Innocent Bystander

by C. A. Asbrey

  “It’s a capacitor.” Nat looked into Jake’s uncomprehending eyes and felt compelled to explain further. “It holds an electrical charge. It’ll basically discharge in one go. It won’t trickle out like a battery.”

  “So?” Jake shook his head in confusion. “He works with that stuff. He probably needs electricity for his work.”

  “It was you asking for the salt that caught my attention because I’d just read something about salt.” Nat continued. “He has another one of these in the bathroom, and it got me thinking why you’d have a Leyden jar there.” He flicked through a couple of pages and stabbed a prodding finger at the page. “Then some words I’d just read came flooding back to me. These ones, ‘Seawater’s salt content makes it more than five hundred times more conductive than fresh water’.” Nat stared at both Abigail and Jake in turn. “If salt was added to the bath water, it’d have nowhere to go other than right through the body of whoever was in that bath. I’m pretty sure that bath is a type of porcelain so it’d be an insulator. There’d be nowhere else for the electricity to go but through the body, and kill them. The taps are built into the wall and fairly high, but the drainpipe grounds the thing. The electricity needs a path to the earth to cause harm. The drainpipe provides that. Put a charge in the water and the victim would be in electric soup with a route to the ground.”

  “That other jar in the bathroom holds bath salts.” Abigail’s brows still met in thought. “Wouldn’t there be burns? Surely there’d be something to see? I don’t know much about death by electricity, but when people are stuck by lightning, they are burned, aren’t they?”

  “I dunno.” Nat looked deflated. “I hoped you would. You’re the one who knows about bodies and stuff.”

  “When I was a little ’un, Pa told me about a whole herd of cows found dead in a field back in the old country.” Jake sat back in his seat, his raised eyes focusing on memories. “There wasn’t a mark on them. Not a burn, not a scar, nuthin’. It was like their hearts just stopped and they dropped like a stone, each and every one of them at the same time. A local bigwig came out and examined them, bein’ into science and the like. He said they’d all been in a field struck by lightnin’. It struck a bucket hangin’ outside and traveled down the wet wood to the soil. The water in the soil made it so they were standin’ in a field of electricity. It wasn’t enough to burn ’em, but it was enough to stop their hearts. Pa said it was real eerie.”

  Abigail’s eyes widened. “How did he know it was the lightning that killed them?”

  “I guess because he saw the lightnin’ storm like everyone else and put two and two together.” Jake smirked. “But I asked that, too. There were burns on the ground that looked like the roots of a tree or like lightin’ when it forks in the sky—Pa said it was like lightning frozen in the earth. The man also took samples of blood and skin and stuff. How that can tell you it was a bolt from the blue is beyond me. In the old days, they’d have blamed the little people. Some still did.”

  A gasp of excitement parted Abigail’s lips. “So if you are killed by electricity you might not be marked, but there are other ways of knowing?” She stood and started to pace. “A small town doctor would never look for that. They wouldn’t even know to look for it. I think we’re onto something. He took blood and skin you say?”

  “That’s what I was told. If’n I was there, I was too young to remember it.”

  “So who can I ask about this?” she muttered. “Who knows about histology here in San Francisco?”

  “Hist-what? Nobody I can think of,” Nat replied. “It’s one for your doctor friend again.”

  She nodded. “Or maybe there’s something quicker? There’s a teaching hospital in town, isn’t there?”

  Nat nodded. “I guess we’d better get back to the apartment in South Street, too. We need to keep an eye on the place. They can’t hold Bartholemew forever. He’s bound to be back soon, and we know what Smitty looks like now.”

  “I still don’t get it.” Jake’s forehead creased. “A jar can’t hold as much power as a bolt of lightnin’ from the blue. How can that kill?”

  “Good point. How many volts is that jar?” asked Abigail.

