A Barricade in Hell

by Jaime Lee Moyer

  “Within an hour or two of death. The punctures hadn’t healed at all.” He flipped the file around so Jack could read. “Archie had been in that cell for days. Sal’s conclusion was that Baldwin was probably drugged so his killers could make his murder look like a suicide.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Jack flipped through a few more pages and shoved the folder away. “We know Marsh was in that cell.”

  “And thanks to Dodd, we know Marsh was working for Effie Fontaine. I’ve already sent a message to Judge Alger.” Gabe stacked the folders neatly, grateful that Sal had been the overly cautious type and angry all over again that his friend was dead. “This is the proof he wanted. Alger will have to issue a warrant now.”

  A loud rap on the door was all the warning they had before Sam Butler stuck his head inside the office. The victorious smile on Butler’s face made Gabe’s heart race. “Captain Ryan, I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

  Sam opened the door wider and ushered in an obviously nervous young woman. She wore a plain blue coat, a matching hat with two white ostrich plumes, and black skirts. Working-class clothing, clean and practical. He’d expected any response to their attempt to flush out Fontaine to come from a member of high society, but Gabe had faith in Sam Butler. The reporter wouldn’t bring this woman to his office without a reason.

  Springing the trap on Effie Fontaine was the best reason Gabe could think of.

  “Captain, this is Miss Rosie Taft. Miss Taft works as a housemaid in Bernal Heights and her employer, Mrs. Cummings, owns several houses in the city. Miss Taft came to see me this afternoon about an article the Call ran this morning.” Sam stayed close to Rosie Taft, hovering and likely keeping her from bolting. “I thought you’d be interested in hearing what Miss Taft has to say.”

  “Come in, Miss Taft. Please, have a seat. How can I help you?” Gabe smiled and tried to look calm and welcoming, hiding how his heart pounded. He pulled over one of the visitor’s chairs before taking his own seat behind the desk. Looming over her would only add to her nerves. Jack stepped back as well, placing himself off to the side and out of Rosie Taft’s line of sight.

  Rosie perched on the edge of the chair, her fingers wrapped tight around the top of her handbag. “It’s not me that needs help, Captain. Mrs. Cummings is the one I’m worried about. She’s getting on in years and she’s got no one to watch out for her. I knew I had to tell someone. I go twice a week to tidy up the house Mrs. Cummings owns at 29 Prospect Avenue.” She opened her handbag and pulled out a folded sheet of newsprint. Rosie held it out to Gabe. “The woman in this picture has been staying in the Prospect house. I’d feel terrible if she did something sinful to Mrs. Cummings and I didn’t tell the police what I knew.”

  The sheet of newsprint was the front page of the Call, complete with Sam’s article and Effie Fontaine’s picture. Gabe passed it over to Jack and clamped down hard on his emotions. “You did the right thing, Miss Taft. When was the last time you saw Miss Fontaine?”

  “Just a few hours ago. Today was my day to clean over there.” She glanced at Sam, who smiled and nodded encouragement. “I went in through the kitchen as always, but I knew right away something wasn’t right. There were broken dishes all over the floor and I could hear shouting in the parlor. My mama taught me eavesdropping is wrong. But I went down that hall quiet as I could to see what was going on. Starting in sweeping up the mess in the kitchen didn’t feel right, you know?”

  Gabe traded looks with Jack. “I do know, Miss Taft, and I don’t blame you in the slightest. Coming in to work and finding things in an uproar must have been frightening. Was Miss Fontaine in the parlor?”

  “I was told to call her Mrs. Wolf, but she’s the same woman in the paper.” Rosie hugged her handbag to her chest. “She was in a terrible state, crying and huddled up on the settee while that husband of hers kept yelling. Mr. Wolf wasn’t speaking English, but his face was all red, and whatever he said made her cry harder. I decided right then and there I wasn’t staying around. I tiptoed back to the kitchen and left.”

  Jack came around to stand next to Rosie. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, the only sign of emotion he let slip. “You did the right thing. Did you see anyone else with Mr. and Mrs. Wolf?”

  She glanced at Jack and back to Gabe. “The tall blond man that stays in the small bedroom wasn’t in the parlor. He might have been upstairs, but I wasn’t going to look for him.”

