We all piled into Dr. Auger’s sedate car, a dark four door vehicle that could have been anything. I elected to sit in the back, as far away from the two of them as I could get and still be in the same place.
6
Tom walked into an ambush at the Pinkerton office. At least, that’s what it felt like. He had gone in a little earlier than needed, hoping to get a chance to talk to Larry instead of heading straight out to the rail yard like he’d been doing.
The railroad was a tough taskmaster; he’d seen that over the past week. He had no interest in working out there again, if he could help it. Getting the bums out had alternated between a cruel kicking of people who were down, out, and had nowhere to go, or battling some viscous men whose humanity had already bled out.
Tom wasn’t expecting to walk into uproar in the office of all places. Ms. Jacobs and Mr. Barret were walking out of Barret’s office, and no one looked happy. Ms. Jacobs in particular looked pretty sour, even for her.
Barret vigorously waved him over. Tom couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the boss outside the confines of his office, so he knew something serious had to be in the works.
“Yes, sir?” Tom didn’t see Larry anywhere.
“Do you know where your wife is?” Barret’s voice clapped like thunder.
Tom hadn’t been expecting questions along that line. He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged.
“As far as I know, she’s here. What happened, did you lose her?”
The joke fell flat on its face.
“Did we lose her? By God, I think you do know where she is!”
“No, sir. D’you mind telling me what you’re talking about? Where’s Larry? Didn’t she come in?”
Ms. Jacobs jumped in. “I left her alone, in the office, for all of thirty minutes, and I came back to an empty office and this!” She waved a little pink scrap of paper at Tom, who grabbed it to read.
“Took a case at 605 Swiss Avenue. Urgent. Will check in with details as they become available.” It was signed by Larry.
Tom looked up from the note at the angry faces, then back at the note, then shrugged again.
“She says where she went.”
“She’s not an agent! She had no authority to up and leave—” Ms. Jacobs was sputtering she was so angry.
“What was she supposed to do? Looks like someone called and said they needed an agent. She wouldn’t have left on a lark.”
“Supposed to do? She was supposed to have waited for someone, anyone, to decide—”
“Well, someone did decide. Laurel did.” Tom pushed his hat to the other hand. He knew Ms. Jacobs and Larry hadn’t seen eye to eye real well, but he didn’t see how taking a little initiative would be the end of the world. Ms. Jacobs looked like steam was going to come out her ears. Mr. Barret stepped in before she could really lose it.
“Look, Robertson, she’s not a full agent. I’m sure she had her reasons.” He looked at Ms. Jacobs. “But they’d better be damn good ones. If she thinks this is what being an agent is, playing cowboy and running off half-cocked, she can do this one all on her own. And if it doesn’t work out, well, she’s not going to work out here.”
Tom shrugged his shoulders at that. He needed coffee. Larry could take care of herself. She wasn’t a shrinking violet, although she played one sometimes.
“So she can do this case, but without any help. But the problem with her doing this case is that she went off without any help?” Major Goodall’s voice broke the moment. Tom hid his smile. It was good to see his partner here. Goodall winked back.
Ms. Jacobs didn’t know how to respond, Mr. Barret chuckled and nodded at him.
“Afternoon, Goodall. Wasn’t expecting to see you today.” Goodall shook the big man’s hand, then went back to leaning against the rail around the typing pit.
“Afternoon. Or morning, for me and Robertson here.” He waved his coffee cup at them.
“To answer your question, the problem is that I can’t have anyone in my operation running around doing whatever they please. Especially a woman, and one who is untrained at that.” Barret wasn’t going to let it drop that easily.
“I’m sure she didn’t know no better,” Goodall drawled. Ms. Jacobs harrumphed.
“We have to make sure she does know better. It doesn’t look real good for anyone to disappear on me,” Barret finished.
“Anyone call the address to see if she’s there?” Tom jumped in. Ms. Jacobs looked at him like he was still missing his front teeth. He reflexively checked with his tongue to make sure his dental bridge was still in place.
“Of course we did. Got some house girl who won't say one way or the other what is going on there. Swears no one named Laurel Robertson is there.”
“Hmm. Well, we’ll stop by there on the way to the rail yard. See if we can find out anything that’s going on.”
“You do that.” Barret looked at Goodall and Tom real hard. “See if you can find out what the hell the job even is, because so far, we know jack shit.”
“Yessir.”
Tom took that as his cue and scooted out the door behind Goodall, heading to a house on Swiss Avenue to find out what the hell Larry had gotten herself into.
7
The ride to the funeral home went quickly and quietly, once we dropped Mayhew at a corner downtown. He wanted to walk, he’d insisted. Dr. Auger was silent almost the entire ride and avoided even looking in my direction unless necessitated by traffic.
I decided to venture one question.
“Was Mr. Eymann in poor health? I saw cough syrup by his bed, but—”
“He had weak lungs from the Great War. In the time I’ve known him, he spent every winter with a cough that we couldn’t treat.”
I nodded. My cousin Johnny had the same ailment. He’d come back quiet, jumpy, and with a hacking cough that was painful to hear.
