Grant was so lost in his own thoughts that he started when the girl spoke. “I got them from that bitch Caroline. She gave them to my husband to keep.”
Hart moved closer to Grant to see the details of the papers. “Why give them to him?”
“She needed them out of the house she said.”
Grant could understand why she’d wanted them out of the house. No servant would want papers incriminating her master in their room. It was tantamount to being fired or worse. Again, he wondered if there could be a way the girl was murdered. It made more sense to the case than her having committed suicide.
“Why didn’t she give them to her own man?” Hart slid four sheets from Grant’s hands and looked at them. He studied the papers while the woman took her time in answering.
“Her own man? Well, that weren’t likely to last much longer for sure.”
Grant peered at the woman. Tonight she wasn’t the mother trying to make ends meet, she was an avenging fury who wanted to inflict pain and throw mud on anyone standing in her way. What had happened to her in the past few days? Had she found out something or did she just no longer have anything to hide from them?
“Why do you say that?” Grant asked.
“Well, for starters, Jericho was about to find out that that bundle she was been carrying wasn’t his. Most times that’s a sure-fire way to break up a sparking couple.”
Hart flushed at the words. Grant didn’t like the crude manner of the woman, but he’d heard worse talk from his men in camp. Even so, he didn’t like to think that this woman had heard such language and seen such situations. She was a mother too, after all.
“How did you know that, ma’am?” Grant asked.
“Israel done told me when he told me to hide these papers for her. Said that she was without a friend in the world. She needed something from us, since we were the closest thing to family she had.”
“What exactly did he say?” Hart’s embarrassment showed. His cheeks were bright red, much too ruddy to be from the cold. His gaze only met that of his boots and no one’s eyes.
“He laughed when he told me. Said that we’d do this for her, but she wouldn’t be family for long. Not when Jericho found out.”
“Did he tell you who?”
“No, he didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. You didn’t make Israel tell anything he didn’t want to.” She turned and wiped away a tear from her son’s eye. Maybe the boy had heard his father’s name and missed him.
Grant wished this interview didn’t have to take place, for the child’s sake if nothing more. No family wanted to show its dirty linen to strangers.
“And he gave you these papers.”
“Sure enough. Said to store them away.”
Hart moved his eyes upward to her face. “Then why burn them tonight? Didn’t he say to take care of those papers?”
“He did, but never said what they were for. All those kin are dead and gone. What good those papers going to do a one of them now? It’s cold, and I got to keep my babies warm.”
Grant nodded. He remembered his days at Hardscrabble too well to judge her. He’d have done what was necessary to feed and clothe his family. He’d have burned papers, however vital, to keep them warm.
“Don’t you know what these are worth?” Even in the dimly lit room, Grant could see the sparkle in Hart’s eyes. This was a story for him—a big break.
“I never did know, but Israel put stock in them. He said that we’d be moving soon after he got his dues from these here papers. They just looked like any old papers to me.”
“Did he say where the money was coming from? Who did he talk to?”
The woman laughed at Hart’s questions. “It’s plain that you ain’t never been married. You’d know that menfolk don’t share their doings with their wives unless they have to. Israel told me that we’d be moving, and that he had some money coming to him. That was all he wanted to share, and I heard nothing else on the matter.”
Grant muttered under his breath. They were so close to solving the case and perhaps breaking a ring of black marketers. Even though the war was over, the Federal government would dole contracts to rebuild the South, and Grant wanted none of that money to go to businesses that had prolonged the war.
“General, if you look at these invoices, they’ve been signed. You can’t read the top three, they’ve been charred too badly for that, but about halfway into the stack where the flames didn’t reach, you can read the signature on them. It’s Whalen. We met that man at the Iron Works the other day. The foreman there.”
Grant nodded. He remembered the man’s thick Irish accent and laugh. There’d been no love lost for the coloreds in his factory. His sneer wouldn’t have appreciated blackmail by the likes of the Granbys. No man of power ever wanted to stand for the underling get the upper hand.
Hart started for the door, but Grant hesitated. They’d be taking one of the last things to burn in the hovel, and he couldn’t leave without replacing it. He took a handful of coins from his pocket, and handed them to the woman. The night might be cold, but his heart was not.
“Here, take these and get yourself some logs for the fire.” The coins sparkled in the dim light and the woman’s face softened.
“Thank you, sir.”
Hart was waiting on the street when Grant stepped out of the shack. He had the remains of the papers tucked inside his coat, making a lump on the left side as if his heart had expanded. After witnessing the scene with the widow Granby, Grant knew that not to be true.
“I guess we have to call it a night,” Hart said with a sigh as they walked back to Broadway and the safer environs of town.
Grant could feel the tension in his body ease as he crossed Broadway and made towards Sycamore. He’d half-expected someone wanting those papers to waylay them. It was plain now that someone had killed more than once to keep those papers quiet. He’d assumed early on that the crimes had been racially motivated, fueled by the tensions between the Irish and the blacks as they competed for dock labor and manual work of the factories. Whalen had hinted at it, but of course, now Grant saw why.
