The Case Book of Emily Lawrence

by KB Inglee

  * * * *

  Reports of robberies began to pour in, all from banks near Arlington Station.

  Each mentioned a single shot fired from a rifle, accompanied by a puff of smoke. The Black Powder Bandits had been busy.

  Charles, armed with an official request from the Captain Hobbs, dispatched agents to the local police forces to retrieve more evidence.

  Not everyone was as accommodating as Hobbs, but Parker and Myers brought back four gray pellets. One had been removed from the dead body of a teller.

  Emily held the gray lump up to the light. “I would have been happier if it had been from an arm or a leg.” She was pleased to have the bullet, but not at the cost of a life.

  “Be careful what you wish for,” said Charles, putting his hand on Emily’s shoulder.

  “Once they are caught, the charges will be upped to murder as well as armed robbery,” said Myers.

  Emily now had evidence from six robberies. All the markings on the spent bullets matched the originals. Charles wrote a report for each of the cooperating agencies and returned the evidence, requesting that it be preserved in case it might be useful in the trial.

  * * * *

  Much to everyone’s surprise, the postman began bringing small but heavy parcels from farms all over the area. Each, with a carefully printed return address, held twenty or so spent bullets.

  Either the police had been at work, or Mr. Stuben had lots of friends.

  Emily sighed as she turned to the boring task of first sorting the pellets by weight. Many were too heavy or too light to be from the robberies. They went back into the box they had come in.

  The rest she studied under the microscope. Four seemed promising; matching her sketch of those recovered from the Black Powder Bandits. All came from the same location, the Grant farm in Arlington Station.

  Charles and Myers crossed the river to see if anyone who shot there fit the description of the pair.

  Hobbs arrived at the office before the agents returned. Emily handed him a cup of coffee and he stared down the microscope at more pellets as she translated parts of the French article to him.

  The office door burst open. Charles and Myers, flushed with success, exploded into the room.

  “Fenwick, Roger Fenwick,” said Charles, handing Emily another small box. “These are from his Henry Rapid Fire.”

  “Yes, it could have been a Henry. I remember the cartridge follower on the magazine,” said Emily, opening the box to find five rounds. She handed them to Hobbs. Let him do the back breaking work of bending over the scope for hours.

  “There’s no Fenwick in the City Directory.” Myers set the book back on the shelf. “We checked the Arlington Station Directory while we were there.”

  “Another nearby city?” suggested Charles.

  After a bit of thought, Emily retrieved the book Myers had shelved. “All of the early robberies were in the District. Here, here, and here.” She marked the spots on the wall map. “Then the Arlington Station bank, not far from the Grant farm. The next two were here.” She pointed to a spot off the map.

  Hobbs knew at once what she was thinking. “They pulled off the first robberies near home, the next near their shooting range. They are going for convenient, easy to reach locations.”

  Emily spent a few minutes scanning the City Directory listings. She marked half a dozen addresses, and handed the book to Hobbs. “Try these first.” She didn’t try to hide her pleased smile.

  “I’ll have this area canvassed for sales of cartridges for a Henry,” said Hobbs. “Maybe someone will recognize it. It’s time the younger men used up some shoe leather.”

  * * * *

  It was two days before the report came back.

  Hobbs arrived with the policeman who had questioned Emily after the robbery.

  “This is David Boyd. He may not be the most personable young man on the force, but he is persistent. Tell them what you found, lad.”

  Boyd looked hard at Emily before he turned to Charles. “Robert Fenton, an antique dealer, owns a Henry Rapid Fire. He bought a box of shells from a gunsmith conveniently located between his home and his shop. The police background check revealed that Fenton and his wife live by themselves in a small house that they own. They have no children. Fenton, Fenwick. A good cover name and easy to remember.”

  Boyd handed Charles a slip of paper which Emily suspected held the addresses of Mr. Fenton, his shop, and the gun shop where he bought the box of cartridges.

  * * * *

  In the early morning Emily and Hobbs waited in the closed carriage across from the suspect’s house. They had agreed that Emily should question Mrs. Fenton. She might respond better to a woman than to a man, especially a policeman. When a tall man came down the steps and turned left, Emily watched him until he was out of sight and said, “That could very well be him. He is the right height but he… well, this man looks like a henpecked husband. The robber did not.”

  “It’s amazing what holding a firearm can do for your demeanor,” Hobbs responded. He patted Emily’s arm, hopped out of the carriage and disappeared around the corner, after Mr. Fenton.

  Emily waited a few minutes and then went to interview the man’s wife.

  The door was opened by a woman who must be Mrs. Fenton. The house was too humble to have servants performing such duties.

  “May I help you?” she asked. Her eyes grew wide. She did not invite Emily inside.

  “I am here to see Mr. Fenton.” Emily tried to keep her voice even in spite of a sudden jab of excitement.

  Mrs. Fenton squared her shoulders and lifted her chin before she pronounced, “He isn’t home just now. He left for work a few minutes ago.”

  Emily handed the woman her card without a word.

  “What do you want with my husband?”