“Could that have caused his… passing?” There was not a more tactful way to put it.
“Don’t know. The only thing I know for sure is that I was called this morning to meet his body to sign a death certificate.” Silence returned.
We drove through open land between little groups of houses, past the university, and then finally pulled into a circular drive at the front of a large, well-groomed graveyard. I didn’t want to think about how many people it would take to keep the place up.
There was a white van that looked like a very refined ambulance sitting out in front of a tasteful building blazing with lights from within and a few outside.
In what was surely a sign of disarray, the back of the truck was gaping open, with some sheets spilling out and people gathered all around. A very stressed-looking gentleman in a beautiful, black three-piece suit was waving his arms around at the gathered group, stopping to wipe his forehead with a white hankie, despite the chill.
Dr. Auger grunted, then stopped the car and stepped out without speaking to me. It was a good thing I didn’t mind being popular.
“What’s going on here?” he called out to the swarm.
“Dr. Auger! So glad you could make it. You need you to have a look at—May I help you, ma'am?” The man in the black suit broke off upon noticing me.
“I’m here with Dr. Auger.”
He nodded and looked back at Dr. Auger, who pursed his lips to clarify, but was overwhelmed by the sheer number of words coming out of the man.
“The driver and the assistant are in the building, they were unconscious, unconscious I say, in the truck. It looks like someone ran them off the road, I have never, I mean have you ever heard of such? The truck was in a ditch, they were, well, they were lying in the front seat, have you ever heard of such?” His words were coming too fast to make them original.
Dr. Auger grimaced at him and then followed him into the building. I trailed behind, in front of one of the other orderlies. I was close enough to hear, but out of sight. We walked into a back room that turned out to be the workroom, if you could call it that, of the embalmer. Thankfully, there wa
s not a current patient in progress, only trays of macabre tools and metal tables.
Instead, there were two men in white uniforms. One was lying on his side on the table and the other sat in a chair, holding himself upright by gripping the table. Neither could be described as perky.
The doctor stepped up and began his examination of the two men who’d been injured. I decided now would be a good time to introduce myself to the hapless funeral director.
“I’m Detective Laurel Robertson, and I’m here on behalf of Mrs. Eymann. Mrs. Eymann is in shock right now, and I want to get as much information as I can without having to disturb her any further.” I crossed my fingers that he would take that to mean he could speak freely to me.
“Yes, ma'am? I’m Mr. Prescott, one of the owners of this fine establishment.” I couldn’t tell if his hesitation was at my title or who I was working for.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Prescott. Mrs. Eymann spoke highly of you. I assume you were acquainted before… before the events of today.”
“Well, it’s been a few years, but we made our acquaintance when Mr. Eymann’s company began supplying us with ice. We need it to keep the bodies cool, and it gets damn hot here—pardon my language, ma'am.” I waved the apology away.
“How did you find the truck?”
“By exploring every avenue, literally every avenue. I had all the trucks out looking, as well as my partner and myself out in our personal vehicles hunting.”
“Who found them?” The orderly on the table had been examined and was lying on his back, eyes now closed.
“I did. This is most distressing. You must give my condolences to Mrs. Eymann.”
“I assure you I will. Where were they found?” The doctor had moved on to the next fellow.
“They were just north of Fitzhugh. I know that’s a rough area to drive through, but it can’t be helped, and there is no getting around it. It looked like they’d been run off the road. Like I said, these two were in the cab and looked to be asleep. They haven’t said anything about what has happened, nothing beyond someone pointed a gun at them. I don’t know what to do about all of this. Do you think you could avoid getting the police involved?” he finished, looking at me pleadingly.
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure Mrs. Eymann wants everything taken care of as discreetly as possible.”
“Oh yes, yes of course. She wouldn’t want a breath of scandal about anything. She’s the soul of propriety.”
I nodded in agreement; although, I wasn’t sure the nervous woman I had spoken to filled that exact role.
“Thank you for clearing that up. Now, about today, what time did Mrs. Eymann call?”
“We got a call right after eleven, if I remember correctly. My message said Mr. Eymann had passed, and she needed us to come pick him up.”
“So you didn’t get the call directly?”
He repeated my question out loud, then answered slowly. “No, one of the office girls took a message and luckily recognized the name. I was surprised she called us and not a hospital.”
“Do you normally get calls to pick people up like that?”
“Sometimes, if the issue is… delicate.” I raised an eyebrow. “If the family would like a matter to be taken care of privately, or they're concerned about... burial in a church yard, that sort of thing,” he plunged on. “She didn’t know what she should do, most likely in shock.”
“Probably so. You sent a truck out at what time?”
“11:15, I believe.”
“And when was it discovered that they were missing?”
“When I got here and there was no Gerald,” Dr. Auger’s voice cut in. The second man was leaning back in his chair. The doctor was wiping his hands. Mr. Prescott nodded vigorously.
“And what time was that?” I spoke sweetly, hoping he would keep talking.
“It was just after noon. I went to the house to see what the hold up was. That was a mistake. Eugenia became hysterical,” he grumbled and folded the towel.
