Dry Rot

by S. L. Stoner

  s s s

  It was one of the city’s newer buildings, constructed after the disastrous 1894 spring that flooded many blocks west of the river. Philander Gray’s two-room office was on the third floor. One look at the steam elevator’s vibrating cage and Sage climbed the stairs. Since his secretary was absent, Philander shouted, “In here, come on in,” from another room when Sage swung the outer door open. Seconds later, the lawyer’s lanky frame popped into view from his inner office.

  “Ah, John Adair, just the man I needed to see. Glad you hoofed it over. It just occurred to me that I needed to head over to sample some of Miz Ida’s fine pie. I have some information for you and I’m afraid it’s not good.”

  “You mean the witness turning up?”

  “What witness? There’s a witness of some kind?”

  “Oh, dandy! I guess that means we both carry bad news. You first,” Sage said, dropping into a well-worn leather chair across the desk from Gray.

  “Well, there’s two bits of bad news. The first is that, as it turns out, our messenger boy, Thaddeus, was not much help. Unfortunately, the way the police interpret his information is that Mackey sent the message by one of his men and that placed Leo right on the spot when the fire broke out. They figure Mackey wanted a peaceable meet and Lockwood took advantage of the situation by attacking him and setting the place on fire.”

  Sage’s heart sank. “Damn, it’s logical to figure it that way,” he acknowledged. “Sometimes a person forgets there is more than one way to look at something. What’s the other bad news?”

  Gray’s face became somber. “Those puppets on the grand jury indicted Leo for Mackey’s murder. Of course, those grand juries always vote however the district attorney tells them. And our newly elected district attorney is quite eager to see Leo hanging from the courthouse yardarm. Probably a golfing or club buddy of Mackey’s.” Gray tossed his pencil on the desk with enough force that it rolled across his papers and off the side. His eyes followed the pencil’s journey but he didn’t pick it up. “So, what’s your bad news, although I don’t think it can top my bad news.”

  “It comes close,” Sage said and related that a mysterious witness claimed he’d seen Leo toting a kerosene can in the vicinity about the time of the fire.

  “That’ll take some looking into. It’s a bit peculiar—a stranger noticing and remembering something as common as a man toting kerosene. Let’s hope someone’s hired him to be helpful to the police and that we can figure out who that someone is. Was Johnston able to discover this fellow’s name? We’ll need to explore that angle further.”

  “Johnston told me his reporter is digging for the witness’s name. So, how is Leo holding up?”

  “He’s looking mighty glum.”

  “Can you finagle me in to see him?”

  Gray shrugged, stood up and pulled both hat and coat from the rack. “Can’t hurt to give it a try. A friend’s encouragement might be just what the poor fellow needs right about now.”

  The jail building stood taller than it was wide. Steep stairs ascended from the sidewalk to a small porch that seemed overburdened by tall columns and an ornamental stone balustrade atop its roof. The ground floor of the building housed police headquarters, the second floor the courtrooms for minor infractions and, in the basement, was the jail. It wasn’t Sage’s first visit to the building but as usual, he felt himself grow more tense with each one of the steep steps he climbed. Gray, on the other hand, strolled into the building like he owned the place.

  “Good morning there, Finnegan, I’m here to visit with my client if I may,” Gray said to the sergeant who was manning the front desk, his bony arms propped up on the counter with his hands supporting his pointed chin and his bemused blue eyes gazing upon the comings and goings of cop, citizen, counsel, and criminal. Sage looked at him and wondered, as always when looking at a cop, whether the jovial sergeant was on the take.

  Finnegan stood upright and grinned. “Mister Philander Gray, is it that I am dreaming here? I seem to recollect seeing yourself here just yesterday. It’s a wee bit surprising that this Lockwood character can afford such special attention. Not only that, you’ve even brought along a sidekick. And, just who might he be?”

  Gray chuckled like an indulgent uncle. “Well, Sergeant Finnegan my boy, you insult me. My services are of the same superior quality no matter what the pay. You just land yourself in trouble and you shall find that out for yourself.” The sergeant smiled wide at this implicit promise. Gray elaborated no further before returning to the goal at hand, “This gentleman is studying to be a lawyer. I thought I’d bring him along to observe how a professional handles himself,” Gray said, giving the policeman a broad wink.

