Death on Telegraph Hill

by Shirley Tallman

  Fanny and I asked the boy more questions, but it was clear that he had told us everything he had learned from his friends. When I inquired where I might find Bud, he looked horrified.

  “He ain’t gonna talk to you, Miss Sarah,” he said in alarm. “Only told me ’cause I promised not to rat him out to the leatherheads. I reckon he was feelin’ pretty wrathy about the whole job, you know, his mark bein’ took off right from under his nose and all.”

  Once again, I thanked the boy. He had, after all, provided us with the first real information concerning Aleric’s movements after he left the restaurant. Unfortunately, we were left with a great number of unanswered questions. As we departed the restaurant and drove back to Sutter Street, I wondered how, and where, we were going to find the answers.

  * * *

  When I arrived home that evening, I was informed by Edis that Samuel would not be present for dinner. He had sent a note explaining that he had spent the day making inquiries about Jonathan Aleric. He was following a hot lead, as he put it, and would have dinner with his source. He promised that he would be home later that evening and expected that George Lewis would also be joining us.

  I had already invited Robert to dine with us that night, and he, Charles, Celia, and myself enjoyed a quiet meal. The house seemed oddly empty without my parents, and I found my thoughts going to them and their long journey to Pennsylvania. I prayed that they would reach Aunt Flora in time. It would be a sad reunion, but at least they would have an opportunity to say their farewells.

  Since Eddie had made the most significant discovery that day, at least as far as Fanny and I were concerned, I had asked him to be present for our meeting that evening.

  Once Samuel, George, and Eddie arrived, Robert and I joined them in the library. I had instructed Edis to serve our usual coffee and pastries and was touched to see that, unasked, he had added Papa’s favorite brandy to the tray.

  George seemed surprised to see that Eddie had been included in our company, but when the boy gave his report—carefully leaving out the names of his friends—he regarded him with newfound respect.

  “Bully for you, Eddie!” he declared with a wide smile. “That was very fine work. I’ll have my boys start checking tomorrow for the carriage you described. There are a lot of Dearborns in town, but I don’t recall seeing many with that particular design. Thanks to you, we finally have something concrete to go on.”

  Lewis went on to explain that he had been unable to make it to Telegraph Hill that day. There had been two stabbing deaths at a saloon on the Barbary Coast, which had required his attention.

  “I’ll try to start our inquiries there tomorrow,” he promised. “And it won’t hurt to ask the residents if they’ve ever seen a Dearborn carriage on the Hill with that particular design.”

  “Samuel, you’re going with Sarah to City Hall in the morning, aren’t you?” Robert asked my brother.

  “Oh?” George looked interested. “Does it have to do with that bullring the Ruiz fellow wants to construct?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “We’re presenting new evidence which we hope will force the city council to prohibit the arena.”

  “I’m drivin’ you there, ain’t I, Miss Sarah?” asked Eddie, eager to be back on the job.

  “Aren’t you, Eddie,” I corrected automatically.

  He looked confused. “That’s what I’m askin’ you, Miss Sarah. I don’t rightly know if you want me to take you there or not.”

  I sighed. “Yes, Eddie, we would appreciate it if you would bring the carriage around to the house at nine thirty tomorrow morning. You won’t be able to accompany us inside the council chamber, but we’d like you to wait for us in the brougham. We plan to visit city jail after the hearing is concluded.”

  “To see that Remy feller? The one we’re tryin’ to prove didn’t do in Aleric?”

  Before I could confirm this, George said, “I hate to point this out, Miss Sarah, but judging from Eddie’s description of that driver, he could be anyone, including Remy.”

  “I realize that, George,” I said. “It’s far too general to be of any practical use to us. But the make, and the decorative design on the side of the carriage, may help narrow the search.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” he said. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up that this information is necessarily going to help your client.”

