City of the Absent

by Robert W. Walker

  Jane asked, “Can I talk to you, Mr. Rolsky, about you and your brother, about how you work together, that is?”

  “Philander don’t let me talk to nobody. ’Specially not about work.”

  “I got that impression at the station,” replied Gabby.

  “Says I shouldn’t talk to strangers or people—never.”

  “Yes, but we’re not strangers,” said Gabby. “You know me now. We’re, ahhh, friends.”

  “Friends?”

  “Besides,” added Jane, “we can bring more gifts for you, Vander. You like gifts, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do.” He gobbled down more of the bread loaf, and a sad look passed across his features on realizing the soup had gone cold.

  “All homemade, just like from mama’s kitchen,” said Jane.

  “I didn’t hurt Mama.”

  This sent a chill through Jane and Gabby—right along their spines as they exchanged a look of confusion. “What happened to your mama, Vander?” asked Jane.

  “Mama and Papa was bo’f bad to us. Me and Philander.”

  “Ahhh…bad how?” asked Jane. “I mean how bad?”

  “They beat on us a lot. Didn’t hardly hurt me, ’cause I got thick skin and a thick head, but Philander, he got hurt bad.”

  “Beaten by his father?”

  “And Ma, too.”

  “I want to ask you, Vander, did you and your brother ever hurt anyone else, other than your father and mother.”

  “I said…I—I—I didn’t hurt Ma and Pa.”

  “OK…OK, I believe you, but have you and Philander ever harmed anyone together?”

  “Mother—” began Gabby, but Jane gave her an upturned hand and a stern look, silencing her.

  “Vander, I am a medical doctor,” said Jane, “and my daughter Gabby is soon going to be a doctor as well.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” replied Gabby.

  “And so we doctors are doing a study of families that are prone to violence, you see?”

  “You’re really doctors?” Vander asked Gabby, his eyes and body coming to life with curiosity. “I never known no woman doctor, and now I got two at my house?”

  “We are rare, Vander, but then so are all of us,” replied Gabby, “unique and rare.”

  “Philander calls me rare. A rare specimen, he says. Also calls me stupid…says I’m an idiot…an em-em-embar-embar-rass-ment.”

  “Well I think your brother needs to work on his manners,” said Jane.

  “And his temper,” added Gabby. “He tried to knife Inspector Ransom.”

  “Twice,” said Vander.

  “No, just once,” corrected Gabby.

  “Philander tried to cut him the night before when—when we saw him on the wharf.”

  Jane and Gabby exchanged another curious look, each wondering anew about Alastair’s whereabouts the night Father Jurgen was attacked. Gabby shrugged.

  Jane produced a small but distinct photograph of Calvin Dodge, then asked Vander, “Have you ever seen this man before?”

  Vander shook as if cold water had been thrown on him, his skin rippling like that of a horse experiencing a chill. His strangely handsome yet disfigured face made one want to stare all the more at his unfortunate features, and the curious hunchback only added to his bizarre yet alluring look. He might have been the Cyclops if he covered one eye, or Goliath of biblical infamy. Yet his nature was little more than that of a child.

  “Gabby and I saw you and your brother, Vander, outside Mr. Dodge’s house the night before he disappeared.”

  “There’s no medical study, is there, Mother?” asked Gabby, but Jane ignored this, her eyes boring into Vander, awaiting an answer.

  “Uh-huh. It was youse two in the carriage!” he gleefully realized, proud at being able to recall the incident.

  “Yes, it was us. But Vander—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you and your brother harm Mr. Dodge and carry him out of his home in a rug?”

  “Philander made me clean the rug. Said it’d bring us money, too.”

  Gabby pulled her mother away, and beneath a naked overhanging gas lantern, she said, “God, he’d be so easy to get a confession from, but he’s harmless. He couldn’t’ve killed Dodge.”

  “He and his brother work as a team. I don’t know how much blood is on his hands, but I suspect his brother uses him for his strength. Dodge wouldn’t have a chance against a man of this size and strength.”

  “Then you suspect the brothers of having killed Nell Hartigan as well?”

