by S A Falconi
Billing probed, “Name?”
Donaghue sighed, answering, “Florence. Florence Schneider.”
Billing nodded, attempting to hide his excitement. He was in such disbelief that Donaghue was divulging information that he didn’t even wonder how the exiled detective came across it in the first place.
Billing added, “How long’s she been working at the Hanbury House?”
“Not long. Six months at the most.”
Billing scribbled on his notepad vigorously with a grin of disturbing euphoria on his face.
When Billing’s scribbling stopped, he asked, “Tell me… you ever have her, Mr. Donaghue?”
Donaghue’s brow furrowed with complete disgust as he growled, “No, you gluttonous bastard. I never had her.”
Billing grumbled something as his grin grew wider and more jeering.
“She was a good girl, Billing. Really.”
Billing snorted sardonically. “They all are, aren’t they?” he muttered.
Donaghue shook his head, his abhorance for the journalist becoming overwhelming. Finally he remarked, “You’re ridiculous you know that? This girl had no other choice.” Donaghue proceeded to tell Billing Florence’s tale of tragic circumstance – how she was unjustly widowed and left to fend for herself. “Promise me something,” Donaghue added. “Promise to make her personal story known. The people need to understand that she wasn’t just some unrighteous whore. She was a good woman cast into a hellish ordeal. The fact that she was brutally murdered is just… appalling.”
As he scribbled in his notebook, Billing mumbled, “A Fantine of sorts…”
Donaghue nodded. “Indeed.”
When Billing’s scribbling stopped again, he asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”
Donaghue thought momentarily as he considered Dr. Kraus’ theory that the killer was sexually incompetent. Should he mention it or should he keep it hidden for the time being? On the one hand, Abernathe could take the theory and run with it, potentially bringing the investigation that much closer to resolution. On the other hand though, it could raise a great deal of panic amongst women of all classes in the community. For now, the murders were concentrated in one specific area; so long as women steered clear of the bordellos, they were presumably safe. Additionally, sexuality was unsteady ground even in the press. Journalists had to tread softly in regards to such a subject, an ability that was knowingly absent in the profession.
Deciding that ignorance in this case was bliss, Donaghue replied, “I think that’s it for now.”
“Well, Pete,” Billing responded as he tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket, “Do make yourself reachable.”
“Don’t call me by name, Billing,” Donaghue said. “Make no mistake, we are neither friends nor acquaintances. I’ll give you information in exchange for your cooperation. That is it and it alone.”
“Cooperation?”
Donaghue nodded. “Keep my name out of the papers. Understood?”
Billing gave Donaghue a gentle pat on the back, a gesture that made Donaghue cringe. “Always a pleasure, Mr. Donaghue.”
With that, Billing turned and proceeded back up the street toward the precinct. Donaghue watched Billing momentarily as the feeling of wretchedness clung to his being like a parasite. Of all the transgressions Donaghue committed in his life, none felt as malevolent as the one he’d just done. Every instinct of his being told him to distance himself from Billing as much as possible. The man was a manipulative bastard, plain and simple. Billing had no friends, only informants. He was a hostage to the opinion of the people and as such, no act was too immoral to maintain that popular perception. Donaghue was convinced that Billing would’ve sold his own mother’s soul to the Devil in exchange for an exclusive. But enemies, Donaghue decided, were best kept nearby and in the line of sight. It took true grit to stab a man in the chest, but to stab him in the back was the mark of a true coward. Billing had no grit. He was a coward to the core.
As Donaghue turned to head back to the Hanbury House, a new thought stormed into his mind, one he wished would’ve come during Chapman’s interrogation. Had Florence’s womb been removed? How could he have not asked! Certainly the cause of death and staging of the body were patterns connecting both murders, but was the removal of the womb yet another pattern? Donaghue did not know, but the desire to find out was overwhelming. If Molly’s was just coincidence, then what implications could Donaghue draw from that? Just the thought made him shudder. But if it was a pattern, perhaps it could reveal the identity of their killer. Was he a surgeon or deranged medical student? Donaghue had to find a way to get his hands on the coroner’s report for Florence.
