A Spark of Death

by Bernadette Pajer

  Bradshaw took the chalk, and with a fairly steady hand, drew Tesla’s oscillator and a Faraday cage. His drawing resembled a complicated street lamp, with all of its wiring showing, positioned beside a man-size birdcage. He cleared his throat before he addressed the mustached jury. He hadn’t been warned he’d be giving a lecture.

  “Do you know anything about electricity?”

  The jurors blinked at him.

  “You may answer his questions,” instructed Coroner Cline.

  The eldest-looking juror said, “I know I don’t want it in my house. Don’t know what was wrong with gas, we just had it installed ten year ago and now the wife says e-lec-tristy is what she wants. Cleaner, she says. Pooh, I say. What the heck is it? Can you see it? Can you smell it? Can you touch it without getting yourself killed?”

  Professor Bradshaw took a deep breath. He would have to begin at the beginning.

  Although it was inaccurate, he used the traditional water analogy, comparing electric current to the flow of water through a pipe. Alternating current didn’t really flow, it simply vibrated in the wire, but he thought it best not to confuse them with such facts.

  He explained amperage like water flow rate, potential like water pressure, and resistance like narrow or wide pipes. A half-hour later, the jury of six mustached men had grasped the fundamentals, though the elder fought it all the way.

  Bradshaw now pointed to his diagram of Tesla’s coil. “Here we have standard building current flowing into the Machine. The potential measures at this point 110 volts. If you have electricity in your house, it is the same strength as this. This very room is wired in this way.” Bradshaw indicated the overhead electric lamps, and chins lifted to gaze thoughtfully.

  “This electric strength is very practical. It operates a variety of motors and lighting fixtures. It is also very dangerous. While you are quite safe in turning on a lamp, you should never come in contact with the wires carrying the current. Like our water analogy. If you touch two conductors directly you are like a length of pipe that has been connected to the plumbing. Electricity will flow through you, like water flows through a pipe. And when electricity flows through your body, it can cause severe, even lethal damage.”

  Bradshaw examined the jurors’ faces again and found he had not yet lost them, though a few other faces in the courtroom, including Patrolman Mercer’s, looked puzzled. He was not concerned about them.

  He turned again to his diagram. In simple terms as instructed, he explained how the electric current changed as it encountered various components of the Machine until it reached the Leyden jars.

  “Electricity flows into these jars. Much like batteries, they hold electric potential until you are ready to use it.”

  Here, Bradshaw lost the jurors. Their eyes glazed as they tried to imagine stationary jars holding something as mobile as flowing electricity.

  “Think of the jars as if they were a dam in a river, holding back the enormous weight of a manmade lake. Leyden jars, like a dam, hold in reserve powerful levels of potential energy.” Thankfully, this explanation drew nods of understanding. “When the Leyden jars become full, they discharge, like a sluice gate opening, and the electricity flows into this coil of copper here of a few turns, and then into this coil of copper here of many hundreds of turns. By the very nature of the physical relationship of the materials,” he said, knowing he had not attempted to explain induction or electro-magnetism, and that they would have to take it on pure faith what happened next “…the potential is increased while the current is decreased. This happens over and over again, the Leyden jars fill up, they overflow, they fill up, they overflow. This on-and-off activity is what we call frequency. By the time this oscillating energy reaches here,” he pointed to the large sphere he’d drawn at the top of the Machine, “the potential has reached perhaps a million volts and the current is so low it is nearly safe to touch. The energy explodes from this component in electric arcs, like lightning bolts. These arcs, because they are at such a very high temperature, have the ability to cause severe pain and burns—an electric spark is much like a flame—but, in most cases, won’t cause death because the current is low and the frequency very high. High frequency energy is generally quite safe.”

  One of the jurors, the troublesome eldest, raised his hand as if he were in class.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Why the blazes would anyone want to make such a contraption?”

  There was a murmur of approval for the question.

