The Driver

by Steve Bartholomew

  21

  Deposition of Genevieve Sutliff

  Iloved my husband, Mattias. This fact may seem not relevant in present context. I beg the Jury to indulge me and understand why it affects my story.

  When the War began I was employed as school mistress at an exclusive college for young ladies in Boston. When the term ended I resigned my position and volunteered for the Sanitary Commission. Throughout the War I served in several different Army hospitals, usually assisting the surgeons.

  I met Captain Mattias Sutliff some months before the battle of Gettysburg. Strange to say, I am not now certain of the first time we met, as my recollection is one of almost constant chaos and confusion. The soldiers got some rest between combats, but not so the doctors, nurses and orderlies. The wounded and sick required constant attention. And there was always more disease than wounds.

  The Lieutenant and I were in close company together, for weeks at a time. I might say it is my own opinion that in such a case, the inevitable result is usually either one of hatred or of love. In our case it became love.

  Mattias was dedicated to his practice, and to his own passion for the Union cause. He was tireless and self-sacrificing. This ended of a sudden at Gettysburg. Although our field hospital was supposed to be out of artillery range of the enemy, a shell somehow landed near the tent. It killed three soldiers and wounded several others, including Lieutenant Mattias. A shell fragment struck his foot, which had to be partly amputated.

  A fever ensued, and I feared for his life. When he was partly recovered he was sent back to his home in Philadelphia, with a discharge. I chose to resign my position and to follow him.

  To make this story short, I appointed myself Mattias’s nurse. He had no other family. In fact, he’d had a brother killed at Antietam. I did not know this until later.

  Mattias was changed. He told me he had no wish to return to the practice of medicine. He’d had too much of blood and suffering, as he put it. I might add that it was at this time that he had begun to use laudanum, as his wound caused almost constant pain. He walked always with a limp and by using a cane. He claimed he could never again do surgery.

  You gentlemen of the Jury may think this narrative not relevant to the present case. I assure you it is, since as you shall see it will relate to the question of motive in crime.

  The War ended. Mattias recovered from his wound, at least the physical. One day he announced that he had decided to leave home and travel to California, there to make his fortune. The railroad was being built. In another year or two, thousands would travel west and there would be great opportunities in business. I had misgivings, but I made no effort to dissuade Mattias. We were not married, and he was a free agent.

  To my surprise, I received a telegram from him a few months later. He had purchased a printing press and set himself up in commerce. He believed he was succeeding. He asked me to marry him.

  Despite any doubts I might have had, I did not hesitate. I wired back my acceptance. A week or two later saw me on a ship bound for Panama and the West.

  At this point, the jury foreman rapped a gavel to interrupt.

  “This is all very interesting I’m sure. However, this deposition is lengthy and it’s past time for a noon break. I can tell because my stomach is growling.”

  This remark brought a general laugh in the room. Georg Vintner did not laugh. The foreman glanced at his watch and added, “I’m declaring a two hour recess. Everyone get back here on time.” He turned and went out the back.

  Georg looked at Heywood, who was pouring himself another glass of water. Heywood said, “Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner.” He walked toward the back and Georg followed. Douvet had already left the courtroom. Thaddeus Penworthy had not moved. He stared straight ahead at the empty jury box, not giving Georg a glance.

  Heywood took Georg to a small café down the street. He asked what Georg wanted. Georg merely shrugged. “I’m not hungry.” Heywood ordered roast beef sandwiches for both of them, with beer.

  Georg stared at him. “What is this all about? Why didn’t Genevieve come here in person? Is this some sort of lawyer’s trick?”

  Heywood returned his look without expression. “More will be revealed, Mr. Vintner. For now enjoy your beer. And don’t let the sandwich go to waste. This place is one of the finest joints in San Francisco.” He picked up a napkin and tucked it into his collar.

  Georg could see he would get no more out of the man. He ate half the sandwich without tasting it, and sipped at the beer.

  He said, “This beer is cold. They must have ice here.”

  “Indeed, freshly imported. They have an ice house in back.”

  Georg said, “I knew some Russian sailors who ran a ship down from Alaska packed with ice to sell. They had a fast schooner, packed with hay for insulation. I went aboard once. It was cold below decks.”

  “Indeed?”

  Georg shuddered, looking into space at a vision only he could see. “I never want to go north to the ice again.”

  Heywood was about to respond when another man stopped by their table. Georg glanced up to see Timmons, the lawyer who worked for Denis Kearney.

  “Afternoon, gentlemen.” He was grinning. Thought I’d stop by to witness the hearing. It’s turning out more interesting than I thought it would be.”

  Heywood again started to say something, but Georg interrupted. “You abandoned my case, Timmons. I thought Kearney wasn’t interested.”

  Timmons rubbed his hands together. “Well, no, not directly. He just wants to make sure his name doesn’t get dragged into it again. I’m sure Heywood here will do his job well.” He gave Heywood a polite nod, turned and walked off.