  “Well, the thing about electricity is that it’s not the volts that kill you, it’s the amperes,” Nat replied. “From what I’ve read, the best way to describe it is like water. Imagine a volt is like a gallon of water and there’s, for argument’s sake, seven volts in that jar. Now, amperes is like the way the water runs—like the power of a river, like the current. Now, seven gallons of water isn’t going to do you much harm if it trickles slowly around your ankles, but if it’s dropped on you all at once from a height, it could brain you and knock you off your feet. It’s the power behind how the electricity hits you that does the damage.”

  “Yeah, I get it,” answered Jake. “Like a wave of white water.”

  “In one of these library books they measured the amperes, and it went up with every spoonful of salt they added to the water.” Nat held out his hand and smacked his fist into the open palm. “The more salt, the harder the electricity hits. It’s how hard it hits that kills. That’s why they say the amperes are the killer. The salt packs those jars a powerful punch, and it’s more than enough to kill.”

  ♦◊♦

  “Mr. Toland? It is mister for a surgeon, isn’t it? You don’t use the title of doctor. My name is Abigail MacKay. May I speak to you about a very urgent matter?”

  A pair of deep-set, hazel eyes, etched with a cobweb of weary lines, turned up from his papers. “Who let you in here? I’m a busy man.”

  “Indeed, you are. I’m seeking some urgent medical help. If you can’t assist maybe you can point me to someone who can?” Abigail produced her card, but Toland ignored it, looking her up and down.

  “You don’t look like you’re presenting with a medical emergency, madam. Go away.”

  “I’m not. At least, not in the conventional sense. I’m trying to prevent a murder, and I have a puzzle of a most peculiar type to solve. I need some assistance from a man with your expertise. You are the leading expert in surgery and medical jurisprudence in San Francisco. You teach it. May I ask for a minute of your time?”

  “How did you get past Lamport?” He stood, the muscles in his jaw flexing beneath his chinstrap beard. “Get out. I don’t need a weak-minded female drawing me in to some kind of fantasy.”

  “My card, sir!” Abigail flourished it under his nose with added insistence. “I am not some weak-minded female. I’m a professional, and work for Allan Pinkerton. I need to ask you some questions about death by electrical injury.”

  “A working woman?” He frowned and looked at the card at last. “Have they no men?” He glowered at her. “Or sense?”

  “They have hundreds of men, but they can’t get into the same places as the women to investigate. We perform a vital service and have a role of our own. That is why I’m here. A man has been murdering in a way we have not been able to identify. It has been suggested that he is electrocuting them using a Leyden jar. I need to know how you would identify that in a body.”

  “If your men haven’t got the wit to spot the burns of electrical injury beside a Leyden jar, I can’t say I rate them highly.” He sat back in his seat. “There will be burns on the body which run in a line to where it grounds. It’s quite simple.”

  “Not with this one. We believe he is introducing the current into a bath of salted water when they are immersed. The bath is porcelain which prevents the burns. How would you identify such a death?”

  The man’s craggy face moved from a scowl to a frown like crawling tectonic plates. “No burns? Hmm. It is possible, I suppose. It can induce atrial fibrillation, but we’d normally have situational context. How are they found?”

  “In bed as though they died in their sleep. This man has lost a series of wives, all found in the same way. Poison and gasses have already been eliminated—within the confines of our current knowledge, of course. A large ornate jar which c
ould act as a disguised Leyden jar is kept in the bathroom, along with a jar of Epsom salts which would increase the conductivity of the water by up to five hundred times.”

  “Wouldn’t the higher conductivity in the water make it bypass the less conductive body? From what I know of electricity, it will take the easiest route to the ground. Where’s it earthed? Birds can sit on a live telegraph wire because they aren’t grounded.

  “We think it’s grounded by the drain pipe and that the lower conductivity of the body prevents the burns, but still allows it to stop the heart. The body isn’t touching anything grounded to get burned. The bath is vitreous china—and appears to have been specially commissioned in the English style of the Twyford company. They aren’t mass-produced here, yet. After that, we have a problem, because it’s all just conjecture. Would sitting in an electric soup cause the heart to stop? And if it did, and if nobody knew the deceased had been near electricity, how could you tell? One of my colleagues told of a herd of cows back in Ireland killed by lightning which were unmarked. Some scientist could tell from blood and skin samples that the lightning killed them. He was a child back then, so it must have been way back about the thirties, yet someone knew how lightning affected the body at a cellular level back then. Who would know what to look for? I can get the agency to look at the histology of the victims already killed. All I need is some idea of what to look for.”