VI.
Donaghue sent Kraus to Denver General Hospital that afternoon to see if he could scrounge up information about unusual doctors or recently-expelled medical students. Kraus went under the guise of a researcher examining lifestyle tendencies of medical students and doctors. Donaghue doubted the hospital staff would tell him much, but they’d certainly be more inclined to disclose information to an anonymous physiologist as opposed to an infamous degenerate detective.
While Kraus was investigating Denver General, Donaghue was devising a plan to get a glimpse at the coroner’s report of Florence. Kraus agreed that if Florence’s body exhibited evidence of similar surgical procedures, it would be a significant break in the investigation. Unfortunately, there was no way Donaghue could seek the assistance of Chapman anymore. With Donaghue now a person of interest, Chapman would distance himself more than ever before. Donaghue knew it was merely a matter of time before Abernathe came knocking on his door for inquiry. He would have to find his own way to the coroner’s report.
Donaghue was playing gin with Ed Maclellan at a corner table in the Hanbury House that afternoon as they debated options.
“Why don’t you just steal it?” Maclellan suggested as he placed a card on the discard pile.
Donaghue shook his head. “They’ll really think I’m involved then.” He picked up a card, glanced at it, and put it on the discard pile.
Maclellan muttered, “You said the coroner didn’t question why you were there the first time right? Maybe you could just waltz in there and ask to see the report?”
Donaghue shook his head again. “And what happens when the coroner mentions to Chapman or Abernathe that I dropped by?”
Maclellan nodded, grumbling, “Good point. Maybe we can have one of the guys steal it?”
“Ed,” Donaghue replied as he selected a card from the draw pile, “you’re under as much scrutiny as I am. If they found out that one of your foot soldiers stole that report, they’d implicate you in a heartbeat.” He placed the card in his hand and discarded one of his own.
“Listen, Pete, I’ve got every confidence in you that you could find the son of a bitch that’s doing this. If that means putting my neck in the noose temporarily, so be it.”
“You don’t know that… I’d never forgive myself if you got squeezed because I couldn’t solve the case. Trust me, plenty of cases went cold under my watch.”
Maclellan picked up a card from the discard pile. “I’d be willing to bet that Abernathe’s pile of cold cases is five times higher than yours.”
“No argument against that.”
The conversation stopped for several minutes again as both men thought and absentmindedly played cards. The silence was eventually broken by one of the bath girls, Genevieve.
“Hey Ed,” she called from behind the bar.
Ed and Donaghue both turned at the interruption. Genevieve was a voluptuous woman with long blonde hair that hung like the branches of a willow tree. Her face was already made for business. When she spoke, her tone carried the distant accent of her long-lost home of Quebec. She was one of few harlots that appeared younger than she actually was, as if her natural beauty was simply too powerful to be eroded by the filthiest transgressions. It was for this miraculous quality that she came to be known as Snowdrop.
“Have
you heard anything from the police about Florence?” she added.
“Nothing so far, Snowdrop,” Ed replied.
She shook her head solemnly, her locks waving about sensually. “That’s too bad,” she remarked. “I just wish there was something we could do. First her husband and now her?”
Donaghue and Ed glanced at each other, an idea striking both of them simultaneously.
Ed asked, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Donaghue shrugged, replying, “Depends. Are you considering bringing someone else in on our plan?”
“Definitely,” Maclellan answered with a nod. “A flower that grows in the snow.”
Donaghue grinned.
“Hey Snowdrop,” Maclellan called, “come here for a second.”
The plan was quite simple really. They would use Genevieve as their scout. With her appearance and wit, she would go to the coroner’s office as a concerned friend of Florence and slither her way into the coroner’s office. From there, she would use any and all necessary devices to find out specifics regarding Florence’s autopsy, most notably, whether or not her womb had been removed.