They arrived back at the hotel, Grant still lost in thought. Hart turned to speak to him when the doors flung open and Julia rushed into the street.
“Ulys, I’ve been waiting for you. The worst thing imaginable has happened. Papa has disappeared!”
Chapter 19
Julia stood in the middle of the street, stray strands of hair circling her head like a ghostly apparition. Grant approached her and put one arm around his wife. He knew the bond between father and daughter, a closeness that he and his own sweet Nellie didn’t share.
“It’ll be fine, dear. Most likely, he just went off for a bit.”
“No, no, no. Ulys, he’s gone. His walking stick and hat are still here. Papa would never go anywhere without them.”
A carriage pulled up short of Julia and Grant and stopped. The door swung open, and Madame Blanche alit. “General Grant, this is a curious place to hold a gathering. May I assume that something is awry?”
Julia turned around and glared at the woman. “Indeed you may.” The woman obviously didn’t know her place. All conversation to the general should be addressed through Julia according to his wife’s protocol.
“It’s your father, isn’t it, Mrs. Grant? Has some misfortune befallen him?” The woman had paled, appearing almost wraithlike in the moonlight.
“He’s missing. I do not see how this concerns you.”
Madame Blanche approached them and shot a quick look to Hart. “He’s in grave danger at this moment. We must find him and prevent this evil from occurring.”
Julia turned to the woman and faced her head on. If she was exposing her crossed eye to a stranger, then she must be angered. Usually she was far too self-conscious to do any such thing. “I’ve only just learned of this peril. If you know of it already, then perhaps you have something to do with his disappearance.”
Grant studied the woman again. Outwardly, she’d
appeared to be a helpful sort, but how well did he know her? Hart seemed smitten, but that told him little about her character. He’d seen her prey on the minds and wallets of people who wanted contact with their beloveds.
Yet just yesterday, the spiritualist had suggested that Colonel Dent could be in danger. How could she have foreseen this unless she was party to the current plot? Grant doubted that she could actually foresee the future. After all, they’d heard the raps and knocks they knew to be false. Grant now had every right to be suspicious of this woman, even though Hart seemed taken with her.
Still, she had possession of a carriage, and time was of the greatest import. Grant patted his wife’s hand, the only consolation he could offer her at this juncture. They were following a killer who’d made more than one murder look like an accident. He motioned to Hart, and the pair climbed into the carriage after Madame Blanche. The carriage driver was nonplussed to be transporting such an august rider, and he made sure that Grant and the others were safely settled before heading off.
Grant had taken a moment to examine the carriage horse before they left. The steed was a roan gelding that looked to be a bit past his prime, but certainly well enough to make a journey across town in haste. He leaned out the window to hasten the driver on.
“Where should we look first?” Hart asked as the carriage started to roll down Fifth Street. “They could either be at the Iron Works, which is to the west and near the river, or up into East Walnuts Hills, which is in the opposite direction.” He turned to the spiritualist. “Do you have any ideas, Madame Blanche?”
The woman flushed a little and gazed downward. “We have a military leader among us, Mr. Hart.”
Grant’s lip twitched with amusement. At least someone remembered that he was present. He felt more like a chaperone than an avenger did at this moment. Still she’d been asked first, and etiquette had its own ways. “Ladies first, Madame Blanche.”
“Well, I hesitate to mention it, but the premonition I had seemed to have a dark background to it. Certainly nothing like a major’s stately home. So perhaps I was seeing the Iron Works and not the house.”
Grant nodded. “I would have selected the same target, but for different reasons. We know from the documents we found that the Iron Works is involved in this. The invoices to the Southern railway companies and bridge builders prove that much. But we don’t know for certain if the major is involved. So the factory would be the logical choice in my mind.”
Hart started to sputter out a reply but thought better of it. Grant didn’t know if it was out of deference to the lady, or whether he didn’t want to appear too brash in front of her. Grant had heard enough of the man’s ideas and impertinence to know that it wasn’t out of respect to a general’s opinions.
Grant leaned his head out the window and gave instructions to the driver. The carriage picked up speed now that the driver had a clear direction. Grant heard the clop, clop of the horse as they headed towards the Iron Works.
They didn’t see the lights of any other carriages as they approached the factory ten minutes later. The area was dark and no sign of life came from the interior of the building. Grant worried for a second that he’d chosen the wrong place for their battle. The enemy had to be present to be engaged.
A knocking noise was barely audible, and Grant thought it came from inside the building. He stepped down from the carriage and helped the others. “Would you be willing to stay here until we need you?” Grant ventured to the carriage driver.
The man looked around at the desolate streets and fast-running river in the distance. “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d rather not.”
Grant saw his supply line trot off into the darkness. The thin lamplight faded into a pinprick and then disappeared. He joined Hart and Madame Blanche by the door to the Iron Works.
The medium turned to him. “Don’t worry. We won’t need the carriage for our return.”
Grant wasn’t sure if that was meant to be comforting, but he had visions of them being carried out feet first. Her prognostications were not cheering.
