Lincoln's Ransom

by Tim Champlin

  “Damn! That’s spooky,” McGuinn breathed. “He looks like he could sit up and talk.”

  “Henry Cattell of Brown and Alexander, Surgeons and Embalmers, did one helluva job on him,” Hughes said, showing off his superior knowledge of these useless facts. He leaned down closer to the opening and sniffed. “Since they hauled the body around the country on display for almost three weeks before they buried it, Cattell probably had to pump him full of arsenic, bichloride of mercury, and zinc. The skin appears desiccated. I’m sure the drying process turned the skin darker and helped to....”

  “Enough!” Kinealy snapped, holding up his hand. “We don’t need a lesson in embalming.”

  The dank cellar couldn’t account for a chill that passed over Packard as he suddenly visualized his own body in that coffin. Reportedly, Lincoln had experienced a recurrent dream of seeing his assassinated remains lying in state in the White House. A premonition? Mental strain from the war? Who could say?

  They all stared silently for several more seconds. Then Kinealy said: “O K, everybody had a good look?” It seemed to break the trance, and they muttered their satisfaction.

  Even though Packard personally had had no doubt that it was the body of Lincoln they had been hauling, it still felt strange actually to behold the dead face with his own eyes. He had never seen the man alive, but it was like looking at a legendary figure such as George Washington, or Alexander the Great. This much-loved and much-hated giant of a man who was stretched out at his feet had been at the center of a great storm — a storm that had blown away most of an American generation in the space of four years.

  Packard looked across at Janice. She had not spoken since they had entered the cellar. As she returned his glance, her lips were compressed in a thin line and her face appeared pale in the lamplight.

  “Close it back up, Riley,” Kinealy said, standing up with a grunt and stepping back out of the way. “Sorry to put you to this trouble, but I had to be sure.”

  Riley came forward from the shadows and quickly bent the lead flap back down to cover the face. Then he pulled what appeared to be a running iron or a short poker from the iron brazier and examined the tip of it. Apparently not satisfied, he thrust it back into the red-hot charcoal and took up a set of small, hand-operated bellows, pumping them several times with a whooshing noise. Fine, white ash went everywhere, and angry red eyes of fire glowed even fiercer. It was several minutes before the end of the rod was glowing, and he started the painstaking job of sealing the flap back into place, melting the edges of the soft lead together. He could do only a couple of inches at a time before reheating the rod, and the sealing process took the better part of a half hour. They waited and watched patiently and silently. Once the Illinois authorities had the body back, they would probably go through this same procedure to ensure they had recovered the actual corpse of Lincoln. It was most unlikely they would take Packard’s word alone for something this important without other witnesses.

  While Riley was at work, Kinealy was wasting no time. He squatted in the lamplight, encoding his next message to the governor, writing laboriously on a small pad of paper on his knee. By the time the saloon-keeper had finished his job, and McGuinn had slid the old door over the hole, Kinealy was done, and the pad was tucked away in his pocket.

  They all trooped back up the stairs and outside. It was like coming back into a world of commonplace realities to see the daylight and the buildings and people passing along the street. The late afternoon sun had been snuffed out by a gray overcast, and a cold November wind was blowing up from the direction of the river.

  Kinealy walked directly to the Western Union office and sent his coded message to Chicago while the others returned to the hotel. When he joined them later in the Patee House dining room, his face betrayed no sign of his feelings. He seemed quietly confident as if his plan was on track.

  Janice had apparently shaken off the somber mood of the burial cellar and was talkative at the table, laughing at some remark McGuinn made about the food. Packard wondered if she missed female companionship. But she seemed totally at ease with just the four men. He watched her over the lip of his coffee cup, thinking perhaps her unsettled life had rendered her completely comfortable in just about any surroundings and any company.

  The gang now had the upper hand. The governor’s bluff had been called, and he had to show his hand. What would his answer be? It wasn’t exactly like a kidnapping case where someone’s life was at stake. Yet Governor Beveridge couldn’t very well ignore the demands. Now that he had publicly responded, everyone knew a ransom demand had been made. The governor’s claim that the coffin was empty wouldn’t fool the public for long. And that same public would demand he do something to obtain the return of their late President’s remains. Not only would the public demand it, but the state and federal politicians would also put pressure on him.

  Packard held the key to this stalemate. It was time for him to make his move. Considerable thought had led him to the conclusion that he had to stay with the gang until they were arrested. At first, it had seemed a simple matter to make his escape and keep going, sending a telegram to the Secret Service while en route home. But then it dawned on him that this would not do. When Kinealy realized he was gone, he would immediately know he’d been betrayed and either move the body, or make his own getaway, or both, before anyone could arrive to arrest him. Maybe Packard could alert the local police in St. Joe to detain them before Kinealy could make a move. But he didn’t know if the local constabulary could be relied on to hold them. Kinealy and Hughes were smarter than the average bandits. Besides that, he would be calling down the political wrath of his own superiors if he allowed anyone but the Secret Service to capture this gang. So it was up to him to get loose somehow, send his message, and get back without any of this group being the wiser. Tonight seemed a good time to make the attempt. Attempt was not the right word. He would do it. There was no room for doubt. A man who walks the high wire dares not look down or think of anything but reaching the other side.

