—Ran into Kat on Yonge. Was at the Globe digging into their international and national news to find something about the explosions in Winnipeg and Detroit. These explosions are connected by the careful way in which they appear to be
accidents. They also occur, it seems, when some noted official is in town or some major rally for change is taking place—I assume to draw more press coverage. In Winnipeg it was Nellie McClung. In Detroit it was President Taft.
I agree with Benny that Jonathan might be at the Goldman rally tonight. I’ll be by early so I can get DeLuca to tell me everything he didn’t tell you about the explosion.
Merinda rapped at Jem’s door with her walking stick.*
Ray opened the door. She beamed at him. He didn’t return the smile.
“I hope you’re ready for a solo summer stroll, Merinda, for I have forbidden Jem to go to the Goldman rally.”
“I’m still going!” Jem called from the sitting room as Merinda sidled past Ray and into the house.
“Of course you’re still going!” Merinda looked up at Ray. “It’s a client, DeLuca. It’s part of our job.”
“This isn’t Jem’s job.”
“She lost her job at Spenser’s. She has to have something to do!”
“Jemima!” Ray was pleading, and Merinda sensed a surge of something between them, but it wasn’t strong enough to keep Jem from joining Merinda on the doorstep, clad in men’s clothing and hat.
They both heard Ray bound up the stairs in the back, and Merinda sensed a slight reluctance as Jem slowly pulled the door shut behind her. Indeed, it was only with the sound of the click that she finally exhaled and forced a smile at her friend.
“Do you think that there may be some violence tonight?”
Merinda watched her friend’s face darken. “Goldman has some incendiary way about her,” Merinda said, having followed the newspapers since Jasper first told her of the anarchist’s arrival. “She inspires people to move and act. Her words cut right through them. They are so desperate to make a bold move, they don’t think beyond what they’re seeing in the moment. And every move is drastic.”
Merinda and Jem knew the location of the Goldman rally well: an abandoned warehouse in Corktown not a stone’s throw from the Hogtown Herald’s ramshackle office.
A Lesson in Love and Murder Page 4