  Georg put his glass down. “I’m finished with the beer. Let’s go back and get this over with.”

  22

  Confession

  They had to wait nearly another hour before the jury reconvened. When it did, Heywood took out his papers and began reading again.

  The Deposition of Genevieve Sutliff

  And so I arrived in San Francisco, a town I had never dreamed of seeing. I discovered that Mattias had indeed set up a successful business. He was quick at learning the printing trade, and could hire good workers to run the press and set type. He had three or four good engravers when he needed them.

  We were married in a civil ceremony, since Mattias was a Mason and had little use for churches. It was through his Lodge that he came to know Mr. Thaddeus Penworthy, father of Alexander Penworthy. This proved to be our undoing, though no fault of the father.

  Alexander’s influence was subtle and slow in growing. I am not sure how Mattias was introduced to him. He was aware that he and his father were “on the outs,” as they say. But somehow Alexander brought Mattias into his own sphere.

  Alexander, after ingratiating himself to Mattias, made him a large loan to expand his business. Mattias never quite understood the terms of the contract or the usurious interest it demanded. It was some time before Mattias understood that Alexander held that paper over his head like a hammer. Alexander could have ruined us both at any moment.

  I never met him – Alexander - myself. He never came to our place of business. All of my husband’s contacts with him took place elsewhere, either at Alexander’s office or at some other location such as a tavern or restaurant.

  Mattias always had an interest in collecting rare and antique objects, such as ancient swords or works of art. Until now this had been a past time for him. Alexander learned of his habit and encouraged him to begin trading, buying and selling rare items at a profit. San Francisco has many ladies and gentlemen who are eager to dispose of their wealth on fine baubles. It was not long before my husband’s hobby became a sideline business, taking up nearly as much time and work as the print shop. Fortunately I was there to take up the slack.

  In fact I soon found that I was spending more time and effort on our regular business than was Mattias. At the time I had no resentment, since I enjoyed the work.

 
; But Alexander also assisted my husband with his opium habit. Mattias had struggled with it for years now. He would stop using laudanum, only to have the pain return. Then he would drink heavily until he could no longer. That was when he would return to opium.

  Alexander encouraged him to control his use, without trying to stop. He introduced him to a Chinese opium den, claiming that the pipe is less addicting than other forms of the drug. In fact, the Chinese themselves have few problems. They know better than to use it too often.

  I believe that Alexander used opium to mesmerize my husband. He knew how and when to give him enough to lose control of judgment. Alexander told Mattias he was bringing his habit under control. In fact, it was Alexander who brought my husband under his control. When Mattias grew weary of the opium pipe, Alexander introduced him to morphine.

  It was about this time that Alexander came up with a scheme to make us rich. The deal, he said, would wipe out our debt and leave us a great deal of cash, at little risk. In fact, our business had been suffering for no obvious reason I could see. I later discovered that Alexander had been siphoning off funds for what he called “advisory services.”

  Alexander’s scheme to make a fortune centered around the Dragon’s Tooth, that Chinese dagger which is held in evidence.

  It seems Alexander was actually convinced this weapon was worth a fortune, having once belonged to Genghis Kahn. I have lately been informed that Alexander himself was being swindled by an unscrupulous dealer in Chinatown.

  Alexander desired to keep his own name out of the transaction. He therefore gave money to Mattias to purchase it for him. The dagger was then sold to Alexander’s father, who is a serious collector of antique artifacts.

  That deal would have made a nice profit, but it was not enough for Alexander. He arranged for an agent to steal the dagger back from his father. He then forced Monsieur Douvet to hold it for him. His intention was to wait for some time, and then to have Mattias sell it to his father again. His story would be that he had found the thief and purchased it for an exorbitant sum so that he might return it to Mr. Penworthy, who would then reimburse him for the supposed price.

  Of course the theft could not be reported to authorities, since the knife was in theory contraband and stolen property to begin with. An ingenious plan. Alexander’s father would have been suspicious had he known that Alexander was behind the scheme, but he had no reason to suspect Mattias, a fellow Lodge member.

  However, something went wrong. My husband, Mr. Mattias Sutliff, died. His body was found in a street in the Barbary Coast. That was on a Saturday. We had planned to travel across the bay on Sunday, for a picnic in the Oakland hills. There was no autopsy, but I have no doubt Mattias died from too much laudanum. There were two empty bottles in his pocket. I also have no doubt who gave it to him.

  At this point the Foreman rapped his gavel again and called for a ten minute break. The room had grown hot in early afternoon. Roger Heywood put his deposition down and reached for his water bottle, looking relieved. He drank a glass, coughed, then drank again. He turned to smile at Georg, then shrugged.