  Packard scraped up the last morsel of apple pie and popped it into his mouth. “Ahh...that was delicious.” He set his fork down on the plate. “The perfect ending to a perfect meal.”

  The legs of his wooden chair scuffed on the floor as he pushed back from the table and looked across at Janice who was sipping a cup of coffee. “Would you care to join me in a little stroll outside?” he asked. “I need to work off some of this food and get a breath of fresh air.”

  She nodded, but slid her eyes toward McGuinn and Hughes who had walked to the colonnaded archway leading to the lobby. Both were lighting cigars and having an animated discussion.

  “Don’t worry about them,” he said in a low voice. “Where’s your husband?”Kinealy had finished before the rest of them, excused himself, and left the table.

  “Gone to our room, I expect.”

  “He didn’t bother waiting for you,” Packard observed.

  He saw the hurt in her eyes before she could glance away. “He doesn’t care,” she murmured, standing up and flashing him a rather forced smile. “Shall we walk?”

  “Where you two going?” McGuinn demanded as they passed, headed toward the front door.

  “Out for some air,” Packard answered, not looking back.

  “The boss wants all of us to stay in the hotel,” Hughes said.

  “He won’t care,” Janice said lightly. “We won’t be long.”

  Packard heard their boots thudding on the carpeted floor as the pair followed.

  “Big Jim’s ordered everyone to stay inside after dark,” McGuinn insisted.

  Janice paused and fixed him with a hard stare. “I think I know Big Jim a little better than you do. Even if he told you that, he doesn’t order me.”

  McGuinn looked uncertainly at Hughes. “Then we’ll walk with you,” McGuinn stated, moving to grab the door handle.

  “No, thanks,” Janice said, slipping outside as he opened the door. Packard maneuvered himself qu
ickly to face the two of them, his back to the open door. “I think she made it clear she doesn’t want your company.” His voice had an edge to it. This was not the time or place for a confrontation, but he was at least glad he was armed if it came to that. With just the right touch, he could make it appear that he was simply protecting a lady’s wish for privacy — nothing more.

  McGuinn hesitated as if unsure what to do next. “Go tell Big Jim about this,” he said to Hughes.

  “Tell him yourself,” Hughes retorted. “I’m not your errand boy!”

  The tension was broken, and Packard had them at each other. He stepped aside, allowing a well-dressed older couple to enter the hotel, and took advantage of the interruption to slip outside, closing the big door behind him.

  He vaulted off the porch and joined Janice who was waiting for him.

  “Let’s go.”

  They quickly disappeared into the night. It had been dark less than an hour, but what warmth the weak November sun had provided was now gone, and she shivered as he helped her wrap the hooded cape around her shoulders.

  “I missed being able to talk to you alone,” he said.

  “Me, too. Jim’s so caught up in this business that I don’t think he even knows I’m in the same room with him.”

  She slipped her cold fingers into his hand as he guided their steps down the hill in the general direction of the Western Union office. Gas lamps lighted the cobblestone streets for several blocks in the downtown area. A few carriages and men on horseback were still in evidence, but most of the pedestrians had disappeared. The business of the town was winding down for the night.

  He was trying to devise some innocent excuse to get away from her for a few minutes — long enough to send a telegram — when she interrupted his thoughts with a sudden question. “What do you plan to do once this is all over?”

  “I really haven’t given it much thought,” he said truthfully.

  “There doesn’t seem to be much future in grave-robbing.” The distaste in her voice was obvious. “Why don’t you join us?”

  “I don’t think your husband trusts me,” he said before he thought.

  “Why?”

  He regretted having brought up the subject, but answered, “Oh, maybe it’s just a feeling.”

  “You must have some reason for thinking that,” she persisted.

  The gears were whirring and meshing in his head. “I believe he knows there’s something between us besides just friendship.” He couldn’t let on that Kinealy or Hughes suspected him of treachery. “Did you notice how eager McGuinn and Hughes were to keep us in sight just now?”

  “Yes. And I think I know why. Rip Hughes is after me.”

  “What?” It was his turn to be surprised.

  “He was constantly making advances to me, especially before the three of you got on the train. I used to think he was harmless, but I’ve seen the other side of him on this trip. I’m glad I’ve got a Derringer in my handbag.” She smiled slightly. “Actually, I had an easier way of dealing with him. He always managed to find a whiskey when the train stopped for meals or passengers. Twice I was able to slip a few drops of laudanum into his drink, and he slept for several hours after that.”

  “You carry laudanum with you?” Packard frowned. He wondered what else he didn’t know about her.

  “Oh, I’m not sick or anything. It’s just that I sometimes have trouble sleeping. It helps me relax.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “Anyway, what I was getting around to saying is that Hughes is jealous of you.”

  Packard was flattered, but covered his embarrassment by saying: “I’ve had the feeling since the first night that Big Jim has had McGuinn keeping an eye on me. He never lets me out of his sight. I’m sure that’s why we’re in the same room. And when I went to get a shave in Hannibal, Hughes came looking for me.”

