by Rhys Bowen
“Mabel didn’t seem particularly overjoyed to see her. Thanked her politely for coming, but seemed relieved when she went again.”
“Was her bedroom window open?” I asked.
Minnie Hamilton’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t think she’d have climbed out of her window? I know there is a creeper on the back wall of the house, but it would be foolish…”
“Have you spoken to the police yet?” I asked.
“No. Not yet. I was in such a tizzy. Frankly I didn’t know what to do.”
“We must tell them right away,” I said. “It’s possible she’s been kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? By the man who killed her parents?” Minnie put her hand to her mouth. “I never thought … I never believed. You’re right. I must tell the police right away.”
“Tell me. Has she seen Dr. Werner again?”
“A couple of days ago. He came to the house briefly to say good-bye, and to give us his address in Germany and the name of the clinic in Switzerland. He said he would make all the arrangements if we changed our minds and decided to send her.”
“Did he say when he was sailing?”
“I believe it was yesterday.”
“That’s too bad,” I said. “Daniel very much wanted to speak with him.” I was about to add that the doctor had been connected to Edward Deveraux, but then I remembered I had kept the details of the case from Sid and Gus, at Daniel’s request. “I should probably take down his address anyway,” I added. “Although I can’t see what good it would do now. Daniel will have to wait and write to him when he is back in Vienna. How annoying.”
Gus stood up. “I’ll find his address for you,” she said. “I’m only sorry he couldn’t do more for Mabel on the spot. These alienists are always so cautious. I just wish I was more experienced and had been able to do more. I still feel that Mabel’s dreams are the key to all of this.”
“Has she had any more dreams with vivid symbols in them recently?” I asked.
Minnie shook her head. “It’s always the snake.”
Thirty-three
I sat at their writing desk and wrote Daniel a note, telling him that Mabel had vanished and he needed to send men to start looking for her immediately. I also wrote down Dr. Werner’s address, but added that I understood he had sailed for Germany yesterday. Then I decided I would deliver the note myself, even if I incurred Daniel’s wrath. So I set out for Mulberry Street, noting as I walked that I was feeling the effects of a long day on a jolting train and wagon. But my own small ailments were of no importance compared to a missing girl. The tension that had been growing inside me all day had now reached the point of explosion. Mabel had been kidnapped, I was sure of it—kidnapped by the monster who killed her parents.
I forced my way through the crowds on Mulberry, dodging around pushcarts and playing children until I came to police headquarters. The same young officer was manning the desk, and I saw wary recognition in his eyes. He had probably gotten an earful for allowing me upstairs the last time I came.
“I need to speak with Captain Sullivan immediately,” I said. “Could you go and fetch him for me? Just tell him that Mabel has been kidnapped.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that, ma’am,” he replied, and when I was about to explode he added quickly, “Captain Sullivan’s not here. He came in about half an hour ago, was only here a few minutes, then left again.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“I wouldn’t ever ask a captain where he is going,” the young man replied. “But he seemed in a great hurry.”
I sighed. “Then please give him this letter the moment he comes back. Tell him it’s very important. A matter of life and death.”
He took it from me. “I will, ma’am.”
I lingered, but there was nothing else to say or do. I wondered if somehow the police had been told about Mabel, or—and I felt a sudden chill gripping at my stomach—her body had been found. I wanted to do something useful, to help, to be involved, but I couldn’t think what. Then I decided that at least I could go to the shipping offices, and confirm that Dr. Werner had indeed left New York. That would be useful without interfering.
I threw caution to the winds and took a cab to the Hudson piers from which the ocean liners departed. No German liner was docked there at the moment, only a smaller steamship called, inappropriately, Queen of the Amazon, and the French liner La Lorraine, on which I had sailed earlier this year. She evoked no fond memories, and I walked past her to where a board announced sailings for the month. There I saw that the Deutschland, a ship of the Hamburg-Amerika line, had indeed sailed yesterday. I found their offices and asked whether a Dr. Otto Werner had been on the passenger list.