  “When electric current is transformed in such a way, amazing things happen. For instance, in the presence of an energized coil, a man can stand several feet away holding phosphor-coated gas-filled glass bulb, and the bulb will light up—without connecting wires. The energy travels through the air.”

  A few in the courtroom guffawed. Bradshaw didn’t inform his audience that President McKinley was to have had that experience next week at the university before the same Electric Machine they were all now dissecting because of Oglethorpe’s death. He glanced at O’Brien. The detective’s poker face gave nothing away.

  A man in the back of the room suddenly stood. “It’s true! I saw it happen last summer at the world’s fair!”

  “That’s right,” said Bradshaw. “Demonstrations are often given at fairs and exhibitions. Nikola Tesla, the man who invented this machine, hopes to someday distribute electricity around the world without a single wire. Houses will be lit, motors run, vehicles moved, all by plucking high-frequency energy from the air. The study of high frequency electricity has led to inventions like Marconi’s wireless telegraph. Messages have been sent across the English Channel. Marconi is now working on a project he hopes will send a wireless signal across the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.”

  The judge tapped his gavel lightly to silence the now babbling courtroom. The wonders of science had threatened to divert them from Oglethorpe’s death.

  Coroner Cline asked, “Professor Bradshaw, what is the purpose of that over-sized birdcage you have drawn?”

  “It’s a Faraday cage. A man can sit safely inside this cage while the Electric Machine is running and emitting arcs. Only the outer surfaces of the cage can become electrified. No charge enters the interior of the cage or even the inside surface of the bars.”

  “And you found Professor Oglethorpe dead inside that cage?”

  “Yes, with the index finger of his right hand protruding through the bars.” Bradshaw drew an “x” to mark where Oglethorpe’s finger had been.

  “That finger would have then been exposed to the high-potential arcs, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you’d been in that cage when the Machine was operating, and you’d stuck your finger through the bars, what do you think would have happened to you?”

  “I probably would have been struck by an electric arc. I would have felt pain at the point of contact. I would have pulled my hand away.”

  “Did Professor Oglethorpe pull away, do you suppose?”

  “It doesn’t look like he did. I found him with his finger still protruding and greatly burned.”

  “Thank you, Professor. That’s all for now.”

  ***

  The testimony began to paint a multi-dimensional view of Oglethorpe’s final hours. Bradshaw hadn’t realized how orderly and precisely the facts would be presented, like the elements in a complicated algebraic equation with dozens of possible variables. Would he have found Rachel’s inquest as intriguing had he not been so emotionally involved?

  He dug into his pockets and found his small leather diary but no pencil. He borrowed one from Dr. Graves. Immersed in the testimony, he filled his diary with meticulous notes.

  An engineer from Seattle City Light testified that Bradshaw’s explanations of electricity and the Electric Machine were simple but accurate. He agreed that a high-voltage, low-curr
ent shock would not likely have killed Oglethorpe but cause him to swiftly, reflexively, pull away.

  “Can you think of any reason why a man would not react reflexively?”

  “No man would leave his arm out there to be struck again, not unless he was dead.”

  Cline repeated the engineer’s words, “Not unless he was dead.”

  Seven more witnesses followed. Each confirmed what others had already said, and three of them had noticed the Administration Building lights briefly dim at about a quarter to two. They all testified the building lights faltered greatly at half past three.

  When the court took an hour break for lunch, the witnesses and jurors were asked not to speak to one another about the case. Professor Bradshaw walked down the street to the soda fountain on the corner. He sat alone, deep in thought, nursing a Coca-Cola and studying his notes.

  The first witness to take the stand after court resumed was a student, the square-jawed Glen Reeves. He sat restlessly upon his chair, a bit flushed, hands restless. Having so recently departed from that chair, Bradshaw read no guilt into the behavior.

  Cline asked Mr. Reeves to explain his whereabouts for the time in question.

  “I was in Oglethorpe’s class, Electrical Design, on the second floor of Admin, that’s the Administration Building. The Professor had us all about ready to jump out the window—”

  “Excuse me? Was this some sort of experiment?”

