Miss Kopp Just Won't Quit

by Amy Stewart

  By the end of the performance, the sky had gone entirely dark outside. The meeting hall was lit only by a few electrical lights around the stage and one at the entrance. The girls were luminous in their white dresses. The gold stars in their hair caught the light and twinkled the way that real stars did. I looked out over the men perched on the long rows of benches and saw one hopeful and eager face after another, all of them ready to shed the cares of the office and their ordinary lives for an adventure in France. I hoped that it would be an adventure for them and nothing more, but that idea seemed as fleeting and fantastical as the pageant that had just concluded.

  The girls took their bows to thunderous applause and a flurry of rose petals. Miss Miner and I had, by previous arrangement, agreed to step up on stage at the end of the performance and oversee the signing of autographs and receipt of whatever small gifts the men might offer the girls. They were a convivial crowd, polite and welcoming, and if one or two of them overstepped his bounds by taking a girl by the hand and asking her to dance, Miss Miner and I were quick to interfere. The girls were so flushed and triumphant, and overwhelmed by all the attention, that they hardly noticed if one man was pushed out of the way to make room for another.

  The Army commanders had returned to the tent as the last song concluded. From their expressions I took it that they’d been highly amused by Norma’s toy carts and whatever lecture she delivered to them on the subject of pigeon communication in wartime. I did feel a little stab of pity for Norma, who had pursued her idea doggedly for months, only to have it dismissed by a group of low-ranking officers who would rather watch pretty young Fleurette dance than hear a lecture on wartime strategy.

  Norma waited outside with her trunk. “What did they think of it?” I asked, when the evening wound down and we wandered out.

  “They don’t know what to think, because they’re military men and they only think what the generals tell them to,” she said, as if I should’ve known that already. “They’re going to run it up the chain of command. I now have the name of a general to whom I may address future correspondence. I’ll write before we leave. The Plattsburg postmark will make an impression.”

  “Undoubtedly,” I said.

  Although I wished, at times, that my sister could find a less peculiar hobby, and one that did not involve writing quite so many letters to generals, I was relieved to see her keeping herself occupied and saw no reason to interfere. The men she’d spoken to tonight would surely have a good laugh later at her expense. Perhaps I should’ve felt some small measure of outrage on her behalf over the way they were almost certainly speaking about her, but this was Norma’s matter, not mine.

  Two of the camp vehicles were pressed into service to return us to the hotel. As we walked to the garage, Miss Miner said, “I meant what I said earlier. I could use you, and a dozen more like you. There’s going to be plenty of work at these Army camps when they get going in earnest. Wouldn’t you like to come along and work with me? You could have your choice of posts.”

  “Oh!” I said. “I’m quite comfortable at the jail.”

  Miss Miner laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before, even from a policewoman.”

  “Hers is an unusual position,” Norma put in. “The sheriff lets her do whatever she likes, and she has quite an easy time of it.”

  “I don’t have an easy time of it,” I protested, “but I’m happy where I am.”

  “Ask her again after the election,” Norma told Miss Miner.

  It irked me that Norma had to ruin a perfectly friendly conversation with such unpleasantness. “It doesn’t matter about the election. I’ll be serving under a new sheriff, that’s all. It’s very kind of you to offer, Miss Miner, but I belong in Hackensack at that jail.”

  “Please call me Maude. And do think about it. We’re all going to be summoned to do our part for the war.”

  31

  election day arrived at last, fiercely bright and bracingly cold. Red and blue bunting sailed above all the shops. An air of spirited good cheer prevailed among the people of Hackensack, who took the exercise of their civic duty as an occasion for flying miniature flags from hat-bands, displaying little cameos of long-dead presidents, and parading around in a rag-tag assortment of mothballed military uniforms.

  The lines of voters spilled out of every polling place in town, serving as a study of men’s haberdashery: brown tweeds and heavy gray wools, faint pinstripes, neatly blocked bowlers and battered workmen’s caps, leather shoes and the stained wooden clogs the silk workers wore. They drew on their pipes and chatted amiably as they waited, pleased to have been asked to consult on matters of the state and ready to offer up their opinions at the ballot box.

  The candidates were expected to be out in their Sunday best, tipping their hats and saluting the old soldiers in uniform. This was the part of campaigning that William Conklin loved and took to naturally: I found him on the sidewalk outside the courthouse, surrounded by well-wishers. He was the kind of man who laughed louder than anyone else and tended to draw a crowd because of it.

  Sheriff Heath stood a little apart from Mr. Conklin, closer to the jail, in the good blue suit he sometimes wore to court. Cordelia was on his arm, looking already like a Washington socialite who just happened to be passing through Hackensack for the afternoon. Now that I knew she was expecting a child, I could see it: she’d been letting her dresses out, little by little, and there were faint lines where the seams had been creased.

  The Heaths were speaking to a much smaller group of voters, who happened to drift away just as I walked past, so I stopped to talk.

  “Mrs. Heath, you look the very picture of victory,” I said.

