by David Fuller
"You here by accident?" said Logue, hanging his coat on a peg, then placing his hat on the same peg. His voice was gravel rolling along milled oak planks.
No accident, said Cassius.
"Looking to get your arse out of the rain, then."
Smart man gets out of the rain.
"Ah, so you think you're smart, but if you think I'm likely to infer dryness and warmth as your primary goal, you got another think coming," said Logue.
Then you're smart, said Cassius.
"I was looking to get out of the goddamned miserable rain," said Logue.
Not your primary goal, said Cassius.
Logue smiled coldly. "No," he said, "it was not."
You called her name, said Cassius.
"But I find you. Maybe you got a message for me."
From her?
Logue began to pace. Cassius supposed that Gabriel Logue was wondering if he had walked into a trap. Logue took a long time to respond. "Where is she?"
Dead, said Cassius.
Logue stopped pacing. Cassius admired the man's ability to control his emotions. "Appears to be time for me to be gone from here."
Not before you get what you came for, said Cassius.
Logue glanced toward the false wall by the hearth. Cassius brightened inside. Logue knew about the hidden place.
"All right, smart mouth, what makes you say so?"
Full moon says you show up here.
"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? Maybe you think I won't take it out of your hide."
You know who I am.
"The hell you say."
Called Cassius. From Sweetsmoke.
"Your name goes unrecognized."
Then she didn't trust you.
"I am away." Cassius watched Logue's winglike hands remove his sodden coat from the hook on the wall. Cassius stayed in the chair.
Now I wonder what I'll do with it.
"Do what you please."
Think Old Captain Whitacre'd want it back?
"Don't know what you're talking about."
But you know where it is. Your eyes said so.
Logue's expression went flat. He replaced his coat on the hook, came around, and sat in Emoline's favorite chair, the same chair she had slept in those three weeks when Cassius was recuperating. The chair expelled a small groan.
"Are you named for Cassius Marcellus Clay?"
I think not.
"The abolitionist from Kentucky."
Don't know him, said Cassius.
"Clay was recently in the newspapers, declined Lincoln's attempt to appoint him ambassador to Spain. I am returned from the North this evening, where I have been for these last three weeks. I take it as a tribute to the ongoing secrecy of our arrangement that I was told nothing of Emoline's death. And you may trust, my friend, that I am kept informed of all things that affect my business. If you know the item, then you know Union men are interested in that niddering Whitacre's correspondence."
Military men? said Cassius.
"Indeed. And as you know about the hidden place behind the panel—" I built it.
Logue shifted in the chair. Cassius thought that never before in his life had a white man so thoroughly examined his face.
"Where's your partner?"
Partner? said Cassius, puzzled.
"Your compatriot, your second, the gump in hiding with the club or pistol. The one you'll signal once I walk out of here with Whitacre's documents. If you're to extort from me, you'd better have a partner."
Maybe I say he waits outside and protect myself, or maybe I say ain't got one, so you can mistrust the truth.
Logue listened to the answer and a cautious smile infected his face.
"You have the makings of an excellent smuggler, yond Cassius."
Yond Cassius? said Cassius with growing interest.
"Is that not Hoke Howard's affectionate name for you?"
Cassius reconsidered Gabriel Logue. Why had he exposed his lie? Cassius could determine no advantage to it.
Old Master reads Shakespeare, said Cassius.
"How well you mind your tongue, Cassius. Initially I insist I haven't heard of you and then I acknowledge your master's particular words. And you endure my prevarication in silence. You strike me as a man worth knowing. That makes you dangerous." Gabriel Logue spoke with admiration. He shifted himself in the chair, making himself more comfortable, as if he might stay for a while. The chair again complained.
It is said you killed many men, said Cassius.
"Is it indeed?"
Cassius saw that there would be no other response, so he moved on: How goes your business with Hoke Howard?
"Do I conduct business with your good master?"
Hoke Howard needs you, said Cassius.
"He does indeed," said Logue, and his smile threatened to become habit. "The embargo was imposed at the precise wrong moment and his wares were left to rot on the docks, putting him in grave financial peril. Bad for him, good for me, thus he and I are indeed conducting business."
Cassius reflected that sharing information was a game to Logue. And if it was a bartering chip, then Cassius's quid pro quo was about to come due.
"I must say, your conversation is good for clearing a man's head. Frequenting the bierhaus, a man tends to imbibe to excess."
The bierhaus? In the German part of town?
"Is that so odd? From your reaction I see that my home away from home is likely to continue to fool the Anglo-Saxon planters who would not believe I house with German immigrants. Hans Mueller is in particular need of my talents."
You fear discovery?
"Mostly by my wife, as she would be mortified to learn of my accommodations." He leaned conspiratorially forward. "It does not live up to her standards. No, Mule can't afford to hand me over, I keep him in business, providing certain necessities, readily available in the North, for him to sell. At a profit, I might add. And now it is your turn. Tell me why you're here, so far from your plantation, in the middle of the night."
