Felicity Carrol and the Murderous Menace

by Patricia Marcantonio

  “What do you think you’ll find?”

  “Anything I can. But let’s start with this.”

  Using her handkerchief, she picked up the box and pored over it with a magnifying glass. Gold-embossed dragons emblazoned the four sides. “This appears to be of Chinese manufacture. Dragons are a symbol of power and fortune in that culture.” She turned it over. “The box reveals nothing about where the item was made or purchased. And the murderer left no fingerprints.”

  “I’d be stupefied if he had. This man is clever and careful. An awful combination for his line of work.”

  “We must obtain more information about the box and where it came from. Do you know where we can start?”

  He stood up and put on his hat. “Little China.”

  CHAPTER 19

  The smell of exotic spices, cooking chicken, lye soap, and opium wafted out of the doors. Driving her wagon, Felicity closed her eyes and breathed in the East. She opened them. Not China at all but an Americanized version. What Chinese people had brought with them and adapted to the West.

  Restaurants, laundries, boardinghouses, stores, opium dens, theaters, and herbalists advertised their names in English along with the translation in Chinese. Multicolored paper lanterns hung outside many shops. The majority of the people she passed on the streets of Little China were indeed Chinese. A few wore western clothing—cowboy garb on the men and dresses on the women. But most of the men wore a black or blue tunic over white baggy pants and thick-soled black shoes, their black hair in a queue down their back. The women wore large gold earrings and dressed in silks.

  Pike tipped his hat at the Chinese people, and they bowed back out of clear respect. “They came here to work on railroads, in mines, and on their own claims. As the big companies took over the mining in Placer and the small claims dried up, many sailed back home. Even before they left, they were robbed, beaten, and a few killed, according to the chatter around town. But the Chinese won’t talk to me about how they’re treated.” Melancholy shaded his voice.

  “I saw a Chinese section near Pauper Grounds, where they buried the murdered women,” Felicity said.

  “They’re not allowed to bury their dead in Placer Cemetery. An anti-Chinese coalition once flourished in Placer, but these days only a handful get together to drink and bad-mouth the Orientals.”

  “How foolish to hate people because they’re different.” Different race, different class, different gender. Just different. Felicity disliked prejudice as much as ignorance, and they were basically the same thing. Prejudice was ignorance about those who were different and not appreciating the distinctions.

  Pike stopped in front a large mercantile on Tailings Avenue. “This is Da Long’s place. Da could be called the unofficial mayor of Little China.” He smiled. “I’m sure he’d love the title.”

  A chime tinkled when they entered the store. A young Chinese man placed iron pots on shelves while another swept. They smiled and waved when Pike entered.

  The mercantile offered the usual canned goods and vegetables, but the store also sold traditional Chinese clothing for women and men, ceramic teapots and cups, jade and brass figures of their gods, incense sticks, and small vials of what Felicity gathered were Chinese remedies.

  Chinese customers browsed in the store along with those who weren’t Chinese.

  “Immigrants from the Irish to Swedes like it here as well. Da’s prices are the best in town,” Pike said.

  “Ah, Sheriff, no see you in a long time. You want some of that balm for your sore leg?” Da Long sat behind the counter at the back of the store. He wore a neat black suit with his queue down his back. He was well-built and compact.

  “The leg is fine, Da.” He introduced Felicity to the Chinese man.

  “My pleasure, sir.” She bowed. She had read once that bowing equaled respect in that culture.

  Da Long bowed back. “You have very good manners. Better than Americans. British, eh?”

  “Yes. Ever been?”

  He shook his head. “Interesting country with its empire. But I’m too old and worn out to visit.” Long rubbed his shoulder.

  Pike laughed. “Don’t let Da Long fool you, Felicity. He’s fathered nine sons and built up this business from nothing. He also owns a laundry and herbalist shop. As a young man he worked on the railroad and set dynamite to blow holes in the mountains. He’s still tough as the track he laid for the steam engines.”