  Cordelia was indeed more bright-eyed and full of cheer than I’d ever seen her. “Oh, it’s just such a glorious day. Of course, I shouldn’t be out here, with so much packing left undone, but I couldn’t stay away.”

  The Heaths had been carting out boxes for days now. It was one of the hardships of having one’s living quarters dictated by an elected office: once the results were announced, they simply had to vacate the premises.

  “I can hardly believe you’ll be gone so soon,” I said. “What sort of place have you found for yourselves?”

  Sheriff Heath opened his mouth to answer but Cordelia jumped in. “It’s only a half-flat in Capitol Hill, but we’re lucky to have it, with the Navy Yard bursting at the seams. There’s a park for the children, and Bob can walk to work.”

  “Then . . . it’s straight to Washington, is that it?”

  “We leave Saturday, if the voters send us,” Sheriff Heath said in that stoic and dignified fashion of his. There would be no early celebrating on his part.

  “Of course they’ll send you,” I said. “It’s awfully fast, that’s all. Will you be keeping a home here in Hackensack as well?”

  “Why would we?” Cordelia’s voice rose an octave. She was obviously eager to get out of town.

  “Cordelia’s parents have shifted around in that big old house of theirs and made a suite of rooms for us if we require it,” said Sheriff Heath. “I’ll be back and forth like any congressman, and of course I’ll keep an office here. Are you quite certain you wouldn’t like to be a congressman’s stenographer?”

  I turned and looked up at the jail’s glowering silhouette against a sky scattered with high-flying clouds. “I’d rather be here.”

  Sheriff Heath followed my glance but didn’t answer. Any love he had for that jail could not be admitted in front of his wife.

  “It’s a fine place for you,” Cordelia told me. There was an air of dismissal in her voice, and I realized that I was probably meant to move on and make way for more voters.

  “Are you back at the jail today?” Sheriff Heath asked as I made my good-byes.

  “I’m off to Morris Plains, remember? We’re giving Anna Kayser the good news about her divorce.” The evidence had been gathered, the papers had been drawn, and all that was required for the suit to proceed was Anna Kay
ser’s signature. Geraldine had hired a car. She was expected at the jail within the hour.

  “The divorce was in the papers while you were away,” Sheriff Heath said. “I didn’t realize the woman Mr. Kayser was mixed up with was Virginia Townley.”

  “Do you know her?” I asked.

  “No, but John Courter does. He ran around with her himself, years ago. I used to see them going in and out of a disreputable house over in Tenafly.”

  “Are you suggesting that he didn’t want me looking into Anna Kayser’s case because he thought I might stumble into the history of the other woman?”

  “Apparently he has high regard for your skills as a detective,” Sheriff Heath said.

  Cordelia Heath turned to him, astonished. “Do you mean to say that you knew a thing like that about John Courter and you kept it to yourself?”

  “What would you have me do, dear? Shout it from the courthouse steps?”

  “That’s what he did.”

  He took her by the elbow in a curiously intimate fashion and said, “If nothing else, you can say that you’re married to a man who wouldn’t stoop that low.”

  I didn’t wait for her response. I had one last trip to the asylum ahead of me. There was nothing left for Sheriff Heath to do but to stand on the corner and ask for votes.

  32

  when an inmate is to be released from an insane asylum, it has to be done quickly. Otherwise, the rest of the patients go into hysterics wondering why they haven’t been released as well.

  This explained why Anna Kayser had, on her previous commitments, always been released without warning or explanation when her husband came for her. It had to happen with absolutely no fanfare or preparation, or it would rouse the others into a hysteria that would be impossible for the staff to manage.

  For this reason, our visit caused quite a bit of trouble for the doctors at Morris Plains. With the photographic evidence of adultery now in hand, Anna Kayser’s divorce—and subsequent release from the asylum—was almost guaranteed. But there was no way to bring it about without telling her ahead of time. The divorce suit would, naturally, require her presence in court. Somehow she would have to be told that her freedom was almost a certainty, without exciting the other patients.

  The staff was in a state of anxiety over this conundrum when we arrived. Just as before, we were ushered inside the great hall at Morris Plains and met by Dr. Evans, who said, as soon as he had us settled behind closed doors, “Ladies, I must warn you that it is highly irregular for a patient of ours to be involved in any sort of legal action, as an inmate in an insane asylum naturally forfeits the usual rights during their commitment. Mrs. Kayser’s husband would be expected to represent her in any legal matter that arose during this time. But of course, that isn’t possible in this case.”

  “I’m surprised more women don’t try to divorce the man who put them away,” Geraldine said drily. I could see that she did not like being lectured on the law by a doctor.

  But the doctor seemed not to notice her tone. “Well, if we let one do it, they’d all try, and then where would we be?”

  He went around behind his desk and shuffled some papers. “I must ask you to make it plain to Mrs. Kayser that even if she succeeds in this divorce suit, she won’t be released from care until I certify that she is entirely well. That’s the way it is with all of our patients and we’ll have no exceptions for her. Her husband did not put her here on his own. There was a physician and a judge involved, and there will be again. If I see any evidence that she’s incited the other inmates or caused any kind of a stir on the women’s ward, I’ll take that as a sign that her recovery isn’t proceeding the way it should.”