  “I know that all too well,” I told him. “That’s why I’m determined to conduct a thorough search of Telegraph Hill. We must do everything possible to locate anyone who might have seen Mr. Remy in his home Wednesday night. At this point, it appears to be his best hope of confirming his alibi.”

  We discussed the case for another hour, after which George left, grateful for Eddie’s offer to drive him to his boardinghouse. When they had gone, Samuel declared that he needed a good night’s sleep if he was going to face City Hall the next morning, and he ascended the stairs to his room.

  “You will be careful tomorrow, Sarah,” Robert said as I showed him to the door.

  “Samuel and Mr. Dinwitty will be with me, as well as our stalwart hero, Eddie Cooper,” I said, smiling. “Moreover, we’ll be at City Hall most of the morning, then at the jail. Surely we should be safe enough.”

  “Hah! As far as you’re concerned, no place is safe. Trouble follows you around like your own shadow.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t be so dramatic.”

  “Only if you promise not to be so headstrong,” he retorted. Before I could answer, he went on, “I doubt that I’ll be able to leave the office tomorrow, but I should be free on Thursday afternoon. I want you to give me your word that you won’t venture onto Telegraph Hill unless I am with you.”

  “I just told you that Samuel will be with me most of the day,” I protested.

  “Do I really need to remind you that someone tried to kill you and your brother on that blasted Hill?” He regarded me in frustration. “Sarah, listen to me. George and his men plan to commence their inquiries there tomorrow. You already have a full schedule, and going to City Hall and the jail will be more than enough for Samuel. You don’t want him to suffer a relapse.”

  “No, of course not.” Much as I hated being told where I could go and what I could do, there was an element of truth in his words, especially about Samuel’s health. “All right, Robert. We’ll visit the Hill on Thursday. And I’ll insist that Samuel take a rest when we return home tomorrow afternoon.”

  He looked so relieved that only then did I realize how truly worried he had been. Taking me off guard, he pulled me into his arms. This time he didn’t hesitate but lowered his head to kiss me full on the lips.

  The embrace rattled my senses so thoroughly that he had been gone for several minutes before I realized that I had kissed him back. Rather enthusiastically, I feared.

  * * *

  I was surprised to see the light on under Samuel’s door as I walked to my bedroom. Since there had been no opportunity to speak to him earlier about his research on Jonathan Aleric, I knocked softly. At his response to come in, I slipped quietly into his room. He was sitting at his desk, busily writing in a notepad.

  “I thought you were going straight to bed,” I said, taking a seat on his bed.

  “Nonsense,” he said, giving me a sly wink. “Surely you’ve heard the old saying about three being a crowd? I wanted to give you and Robert a little privacy, some time to discuss, well, whatever you and he discuss when you’re alone.”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Suddenly restless, I rose from the bed. “I’ll tell you what we discuss when we’re alone, dear meddling brother. He orders me to be careful crossing streets, not to speak to strangers, to get enough sleep, not accept hopeless legal cases, and generally keep my nose out of trouble. He fusses at me until I want to scream.” I stared down at him, furious to see amusement twinkling in his eyes. “There! Is that romantic enough for you?”

  He placed his right hand over his chest, fluttering his eyelids. “Be still, my
racing heart. I cannot bear this frenzied display of passion.”

  “Samuel Woolson,” I declared, placing my hands on my hips, “did you or did you not find out anything about Aleric today?”

  “Patience, little sister. First things first. Remember I said I had a source who might have information regarding Aleric? Well, I spent the better part of the afternoon with him.”

  “Is this the man you had dinner with tonight?”

  “No, that was another friend. Well, more of an acquaintance, actually. But it turns out he was an even better source than the first one.”

  “Samuel, please!” I said in exasperation. “All these sources. You’re beginning to sound like Ozzie Foldger.” I stopped, chagrined to remember that Foldger had just been violently murdered. “Just tell me what you learned.”

  He turned back to his desk and picked up his notepad. “Sit down and I’ll tell all.”