He was already unhappy with enjoining the enemy so quickly, as he hadn’t had time to prepare an offense. He’d discovered enough evidence to present, but he needed time, a chance to prepare himself and get his arguments in order. He felt that the enemy had forced his move now, knowing that he wasn’t ready. Grant knew from his early battles that a lack of preparedness could be fatal.
The door was open, and the group moved inside the factory. The silence was overwhelming. Grant recalled the incessant noise from a few days past, making the silence tonight even more eerie. The main floor was dark except for the moonlight that spread across the machinery from the streaked windows.
Hart pointed to a second-story office window that might have housed a bookkeeper and the manager. A fluttering light shone through the window, a mere wisp of a flame that was barely noticeable. “I think someone’s up there.”
They tried to step softly on the stairs, but the thick plank stairs didn’t allow for surprise attack. Each board creaked and groaned as the three made their way to the room. Hart tried the door. The knob turned, but the door didn’t open when pressed.
Grant’s mind raced back to the last time this had happened. The Mitchells’ house. They’d discovered Caroline’s body, dead by her own hand, behind the door. He didn’t want the same fate to befall his father-in-law, much as the man was a source of constant aggrievement.
Grant stepped forward and looked at the door. It was a solid affair, chestnut he guessed in the half-light, with a brass knob. This was not a closet or storage bin, it was the office of someone important, most likely the major.
Grant pounded on the door, just inside the frame.
“Do you think that someone is going to answer you?” Hart asked, watching from a few steps behind.
“No, I think it’s locked like the door at the Mitchells’.”
Hart’s eyes widened. “Has the colonel taken up knitting?” he asked with a smile.
Grant shook his head. “The knitting needle was a ruse. It was never pushed into the frame to keep out anyone. It might have been in the past, but not that day. When we found it, the needle only had blood on one side, which is what would happen if it had been lying there the entire time. Caroline hadn’t put it in the door to kill herself. It hadn’t skittered across the floor, which would have rolled through the blood and made it wet on all sides. It was lying there before we knocked down the door.”
“But the door was held fast, just like this one is.” Hart looked like he wanted to try to open the door, but Grant knew that the young man’s slight frame wouldn’t be up to the task of forcing the door.
Grant hit the edge of the door again, now by the top of the frame. The door shook, but didn’t open. “Indeed it was. Nevertheless, there were things that we weren’t able to know. When the door was broken down to enter the room, it splintered. That meant that we could never learn how tightly the door fit on a normal day. I suspect that it was a snug fit. This weather has been uncomfortably humid, and the wood would have absorbed some of the moisture. It could easily have been a tight fit without the needle.”
“But the door wouldn’t budge. I saw them try. The major pushed on it hard, and it didn’t move at all. That was more than the weather.”
“I think the person who last shut the door pulled it in place with a piece of paper between the door and the jamb to make it hold fast. The paper would not likely be noticed, and if it were thick enough, the door would be as good as locked to most people. That newspaper article wasn’t a clue, and it wasn’t used for starting a fire. It was just a piece of paper. “
Hart fumbled in his jacket and found the clipping on the Fifth Street Market and Dr. Trubel’s likeness. “The piece of paper we found in the room was used make the door stay shut, even to a good push.”
“Someone must have kicked it aside during the rush to get in the room. The killer didn’t have a chance to retrieve it before we found it an
d took it away.”
Hart’s eyes closed to near slits. “The door to the room pushed in. That means that if someone put the paper in between the jamb and the door, they had to do it from the inside, not the outside. So that still points to Caroline, not an intruder.”
Grant shook his head and pounded on the door again. He thought he felt the door budge slightly. It still seemed to want to stick in the corner. “I think that the oily smudge on the paper was caused by a piece of wax. The wax kept the paper in place on the door when she closed it. The door would be shut up tight from there.”
“You think that the door was pulled closed, so Caroline couldn’t have killed herself.”
Grant held the knob and ran his hand around the outside edge of the door. “Exactly. Someone else killed her and tried to make it look like suicide.”
“What would be the motive? I can think of at least three. The papers we found that she’d had, Trubel’s interest in showing people that she was above average in intelligence, and perhaps her unmarried status.” Hart flushed a little as he spoke the last sentence.
“I believe it might have been all three that caused her death.” Grant said. He thought he heard a muffled sound from inside the door. Perhaps Colonel Dent was inside, awaiting rescued.
“She could have been a dangerous woman to certain people with her intelligence and those papers. The knitting needle was suggestive that perhaps she’d been untrue to Jericho Granby.”
Madame Blanche spoke. “I believe that you’re right, sir. The woman’s voice has spoken with me. She had been untrue to her lover.”
“So the knitting needle wasn’t used to keep anyone out?”
Grant was glad for the half-light. He felt his face flush as he spoke again. The presence of Madame Blanche made a frank conversation that much more difficult. “No, I believe it was used in the past to keep out certain unwanted guests from the woman’s room. Only someone in the house could have been visiting her. Any other visitor to the house would be met at the front door and announced. I can’t see any lady of the house allowing the servants to see visitors.”
US Grant Mysteries Boxed Set Page 46