A very correct German clerk looked for me. Yes, indeed, he said. Dr. Otto Werner had been on the passenger list. I gave a sigh. That was that, then. Now we’d never know exactly what had transpired between him and Edward Deveraux. I thanked the clerk and was about to walk to the door when he called after me, “Fraulein. I have a message here that it appears Dr. Werner did not sail after all. He was checked in on board, but his cabin was never occupied. He must have changed his mind at the last minute.”
“Thank you,” I said. I left. A blustery wind swept in from the Atlantic, bringing with it the promise of more rain. I held onto my hat as I walked along West Street, deciding what to do next. I should go home, I supposed. Resume my wifely duties and leave the hunt for Mabel to Daniel and his men. Then I started to wonder why Dr. Werner had changed his mind at the last minute. Was it possible he saw the La Lorraine in port, and decided it would make more sense to sail into France if he was finally heading for Vienna? There was a shipping agency nearby, advertising everything from cruises to the Bahamas for forty-seven dollars, to sailings to Canada and England. Your shipping needs taken care of, said the sign. Let us whisk you to Europe in the lap of luxury.
A bell jangled as I went inside.
“I wonder if a Dr. Werner was recently in here, and booked a crossing on the La Lorraine?” I asked.
The man behind the counter ran a finger down a ledger. “No, madam. There is nobody of that name on board.”
Was it possible he’d chosen another ship? “So he never came into this office? Tall, thin man, with hollow eyes and a trimmed black beard? Rather pale complexion. Probably wearing a black suit and a monocle?”
The clerk shook his head. “I don’t believe…”
“Wait,” said a young sandy-haired clerk looking up from his desk. “A man like that was in here, a couple of weeks ago. But he didn’t have a monocle.”
“With a strong German accent?”
“No. He was American. Nicely spoken. He booked two tickets for himself and his daughter on the Queen of the Amazon, sailing to South America tomorrow. What was his name?” He paused, thinking. “That’s it. I remember. Mr. Edwards.”
I left, my heart pounding. My mind was toying with a preposterous idea. Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself. There were plenty of tall, thin men sporting black beards in New York City. And a Mr. Edwards taking his daughter on a journey to South America was just yet another coincidence. But I had to make sure. I had to see for myself whether Dr. Werner had left his residence or not. I was planning to hail another hansom cab. I started walking through the narrow streets of the dock area without seeing any sign of a cab, and I was beginning to get annoyed when I recognized the shape of City Hall in the distance ahead of me. I could certainly find a cab there, I thought, and hurried forward. Then I noticed the subway station. I had used the Métro often enough in Paris, but still hadn’t conditioned myself to think of the subway as a good mode of transportation in New York.
I went down the steps to an elegant foyer with a glass-domed roof, more like a museum than a train station. But I had no time or inclination to study architecture today. I paid for a ticket and went down the steps to the platform. Almost immediately I heard the rumble of a train. It thundered into the station. People got out. I climbed aboard and in no ti
me at all found myself at Astor Place. Just across Broadway, past Wanamaker’s department store, was Ninth Street. I stopped outside number 18. Heavy drapes were drawn across the windows. It had that closed, unlived-in look to it. I couldn’t bring myself to go and knock on the front door. That would definitely be something I left for Daniel, but I walked slowly past on the other side of the street, then waited on the corner until I saw a woman coming toward me with a laden shopping basket. When she was about to go into a house almost directly across from Dr. Werner’s, I approached her.
“Excuse me,” I said.
She stopped and turned back to me.
“That house over there. Would you happen to know if it’s empty right now? We’re looking for a place around here to rent, and someone told me the former tenant had moved out.”
“That’s right,” she said. “I guess he must have gone by now. I heard he was returning to Europe and I haven’t seen him for the past day or so. If you’re wanting to rent it, it’s a Mr. Michelson who owns several of the houses on this street. You’ll find his offices on Broadway.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Do you think anyone could let me in now to look around, since I’m in the area, and very keen to snap up a good house? It’s in good condition, would you say?”