  With a little sigh of impatience, I resumed my seat on the bed. “All right, I’m sitting. Now, what did you find out?”

  Glancing over his notes, he said, “Russell Druitt, a fellow Bohemian Club member, went to school in New York with Aleric some twenty years ago. I remembered him mentioning that when Aleric moved to San Francisco a couple of years ago. It seems that the famous author was a real hell-raiser in his youth, eventually getting himself expelled from at least two schools. After that, he pretty much continued going downhill. Druitt says he was arrested for petty theft when he was twenty, and was sent to jail.”

  “Good heavens,” I exclaimed. “How long did he remain incarcerated?”

  “A year or two, Russell thinks. By the time he was released, the Civil War had broken out, and he enlisted as a Union soldier. The war must have seemed like a stroke of luck to him at the time. He possessed no practical skills, had no money, and probably didn’t care to end up back in jail.”

  “Actually, it did turn out to be fortunate for him, didn’t it? Because of the war, he was inspired to write one of the most acclaimed books to come out of that horrible conflict.”

  “Yes, I suppose it did,” my brother said, obviously thinking about his own manuscript and looking just a tad envious. “Druitt lost track of Aleric after he deployed to Mississippi to serve under General Grant, which is where my second source comes in.”

  “The source you dined with tonight.”

  “None other. Jeffery Markham is also a member of my club, and happened to serve with Aleric during the war. Druitt overheard him discussing this after Aleric was killed and put me on to him.”

  “What did he tell you?” I asked, eager to know where this was leading.

  “It seems that Mr. Aleric was a mediocre soldier at best. According to Markham, he invariably remained as far back in the ranks as possible when faced with enemy fire, never volunteered for a dangerous detail, and constantly complained about the food, the climate, the mosquitoes, and anything else that didn’t suit him.”

  “That last fault being one which apparently never changed,” I commented, remembering Aleric’s behavior at Oscar Wilde’s reading, as well as at the train depot.

  “If it hadn’t been for Markham and a couple of his buddies,” Samuel went on, “Aleric might well have deserted his unit during their march on Vicksburg. As far as his regiment was concerned, he was a bully, a coward, and a blowhard.”

  “What amazes me is that such a poor soldier managed to pen such a brilliant book about a war he wanted to run away from.”

  Samuel sighed and placed the notebook back on his desk. “So, was any of this helpful?”

  I did not immediately answer, lost in my own thoughts. Something Samuel said bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was or what it meant.

  “I honestly don’t know,” I said at last. Suddenly, I was very tired; the long day was catching up with me at last. And my brother looked exhausted.

  “Get to bed, Samuel,” I told him. “It’s late and we have a busy day tomorrow. You need your sleep.”

  “So do you, little sister. In the morning we take on City Hall. And for that, we’re going to need all the energy we can muster.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Samuel and I entered City Hall shortly before the hearing was due to begin. We found Mr. and Mrs. Dinwitty waiting for us, along with Mrs. Hardy.

  “I just couldn’t stay away,” Jane explained, doing her best to ignore Celestia Dinwitty’s look of disapproval. “I promise not to say anything, or get in the way.”

  “She has worked so diligently on the petitions, I felt it only fair that she attend,” said Bernard Dinwitty, also trying to disregard his wife’s displeasure. “Miss Woolson, please tell me truthfully, what do you think our chances are of winning the case?”

  I felt a flicker of guilt that I had not fully explained the true purpose of this morning’s hearing to the Dinwittys. As far as they were concerned, we were here for the sole purpose of outlining our objections to the bullring. I had not felt comfortable sharing my new stratagem with them until I had completed my research. Now, there seemed insufficient time to explain it in detail. I simply told them that I had unearthed new information, which I hoped might improve our chances of success. Mr. Dinwitty started to question this; then, realizing the hearing was about to start, he simply nodded and told me to do whatever I felt was best for the case.