To meet a man coming for Emoline's intelligence.
"Would you take her place, Cassius?" said Logue as if to a precocious child.
I would know who killed her, said Cassius slowly and deliberately.
"Killed her?" said Logue, standing up. Emoline's chair tipped back but did not go all the way over. "God damn it, you said she was dead, not murdered."
Hit on the back of the head, said Cassius, indicating the stain in the floorboards.
"Who was it?"
Anyone. No one.
"This is damned inconvenient. Who else knows you're here?" He moved to a window and peered out into the rain. Cassius was surprised to see that something frightened Logue.
No one.
"Who saw you come?" He moved to the next window.
No one.
"I was careful, but even I might have missed someone. This is not good, not good at all." He closed the baffles on the lantern and opened the front door. The heavy sound of rain rushed into the room. Logue looked up and down the dark street. He stayed inside the curtain of water and stared for a long time, then returned to the room and closed the door, squelching the sound behind him. "If Whitacre's people knew, I'd be in chains. Unless they want to catch me with the papers." Another test as he searched Cassius's face for any sign that might give him away.
How does Whitacre fit in? said Cassius.
"Whitacre has been charged with capturing the spies known to be operating in this area."
You think she's dead because she was a spy?
"You know another reason?"
Cassius told Gabriel Logue what he knew about Emoline's death. He told him that Emoline's son did not know about the secret hiding place and was only interested in her money. He told him that Captain Whitacre's cook Maryanne had brought a packet.
When Cassius was finished, Logue said, "Well, if we're to be undone, let's at least see what our Emoline has collected."
Logue moved to the false pa
nel beside the hearth. He looked at Cassius over his shoulder. "Tell me, Cassius, did she irritate you as much as she did me?"
Cassius said nothing.
Logue smiled then and said, "I will miss her, too." He opened the panel swiftly, indicating familiarity.
"It appears you did not share her money with her son," said Logue.
And I don't share it with you, said Cassius.
Logue reached in to remove the two packets. He left her money and her letters in place. He brought the lantern to the table and sat. He undid the packet brought by Maryanne. He skimmed the Whitacre letters, then refolded them and resecured the package. He opened the second packet and read that more carefully.
"Do you read, Cassius?"
No.
"No, of course not." Logue paused. "These are intercepted telegraph dispatches. They came from a telegraph operator. They did not come from a cook."
Cassius put his hand on his pouch under his shirt and touched where he knew the scrap of paper rested inside, Emoline's hand-drawn map, W York.
Could this telegraph man have been her murderer? said Cassius.
"It's possible."
Perhaps if the Confederates were closing in and he was nervous and wanted his information back?
"Possible."
And he came back for it?
"All of it possible. But highly unlikely."
Why?
"The telegraph operator's risk comes when making the exchange. Nothing in this packet suggests his identity, so he's safer not returning. Beyond that, I imagine there is a middle man."
Cassius said nothing.
"Maybe I should be grateful, this will uncomplicate my life. Without Emoline, I can go about my business without concern for espionage or patriotism. I can be the rascal full-time."
How do you get these north?
Logue considered him for a moment, and when he began to speak, Cassius again saw how openly whites were willing to speak in front of blacks, as if they were speaking to a wall or a chair.
"I suppose you're not likely to afford me competition. Not so difficult as you'd imagine. Unless you're in uniform, there's little difference between the gentleman of the North and the gentleman of the South. When transporting small packages, I simply ride across the border. Man like me doesn't usually get stopped. But I will send something this sensitive hidden in one of my wagons that will join the army train of supplies. Ever see a wagon train? Picture an endless line of wagons stretching for miles, now that is one massive operation, something no one man can oversee alone. Man's got to delegate, and the moment he does, I am in business. They divide their train into little fiefdoms, and in the military, when you see something out of the ordinary, well, that must fall under the authority of Major Body Louse or Colonel Forty-Rod. Pass the buck, Cassius, that's the army way. Quartermaster Whitacre will ironically provide the safe passage of these documents to the North. A greased palm here, a plug of tobacco there, and a handful of extra wagons roll somewhere into the middle of the line. Once at their destination, the wagons split off and after more greased palms, they cross the border. The papers get across, Hoke Howard gets what he wants, I get what I want, Bluebellies get a smoke, Butternuts get coffee, and then the bell rings and they all rush out to eradicate each other. The world is good."
So it's not dangerous? said Cassius.
"Oh it's dangerous."
Cassius nodded. Then he said: Whitacre's father-in-law, Jarvis, dusted up with Hoke. Afterward, Whitacre came to Sweetsmoke—
"Ah, to 'assess' your goods. Jarvis sent his son-in-law to get even with your master."
I knew he was angry, said Cassius.
"Hoke made too much money when he invested in that fleet of ships, before the embargo kicked his backside. Jarvis cannot forgive him."
Hoke had already moved the livestock, said Cassius.