  “Maybe that’s just your imagination,” she said slowly.

  “No. When I offered to drop out of sight in Springfield after we had escaped from the cemetery, your husband practically ordered me to stick close until it was all over. I was hired on just to help rob the grave. That’s all.”

  She was quiet for a moment and then said softly: “You didn’t want to stay around a little longer to see me?”

  His heart melted at this. He stopped walking, and they turned toward each other. Her face was framed by the big hood that partially hid her dark hair. His heart pounding, he slid his arms around her and kissed her gently on the mouth, then more passionately as she melted into his embrace.

  Finally, she backed away, somewhat breathless. “I guess that answers that question.”

  “What question?” He’d already forgotten.

  She threw back her hood and gave him a smile that penetrated to the depths of his soul. Her expression held the unspoken question: Where do we go from here? The last, slight barriers between them had been broken, along with any shreds of his remaining resistance. Had the time and the place been appropriate, he thought they probably would have fallen into bed together. Again he mentally scourged himself for succumbing to the spell of this attractive woman. What was it about her that was so irresistible? Certainly there were other unattached women his age and younger who were just as beautiful and charming and interesting. Maybe it was gratitude to her for having saved his life more than a dozen years before. After all, wounded men tend to fall in love with their nurses. Surely she was a strong part of his past; without her he would have no present. But, deep down, he knew the real answer. It was plain, old, perverse human nature that made him want what he couldn’t have. The lure of forbidden fruit had been the bane of the race since Adam and Eve.

  Just then, he saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Looking over her shoulder, he saw something that turned the fire in his veins to ice. No more than thirty yards away, three men emerged from the railroad dépôt. One of them wore a blue police uniform. The second was a tall man in a gray overcoat and hat. The third man was shorter and talking excitedly. The longish hair, the way he moved, the sound of his voice — all rang a faint alarm bell in the recesses of Packard’s mind. Then the man turned, and the light from the gas street lamp fell fully on his face. It was Boston Corbett!

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Oh, no!”

  “What?” She turned to follow his gaze.

  “Boston Corbett,” he breathed. “I hoped I’d never set eyes on him again.”

  “The crazy preacher you told me about?”

  “The same.” He pulled her into the shadows of the brick warehouse a few feet away.

  His heart was hammering again, but this time not from passion. A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind in the next several seconds. Corbett had obviously gone straight to the law with his story of being abducted. Mad or not, he had convinced someone in authority to listen to him. They had put two and two together, connecting his tale with the theft of the body. And, thanks to him, the law had picked up the trail. Packard knew his boss, Elmer Washburn, would be desperate to follow up any leads, however remote.

  Now was his chance to blow the whistle on this whole operation. All he had to do was draw his gun and turn Janice over to these men. He had no identification on his person, and Corbett knew him only as one of his abductors, but that could be cleared up very shortly with a telegram to the Secret Service. He would direct the police to Riley’s saloon and to the Patee House to grab the rest of the gang. Newspaper headlines around the country would again proclaim the mad hatter as a national hero — this time for leading the law to the recovery of the body and the capture of the extortionists. But that couldn’t be helped.

  His right hand went halfway to the gun under his coat before it faltered. His left arm was around Janice’s waist as they stood close to the wall. He could feel her hip pressing against him. Even if he’d had no feelings for her, could he really hand her over, just like that? Where are your thirty pieces of silver? a mocking voice asked from somewhere.

  “There you are!”

  He nearly ju
mped out of his coat at the sound of McGuinn’s voice only a few feet away.

  “Big Jim wants to see both of you back at the hotel.”

  The ex-pugilist and Rip Hughes moved out of the shadows and stood on each side of them. It was an obvious maneuver to make sure he was trapped. Packard ground his teeth, looking from the square jaw and bent nose of McGuinn to the shaved, suave, sneering face of Hughes. Of the two, he preferred the bulldog to the serpent. Hughes wore a smug smile. His right hand rested on the pistol at his hip.

  Packard’s chance was lost. A quick glance showed Corbett and the two lawmen walking away from them into the darkness beyond the dépôt. He could still faintly hear the preacher’s voice yammering away.

  Janice also looked toward the departing Corbett, so he quickly took her arm and started for the hotel. When they got a few steps ahead of Hughes and McGuinn, he leaned over and whispered: “Don’t say anything about the preacher.”

  She looked her curiosity at him, but nodded silently.

  Just to irritate the jealous Hughes, he held her hand all the way back to the hotel. A stupid, juvenile thing to do. But his mind was occupied more at the moment with what he had just seen than with Janice. By the time they reached the hotel, he had decided to tell Kinealy about Corbett. This would do two things — solidify his own shaky position in the gang and, secondly, allow him to choose his own place and time for springing the trap on them. But what about the woman who held his affections? Would she also have his loyalty? Not if he did his job properly. Once again he just put off the decision by thrusting this problem to the jumbled storeroom in the back of his mind.

  McGuinn and Hughes escorted them to the Kinealys’ room as if they were two miscreant schoolchildren being taken to the principal’s office. Hughes rapped on the door.