  When we entered the room, the first person I saw was Ricardo Ruiz. He was taking a seat with two well-dressed men carrying briefcases. Could he have more than one attorney? I wondered. Moving into the row behind them were the two rough-looking men who always accompanied Ruiz. I was leading my little group to seats on the opposite side of the room when Ruiz looked up and met my eye.

  He rose and executed an exaggerated bow. Gone was his animosity of the previous week, when he had attempted to bully the SPCA into giving up their petitions. The expression on his handsome face now was proud and self-assured, as if his victory this morning were a foregone conclusion. The two men sitting on either side of him watched me as I settled into my seat. Their faces reflected the usual curiosity and disdain common to the great majority of the city’s male legal society. My standard reaction was to ignore their reaction, which was what I did now.

  A moment later, seven men filed into the chamber and took seats at the front of the room. As the president of the council looked over the cases to be heard that morning, I felt a thrill of anticipation, as well as of fear. More than ever, I was convinced that the petitions alone would not be enough to change their minds about the bullring. Papa’s so-called big bugs had decided that the arena would bring money into the town’s treasury and eventually into their own pockets. As far as they were concerned, therefore, it must be allowed.

  “Will I be asked to speak?” whispered Mr. Dinwitty, appearing nervous at the prospect.

  “No, I’ll present our case,” I told him. “All you need to do is sit here and look relaxed.”

  “I’ll do my best,” he said, looking anything but relaxed.

  Although the room was cool, there were beads of perspiration on his forehead, and the hand closest to my own exhibited a slight tremor. He raised a handkerchief to pat at his face, and as he did so, I actually saw his mustache twitch above compressed lips. Replacing the cloth in his pocket, he inhaled a deep breath as if to take himself in hand, then forced a smile onto his thin face.

  “We have complete faith in you, Miss Woolson,” he said, as much to bolster his courage as my own, I was sure. “I am certain that you will do your utmost to present our case in the best possible light.”

  “Rest assured, Mr. Dinwitty, I shall do my best.”

  I picked up the files I had removed from my briefcase, and Samuel gave me a reassuring wink as I waited for our case to be called. Mrs. Dinwitty’s derisive frown was mitigated by Jane Hardy’s confident smile, which clearly demonstrated her faith in my abilities. I said a quick, silent prayer that her faith in me would be justified.

  One of the members of the council was reading from what appeare
d to be an agenda. His round head was bent over the document, revealing a shiny bald pate surrounded by a circle of light brown hair, much like a monk’s tonsure.

  After several minutes, he raised his head and called our case. He appeared startled when he saw me standing and making my way toward the lectern, which was centered in front of the council table. The men seated about him were regarding me with equal suspicion, whispering among themselves and shaking their heads as if in disapproval that I had been born female. Since I had taken care to indicate my gender when filling out my request for this hearing, I wondered why they were regarding me in such obvious surprise.

  Once again, the president of the council glanced down at his agenda. “I took this to be a misprint,” I overheard him say to the man seated to his left. “But she really is a woman. What is the world coming to?”

  “You are Miss Sarah L. Woolson?” the other man inquired, seeming impatient to be done with this charade.

  “I am, sir,” I said, arranging my papers neatly in front of me, waiting patiently for the council to digest, and ultimately accept, that I was indeed a woman.

  The first man, whom I took to be the council president, once again took control of the hearing.

  “I see that you previously submitted signed petitions on behalf of the San Francisco office of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. You also presented a list of written objections to the bullring construction which has been proposed by Señor Ricardo Ruiz. Is that correct?”

  “It is, sir.”

  He eyed me skeptically. “Are we to understand that you are a licensed attorney in the state of California, Miss Woolson?”

  “I am, sir,” I answered, weary, if resigned, to the seemingly never-ending need to recite my legal qualifications. “I passed my California State Bar examination eighteen months ago, and have been practicing law in this city since that date.”

  He studied me from beneath wire-rimmed glasses perched at the end of an unfortunately bulbous nose, the pores so prominent that I could make them out even from where I stood.