"Good for him, anticipating Jarvis, you can't say Hoke doesn't have his moments. Wise move, yes sir, that'd put Old Jarvis in a huff. But this is good for me, I will get an excellent price on the tobacco, very favorable terms. I owe you, Cassius."
Pay your bill by leaving Emoline's money behind.
"You imagine you've earned it, then?"
Cassius shrugged.
"Intelligence and greed, you would be useful to a man in my position. Are you certain you won't take her place? Our friends up North will be greatly disappointed when this information dries up. Not that they know how to utilize it. It would amaze you to know of the self-satisfied generals sitting on their prodigious arses who ignore these dispatches. They'd rather get their intelligence from reading the enemy's newspapers."
Can you tell me how to find this telegraph man? said Cassius.
"I cannot. In an arrangement like this, it is best not to know your compatriots. Do you plan to find him?"
If you know nothing of her killer, then he is my only other link. He will have some information.
Logue shook his head as he began to understand Cassius's plan. "And this is information you must have?"
To find her killer, yes.
Cassius indicated the stain on the floor.
Gabriel Logue began to laugh. "You have had occasion to take note of your reflection, in a looking glass or perhaps a puddle?"
Now and again.
"Then perhaps you are aware that your skin is black, that you are only counted as three-fifths of a man, that you are a slave owned and controlled by your master?"
Most days.
"And you would seek poor Emoline's killer?"
It seems that I would.
"In the midst of a furious war, where dead white men are common and the death of a free black woman carries less weight than that of a horsefly, for when the horsefly meets its end it ceases to be an irritant, you imagine that you will find her killer?"
Cassius placed his hands on either side of the edges of Emoline's table.
No one cares who did this to her, said Cassius softly. She nursed me back to health, taught me to be a man when the world treats me like a boy. The one who did it took a life worth something. If he sat where you sit now, I'd take his life in return this very moment.
Cassius realized that for all the quiet in his voice, he gripped the table rigidly and the legs agitated against the floorboards. He let go and his vision cleared and he was looking in Logue's extraordinary blue eyes. Logue was leaning back, an expression of alarm on his face.
Logue said nothing for a moment, then his expression lightened.
"I'd say it's a god damned good thing I ain't the one who killed her. Lord, I'd love to be a fly on your shoulder when you chase down this man. I do believe you would be an investigator of the most peculiar variety!"
Logue laughed, but when Cassius did not, Logue cut it short.
"Do you have any plausible suspects?"
Beyond her spy connections, she also had clients.
He drew the three pages from his pouch, leaving the W York scrap in place.
"Look at you, Cassius, you're like that fellow Dupin in those Edgar Allan Poe stories, no wait, he was based on a real person, Frenchman, that detective of police, what was his name? Eugene something. Eugene Vidocq, that's it. But Monsieur Vidocq had an advantage over you, he began life as a criminal. Show me this list."
She read their fortunes, said Cassius, sharing the list.
Logue shook his head. "You waste your time here, she provided the gullible with a service, when did a conjuring woman envision futures fraught with misery? No, these were paying customers, she'd want their return business, her visions would have been hopeful and mysterious. You hold here a list of the only people who might actually mourn her loss."
You make sense, said Cassius, but he knew he would venture to see them, to know for certain.
"Any other suspects? How about the patrollers?"
Patrollers are fond of ropes and trees.
"I suppose you're right, cracking skulls is not their style. Who else?"
Telegraph man. He will have more information.
Or he gave her up to the Confederates, said Cassius.
"And you insist on finding him?"
Cassius said nothing.
Logue thought for a moment. "All right, allow me to offer you some small direction. Say you know something I don't, and you got some idea where this telegraph fellow does his business." Logue glanced at the secret hiding place, as if he knew there had been more information therein. "I don't know how a negro could do it, but let's suppose you get to him. He'll be a Union intelligence man hiding out near railroad tracks, as the telegraph lines run alongside. The first question you ask is: Was Emoline revealed as a spy? If so, then her killer was Confederate."
If she was revealed, then the Union telegraph man might be revealed, which would put him in a Confederate prison, said Cassius.
"Then you'll never find him. But they might have left him in place so that Emoline and the rest of the intelligence team could be rounded up without being forewarned. Cassius, this is a massive undertaking."
Maybe the answer comes more quickly than we expect, said Cassius. "Eh?"
If someone out in the rain awaits you, then you were also betrayed.
"Hah. Yes. Time to find out," said Logue soberly. He stood and put his hat on his head. Cassius saw him shiver as the cold wet band met his forehead. "You are very much like her."
Like Emoline? said Cassius.
"Not so irritating, but she too was strong and determined."
Yes, said Cassius.
"Perhaps, one day, yond Cassius, the peculiar investigator, will do what she did and search for his name."
Cassius took that as a compliment, Logue suggesting Cassius might one day be free to choose his own name. He understood now that Gabriel Logue had known Emoline a long time, longer than he had suspected. It answered a question he had not known to ask. How had they known to trust each other with intelligence material?