“After I'd gotten some better supplies, I came back after you showed up,” his lip curled, “and you were there when we got the call they had been found.”
I continued jotting down everything that was said, even if it wasn’t said with the best tone. I was going to have to remember this all later, when I was going over it with Tom.
“Who called you to the funeral home?” He didn't like that question much.
“See here, young lady, I've been more than patient with you, but really, you're starting to—”
“It's my last question, I promise.” I tried batting my lashes, but it just slowed the bluster down. I cut him off again. “Are you saying you normally hang around the funeral home?”
His mouth looked like he'd bit a lemon.
“I'm not sure who called me. I thought it was the funeral home.”
Mr. Prescott looked like he was going to flat-out keel over. He pulled his hankie out to mop his brow again and then went to the big desk in the back of the room. He hunted down a little pink slip of paper by fiddling with the blotter and read it as he rejoined the pow wow.
“Here, the message says... 'Doctor has been called to meet the deceased. Please wait for his arrival to fill out death certificate.'” He looked at the good doctor quizzically. Dr. Auger frowned, fiddled with his watch, and cleared his throat.
“Ah. Someone called me and said that Gerald had died and Eugenia wanted me to sign some papers to spare her the autopsy. Not everyone wants their loved one cut into and tested,” he finished, glaring. I felt like we'd run that rabbit trail down pretty well.
“So, let me see if I got it all correct. You were called around eleven, the truck was sent out at 11:15 a.m.; it was discovered missing at noon. You, Mr. Prescott, found the missing vehicle at 2 p.m., so somewhere between 12 p.m. and 2 p.m., Mr. Eymann’s body went missing.”
They both nodded, Mr. Prescott decidedly more animated than Dr. Auger.
I asked when the workers would be ready to answer questions.
“They were chloroformed and thumped on the head, as best I can tell. They need to sleep it off, should be no long-term harm.”
“Do they remember anything else?” He shook his head.
“Will they remember anything else?”
“Maybe. I doubt it. Between shock and the chloroform, I wouldn’t be surprised if they never remember what happened.”
Well, rats. I looked at the notepad, gathering my thoughts, and hoping that they mistook it for formulating a plan of action. Dr. Auger was already putting his hat on.
“Well, I can’t do much more here, and I have other patients to take care of. Let me know when you find him, Mr. Prescott.” He turned and walked away without acknowledging me.
Mr. Prescott didn’t seem to notice.
“Have a good day, Doctor. We will let you know the second Gerald is found!” he called after the doctor, then turned to me.
“What do you plan to do next?” Mr. Prescott’s plan for finding Gerald was clearly for me to do the work.
It was an excellent question, one I hoped to have an answer to soon.
8
“Look here, I didn’t sign up to be a delivery boy,” Tom whined, breaking a long silence. He and Goodall were sitting in the car, marveling at the houses and their grand entrances.
“Maybe you won’t be delivering anything. Maybe Larry will answer the door,” Goodall said, and then struck a match on his shoe. Tom wished he had a cigarette. The pipe smoke was going to get thick fast.
“You’re going to end up like a piece of jerky if you keep smoking in the car,” Tom said as he shut the door. Goodall blew a cloud of smoke at him.
Hat in hands, he rang the doorbell of the grandest pink house he could recall seeing. With all the money in the world, they picked a pink one. The blinds were drawn on every window he could see, either no one was home or they were in mourning.
The door finally opened a crack, and a black maid in uniform peered through.
“We do
n’t want nothing. There’s been a death in the house.” Her voice was a little muffled through the thickness of the door.
“A death?” Tom wasn’t sure what the right way to answer that was. Larry’s note hadn’t said anything about a death.
“Yes. Thank you kindly—” She started to swing the door shut, but Tom caught it with his hand.
“Say, has Laurel Robertson been here? I’m looking for her, not selling anything.” She stopped tussling with the door when she heard Larry’s name. Bingo, Tom thought.
“Yes, Detective Mrs. Robertson was here earlier.” Her eyes were still narrowed suspiciously, but at least the door wasn’t shut all the way.
“Is she here now?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you expect her back?” He hoped this wasn’t going to be a long conversation about nothing.
“Not that I know of. I’m sure she will be sometime.” Tom sighed. There never was an easy way.
“Great. Here, can you give her this note?” He handed her the note that he’d scribbled in the car, then decided it might be best to tell her what it said. “And if you hear from her, let her know that Barret’s furious, and if she doesn’t finish the job, she’s not going to have a job.”
The maid’s eyes looked like they were in danger of popping out.
“Yes, sir, I’ll tell her. If I sees her.”
“Thank you kindly. Tell her I’m going to work now. Good luck with your… my condolences,” Tom said as he turned and shoved his hat back on. It was rapidly getting chillier than he liked, and there was a long evening of walking the rail yard in the cold in his future.
“Much obliged,” she called out, but he didn’t respond. He was almost to the car anyway, hoping that Goodall had the decency to crack the window while he was gone.
The Case of the Ice Man Page 3