  “And who knows how many nameless, faceless people in the city?”

  “The study for Fenger, all a ruse?” pressed Gabby.

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that.”

  “Forget it, but your conclusions are a big leap, and how do we prove them?” Gabby had become excited at the prospect of mother and daughter cracking this unbelievable case. But it seemed too easy, too pat.

  “Imagine it…” began Jane, pacing, “you see these brothers who, on the one hand, look alike, and yet do not look alike.”

  “Due to the big one’s deformities, yes.”

  “Imagine you’re Nell Hartigan or Calvin Dodge and in the dark with this, you’re seeing a circus act.”

  “You do a double-take.”

  “Double-take is right. And in that moment of hesitation the knife-wielding brother has your guts in his hands.”

  “He snatched that knife out against Alastair like a snake attacking; it was so fast. Like a reflex.”

  “It could explain a great deal.”

  “As in how an experienced Pinkerton agent could be overpowered?”

  “Before she could get off a shot.”

  Gabby nodded at the suppositions when Vander groaned and complained that his soup had gone cold.

  The simpleton sat dunking his bread and chewing. “Good…good…” he chanted, “but soup’s cold.”

  “I’ll put it on the stove to warm,” replied Gabby, taking the urn to the stove and lighting the gas.

  “Vander,” began Jane, “your brother’s telling the cops that you are the one who murdered Nell Hartigan and Calvin Dodge.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t it true?”

  “Philander is telling people I did it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well…then…he must know.”

  “Must know?” asked Gabby.

  “Know what?” asked Jane.

  “Philander, he knows everything.”

  “I see,” piped in Jane.

  “He says so himself.”

  “Really?”

  “Ahhh, all the time. He says, ‘Van’…he calls me Van sometimes…he says, ‘I know all there is you need to know, so you don’t need to know nothing, ’cause I know.’ You see what I mean?”

  “You believe him when he says you killed that woman?”

  “She was s’pose to be a prostitute, and Philander says prostitutes don’t deserve to be livin’.”

  “He…he said that?”

  Gabby began jotting notes on a pad for the day when a jury needed this to hang Philander.

  “Says the world’s better off with all the prostitutes dead,” continued Vander.

  “He says that, and he knows all, but she wasn’t a prostitute, Vander, now was she?” asked Jane calmly, her voice soothing.

  Vander could not wrap his mind around this nonsensical notion that his brother was imperfect, fallible.

  “And what about Mr. Dodge? Huh?” persisted Jane, in pursuit of his mind. “Is the world better off with him dead and gone?”

  “Philander says so, yes. Said he was a liar, a crook, and said it was the only way to shut him up.”

  “Mother, we’ve got to get Vander back to the police station. Get an official statement, and besides, Ransom should hear this.”

  “You’re right. But, Vander, first tell me, would you kill me or my daughter here if Philander asked—”

  “Philander don’t ask…he tells!” Va
nder laughed, the sound a hollow mirth.

  “OK…if Philander told you that Gabby was a worthless piece of human trash, and that I was a street slut, and that the world’d be a better place with us gone, Vander, would you harm us?”

  “I—I—I like Gabby…and I—I like you, too.”

  “Thank you, Vander, but that isn’t answering the question.”

  “Mother, your tone.”

  Jane persisted. “Would you kill me if Philander asked you to?”

  A voice from behind them replied, “Vander will do whatever he’s told, so long as it’s me doing the tellin’!” The voice belonged to Philander, somehow here, somehow out of jail. Had he somehow escaped?

  “We were just leaving,” said Jane.

  “Pity that!” Philander advanced on them. “I so wanted your company, the both of you dear ladies.”

  “Don’t you come near us!” shouted Gabby, startled, shaking.

  Philander shouted, “Grab her, Vander!” as he took hold of Jane. “Tie them up until we can decide how to take care of this matter!”

  Vander hesitated to grab hold of Gabby, saying, “But they’ve been real nice to me. Brought me soup and bread, they did!”

  Jane kicked out at Philander in an attempt to free herself, and at once Gabby picked up a lamp and hit Philander square on the head.

