by Amy Stewart
The train arrived and Geraldine stepped off in her smart city tweeds and a checkered silk blouse of the type professional women wore. I felt a little dowdy in my uniform, but Geraldine rushed right over, made a great fuss over my badge, and had me turn around in a circle so she could admire the sight of a lady deputy.
“Aren’t you something!” Geraldine cried. “We have girl cops in New York, too, of course, but all they ever do is stand around in dance halls disapproving of things. You, on the other hand, look like quite the dashing heroine. I wish someone would snatch my handbag right now, just so I could watch you chase them down.”
“I’m trying not to attract attention to myself today.”
“Oh, you can’t help that.” Geraldine hooked her arm through my elbow, and we walked out of the train station and down Park Street, past the little shops and offices that made up Rutherford’s downtown. “When do you think Mr. Kayser gets home?”
“Soon, I suspect,” I said, “and there’s a fifteen-year-old daughter, too.”
“I wouldn’t mind catching the daughter alone if we can. Children will say the most astonishing things about their parents.”
“It’s good of you to come and look into it,” I said, “but I don’t know how you’re going to get paid for any of this. Even if Mrs. Kayser is released, I’m sure her husband handles all the money.”
“Oh, I’m counting on a plummy divorce at the end. It’s a bit more effort than I might usually put into winning over a divorce client, but I’m intrigued by it. Did I ever tell you that I had a great-aunt who was locked up in one of those monstrous old places upstate?”
We chatted about the great-aunt and her misfortunes all the way to the Kaysers’ home. The place was just as I remembered it: neat as a pin, with nothing so much as a loose shutter to suggest any kind of difficulty within. Perfect mounds of shrubs waited under the windows for winter to come along and blanket them in snow. Autumn chrysanthemums shone from flowerpots. There was a little wooden seat on the porch, draped in a tidy canvas cover.
Geraldine snorted. “If she’s insane, I’m hiring a lunatic to keep house for me.”
“That’s just the trouble. It’s a well-kept home and Mrs. Kayser herself hasn’t so much as a hair out of place. She raised a fuss when I turned up to carry her away, but anyone would.”
A lamp came on behind a curtain. It was nearly five o’clock.
“Someone’s at home,” Geraldine said. “Let’s find out who it is. Don’t say anything in particular about me. Let them think I’m your assistant.”
“I’m going to tell them that we’re always required to look in on the children after we remove the mother. It needs to sound ordinary. This can’t get back to the sheriff. I don’t want to raise any suspicion.”
“That’s perfect, then. Say as little as possible about your reasons, and let them talk.”
I rapped authoritatively on the door. My knock was answered by a slender and elegant woman of about thirty-five who became so agitated at the sight of my badge that she hardly heard the introductions. I stepped inside as if I’d been invited, and Geraldine followed.
“I’ll only take a minute of your time, Miss . . .” I waited for the woman to supply her name, but she didn’t.
“I can’t imagine what you’d be wanting with us,” she said, waving a bony hand around. There was a cigarette between her fingers, and the smoke followed in a fine blue stream.
The place was just as I’d seen it last: the magazines on the table, the glass lamps, the little hooked rug. Only a few framed photographs of Anna Kayser were missing. A new hat-rack stood by the door, and on it perched a dozen or so small fancy hats, looking for all the world like a flock of exotic birds that had just landed.
I was about to ask about the daughter, but just then she appeared. When she saw my badge she went right up to me, as if she knew me.
“Is it about my mother?” She looked up at me anxiously, a freckle-faced girl of about fifteen with fat cheeks and braids.
“Your mother’s fine, dear. Tell me your name.”
“Charlotte Kayser. What sort of trouble is she in?”
“No one’s in any trouble. Your mother is safe and I’m sure her care is good. She was very sorry that she couldn’t say goodbye to you when she left. She promises to be home before you know it.”
The woman, who still hadn’t given her name, put a hand awkwardly on Charlotte’s shoulder. “Go on back to your school-work. Finish your French.”
Here I saw my opportunity. “Du français? Vous le parlez bien?”
“Correctement,” Charlotte answered flatly.
The woman looked alarmed at that and said, “You can see why she needs to practice.”
“Are you her tutor?” Geraldine asked. “We like to see the children keep their schooling up.”
The woman looked surprised but said, “I see to it that she does her lessons. Of course I do.”
Geraldine had taken on the brisk, officious air of a city clerk. “We haven’t learned your name,” she said, pulling a notebook out of her handbag.
Charlotte, who had ignored the instruction to go back to her school-work, said, “This is Miss Virginia. Father always brings in a lady when Mother goes to the hospital.”
I risked another question in French. “Est-ce toujours la même dame?”
“Non” came Charlotte’s one-word answer.
Miss Virginia looked shocked at the turn the conversation had taken and gave a nervous laugh. Ashes from her cigarette fell onto the carpet and she looked around for an ash-tray. Geraldine handed her a little bronze dish stamped with the insignia of a printing company. “Do you look after the house, too?”
Miss Virginia seemed relieved to have the ash-tray to occupy her other hand, and smiled more calmly. “Yes, I manage the running of the household. Now, if you’ll—”
A knock came from down the hall. She turned around but didn’t go to answer.