  “When will he be back?” Emily asked. “You see, my husband has come across several flintlocks in good condition. He suggested I find a buyer for them. He thought your husband might be interested.”

  “We do not buy guns!” said Mrs. Fenton, slamming the door in her face.

  Well, that seemed pretty final. Even without the sale of the non-existent guns, Emily had more than she had come for.

  “Find Hobbs,” she yelled up to Seward, as he picked up the reins. “I think I have proof they are the Black Powder Bandits.”

  * * * *

  Settled in the office with all the agents, Hobbs, and Boyd gathered around, Emily explained.

  “Science can take you so far, but detective work is more than looking down a microscope. Science led us to the right people, but without proof that a court will accept, how are we to catch them?

  “When Mrs. Fenton answered the door she seemed familiar, but when she spoke I knew for sure she had been in the bank that day.”

  “How could you have known that?” asked Hobbs. “I thought the other robber hadn’t spoken during the robbery.”

  “First of all, she acted as though she recognized me. She looked startled when I asked her about her husband. She gathered herself quickly, but when she did she stood more erect and lifted her shoulders as though she were about to issue an order to someone. Seems that Mr. Fenton is indeed a henpecked husband. His wife was not only his partner in crime, but also the boss.”

  David Boyle murmured his surprise until Hobbs shushed him. How many times would she have to amaze them before they began to take a woman detective seriously?

  “This is the way I always envisioned detective work to be,” said Charles, spoiling her advantage. “All scientific and safe in the office, at least for Emily.”

  “Boring, you mean,” said Emily. “Do you have any idea how many hours I spent peering down that microscope while you were out dashing all over the city?”

  Boyle, who had been taking notes while Emily spoke, approached the table of laboratory equipment. �
�You can use this to solve crimes?” he asked her. Then turning to Hobbs, he asked, “Why doesn’t the Municipal Police have anything like it?”

  “They will,” said Emily, with a self-satisfied smile, “as soon as you hire a policeman who can read French.”

  Washington, February 5, 1890

  Dear Anna,

  What a long winter this has been. There are still months to go.

  Charles asked me last week if I would like to go to Europe for the summer. There isn’t much point in a visit to Cambridge. With both father and mother gone and the house sold, there seems little reason. We could visit the graves, and one or two of our old friends. Perhaps Mrs. Stevens would let us have rooms at her house.

  If we go to Europe we could visit some of the places Father loved so much. A leisurely stroll through Paris with Charles is very appealing at this moment.

  It has been exactly a year since mother’s fatal encounter with the trolley. I think about it a lot, especially if the weather is snowy and wet, as it has been a lot for the last few weeks.

  I am still fuming at Susan taking control after father’s death and selling the house without any word to either of us. I have been far too angry to ask her if the money from the sale was divided equally among us. I suspect her husband (I can’t even bring myself to write his name) took full credit and most of the money.

  I know you are less angry than I am, but Charles and I spent our summers there. I also know that is a foolish way to think of it, since even if the house had not been sold, someone other than our parents would be living in it now.

  I believe that the aftereffects of the loss of someone dear is grist for the writer more than the detective; you must be spewing out poetry at a great rate this year. I long to read some.

  Spring must come soon.

  Much Love,

  Emily

  TICKET OUT

  Washington City, February 18, 1890

  “Here they are,” said Charles, waving a manila envelope in front of Emily’s face.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Two steamship tickets from New York to Liverpool and back. The Umbria leaves on March fifteenth.”

  “The ides of March? Not a very auspicious day.” Emily hated ships, but since it was the only way to get to Europe, she would endure the journey.

  Charles had asked her if she would prefer a summer in Europe to the usual summer in New England. Still, it surprised her that he had actually purchased the tickets.

  “What have you there?” asked a booming voice from the reception area outside Charles’s office.

  “Hobbs, come in,” said Charles, tossing him the ticket envelope. “You have something for us?”

  Hobbs took his usual seat in the visitor’s chair in front of Charles’s desk, and peered into the envelope, raising his eyebrows and setting it onto the desk.

  “Indeed I do,” he said.

  Charles handed Hobbs one of the wretched cigarettes that they both seemed to love. Hobbs filled his lungs with smoke as though hesitating to tell the story.

  Finally he said, “Gideon Pye, a contract killer, is wanted in five states for the murder of fifteen people. There are probably more murders we don’t know about. He has posed as a railroad detective, a Pinkerton man, even a copper. His top-notch faked credentials give him cover and make it possible for him to get anywhere without problem or suspicion.”

  He handed a sheet of paper to Charles.

  “I got this wire from the New York City police early this morning. It goes on a bit, but the gist is that Pye is headed our way with a contract for a job here in Washington. No one knows who his target is.” Hobbs hit his forehead with the heel of his hand in an act of frustration. Emily sympathized; it was difficult for municipal police forces to work together. If Charles could have investigated Pye in New York, the whole thing would have been easier for Hobbs.

  Hobbs went on. “He is most likely leaving Baltimore at the crack of dawn tomorrow. The Baltimore police are tailing him now, but they can’t follow him out of the city. They want us to pick him up there, and keep on his tail until he meets his contact here.”