  Da Long’s laugh was as high as Pike’s was low, but it fell away quickly. “Enough of jokes, Sheriff. You two are here to ask about the writing where the lady was killed.”

  “How’d you know, Mr. Long?” Felicity said.

  “Know everything when it comes to Chinese people. That’s part of my business.” He picked lint off his tidy suit.

  On the counter, Felicity placed her drawing of the Chinese symbols written on the wall of the King store. “What do these mean?”

  Da Long scrunched up his nose. “They mean pain.”

  “The killer wrote it on a wall over a woman’s body,” Felicity said.

  Da Long lit a pipe and blew out smoke smelling of peppermint. “Someone wants you to think this bad thing was done by Chinese.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” she said.

  Pike looked from Felicity to Da Long, who both shook their heads in accord.

  “Maybe this man ain’t so crazy a coot as people say,” Da Long said.

  “He is smart, Da, but also very crazy.” Pike lit a cigar. His gaze fell on the section of the store with shelves of teapots, colorful clothing, and other items from China. “What can you tell me about this?” He placed the dragon box on the counter.

  Da Long rotated it in his hands. “Don’t sell nothing like this, Sheriff.”

  “You sure?”

  “Want me to take an oath or something?” Da Long’s smile was impish. “I can tell you everything I sell.”

  “Know who might have sold this?” Felicity said.

  Da Long shook his head so hard his queue whipped around his neck. “No one I know, and I know everybody in Little China.”

  “Can you tell us anything about this box or where in China it came from?” Felicity said.

  Another headshake and another puff on the pipe.

  “Must be for jewelry, I’m thinking.” Long looked Felicity up and down. “You’re one nosy woman.”

  “My most enduring trait,” Felicity said.

  Da Long gave another high laugh. “I like you, lady. You got jade in your spirit.” He then turned to Pike and put on his trade face. “I’ll take the box off your hands for a good price.”

  “It’s crime evidence and not for sale.”

  “Too bad. I tell you this. Chinese man is not to blame,” the shopkeeper said firmly, and handed back the box.

  “How can you be so sure, Mr. Long?” Felicity said.

  “If the wicked man were Chinese, his name would be running round Little China like a yapping dog. Even my little father who is ninety and half blind could tell you who he is.” Long took a long drag of his pipe and wheezed out the smoke. “Sheriff Tom, lady, Chinese people want to live in peace, and that means not murdering white women. We don’t want trouble, but trouble sometimes comes looking for us.”

  One of the young men working in the store ran up to his father and rushed out his words in Chinese. Da Long answered and waved his hands upstairs. Felicity promised herself to learn the language as soon as she got back home.

  “What’s going on?” Pike said.

  “Number-five son says there’s angry men outside yelling bad things about Chinese,” Da Long replied.

  “You stay here, Da. You too, Felicity,” Pike said.

  “I’m afraid not,” she answered.

  The sheriff grunted and rushed outside, drawing his weapon as he did. A step behind, Felicity ran to her wagon to grab her crossbow. Nine men headed to Da Long’s store and yelled, “Damn Chinamen! Leave our women alone! Godless murderers!”

  A stout man with long bla
ck hair and harsh features marched to the front of the group. He held a wooden stick with a worn banner reading PLACER ANTI-CHINESE COALITION.

  “Who’s that?” Felicity asked Pike.

  “Charles Montgomery. A man who’s married to constant trouble.”

  Montgomery’s severe eyes and reddened cheeks flaunted hate. His hands were rocks. “Our coalition predicted this. These foreign influences bring nothing but corruption to our community. They’ve taken advantage of this country but give nothing in return. They’re not people but mongrels.” As he spoke, he stamped the stick on the ground. “Somebody in Little China killed those women. I say we find him and hang him,” he yelled to a roar of approval.

  Felicity had never witnessed such hatefulness, which made the air turbulent and taste of metal shavings. The street had cleared of all the Chinese people, which was a wise move in the face of such irresponsible bile.

  “Stop this now, Montgomery,” Pike shouted.