  “Oh, no, what I meant was, we were that frustrated trying to understand what Oglethorpe was teaching. We had ten more minutes to go according to my pocket watch—”

  “The specific time, Mr. Reeves?”

  “Twenty minutes past one, sir.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, that’s when there was a knock at the door and a woman marched in and handed the Prof a piece of paper, sort of thrust it at him.”

  A woman marched into the classroom? Bradshaw sat forward.

  “Can you describe this woman?”

  “She was older, my mother’s age, I’d say. Near to fifty. And big, stout. She wore a blue suit of clothes and small blue hat. Her hair was fairish, I don’t know if it were blond or gray. And she had a very stern face.”

  Good heavens, Bradshaw thought, sitting back. The boy could have been describing Mrs. Prouty.

  “Did you know this woman? Had you seen her before?”

  “No, sir. Never saw her before, and she didn’t introduce herself. She gave Oglethorpe the paper, turned on her heel, and marched out. Oglethorpe read the note, said something rather nasty, then said class was adjourned.”

  “What was it he said that you considered ‘rather nasty,’ Mr. Reeves?”

  “You want me to repeat it aloud?”

  “Please.”

  Poor Mr. Reeves turned a deeper shade of red. He glanced at Professor Bradshaw sheepishly before casting his eyes down. “He said, ‘Bradshaw, that stupid clod.’”

  It was nothing Bradshaw hadn’t heard before.

  Cline moved on to another question, much to the relief of his witness. “Did Professor Oglethorpe leave the class immediately?”

  “He was out the door right away. Prof Kelly took over the class.”

  “I thought you said you’d been dismissed.”

  “Yeah, well, we could’ve gone, but we’ve got an exam coming up and we needed Prof Kelly to make sense of the lecture for us. He’d been sitting in on the class.”

  Glen Reeves was dismissed. Bradshaw noticed he returned to a seat next to Miss Trout. The two didn’t speak, yet by their high-coloring and fidgeting manner, Bradshaw knew they were keenly aware of each other. Miss Trout caught him studying them, and she gave him a shy smile from under her dark lashes.

  He turned his focus back to the proceedings.

  Detective O’Brien was called next, repeating and verifying details of Oglethorpe and the scene of his death.

  “And the note Mr. Reeves tells us was handed to Professor Oglethorpe at twenty minutes past one yesterday afternoon—did you find it?”

  “Yes. It was in Professor Oglethorpe’s pocket.” O’Brien produced the letter from his own pocket and handed it to the coroner.

  Cline read it aloud. “Oglethorpe. There is trouble with the Machine. I need you here at once. Bradshaw.”

  Bradshaw became uncomfortably aware of attention focused his way. Tom leaned over and whispered jokingly, “A note, Bradshaw? What were you thinking?”

  Bradshaw couldn’t reply. Cline had approached and now held the note under Bradshaw’s nose.

  It was typewritten, and Bradshaw noticed that “there” was spelled “thare.”

  “Did you type this note, Professor Bradshaw?”

  “No.”

  Cline brought the note to the jury, and Tom leaned once more toward Bradshaw.

  “Say, old man, you’re in for it now.”

  “Be quiet,” hissed Bradshaw.

  “I’d like now to present to the jury our autopsy findings,” Cline boomed, and Mrs. Oglethorpe rose, taking the arm of a gentleman her own age. He looked like a relation. His manner was brotherly and there was a familial similarity, same fair hair, same roundness of feature. When they’d left the parlor and the door closed with a click, Cline approached the examining table.

  He folded back the sheet, revealing Oglethorpe’s bleak head and upper torso. He bared Oglethorpe’s long, uniquely curved legs, leaving only the private areas of his body covered.