  Gabe stared at his desk blotter, calculating how long a trip to Bernal Heights might take once Judge Alger drew up a warrant. Trying to decide how many men and weapons to gather. He wouldn’t send his men after Effie Fontaine and Jonas Wolf unarmed.

  And Maximillian’s absence from the house bothered him a great deal. His imagination was far too ready to provide bleak explanations of where Maximillian was or what he might be doing. Sending more men to guard both his and Jack’s houses would help ease the knot forming between his shoulders.

  Rosie’s hesitant question brought him back to the here and now. “Is it all right if I go home now, Captain?”

  “Do you live with family or a roommate, Miss Taft?” She shook her head. Gabe didn’t want to frighten her, but he’d never forgive himself if something happened to Rosie Taft. He scribbled out the address for Mrs. Allen’s rooming house and passed it to Sam. “I don’t think you’re in any real danger, but I think it might be best if you stay with a friend of mine tonight. Sam will take you there. Katie Allen is a wonderful person and she’ll take good care of you.”

  Rosie Taft looked at Gabe and Jack in turn, and then Sam, taking in their grim expressions. He knew she wasn’t fooled, but she kept up the façade and pretended not to be frightened. “All right, if you think that’s best. I’ll stay with her for the night.”

  Jack turned to him once the door had shut behind Sam. “We’ve got her. Your plan worked.”

  “We don’t have her yet.” Gabe locked up his desk. “I’m going to call Judge Alger from the chief’s office and tell him we need that warrant right now. You gather the squad from the list we made. Make sure all of them are armed. Don’t tell anyone where we’re going until I give the word to leave.”

  “How long are we going to wait for that warrant?”

  “Not long.” He yanked open the door and waited for Jack to hurry out. “I’ll give Alger an hour. If it’s not here by then, we go anyway.”

  * * *

  The house on Prospect Avenue was large, a two-story with a peaked roof that housed an attic. Gabe saw right off why she’d chosen this location. Neighbors were two or three empty lots away on either side, leaving Effie Fontaine’s hideout isolated from the rest of the neighborhood. A box hedge ran along one side of the yard, but approaching the house either from the front or back left his men in full view.

  Clouds covered the waning moon, rendering the night exceptionally dark and his officers’ deep blue uniforms more difficult to see. That might be the one advantage he and Jack had. Gabe prayed the clouds would stay in place. Hoping they’d thicken was pushing his luck too far.

  Ten men he knew he could trust guarded Delia and Sadie. He glanced to either side. Counting Jack, he had eleven men with him. Eleven good men would have to do.

  “Are you ready, Lieutenant Fitzgerald?”

  Jack slipped the last cartridge into his pistol and snapped it shut. “Lead the way, Captain Ryan. I’ll watch your back.”

  Gabe gave the signal. As a group, they burst out of the shadows and dashed across the road, pausing to gather together again under the shelter of a clump of trees. The same dim light shone downstairs and from one curtained window on the second story. As far as he could tell, they hadn’t been spotted.

  He waved three men toward the back of the house. Baker, Finlay, and Polk took off at a run, using the box hedge to help shield them from view. Gabe slowly counted to a hundred, giving them time, before leading the rest of the group up the porch.

  Daniels and Perry positioned themselves to kick in the front door, but the cold itc
h on the back of his neck made Gabe wave them away. He cast about for a way to bash down the door without any of his men standing dead center. The answer was a cast-iron bench sitting under a window. Two swings with the bench slung between Perry and Daniels, and the door ripped off the hinges.

  Jonas Wolf stood a few steps up from the bottom of the staircase, holding a pistol in each hand. He didn’t hesitate to open fire.

  One of the men behind Gabe screamed and went down. He heard another body fall, but didn’t stop to turn and see who’d been hit. Wolf’s form grew larger and wavered like smoke spreading on the wind, making it almost impossible to aim. Jack and Gabe stood on either side of the door, firing, yet none of their bullets appeared to find their mark. He realized with a start that Wolf was picking off the men behind them, completely ignoring him and Jack. Cold sweat trickled down his neck, and he remembered what Dora had said about Wolf and Maximillian not being completely human.