  At this point, an agitated Vander grabbed up Gabby. Both women were screaming until Philander knocked Jane senseless and Vander cupped his hand over Gabby’s mouth—his hand so large that it covered her nostrils as well, choking off her air until she fell faint.

  CHAPTER 35

  Alastair Ransom hadn’t any idea of the whereabouts of Jane or Gabby as he repeatedly rang their annoying doorbell, its light, airy tinkle certainly not enough to be heard at the back of the house and perhaps not from the clinic run by the infamous Dr. Tewes either. Why weren’t they answering his insistent ringing?

  Then he wondered if the bell mightn’t be malfunctioning. He had awful luck with mechanical devices. Suspecting this might be the case, using his cane, Ransom instead began pounding on the door, rattling the windows. “That oughta get some attention.” He rapped again.

  Anyone seeing him at the door might make him out a bear that’d strayed in from the surrounding countryside, somehow confused and running amok in the city. Reverend Jabes from two doors down at the Episcopal church thought so when he stuck his head out the parsonage window and shouted, “What is that ungodly noise?”

  Ransom stepped around to face the minister, giving the man a slight nod and a wave of his silver wolf’s head cane. “In need of Dr. Tewes down at the station house again,” he lied to the minister.

  “Don’t know where the doctor’s got off to!” Jabes shouted back, making Ransom wonder if the man might be deaf, the way he shouted at everyone and everything. He had heard of the man’s sermons. In fact, the man’s preachings were legend in the neighborhood as the most zealous ever pounded out at a pulpit.

  To the usual, run-of-the mill good Christian, Jabes had earned a reputation as one who lived up to his name far too much—jabbing at people with his tongue. The minister lashed out at sin and sinners, of whom there were many; in fact, Jabes found them at every turn, and his multiple-hour single sermons had earned him the nickname of Jabberwocky Jabes.

  “What of Dr. Tewes’s womenfolk? Why isn’t someone home?” Alastair dared ask.

  “At least they come to church on occasion!” he retorted. “Can’t say the same of Dr. Tewes. He seems to have an aversion for the Lord’s word and house—not unlike yourself, Inspector.”

  “A cop in a city like ours, Mr. Jabes, he doesn’t have much time for niceties like—”

  “Niceties, is it? Is that what you call answering to the Lord?”

  “Well no, I didn’t mean to say—”

  “Yet you find time for drinking and brawls and womanizing and gambling, I understand.”

  “As I said, a cop in Chicago leads a full life, sir.” Ransom inwardly smiled at his own remark. “So you have no notion where the ladies may’ve got off to?”

  “I did see them take a coach.”

  “The two of ’em?”

  “Southbound is all I know.”

  “Did they happen to say anything at all?”

  “Said they’d try to make my sermon Sunday.”

  “Oh, I see. Anything else?”

  “I recall nothing further.”

  “Hmmm…” Alastair imagined they’d gone shopping, either at the market or one of the huge department stores on State Street.

  “Except…” muttered Jabes.

  “Except? Yes, except what?”

  “It was somewhat garbled. The younger one asked if they shouldn’t call you, sir, before embarking.”

  “Call me?” Not to advise them on shopping, he thought. “Nothing of their destination?”

  “Sorry…no, but their hands were full with food. I suspect they were going to visit some shut-in perhaps.”

  “Thanks all the same.”

  The thin-faced, beak-nosed, goggle-eyed minister in spectacles replied, “Do come by Sunday, and let’s work on reclaiming and restoring your good soul, Inspector, to God and Christ and the Holy Ghost.”

  “’Fraid, sir, they’ll all have to get in line.”

  “In line? You mean as in to stand a lineup?”

  Ransom glared at the minister. “News travels fast.”

  “Especially among the clergy.”

  “O’Bannion’s spreading lies, Mr. Jabes.”

  “He holds you responsible for the unfortunate affair with Father Jurgen.”

  “I tell you, I had nothing to do with it.” Not entirely true, as he’d brought the weapon.