  Felicity noticed a young thin Chinese man walking toward Da Long’s store on Tailings Avenue. She had to warn him away. Before she could, Pike’s troublemaking deputy Marty Smith rode onto the street. He also spotted the young man.

  “Look what I got!” the deputy bellowed.

  Almost in perfect synchronization, the enraged men whirled around and started to run after the young man, who sprinted away in evident panic. Smith lassoed the young man with a rope and yanked him down the street to the store.

  “Let go of that man right now,” Pike shouted.

  Smith towered over the young man, whose teeth chattered. The deputy picked up his prey and shook him. “Tell us who killed those women. Talk, dammit.”

  The young man uttered a stream of Chinese. With disgust, Smith slugged the young man in the stomach. He became a lump on the street.

  Pike fired his weapon in a warning shot. From behind, three men held Pike’s arms. “You’re all going to jail for this,” the sheriff said, struggling to get away.

  “Hang that Oriental!” people yelled.

  “You failed your job, Sheriff. Now it’s our turn.” Montgomery handed Smith a rope. The crowd’s pitch changed as if a collective fervor held them.

  Smith fashioned a noose and placed the rope over the young man’s neck. The other end he swung over the rafters outside Da Long’s store.

  “We’ll make an example of him. The other Chinamen will run out of Placer and never look back. Take the end of the rope,” Smith ordered.

  Several men fell in line and took up the rope. The Chinese man cried. Smith’s arm dropped as a signal. “Pull!”

  The rope tightened. The young man rose in the air and began to choke. People in the crowd hollered even louder.

  A bolt sliced the rope, and the Chinese man dropped onto the store’s wooden porch.

  Everyone looked toward the shot’s origins and quieted. Standing in the street, Felicity aimed her crossbow in their direction. “Step away from that man.”

  Da Long and five young Chinese men all came out of the store, holding rifles pointed at the crowd.

  Pike pulled away from the men and picked up his gun, which had fallen in the dirt. “You heard the young lady.”

  Smith seized the Chinese man by the scruff of the neck and raised him high enough that his feet barely brushed the ground. “Tom, one of these heathens slaughtered those girls. Someone has to pay, and I say we start with him.”

  “Turn him loose.” Pike’s tone held menace.

  Smith only lifted the Chinese man higher off the ground.

  “Don’t make me shoot you, Marty.” Pike aimed the weapon at him. “I will if I have to.”

  Smith loosened his grip on the Chinese man, who slumped to the ground.

  Making his way through the people, Montgomery took a stand in front of Pike. “Sheriff, a Chinaman left his calling card at the body. Why aren’t you doing your job?”

  “I am. But there’s something called a court of law, and we have no evidence or witnesses to indicate a Chinese man killed those women. One thing I do know is that someone’s trying their hardest to convince us of such a thing. And if you don’t like how I’m doing my job, you can vote me out next election. Hell, I’d welcome it. The job is too much damn work and I have to deal with asses like you.”

  “White men couldn’t have murdered those women.”

  “Oh yes, they could. Think about this, all of you.” Felicity addressed the crowd. “If a Chinese man committed this crime, why incriminate himself by writing Chinese symbols on the wall?” She had never spoken to a such a large group before, but fortitude beat down any nervousness.

  “Who are you?” Montgomery said.

  “A concerned citizen who doesn’t want to see innocent men harmed.”

  “A Chinaman murdered those women for an evil Asian rite,” Smith said.

  “The killer left a bloody footprint near the store, and it didn’t match the traditional shoes worn by a Chinese man,” Felicity said. “In addition, I have studied Chinese history, and I can assure you there is no such ritual involving murder.”

  Everyone turned to Pike.

  “She’s right. The real killer wants to make everyone think a Chinese man was responsible.” He held out his hands to the crowd. “We’ll capture this murderer and do so in a proper and lawful way. We’ll have a trial and not a late-night lynching. Now everyone go home. If I see this kind of behavior again, I’m running you all in for attempted murder.”

  “You and who else?” Montgomery placed his hand on his holster.

  “Behind you.” Pike pointed to several deputies standing in the street. They all had their weapons drawn.