“Please don’t let us keep you,” I said.
“It’s only the grocery boy,” she said. “He can leave the box.”
“But you’ll want to look it over.”
“I never do.” Miss Virginia was keeping her eyes on Charlotte. She obviously didn’t want to leave the girl alone.
I nodded to Geraldine. “Why don’t you go along with Miss Virginia to bring in the groceries? Charlotte can show me the other rooms, and then we’ll be on our way.”
But Miss Virginia wasn’t having it. “I’ll show the kitchen to all of you, and make some tea while we’re there. Come with us, Charlotte.”
She took the girl by the shoulder and steered her down the hall. Geraldine and I followed. In the kitchen, Miss Virginia opened the back door and carried in the box of groceries.
“I’m glad to see a well-stocked kitchen,” Geraldine said. “I know the cost of care at Morris Plains can be a terrible burden on a family.”
The cost? I wasn’t expecting that from Geraldine, but it had a surprisingly purgative effect on Miss Virginia, who unleashed a torrent of complaints, without any regard for what young Charlotte might hear.
“Oh, it’s crippling. You haven’t any idea what Charles goes through. The poor get everything for free, of course, but if you have any sort of salary or a roof over your head, you’re expected to pay and pay. And it isn’t his fault, is it? He couldn’t have known when he married her what a burden she’d be. It puts a man in chains, having a lunatic for a wife.”
Charlotte had been backing away from Miss Virginia during her speech. She reached the door just as Miss Virginia said the word “lunatic” and shouted back at her, “She’s not a lunatic! You don’t know a thing about her!”
She ran off down the hall. A door slammed, and the three of us stood in wary silence.
Miss Virginia drew herself up and sniffed. “I forgot to ask if you were here under any sort of order. Have you a letter or a warrant giving you the right to inspect the premises?”
“We’ve only come to see about the child’s welfar
e,” I said. “It’s a routine check.”
But Geraldine was pulling me to the front door. “That’s fine, Miss Virginia. We ask only that the girl be looked after, and we can see that she is. She’ll calm down soon enough. We’re sorry to have disturbed you.”
When we were back on the street and out of earshot, I said, “Why did you drag me out of there? I wanted to speak to Charlotte alone.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve had a stroke of luck. Mr. Kayser is paying for his wife’s commitment.”
“Is that unusual?”
“They do try to collect from the family if it seems that someone has money,” Geraldine said. “But I’m beginning to think that this was a voluntary commitment.”
“Oh, I promise you that Anna Kayser didn’t go voluntarily. She cried and fought and begged.”
“Yes, but . . .” Geraldine thought about it as we walked, tilting her head from the right to the left as she considered it. “Her husband, acting on her behalf, might have committed her voluntarily.”
“Do you mean that he volunteered her for a year at the insane asylum?”
“Yes. It would still require the approval of the judge, but only as a formality. If the husband is paying the fees, he wouldn’t be refused.”
“And if he stopped paying the fees?” I asked.
“They’d probably release her.”
“Then I don’t see what we can do about it,” I said. “If a man can have his wife locked away with nothing but an order from a sympathetic physician and a bank-book fat enough to cover the fees, then I suppose Anna Kayser’s done for.”
“I think we should pay a visit to Mrs. Kayser. We need to know how far she’ll go. A woman who claims wrongful imprisonment by her husband but then doesn’t want to divorce him might be suspect. I can’t proceed until I know her intentions.”
“I don’t believe they allow visitors.”
“They’ve no choice but to admit an attorney. This time, you’ll be my assistant.”
My stomach turned over at the thought of going into the asylum against Sheriff Heath’s orders. “I just don’t—”
“Do they know you at Morris Plains?”
“I don’t believe so,” I allowed.
“Then you won’t be found out. Have that sister of yours dress you like a lady lawyer’s assistant.”
“She’ll enjoy that.”
We walked along in silence, mulling it over. “What did you say to that girl in French?” Geraldine asked.
“I asked her if her father always has the same woman come and look after her when Anna goes to the hospital.”
“Oh, that was a clever question. And does he?”
“Non.”
15
“the board of Freeholders are about to start their meeting,” Sheriff Heath said when I turned up at work the next day. I’d had a change of heart about going around behind his back to look into Anna Kayser’s predicament and had resolved to come clean about what I’d done. I would have—at least, I’m fairly certain I would have—but Sheriff Heath was going on with such enthusiasm that I could hardly get a word in. It is also true that some small part of me was pleased to have gotten away with my own covert investigation.
Regardless, before I could make my confession, he said, “Have you forgotten? I’m putting in for a medal for you. I want you to be there.”
I hadn’t forgotten. I’d merely assumed he was only saying it to contradict his wife and had no intention of following through. “I don’t want a medal. I believe Mrs. Heath is right this time. We shouldn’t make more of this than it already is.”
“Mrs. Heath doesn’t run this jail, and you know very well that I put in for commendation any time a deputy of mine puts his life on the line.”
“It was hardly life-and-death. The Hackensack River is nothing more than a filthy ditch this time of year. I practically just walked across it to grab him.”