  “You want Charles to go to Baltimore tonight?” asked Emily with some alarm.

  Hobbs nodded. “The force can’t do it for a number of reasons. Manpower and jurisdiction primarily. You and your agents don’t have any such restrictions.”

  Emily sighed. This would be unpaid work. With luck, they could pry expenses out of the police budget.

  Hobbs continued. “Pye has managed to keep out of our hands by being wily and bold. He has a small but efficient organization in New York. The police there have begun to crack it. This time we hope to dig out both him and the people who have hired him. We don’t know why he is coming to Washington, but we intend to give him enough free rein to find out who his contact is, and thus the intended victim. With any luck we can nab everyone and send him off to New York in chains.”

  Charles nodded. “If he is as wily as you say, we should follow him in rotation. Emily can meet me at the station and we can stick with him for a bit, then have the other agents relieve us.”

  Charles pulled out his watch. “I’d best get going. I can get the next train north and have the men in Baltimore wire you to let everyone know which train we are on.”

  The staff of Lawrence Research was skilled in what they called chain surveillance. The first link followed the quarry. A second link followed the first but stayed out of sight of the quarry. A third agent followed the second. At a signal from the first link, they would all move up one. The five of them could follow someone for quite a long distance without being spotted, and without looking like policemen.

  Neither Charles nor Emily questioned Hobbs’s information. As the agency grew, they had come to trust each other.

  “There seem to be a lot of ‘should be’ and ‘maybe’ in this plan.” Emily remembered when a similar plan had not worked out so well.

  * * * *

  Charles stepped down from the train. He kissed Emily on the cheek as any returning husband might do, then whispered in her ear, “He is the one in the deerstalker cap.”

  Charles said in a normal voice, “Aren’t you a bit overdressed?”

  Emily had chosen her clothes both for warmth and to give the appearance of prosperity. Her garments were a far cry from the threadbare clothing she wore when Lawrence Research was a struggling company in the ’70s. Still, she felt as if she were playing a part.

  “I’m trying to look like the wife of a prominent business man. Come to think of it, that is exactly what I am. Besides, this is my warmest coat and will hold out the drizzle,” Emily said as she linked her arm with his. “How was the trip up?”

  “The Baltimore police met me at the train and took me to the nearest hotel.” The look on his face hinted at the poor quality of the hotel. “They didn’t seem to have any more information than Hobbs did. They took me to the station before the sun was up, pointed Pye out to me, and loaded me on the southbound train right behind him.”

  Pye was a large man, well dressed but not showy. His coat was the same houndstooth as his cap. He carried a small brown satchel. He paused to take in the others on the platform, then he led them out of the station and onto the Mall. Myers was waiting somewhere out of sight to pick up the chase.

  “I hope this goes quickly,” said Charles. “I was hoping to have breakfast in Baltimore, but there was no time.”

  Emily smiled up at Charles and said, “Let’s have lunch at Wamsley’s when we are done here. When Myers steps in, I will go home and get into more practical clothing. Mrs. Cole will need some help with the mess I left. I will be at the office before noon.”

  Nearing the Smithsonian Castle, Charles removed his hat, smoothed his hair back and replaced the hat, the signal for Myers to take over. As Myers came up behind them, Charles took Emily’s hand and said, “So far
so good. See you in a couple of hours.”

  She touched his arm as she always did when they parted.

  Emily made her way back along the path Myers had taken until she found Parker leaning against a lamp post, waiting for the distance between the two detectives to widen enough so he could no longer see Pye. Seward pretended to be reading a sodden map some distance behind Parker.

  Once she was satisfied that everyone was where they were supposed to be, Emily headed toward Maryland Avenue and home.

  * * * *

  “I’ll just get the bedroom, and then I’ll be off,” said Mrs. Cole. She had been their housekeeper since Mr. Cole died and left her in need of money, as well as and bored to tears.

  “The bedroom is a mess. I think I took every dress out and tossed them all on the bed before I decided on this one. Now I need to change for work. I could use an extra hand.”

  “Dress warm, Mrs. Lawrence. The drizzle has turned to wet snow already. We may be in for a blizzard before you get to the office.”

  The two women fussed over the clothing until Emily chose a brown wool skirt and a white shirtwaist.

  * * * *

  Over the years Emily had spent much time waiting and worrying. She still did, but she had learned to push the worry to the back of her mind. Her active imagination carried her far into the realm of the possible and almost into the impossible. She knew fourteen ways a plan could go wrong and had encountered many of them.

  Her mind churned as she closed her front door behind her and walked up Ninth Street to the Mall. She hunched her shoulders against damp. Perhaps she should have taken a cab.

  The rain turned to snow as she began to wend her way across the Mall. The sounds of traffic hushed, muffled by the falling flakes. She stepped up her pace.

  As she passed the spot where she had left Charles, she heard a man shout.

  Looking toward the sound she saw men running toward the other side of the Mall. She couldn’t tell for sure in the snow, but they looked like Hobbs and Parker.