“I couldn’t tell you that,” she replied. “There’s been a gentleman living there alone these past months. Mrs. Hallinan at number twenty-four used to clean for him, and kept it nice and neat. But then one day he fired her—he didn’t give a reason—and since then he must have been looking after himself. I’ve yet to see a gentleman who knows how to cook and clean, so I’m wondering about the state of the place. Probably nothing a good dose of elbow grease can’t cure.”
“Perhaps he sends out his laundry and takes his meals at a nearby café,” I said. “Some gentlemen like their privacy, particularly academic types.”
“I never saw the laundry cart stop at his house,” she said.
“What sort of man was he—friendly?” I felt bold enough to go on now.
“To start with, yes, he was pleasant enough. He spoke English with a strong accent, mind you, but you could understand him all right. But then one day he completely ignored me, and since then he’s hardly managed a civil nod if I bid him good day. Good riddance, I say. I like my neighbors to be friendly, don’t you? I hope you do move in here. You’ve a nice open face. Are you married with little ones? We could do with more children on this street.”
“I’ve a baby boy,” I said. “My husband’s with the police.”
“Perfect.” She beamed at me. “I’m Mrs. Rogers.”
“Sullivan,” I said, and we shook hands. I felt like a fraud as she closed her door, leaving me standing on the deserted street.
I felt so excited I was shaking now. Dr. Werner, who had been described as “a fine man,” and recommended by none other than Professor Freud, was initially friendly to his neighbors, but then he had recently become abrupt and rude. My preposterous idea now seemed to take on shape and reality. And Edward Deveraux had grown a beard. Mabel was in terrible danger. I couldn’t wait to find Daniel and tell him this. They were probably staying in one of those harbor-front rooming houses, close to the ships. I was about to walk away when I noticed one of the drapes was not completely drawn across the front window of number 18. I glanced both ways before I crossed the street, went up to the window, and tried to peer inside. Now that I had chatted with Mrs. Rogers about renting the place, I had a perfect excuse for nosiness. It was quite dark inside and I could see almost nothing, just the indistinct shapes of furniture under sheets. It certainly looked as if the place had been shut up and was no longer occupied.
My nose picked up the smell—sweet, cloying, and somehow familiar—a fraction of a second before everything went black.
Thirty-four
I opened my eyes to darkness. I was lying in a dark and confined space. It smelled damp and musty. As I lay there, I heard a rumbling sound that set objects rattling, and I could feel it in my bones. I knew exactly where I was. I was in the place of my dream. But I was definitely not asleep. And unlike in my dream, I could move. I turned my head. I noticed a faint chink of light coming from under a door. And when the rumbling came again, I identified it. I was in the basement of number 18, and the new subway line ran close by.
That sweet, cloying smell was still in my nostrils, and I recognized it too. Chloroform. I had encountered it before. And the murderer had obviously used it on Mabel the night he killed her parents, making her ask “Why does it smell so sweet?” in her dream. I was about to sit up when I heard movement outside the door. The handle turned. I lay still and closed my eyes. Light flooded in from beyond the door. From under my lashes I watched the tall, thin figure come into the room. He came right up and stood there, looking down at me. He bent over me. I could sense his breath on me. And I knew that he had been Mabel’s snake, probably wearing a mask of some sort, bending over her to see if she was asleep. I willed myself not to twitch or move a muscle, keeping my breathing slow and regular. Then I saw that he held something in his hand. It was a syringe, and I knew then what he planned to do, and why I hadn’t been able to move in my dream.