  “Git home, everybody,” Pike commanded.

  The men began to disperse. As he left, Montgomery threw Felicity a stare hateful enough to melt silver. She curtsied.

  “Not you.” Pike grabbed Marty Smith’s shirt and tore the deputy badge off his chest. “Until tonight, you have served Placer well, so I’m not going to run you in for what you did to that boy. But I don’t want to see your face in my town—ever—or I’ll charge you with assault. One more thing, for the young man you terrorized.” Pike punched Smith in the face. Smith crashed to the ground.

  Picking himself up, Smith got on his horse and took off. Pike helped the young Chinese man to his feet. Da Long and his sons lowered their weapons.

  Felicity held her breath at the actions of the sheriff. A lawman of the West for sure.

  “Nice to see you, men,” Pike told his deputies.

  “We heard people were working up a fever down here and figured you might need a few more barrels,” an older man answered.

  “I did.” The sheriff then ordered two of the deputies to ride around Little China in case more problems erupted.

  “You did good, Sheriff Tom. You too, nosy lady,” Da Long said.

  The sheriff patted the man’s back. “Thanks for your guns. The excitement is all over. Can you please help this young fellow? Tell him …” Pike bit lips searching for an explanation.

  Felicity had an answer. “Tell him that fear makes people act like animals. But he can also thank the good people like you, the sheriff, and his deputies.”

  “And a lady with a bow and arrow,” Pike said.

  “Crossbow and bolt, really,” she said.

  Da Long spoke Chinese to the young man, who still trembled. “I also told him that some people are just sick in the head.”

  The young man’s voice quivered as he responded.

  “What’d he say?” Pike asked.

  “He agree.”

  “I shall never forget you.” Felicity held out her hand to Da Long, and the man took it. His skin was soft, but his grip strong.

  “You okay too, lady.”

  Da Long looked at the fallen anti-Chinese banner on the ground. “See what I mean? Trouble comes looking for us.”

  CHAPTER 20

  At the Quigley and Son Funeral Parlor, the body found behind the store had revealed little more than what Felicity already knew. Judgin
g by the type and degree of the stab wounds on the body, the prostitute had been killed in the same manner as the two other victims in Placer. Same knife and mutilations. Unlike pretty Mattie Morgan, this victim’s face portrayed heartbreak even in death.

  At her house, Felicity worked with concentration and determination as if the outside world didn’t exist. Acquiring knowledge had filled the emptiness in her life. Now she hoped the science and facts she had garnered would serve her when she needed them most.

  Under a microscope, Felicity compared the red hairs obtained from Mattie Morgan’s body with those she had collected from the hand of the newest victim. They appeared alike in color and length. What could be the meaning of red hairs on both victims?

  She answered her own question. They had to be related. From that, she created an image of the killer. Dressed like a gentleman in a frock coat and black hat. Under that hat, wavy red hair.

  As for the other grisly piece of evidence, she found that the victim’s heart left at Pike’s office had been extracted with neat cuts at the connecting veins. No surgeon could have removed it better. A perfect specimen, except for the teeth marks, which she measured, but there was nothing unusual about the bite formation. With tongs, she turned the heart over. Such a small thing to keep a person alive, she marveled. From her medical studies, Felicity had learned about the function of the vascular organ to move blood throughout the body. Yet the heart had come to symbolize more—the emotional center of a human, capable of love, empathy, and pity. Now, on the counter in her laboratory, sat one excised by a man with none of those qualities. Empathy least of all.

  The note to Pike had been written on common parchment. She put it up to her nose. An undefinable smell, vaguely fruity. Almost sensual.

  Smooth, oval blood marks dotted the edges of the newspaper. She experimented with how they had been made. Earlier, she had asked Robert Lowery to bring her a vial of blood from a butcher shop. She dipped two of her gloved fingers into the blood and touched a page from another newspaper. The result: the same mark. Meaning the killer had worn gloves when he wrapped the heart and box in the paper parcel that was delivered to the sheriff’s office.