  Georg said nothing. He had no idea what this was leading to, nor was he sure he wanted to know. Three of the reporters got up and rushed out of the room, carrying notes. Douvet had disappeared somewhere, as had Laughing Larry. Thaddeus Penworthy still sat ramrod straight, unmoving. For a moment he turned to stare at Georg, then back again, at nothing that Georg could make out.

  Heywood said, “You need a break? Want to go out to piss or anything?”

  Georg shook his head. He did take a glass of water. The pendulum clock on the wall said exactly three thirty when the Foreman returned and pounded his gavel. Heywood got up and resumed reading.

  23

  Prison

  The fog had come in at last. The heat of August retreated at least in this city, driven off by damp chill. From somewhere out at sea Georg could hear the shrill, intermittent sound of the steam whistle of a ship attempting to navigate the bay. With cooler weather the city’s riots had dwindled. There were fewer orators in the sandlot.

  He mounted the steps of the city’s women’s prison. He had not seen Genevieve for three weeks, since the trial. She had been allowed no visitors. When the sentence was passed down they had taken her away with no chance to speak to her. After that he went to Mrs. Costello’s to pay his last rent and remove anything he’d left there. Then he went to see Greek to make some final arrangements.

  When he was done, he boarded his own streetcar on Market Street. He was pleased to discover it was being pulled by old Jim. The driver was a young man he didn’t know. When the car reached Valencia street he got off and bought a ticket for Woodward’s Gardens. He had passed this place a thousand times but never had gone in.

  Now he spent an hour or two wandering, taking in the sights. He was amused to find the Circular Boat. Tourists who would never go to sea, discovering the delights of floating on water. He watched the balloon ascension, wondering what it was like hundreds of feet above the Earth. He didn’t try to find out. He enjoyed all the animals wandering freely around, the ostriches and goats and peacocks. He enjoyed watching the small children run and scream across the lawns, and the statues and suits of armor in the museum. Then it was time to leave.

  He also paid a visit to the car barn to tell his supervisor he wouldn’t be coming back to work. Bob Mullins had begged him to stay and even offered him a raise. They were always short of good drivers. Georg gave Mullins a flask of whiskey as a parting present and walked away.

  There was no one else in this city he wanted to see. Except Genevieve.

  The women’s prison was a small unnoticeable building. He gave his name to the head matron. After a brief wait she led him to a side room. Genevieve sat by a table. She wore a plain grey dress, but she had no shackles. A woman guard posted herself outside the door.

  Genevieve rose to meet him, unsmiling. On impulse he embraced her. He had no wish to speak. He wanted only to stand here holding her. Finally she broke it off.

  “It was kind of you to come.”

  She sat down, he took the chair opposite. “They wouldn’t let me see you till now.”

  “It’s the rules. I won’t be here much longer. They will be shipping me off to the madhouse tomorrow or the day after.”

  “You mean the Stockton Lunatic Asylum.”

  “Of course. I hear it’s quite a nice place. Patients are allowed to wander in the garden if they choose. I may take up gardening.”

  “If it hadn’t been for Thaddeus Penworthy, you might have hanged.”

  There had been no jury at her trial, only a judge. The elder Penworthy volunteered to testify. He delivered an impassioned plea for mercy. One line in his speech was good enough to print in the newspapers: If my son had not driven her to murder, he might have driven me to it!

  It might have helped that both Penworthy and the judge wore Masonic rings. Douvet’s testimony also helped, confirming everything in the deposition.

  Georg said, “Will they ever let you out again?”

  She laughed. “Of course. Probably I will have to remain in Stockton for a year or two, until I can convince an alienist I’m in my right mind again. In the meantime, Douvet’s daughter Rosalyn will be managing my printing business. She’s quite capable despite her youth. Mr. Chang gets to keep his job. When I get out I shall probably have Rosalyn as business partner, if she agrees. I am taking an extended holiday. Are you back on your streetcar?”

  At this he grew more serious. He had an urge to stand and pace. He resisted it. “No. I return to the sea. Not to the whalers, though. I shall not go back to the Bering. My friend Greek has influence with ship owners. He got me a berth on a China steamer to Hong Kong. We ship out in five days. I am bosun.”

  “That is fine. I think that is quite fine. A boatswain. That is advancement for you. You will command your own ship one day. Shall I see you again?”

  “I’m not sure. Do you wish to see me?”

  “
Yes. Yes, I believe I do. Perhaps when you return from China.”

  He stared at her. He found himself unable to express his confusion. She had deceived him. She had sacrificed herself to save him. He desired her. She was a woman capable of murder.

  Georg had been in a few fights. He might have beaten Alexander. He did not think he could have stabbed him in cold blood.

  He shook himself. “When I return from China.”

  He turned and walked away.

  Other books by Steve Bartholomew:

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  The Driver is my 16th book, with I hope many more to come. If you have enjoyed this story, or if you did not, please be good enough to write a review, good, bad, or middling!