  Finlay and Polk came running down the hallway from the back of the house, wailing like banshees from his grandmother’s stories and startling Wolf. Their distraction worked. For an instant, the wavering shadow form vanished, leaving Jonas Wolf solid and no more than a man. Gabe took aim at the center of Wolf’s chest, firing his last two bullets in rapid succession. Jack did the same.

  Blood spread in dark, weeping patches across the front of Wolf’s expensive serge suit. He dropped the pistol in his right hand, touching the blood and staring at the stains on his fingers. Jonas looked at Gabe and smiled before tumbling down the stairs.

  Jack reloaded his pistol before they approached Wolf’s body. His partner kept the barrel pointed at Jonas while Gabe rolled him over, feeling for a pulse.

  Gabe stood, rubbing his fingers on his coat to wipe away the oily feel of Wolf’s cooling skin. He glanced at Jack. “He’s dead, but keep that pistol out. We still don’t know where Fontaine and Maximillian are.”

  “Captain.” Perry stood behind him. Blood trickled down the side of the dark-haired officer’s face from a gash over his eye. “Durst and Monroe are dead. Taylor got hit in the leg, but he’s going to make it. Baxter thinks the bullet went clear through and missed the bone. The bleeding’s almost stopped.”

  He was the officer in charge, responsible for the men under his command. Men under him had died before, but the guilt, the sense that he could have done something to prevent their loss never went away. Neither did the grief he couldn’t show to anyone but Dee or Jack.

  Gabe cleared his throat. “Get one of the cars. Help Baxter get Taylor to a hospital. Durst and Monroe will have to wait until we’re finished here.” He turned to Jack. “Let’s find Fontaine.”

  Effie Fontaine wasn’t hard to find. She sat on the chesterfield in the parlor, dressed in a stylish traveling coat and veiled hat, a packed valise at her feet. She held a small silver frame and stared at a photograph of a little girl. Her gaze never wavered from the photograph.

  He wasn’t certain she knew they’d come in. Gabe cleared his throat. “You have to come with us now, Mrs. Wolf. It’s over.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Captain Ryan. I’ve known you were coming since your men parked their cars down the block.” She looked up at him, her bright green eyes full of disdain. “You know murder charges won’t stick. I’m a German citizen. My daughter and I will be on a ship bound for Berlin before the month is out.”

  “You could be right about not being able to try you for murder, Mrs. Wolf. But I wouldn’t hold out much hope of going to Berlin or seeing your daughter again.” Gabe put a hand under her arm and forced her to stand. “Espionage and treason are charges I can make stick. Even if the courts are lenient and you don’t hang, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison. Justice will be served either way.”

  “You’re bluffing.” Gabe didn’t answer, matching Effie Fontaine stare for stare. Her arrogant façade cracked, and hints of panic appeared in her eyes. “You can’t do this. Maximillian promised us they’d make her well again. I have to get Ella to Berlin or all this will have been for nothing.”

  “It was always for nothing, Mrs. Wolf. Always.” Gabe took the frame holding Ella’s photograph, stepping back so that Jack could snap handcuffs around Effie Fontaine’s wrists. “Take her to the car, Lieutenant. I’ll be out once I’m sure the house is clear.”

  He trailed behind them to the entryway. One of his men had pulled the heavy damask drapes off the windows to cover Monroe and Durst. They’d left Jonas Wolf as he was until the coroner’s van arrived. Effie stumbled as Jack led her past her husband, but didn’t make any attempt to go to the body.

  A search confirmed Maximillian wasn’t in the house, but he’d guessed that from the start. Gabe stayed in the entry, taking reports from his men and supervising the removal of the bodies. Before he went home, Gabe would visit Durst’s and Monroe’s families and break the news. The thought made him slightly ill, but he wouldn’t pass that duty off on anyone else.

  The last stretcher and the last of his men went out the front door. He righted an overturned chair and sat, needing a moment of quiet. Gabe stared at Ella’s photograph, memorizing her face as he’d memorized Sung Lan’s and the young couple from the choir. He touched the smiling face in the photo. “I kept my promise, Ella. I’m sorry.”

  “Gabe?” Jack stood in the doorway, watching. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” He stood, slipping Ella’s photograph into his coat pocket. “Let’s go. We still have a long night ahead.”