  I wanted very much to remind him that Mrs. Kayser hadn’t any illness from which to recover, and that she would win her release, as well as her divorce suit, on the grounds that her husband had her fraudulently committed, but a sharp look from Geraldine kept me quiet.

  “We’ll tell her everything you said,” Geraldine promised. He seemed satisfied with that, and soon we were once again placed in the possession of a nurse, who led us down the same maze of corridors and into a private room near the women’s wing.

  This time, Anna Kayser was already waiting for us. She looked more tired than before, with purplish circles under her eyes and a face that sagged generally under the weight of what it had to bear. She’d had a head cold, too. Her nose was red and her voice hoarse.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she said, as soon as we were alone.

  “Oh, we’ve been hard at work, and it’s all due to Deputy Kopp’s perseverance,” Geraldine said. “But there’s some distressing news, and Dr. Evans has warned us not to . . . upset you, or to excite you unduly.”

  Mrs. Kayser looked at us both, puzzled, so I put it more plainly. “We’ve almost certainly won your release, but the doctors and nurses here don’t like it. They’re afraid you’ll stir up the other inmates. You must keep the news quiet, or they might argue that you are unwell. It’s a threat, plain and simple. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “I don’t have any friends here. I won’t say a word.”

  I said, “Well, Mrs. Kayser, we arranged for an attorney in Paterson to take Mr. Townley’s divorce case and to send a photographer. The pictures tell the story quite clearly. We have the evidence for his divorce suit, and for yours.”

  Anna nodded but didn’t say anything. Geraldine cleared her throat and went on. “I suppose you might be wondering whether your husband took up with Virginia Townley after you were sent here, or whether . . .”

  She trailed off but Mrs. Kayser finished. “Or whether he sent me to the asylum so he could be alone with her. It must be the latter. I don’t know why I never thought of it. Charlie’s just so ordinary. I didn’t think any woman would bother with him, honestly. Why would she?”

  I could tell that Geraldine had endured this conversation before, with other betrayed wives. “I don’t pretend to know why people do the things they do. I don’t suppose you’ll ever know. But he’s been monstrously unfair to you, when you’ve given him everything a man could want.”

  She laughed a little. “I don’t know about that.”

  “But you’ve given him more than he deserves,” I put in. “Mr. Townley confessed that he’d known about your husband’s dalliances for years. I’m afraid this wasn’t the first time. Mr. Townley believes it entirely possible that in the past, when you’ve come here—when you’ve been sent here—”

  “That Charlie sent me away every time he had a girl,” Mrs. Kayser said. There was no bitterness in her voice, only resignation, as the fact that he’d been able to pull off such a thing, not once, but four times, became impossible to deny.

  We sat in silence for a minute, with only the faint ticking of Geraldine’s watch and the shuffling of feet in the corridor outside.

  Finally she coughed into her handkerchief and spoke. “I suppose you’ve filed the suit against my husband, and named Virginia Townley as the co-respondent.”

  “Yes, and the attorney in Paterson has done the same for Mr. Townley’s case. We’re sharing the evidence. I have a few documents here for your signature.”

  She looked them over and took Geraldine’s pen. “And then I’m to be released?”

  “We would appeal your commitment on the grounds that your husband sought to have you sent away so that he could live with Virginia Townley in a state of illegal cohabitation. The fact that he did all of this while your daughter was under his roof is particularly damning and will work in our favor. If I can find any of the other girls your husband used to—used to know—I will, as it can only help your cause. As for the doctor who signed your commitment papers, I believe I can convince him to reconsider the case. Otherwise I’ll see to it that he goes to court, and I know a reporter who will make sure his name gets in the papers when he does.”

  Geraldine lived down the hall from Carrie Hart, a reporter who’d helped me once or twice before. These were proving to be the
most useful friends a deputy could have. I understood now why Sheriff Heath made an effort to stay on amicable terms with reporters, and why he was so quick to summon a room full of them when he needed the public on his side.

  “Where am I to go?” Mrs. Kayser asked. “And what of Charlotte?”

  “You and your daughter will stay in the house, and your husband will pay to keep you,” I said. “I’m certain of that. There’s not a judge alive who would see you put out of your home, after what’s been done to you.”

  Mrs. Kayser pushed herself to her feet. “What has been done to me,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Just then the nurse knocked and said that our visiting time was over.

  “It’s a shock,” Geraldine said, once we were outside and clear of the nurse. “It always is. It’ll be worse before it gets better. But she’ll be looked after here, and soon she’ll be home. It’s a fine way to spend Election Day, setting someone free.”

  33

  that settled things for Anna Kayser, more or less. Her case wasn’t mine to pursue any longer. It was a legal matter, to be worked over first in divorce court and then in a subsequent challenge to her commitment, all of which Geraldine would handle.

  I should’ve been gladder about it than I was. A woman wrongfully sent away to an asylum was to regain her liberty, and the man responsible was to be punished. There was every reason to call it a triumph.