With a plan devised, Genevieve waited until dusk before heading out to the coroner’s office. As she bustled down Hanbury Avenue, she couldn’t help but consider the tragic circumstances that had taken hold of Florence’s life. Although Genevieve tended to believe in fate, she certainly wouldn’t say that some women were born to become harlots. Rather, she would say that some women were blessed with the gift to tolerate such a profession. In fact, Genevieve would’ve said that she was one such woman. In terms of lineage, Snowdrop came from a distinguished pedigree of prostitutes. Her mother had been a prostitute in Quebec and her grandmother and great-grandmother prostitutes in Paris. In many ways, the profession, as despicable as it was, was as much a family business as any. But it required a certain acumen, a particular temperament and tolerance that few women of those days possessed. Florence Schneider was certainly not one of those women.
When Florence first came to the Hanbury House, Genevieve thought she was a troubled housewife looking for her adulterating husband. Only when Ed assigned Genevieve as the one to show Florence the ropes did she realize that she was a harlot.
“You got any experience?” Genevieve had asked her.
Florence merely shook her head in shamed response. “Just my husband,” she mumbled docily.
Genevieve shuddered at the recollection of Florence’s first customer. By the looks of the man, he didn’t seem like much – a perfect john to introduce her to the profession. Looks were all too deceiving though because the man turned out to be a total beast. Florence’s screams could be heard throughout the saloon and when Donaghue finally broke the door to her room down, he found her trembling helplessly from shock. In due time, Florence became calloused enough to the realities of the vocation that she was able to perform her duties as was necessary, but she never became comfortable with the fact that she was a shake. Florence wasn’t supposed to be a prostitute. Despite the absence of Florence’s innocence at the Hanbury House, Genevieve was almost glad that she had passed on. At least her earthly suffering was over.
The shadow of dusk was rapidly overcoming the city by the time Genevieve reached the inconspicuous entrance of the coroner’s office. She paused before knocking on the door as she checked her dress and prepared herself to play the required role. With a deep breath, she caused herself to weep and rapped on the door hurriedly. Moments later, the door flew open, revealing the half-lidded expression of the coroner. At the sight of Genevieve though, his eyes burst open.
Before the petite doctor could utter a word, Genevieve enveloped him in a suffocating embrace. “Oh, my God!” she wailed dramatically as she carried the man back into the building. “Why has He taken her from this world!”
The doctor was caught entirely off guard by Genevieve’s hysterics as well as her voluptuous embrace, but within a few moments, he regained his composure and wriggled free of her arms.
“What is it, ma’am?” the doctor questioned with concern. “Who has taken whom?”
“The Almighty, of course!” Genevieve howled. “He’s taken my Florence. Why, I ask? Why?”
“Please, ma’am,” the coroner replied as he took hold of her hand. “You must sit and calm yourself.”
“I can’t – I mustn’t!” she called, allowing the doctor to escort her to a nearby chair.
“Indeed you must,” the corner answered. “I insist, Miss…”
“Genevieve,” she uttered. “Genevieve Lemieux.”
“Miss Lemieux,” the corner added, guiding her slowly into the chair. “Please, let me fetch you some water.”
Genevieve protested, “No water! I need something much stronger than water at a time such as this.”
“I have a bottle of whiskey in my desk drawer,” he replied.
“Yes,” she answered. “Something strong.”
The coroner hurried into another room to retrieve the liquor. Meanwhile, Genevieve fixed her dress and corsette so as to be more provocative. After all, Ed and Donaghue had said by any means necessary. When the coroner returned, he had a bottle in hand along with a small drinking glass. His eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when he saw Genevieve though. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment for although she was still fraught with emotion, he couldn’t help but notice how desirable she was. Trying to shake his attraction for her, he shakily poured the whiskey into the glass and offered it to her.
“That’s yours,” she answered, pushing the glass back and snatching the bottle from his grasp instead. She took several gulps of the liquid before adding, “Aren’t you gonna drink yours, Doctor?”