  Toland’s brows met. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never come across anything like this, but I think I know someone who will. Father Joseph Neri recently became chair of the natural science department at St. Ignatius College. He is one of the country’s foremost experts on electricity and its effects right now. He’s working on lighting his classroom with it. He also works with Father Bayma who is an expert on Molecular Mechanics. If anyone would know, they would.”

  Abigail’s eyes glowed. “Just the people I need to speak to. Thank you so much. This may save more than one life.”

  He flicked out his pocket watch and stood, his chair scraping on the floorboards. “I had determined to dislike you, young woman, but you have intrigued me. I still dislike you, but I want to know the answer, too.” He called out to the outer office. “Lamport! I’m going out. This is an emergency.”

  “He’s not there.” Abigail said with as much innocence as she could. “That’s why I took my chance.”

  “I detest chancers.” Toland rammed on a stovepipe hat. “You’re lucky I detest murderers more. I want to make sure that anyone going through my medical school will check for every possible cause of death, so I need an answer to this question, too. Come on. Let’s get a cab.”

  He grasped a pen and thrust it into the inkwell. “I’ll leave him a note.” A devilish grin licked over his rugged face. “He hates my notes.”

  Chapter 17

  “Urg! You caught my hand, Nat. Set this damned thing down.” Jake leaned on the chest he’d been carrying and shook out the pain of his crushed hand. His muttered curse dissipated into the dull evening breeze. “It was easier when I moved the trunk myself. I just bumped it down the stairs.”

  “Abi won’t be pleased if you bump this thing around too much. She’s got scientific equipment in here. She’s real proud of that microscope.”

  “It ain’t so much that, it’s the dirty looks folks are givin’ me for getting an old man to help me with a huge chest. You look like an old coot in that disguise. It don’t help that you act like you can barely stand upright. You’re making me look like a horse’s ass making you move this.”

  Nat darted a glance behind him, out into South Street, before he spoke in hushed tones. “Keep your voice down. I’m the only one Smitty can identify. We need to get out of the hotel ’cause we don’t need Callie looking too close. This apartment’s perfect, as long as I keep my head down.”

  “Right, I’m ready again. Lift your end. Where’s Abi been, anyway? She’s been away all day.”

  “I know. At least she knows to come here instead of the hotel. She knew we were waiting until sundown.”

  They hefted the trunk down the corridor and into their one-bedroom residence, slamming the door behind them.

  “I’ll light that fire. Let’s get some life in here.” Jake watched Nat light an oil lamp to ward off the graying light of the creeping twilight. “I’ll get some coffee on, too.”

  Jake busied himself with the kindling. “Have you given any more thought about where Smitty knows you from?”

  Nat shook his head. “I haven’t a clue. I’d swear on a stack of Bibles that I’d never clapped eyes on him in my life.”

  “They’d burst into flames. He knows you from somewhere, Nat, and you were on your own, or he’d know me. You gotta think harder.”

  “That’s one option, for sure,” Nat’s voice dripped with silken malice, “or I could ask him. I’d really like to have a conversation with that rat.”

  “We gotta catch him first, and without Abi knowin’.”

  Nat nodded. “She can’t know about it. She’s too straight. Sometimes she forgets who we really are.” He shrugged. “Part of me hopes she never finds out how low we can get.”

  Jake huffed on the fledgling flames sparking and dancing around the kindling until the fire caught on the log in the grate. The sap fizzed and spat in protest as the conflagration engulfed the wood. Orange flames licked around the rough bark until they staked their claim and set in with serious hunger.

  The glow lit Jake’s face, the fair coloring and tousled hair only robbed of their youthful expression by the square jaw and the weary blue eyes older than their thirty-eight years. He stood. “She’s kinda like a sun around you. She makes you shine and show your best.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “But you’ve got a dark side, too. The question is, can you keep it up? When’s she gonna see the shadows?”