He bent low over me, and I couldn’t tell whether he wanted to make sure I was still under the influence of the chloroform, or whether he was gloating over having taken me so fortuitously. He felt my arm, then to my horror, he started to lift up my skirt. I had not expected this behavior from him, until I realized that I was wearing a wool jacket, too thick to plunge a needle through, and he was going for my thigh instead. I waited, watching my skirt lifted higher and higher. I could hear his breathing quicken as if this act excited him. He raised the syringe, positioning the needle. I summoned all my strength and without warning, delivered a mighty kick to his midsection. I must have struck lucky or had more force than I expected, because he doubled over, gasping, and the needle flew from his hand, clattering to the stone floor. I leaped up, going after it. Although he was still gasping he lunged at me. I kicked the needle across the floor, threw myself after it, and bent to pick it up. He grabbed at me but only got hold of my skirt. I wrenched myself away. I heard a ripping sound, unnaturally loud in that confined and echoing space, and he came away with torn muslin in his hand as my own hand closed around the syringe.
I stood up, triumphant, as I turned to face him. He stopped short and took a step away from me, still holding his middle and gasping for breath.
“Well, Mr. Edward Deveraux, we meet at last,” I said.
“How did you know?” he asked. “How did you find out?”
“People don’t often change their personality,” I said. “Dr. Piper spoke warmly of Dr. Werner. He called him ‘a fine man.’ But the Dr. Werner I met was a curt and unpleasant individual, with no bedside manner. And all the murders were so clearly linked to Edward Deveraux, it made sense that you were alive somewhere. Then I realized that you planned your escape as soon as you heard that Dr. Werner was coming to visit the institution, and you realized he resembled you in build and appearance. You started growing a beard. You developed an interest in birds because he was a keen bird-watcher. You took him for a walk to the one part of the estate where you could kill him easily. When he looked up for the hawk’s nest, you hit him over the head with a rock, switched clothes with him, then hurled him down onto the rocks—having first smashed in his face so that he would not be recognized. Dr. Piper mentioned that you had trimmed your beard in anticipation of the doctor’s arrival. You smeared yourself with mud and blood to indicate a struggle, and so that the facial differences between you would not be noticed, and you double-checked the placing of the monocle in the little mirror you carried for that purpose—am I correct?”
He was looking at me with narrowed eyes, like a snake. “You’re intelligent, for a woman,” he said. “Too bad I didn’t get rid of you in that train crash.”
“Who were you aiming for—Marcus or me?” I felt surprisingly calm now, feeling the coldness of the glass sy
ringe against my palm.
“Marcus, of course, but when I found you were on board, well, you were an added treat. Too bad you didn’t take the sleeping mixture I left for you at the hospital, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“That was you? Funny. I sensed danger then. I often do. I’m Irish. We have the sixth sense.”
“Do you sense danger now, Mrs. Sullivan?” he asked. “You should.”
“I believe I’m the one with the power at this moment, Mr. Deveraux,” I said. My voice sounded more confident that I really felt. “I know what’s in this syringe. You were planning to do to me what you did to Mabel’s parents, weren’t you?”
“Not exactly,” he said. “I set fire to them. But I rigged up this house to explode after I leave. It was a sort of small-scale practice for the real thing. I like to get my details right. Everything has to work smoothly. And by the time the house goes up, Dr. Werner will have been at sea for two days.”
“You’ve failed in one little detail,” I said. “The ship radioed that you were not on board. And I also happened to find out that a Mr. Edwards was sailing to South America with his daughter. Couldn’t you have come up with a more creative name?”
His eyes narrowed. “You might have the syringe, but in case you haven’t noticed, I’m closer to the door. There’s no way out of here, you know, and once I’ve set the timer, there is no stopping it. You’ll hear the ticking until boom. It will be too late.”
He smiled then. It was the smile of evil, such as I had rarely seen before.
“Why has it been so important to you to ruin so many lives?” I said. “Once you escaped from the asylum, you could have taken the next boat to Europe, and nobody would ever have found you.”
“Because those people sentenced me to a life of hell,” he said. “That stupid maid and my own tutor who gave evidence against me, that doctor who certified me as insane, the ridiculous judge, trying to be nice. They deserved to be punished.”