Sheriff Heath said, “Nonsense. It was a ditch filled with fast-moving water over six feet high and a sewage pipe. Tony Hajnacka was in handcuffs and could’ve drowned in a foot of water. You saved his life and gave no thought to your own when you did it.”
“I didn’t have to think about my life. I had only to think of my job, which required me to capture the inmate and bring him back.”
“For which you will receive a medal.”
There was no arguing with him. For once, I wished I’d worn a better hat.
the hat wouldn’t have saved me. I knew it the minute I walked in and saw Detective Courter and Dr. Ogden seated in the front row. They appeared entirely at ease, leaning back in their chairs and nodding as their friends filed in. They didn’t turn to look at us, but I had the queasy feeling that they knew we were there nonetheless.
“What’s Mr. Courter up to?” I whispered.
“Nothing. He’s here every week,” Sheriff Heath said.
“And Dr. Ogden?”
“He attends too, sometimes.”
“Then you don’t suppose they’re here because of us?”
“I wouldn’t mind if they were. My deputies do fine work and they ought to hear about it.”
He seemed so resolute, and I did admire him for his convictions, but I couldn’t help but wonder if his wife was the shrewder politician. The medal meant nothing to me. Why invite trouble?
Nonetheless, we took our places in the back of a noisy and crowded room. The Freeholders were seated on a kind of dais at the front, where they had the look of an august group gathered for a portrait: to a man they were gray-whiskered and packaged in good tweed, each of them wearing an expression of immense satisfaction over the responsibilities they’d been given and the attention they commanded. At one end sat an urn of coffee and one of tea, each attended by a harried-looking page who was also called upon to pass around a tray of finger sandwiches and dainty sweets brought in for the occasion from a bakery in Rutherford. The tray was of great concern to the Freeholders: one time, when it failed to arrive, the meeting was postponed until some other provisions could be found. The sliced salami was of particular importance to our elected officials, so much so that the page was obligated to distribute it first, before the meeting began, to ensure that each man had his fair share.
The last round of sweets was being offered as we took our seats. “They make an awful fuss over that tray,” I whispered.
“It’s the reason they run for office. They like their Tuesday afternoons and their tea and cake.”
Deputy Morris appeared just then, and took a chair next to me. He’d been out of work since his fall, and walked now with a cane and a metal brace around his leg.
“Is it very bad?” I whispered.
“For a deputy, it would be. For a man of leisure, it’s nothing. I’m taking retirement a little early, that’s all.”
I hated to see him go. “Couldn’t we find something for you at the jail?”
He shook his head. “I’m only retiring a few months early. Don’t worry yourself over me. I’m here to see you get that medal.”
Sheriff Heath was turned away, talking to the man next to him, so I ventured to say in a low voice, “I wish he wouldn’t go to all this trouble. It doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
“But don’t you see, miss? He’s doing it to protect you. If you’ve been bestowed a medal for your good work, it puts your reputation on a firmer footing. It’ll be of use to you when he’s no longer sheriff. He wants to make your accomplishments a matter of public record.”
Sheriff Heath was listening now. “I did the same for you, Morris. It’s what William Conklin taught me when he was sheriff. Always put the good works of your deputies forward. I earned a medal myself when I was deputy.”
“Then it’s a tradition,” I said, seeing the futility of arguing over it. They were paying me a compliment by allowing me to take part in the rituals of their fraternity and to be thought of as one of them. But I knew that no matter what Sheriff Heath and Deputy Morris said, I wasn’t the same as them, and my actions wouldn’t ever
be seen in the same light as theirs.
At last the Freeholders were ready to get on with their business. We sat through a debate over the funding of road repairs, which concluded with the decision being put off until the following week, and an argument over the Freeholders’ use of county cars and chauffeurs for trips into New York and up to the Berkshires over the summer. It was decided that the trips had been perfectly in order and in support of county business. Sheriff Heath looked as though he had an opinion about that, but didn’t say.
His request came next. Freeholder Morrison called out, “Sheriff Heath is here to honor one of his deputies for bravery. Come on up and tell us about it, Bob.”
The sheriff went to the podium and addressed the board. “As you know, it is the responsibility of my department to transport inmates to Morris Plains or any other such place as a judge may see fit to send them. Last week, I sent two of my deputies to do that very thing, only to be waylaid by a storm and the impassibility of the very roads I believe you gentlemen were just discussing.”
That got a little murmur of agreement from several on the board, but a few of them looked awfully displeased. From my vantage point in the back of the room, I saw a man rise from one of the front benches and go to stand along the wall as if he were next to speak. It was John Courter.
I knew then that a trap had been laid for Sheriff Heath. I only wished I’d tried harder to dissuade him.
“My deputies had no choice but to turn back,” the sheriff continued. “Upon their return to the jail, one of the inmates broke loose and ran for the river in an attempt to escape or drown himself, we know not which. My deputy chased after him and succeeded in rescuing him from drowning, and brought him to shore at great personal peril. For that reason I ask this board to bestow a medal for bravery. Let me introduce the deputy. Miss Kopp?”