  “Now.” Cline pointed to Oglethorpe’s burnt fingertip, several burns to his right arm, and a slashing burn across his left palm. Necks craned and bottoms rose from seats as effort was made to see the damaged flesh. “The wounds we see here did not cause the death of the victim. The burn on the palm occurred before death, the others after. Professor Oglethorpe suffered immediate and irreversible heart failure such as can only be induced by contact with energy of a lethal current. Such a current, as testimony here today concluded, is not available inside the Faraday cage.”

  The room became silent. Bradshaw tried to breathe, but the thick air held too much perfume and sweat and exhaled breath.

  “I arrived at the university approximately thirty minutes after receiving word of Professor Oglethorpe’s death. I found the deceased still warm to the touch, which indicated he had been dead less than three hours, and yet rigor mortis, the stiffening of the muscles, had already begun in the jaw. Under normal conditions, rigor takes at least four hours to begin to be evident. In my experience, two factors can speed up the onset of rigor mortis. Violent action immediately before death, and electrocution. I conclude, therefore, in taking into account all the testimony here today, that Professor Wesley Thomas Oglethorpe met his demise between one-thirty and two o’clock yesterday afternoon when he was exposed to an as yet undetermined source of electric current.”

  The significance of Cline’s words struck Bradshaw like a crackling arc from the Electric Machine. This was the reason Detective O’Brien had been so accusing. This was why Cline had asked him to explain his movements beginning two hours before he’d found Oglethorpe. It wasn’t simply that Oglethorpe had died outside the cage, it was that Oglethorpe hadn’t been killed while Bradshaw was administering the examination to his students. Oglethorpe died while Bradshaw had been in his office, writing up that exam key. Alone.

  Chapter Nine

  Bradshaw sank into his favorite easy chair with a mug of strong coffee and the morning newspaper. For a moment, he simply stared at the steam rising from his mug, aware of his home in every beloved detail, from the dusty attic above right down to the buttons in his chair’s upholstery. He’d carefully built his life in this house, and yet until Oglethorpe’s death he’d not realized how much it meant to him, or how easily he could lose it.

  The sun angled into the parlor through the sheer lace curtains. Yesterday’s clo
uds had departed, leaving a Saturday full of unexpected promise. Strange, he thought, how life could go on as usual while his life tilted and fractured. Mrs. Prouty stomped about upstairs cleaning Henry’s room, and Justin played kick-the-can in the street with other neighborhood children. The sound of the boy’s shouts and laughter came intermittently, reassuringly, to his ears. He didn’t know what he’d do without Justin. And what would the boy do without him? His stomach tightened, and suddenly he didn’t think he could drink his coffee. He set down the mug and lifted the paper.

  The coroner’s inquest over Oglethorpe’s remains had made the front page. Inquest Finds Murder! The article was neatly spaced between Philippine Insurgents Attack With Knives and the latest report on Mrs. McKinley, whose ill health in California had preempted the President’s tour of the Northwest. Bradshaw skimmed the war news. The fighting in the Philippines had been far uglier than in Cuba. According to the papers, the insurgents were savages, oblivious to civilized rules of engagement, taken to hiding in villages behind their women. And American troops were in China, battling Boxers who wanted all foreign powers to leave. In Washington, D.C., the arguing continued between the expansionists and the anti-imperialists. Bradshaw thought it all a big moral mess. Stay or leave, as a new world power, the United States military brought salvation to some, death to others. There were no easy answers.

  He turned to news of his own crisis. A sketch of his blackboard drawing captioned “Bradshaw’s Diagram of Electric Machine” was accurate, and a photograph of Oglethorpe taken last year, with a benevolent smile upon his face, not. Bradshaw was relieved to see no photograph of himself. In the article, the reporter had made a hero of Oglethorpe, praising his work at the university and his research efforts. Bradshaw, too, was praised, and then accused.

  Professor Bradshaw so clearly explained the nature of electricity and its transforming power, even the least educated in the room could understand the basic principles of the Great Electric Machine and the Faraday cage in which Professor Oglethorpe’s body was found. Exactly how Oglethorpe was killed, and who killed him, remains a mystery for the police to solve. The jury determined the cause of death to be murder by person or persons unknown.