  * * *

  Notifying Durst’s and Monroe’s families was as difficult as Gabe imagined. He and Jack did their best to be kind, but there wasn’t a good way to deliver this kind of news.

  They got back to the station after eleven. Questioning Effie Fontaine was exhausting in a different way. She folded in on herself more and more as the night wore on, all the arrogance and confidence she’d displayed bleeding away. Whatever power she’d gained had vanished with the death of her husband and Maximillian’s disappearance. By the time Finlay took her back to her cell, Gabe had to concede that she didn’t know where Roth had gone.

  He wouldn’t let his guard down, not yet. Not until Maximillian Roth was in a cell or in the morgue.

  By the time the patrol car dropped Gabe in front of his house, the sky was beginning to lighten toward dawn. Marshall Henderson was waiting for him on the front walkway, still watching the street and the shadows.

  “Everything’s quiet, Captain.” Marshall gestured toward the house. “Delia made supper for all of us and went to bed early. Nothing’s happened since.”

  Gabe rubbed his eyes. “Any change in Dora?”

  “No, sir.” New lines in his face made Marshall look older than twenty-three. “She’s just the same.”

  He clapped Henderson on the shoulder and went on into the house, moving quietly as he could. Gabe found his wife curled up on the sofa in the sitting room, fully dressed and sound asleep. The blanket covering Delia had partly slipped to the floor, so he pulled it over her again. She stirred and half sat up, bleary eyed. “Gabe? What time is it?”

  “Late. Somewhere around four.” He took off his suit coat before wedging himself into the corner of the sofa. Gabe pulled Delia up next to him so that her head rested on his shoulder and arranged the blanket so they’d both be warm. “We arrested Effie Fontaine. Jonas Wolf is dead, but he wounded Taylor first and killed two of my men. That’s one reason I’m so late. I had to tell their families.”

  “Oh God … I’m so, so sorry, Gabe.” She brushed a hand over her eyes. “What about Maximillian?”

  “We haven’t found Roth yet. I’ve got men looking all over the city.” He yawned and settled deeper into the corner, eyes closed and barely awake. “We’ll find him.”

  “Gabe.” Something in the way she said his name jerked him back from the edge of sleep. “Your men aren’t the only ones searching. Sung Wing is looking for Maximillian too.”

  He didn’t comment as Delia told him about Sung Wing’s visit and what th
e tong leader had said about Dora fighting Maximillian for her spirit. Gabe accepted this impossible thing as truth, just as he’d accepted all the others. He flinched hard over the possibility of Isadora losing that battle.

  “Asking Mr. Sung for help was the only thing I knew to do. I don’t know enough on my own to help her.” Delia’s voice was thick, choked. “And I couldn’t let her go without a fight. I had to try.”

  “Don’t give up hope, Dee.” He brushed a tear off her face. “We’ll find him.”

  He lay awake long after Delia fell asleep, thinking. Maximillian Roth was the one being hunted this time, sought by men with very different ideas of justice. Gabe wasn’t sure what he’d do if Sung Wing got there first.

  That thought kept looping through his head, tangling with memories of Sal, Ella’s face, and seaweed snagged in a dead woman’s hair.

  CHAPTER 25

  Delia

  The phone rang not long after nine, waking us. Henderson was already in the parlor and answered, saving Gabe and me from staggering into the other room half-awake.

  Gabe yawned and sat up before kissing my cheek. “My grandmother used to say that good news waits until late in the day. Phone calls this early must be warning of disaster.”

  “That’s a cheery thought, Gabe Ryan.” I brushed hair back from my face, already thinking about making Dora’s herb-infused tea and feeding all the men guarding our house. “We’ve had quite enough calamity. Let’s not tempt more to arrive.”

  Marshall appeared in the doorway. “Captain? Lieutenant Fitzgerald is on the line. He says it’s important.”

  Gabe rubbed a hand over his face and went to answer the phone. He was back, grim faced and weary, before I’d finished folding the blanket and moving the throw pillows back in place. “Delia … I have to leave. A report came into the station that Maximillian Roth is dead.”

  “Oh.” I hugged the needlepoint pillow in my arms, heart pounding equally with hope this meant Dora would wake, and dread that his death would make no difference. “How did he die?”