  “Everyone’s got shadows, Jake. Not many will turn a blind eye when someone’s trying to kill them.”

  “And if you kill Smitty?”

  A joyless dimple filled with shade. “I can’t see why she’d ever find out.”

  “She’d find out, Nat. You know she would.”

  The figure at the window had become a silhouette in the gathering dusk. “Yeah. That’s when I’ll know if we’re a real match, I guess. She’ll have to take me as I am and I only let people push me so far. Nobody really changes. They might adapt, but deep down inside they’re still the same people they always were. The truth always comes out in the end.”

  “He isn’t worth it.” Jake placed the coffee pot on the fire. “Let the law deal with him.”

  “I’ll try, but if he gets away I’ll track him like the dog he is. He’s killing people to get to me, Jake. We shoot mad animals.”

  The pair shared an intense stare full of comradeship and searing honesty. The intent was unspoken but perfectly understood. Neither of them would leave the other to deal with Smitty alone.

  Nat’s sharp eyes darted back over to the window, attracted by movement. He leaned on the windowsill and stared out at the street. “That’s Maddie. She’s headed off somewhere.”

  “At dusk? On her own?” Jake joined him. “What’s she up to?”

  Nat grabbed his hat. “I dunno, but it’s a good chance for me to get another look at the bathroom and those jars. I want to check out my theory.”

  “You ain’t breakin’ in, are you? She could be back any minute.”

  “She’ll never know I’m there.” Nat headed for the door. “I’m a professional.”

  Jake huffed in dismissal. “You’re a con man and a thief.”

  The dark eyes danced with mischief as he punctuated the air with a raised forefinger. “I’m a con artist and a thief. There’s a difference.”

  ♦◊♦

  Nat crept in through the back door and closed it behind him. He didn’t lock it as it might be needed for a quick exit. The kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it. Pots, pans, dishes, and pudding bowls lay scattered over every surface, including the floor. Unidentifiable food, as stiff as
stone, encrusted discarded utensils before it had evidently poured down onto the floor. How did you get food that hard without baking it? Drawers and cupboards had been left open, and Nat noted the obstacles they would provide for the unwary in the dark and closed them. He didn’t need extra hazards to negotiate. Given Maddie’s apparent housekeeping skills, there was a good chance she wouldn’t notice any changes in her domestic chaos, anyway. That was, if she ventured into the kitchen at all. It didn’t look like her normal area of operation.

  Nat walked by the back service stairs which led from the kitchen to the upper levels. It was a steep wooden structure, devoid of any of the expanse of the sweeping, curved staircase at the front of the house. He strode through into the laboratory and headed straight to the ornamental jar. His sharp mind compared it to the picture of a Leyden jar in the book, and he peered inside. Yes, why would an ornamental jar have a layer of gold both inside and outside the glass? It served no purpose other than to waste money—unless the glass had to be sandwiched between two conductive metals for another reason—and producing an electrical charge was the only one Nat could think of.

  Satisfied that the jar could have no other real purpose, Nat walked out to the hallway, still mentally calculating the charge a jar that size would emit. It was just under a foot in diameter and just over a foot high. It was certainly big enough to produce a fatal charge, but was the one in the bathroom a perfect match? Time to check the size.

  He loitered briefly, ready to dive for cover in case the front door opened, before he felt secure enough to make for the staircase. He bounded up, taking three stairs at a time, and turned left. If someone came in the front door, he could always use the back stairs to get away.

  He slipped into the bathroom when there was still enough light to see. He examined the vitreous china bath, a novel product all the way out here in San Francisco, but common enough in the best homes in Europe according to the checks he’d made. Just as he remembered, the taps were set high on the wall as though anything placed below could be filled. His dark eyes swept over the shiny white bath before he crouched and looked underneath. Only the drainpipe reached down to disappear under the floor. He tapped it with his nails and the metallic clank confirmed it was indeed metal—probably either lead or pig iron—both able to conduct electricity and to ground the circuit.