“I beg your pardon?” he stuttered, glancing between the glass of whiskey and Genevieve several times.
“Your drink,” she said, the emotion in her voice transforming into seduction. “I feel so foolish drinking by my lonesome.” She placed her hand beneath the glass and pushed it to his lips.
The coroner wavered for only a second before allowing the liquor to drain into his mouth. He drank only on the rarest occasions and the whiskey quickly made his mind fuzzy.
“I’m so terribly sorry for intruding like this, Doctor,” Genevieve added, grazing her hand against the back on his. “It’s just that Florence was a dear friend and her pass… pass… pass…” She forced the tears again as she threw her arms about the coroner’s back and buried her face into his midsection.
The doctor was beyond confusion as he stared at the weeping woman. He’d seen numerous relatives come to identify bodies, some were even as inconsolable as Genevieve, but not one was as carnally enticing as she. After throwing the last remnant of whiskey in his glass down his throat, he found himself grazing her luscious locks in the most clumsy yet gentle manner.
Although it might be assumed that Genevieve used her professional skills to seduce her way to the information she saught, she hardly had to lay a hand on the pathetic doctor to get what she desired. Her original plan was to dismantle the coroner’s inhibitions with liquor before seducing him like a Siren, convincing him to divulge every clue about Florence that he’d uncovered. The doctor’s physical inferiority proved to be greater than anticipated though. After gulping the fifth shot of whiskey, the coroner merely fell fast asleep in his chair. With the coroner drunkenly passed out, Genevieve was free to explore the office for information.
She rummaged about the main room briefly before diving into the crates and files in the doctor’s private office. She found nothing of interest however and returned to the main room. She saw the hulking double doors towards the back and although she knew not what they protected, she had an inkling that Florence’s examination report was within. She glanced back at the coroner to make sure he was still passed out before thrusting her shoulder into the door and opening it.
That pungent scent of formaldehyde struck her and it immediately came as no surprise why the doctor smelled as he did. Inside was the expansive examination room wi
th its lone pine wood table perched ominously in the middle. A small form rested atop the table, covered by a large ivory sheet. Genevieve had never seen a coroner’s office before, but intuition was all she needed to know that the form beneath the sheet was a dead body. She stared at the examination table only briefly before rummaging through the cabinets and drawers for Florence’s file. Again, her search proved fruitless. Her eyes returned to the exam table and as she stared at that inconspicuous form, she realized that an examination such as that performed on Florence could very well take days to complete. If that were true, the report would be incomplete and the form beneath that ivory sheet would be none other than Florence.
Genevieve slowly found her way to the table. She took hold of the sheet’s edge, sighed with heavy anticipation and nerve, and revealed what the linen was hiding. The body steadily emerged as Genevieve pulled the sheet farther and farther down the length of the table. At first, all that was visible was the helplessly docile expression of the victim. But despite death’s engrossing cloak, it was clear that the body was Florence. Pulling the sheet further, Genevieve gasped when the mortal wound appeared though. Although she’d read the papers numerous times, words could not give justice to the horror done unto the poor girl. As if hypnotized, Genevieve continued to pull the sheet down, revealing the untouched shoulders, bust, and midsection. As the sheet crept beneath the navel though, Genevieve noticed a prominent red laceration emerging. It was then the shock dissipated and Genevieve recalled the one piece of information that was of particular interest to Donaghue – the womb. Had Florence’s womb been removed? Genevieve pulled the sheet the rest of the way, revealing the scar’s entirety. Roughly six inches in length, the scar could be the evidence of only one thing.
A commotion from the main room startled her. Choking. Gagging. Hacking. Genevieve turned, throwing the sheet haphazardly across the form of Florence’s body before hurrying to the hulking double doors. She opened the entry partially and looked about. The doctor was still slouched unconsciously in the chair, but his lab coat was now covered in vomet. There appeared to be no intruder though, so she slid through the doorway and crept passed him to the main entrance. She opened the door partially and made sure no bystanders were present before leaving the coroner’s office.