  “True or not, your reputation comes back to haunt you, and being what it is, cultivated as it has been, people will quite willingly give this news a nod.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Painfully so, he thought.

  “Certainly few will dispute it, but if you make your confession to me, I will hold it in confidence or counter O’Bannion’s opinion, depending on your wish, Inspector.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement, sir.”

  With that, Ransom rushed off, wondering how many citizens of the town had it on bad authority that he’d laid Jurgen low with those horse pinchers. Obviously, Father O’Bannion was busily spreading the word, setting public opinion clearly against him.

  Unsure how to locate Jane Francis, Ransom was scanning Belmont Street for any approaching cabs when he saw Samuel and Bosch, both his snitches, coming toward him, waving him down.

  The three found a nook near a livery stable and in shadow began to talk. “Samuel, I thought you’d vacated the city, poof! Gone.”

  “No sir, just lying low.”

  “With something that belongs to me.”

  “Sorry, sir. Yes, I took the file, but only so’s to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.”

  “What hands?”

  “Some men came after Hake and the file. I ran.”

  Likely Bill Pinkerton, Ransom thought. The private detective had caught on to his dealings with Frederick Hake. “Learning from Bosch here, are you?”

  “He’s a fast leaner,” said Bosch, smiling like a doting teacher over a prized pupil.

  “You two planning extortion? To blackmail me?”

  “Now that’s an awful thing to suspect of the boy and me,” replied Bosch.

  “Tell me, then, what’s got you two working in consort?” asked Ransom. “Gotta be that Pinkerton file.”

  Bosch’s features pinched into a huge question mark, while Sam made not a sound.

  “Inspector,” began Henry Bosch, “we’re here to inform you that Miss Jane’s been seeking information about the fellow you arrested earlier today, that Rolsky fellow, and his brother.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Sam blurted out, “Miss Jane’s been seeking help in locating that pair of strange fellas who might be body snatchers.”

 
“Ghouls, they are!” Bosch added. “Go ahead and say it, Sam. The word won’t turn you into no pumpkin.” Bosch laughed until the laugh turned into a coughing fit.

  Ransom grabbed the wizened Bosch by both shoulders, stilling him. “Damn you, Bosch, why didn’t you tell me about Jane’s getting so involved!”

  “I didn’t for the longest time know what she suspected of the two! Or why she wanted information on ’em. I just did me job and got paid. Since when do I ask questions of a client?”

  “I ought to flay your skin off, old man!”

  “But why?”

  “For not coming to me with this sooner!”

  “Do so, then. Beat me into tomorrow if it’ll please you. J-Just don’t, you know, go for my privates.”

  “Not you, too? And Sam, do you believe I’m guilty of castrating Father Jurgen?”

  Sam bit his lower lip. “You was pretty mad, sir.”

  “Damn it, I didn’t do it.”

  “The news has everyone fearful tenfold of you, son,” said Bosch. “Your reputation is intact. True or not, it’s good for the bear.”

  Ransom gritted his teeth while his thoughts ran amok. If everyone believes that I attacked Jurgen with the pinchers, then what are Gabby and Jane thinking about now? “Never mind about my reputation, Bosch! What information about the Rolskys did you supply Jane Francis?”

  “Just their names and address is all, and she pays a damn sight better’n you, and I need the—”

  “What address, fool! Spit it out!”

  “I writ it down but I give it to her. And my memory isn’t so good these days, but I recall the name Rolsky, two brothers, and the address was something like 1400 Atgeld.”

  Ransom’s jaw was set so hard now it hurt. “These men are dangerous scoundrels, Bosch.”

  “They’re a strange pair,” said Samuel. “I had a run-in with ’em once.”

  “You did?”

  “The big one seems harmless as a child, friendly even, but his brother, he’s cold and mean. Said he’d as soon kill a man as share bread with ’im.”

  “You heard him say this?”

  “I did,” replied Sam.

  “Gabby and Jane went to the address on Atgeld?” Alastair asked.

  “They’re likely there now, yes,” replied Bosch.

  “They have no notion Philander—the more dangerous of the two—made bail already.”