  “Well, Mr. Gray, I’m supposing a wee visit from the two of you carries no harm to speak of, especially seeings how the chief constable’s absent, you know. I doubt he’d be minding, anyway.” The man pulled a large key ring from beneath the counter, lifted the gate and strode to a door across the lobby. Unlocking the door, he led them down a narrow flight of wooden stairs. Ahead stretched a long hallway, lit by bare bulbs and lined by barred cells. The air was dank, chilled by seeping stone walls. A narrow

  rivulet of water dribbled from the base of one wall to trickle down the hallway and disappear beneath a cell door.

  “We’re keeping him down here at the far end. His cell hasn’t come on so wet as some others, I saw to that. I also fetched him extra blankets like you asked.”

  “Thank you, Finnegan,” Gray said, as he slipped a few coins into the policeman’s palm. “I appreciate you looking after him.” “It brought no trouble to me, Mr. Gray. Seems to be a nice enough fellow. Anyway, I can’t help but like him, seeing as how he’s a strong union man like my own self and all.” He winked, picked up two straight-backed chairs and slung them into position before Leo’s cell door. “Here’s two chairs for you to sit yourselves on. I’m afraid you’ll be talking to him through the bars being that we’re a little short-handed and here be no one else to stand guard in our visiting room here.”

  “That’s fine, Finnegan. Looks like he’s all alone down here anyway.”

  “Nearly alone that be for sure, except for that cell two doors down. Ol’ Rowdy Carter’s in there sleeping off a drunk as usual. He won’t be bothering you. And anyway, his mind is so gin-soaked he won’t remember nothing even if you shouted into those cauliflower ears of his.” With that, Finnegan departed, closing and locking the door behind him at the top of the stairs.

  Sage turned to study a sleepy Leo who was slowly sitting up, taking a while to recognize Sage. Once he did, his brief smile was feeble.

  “John, they are going to hang me,” he said, his chin wobbling, as tears pooled in his eyes. “What on earth will become of my poor Betty and my little ones?”

  SIXTEEN

  As Sage laid cutlery in preparation for Mozart’s dinner hour, his thoughts remained trapped in Leo’s dank, gloomy jail cell. Mae Clemens was absent. He’d found a note propped up against his bureau mirror telling him that she’d taken a job in Bittler’s household. Not exactly welcome news. Still, he might as well make the best of it since he knew from experience what he thought wouldn’t change her mind. There was no stopping Mae from placing herself in danger short of locking her up.

  A few feet away, Daniel stood atop a ladder, lightly sanding the foyer’s pressed-tin plate ceiling, preparatory for painting. At Sage’s query, the painter promised to tidy up the clutter before the doors opened for business. The man’s curt response forestalled any further questions or social pleasantries.

  Ida pushed open the dining room’s swinging doors and called,“Mr. Adair, that rag man is at the kitchen door. He says he needs to see you right away.”

  “Be right there,” Sage called, as he finished positioning a place setting atop its folded napkin.

  Eich stood on the porch outside the kitchen door. Heavy rain streamed down from the porch roof, blurring the edges of Eich’s tarpaulin-covered cart.

&n
bsp; “Come in, come in,” he said to Eich when the man hesitated.

  The ragpicker stayed on the porch. “Maybe we’d better talk out here where we won’t be overhead,” he said softly.

  Sage studied the rain-soaked man, who looked gray with cold standing in the wet, gusty wind. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s too cold out here. The restaurant’s not opening for business for a few minutes yet. We’ll go on through to the dining room once I’ve poured you some hot coffee. It’s not good for you to stand out in this.”

  Minutes later Sage and Eich sat at the small table beneath the musician’s balcony. Sage saw that Daniel was true to his promise, there was no ladder in the foyer and no Daniel anywhere. Everything seemed cleaned up and put away.

  Eich glanced around and shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “Mae’s not here this morning?” he asked.

  “No, she’s away for few days visiting a friend. How about you talk to me instead?”

  “Actually, you are the person I seek,” Eich responded. “This morning I decided to conduct my rounds in that neighborhood directly south of the city—across the Marquam Ravine. It came to my attention that, with the bridge out, a number of the more prosperous householders in that area are changing abodes given the current difficulty they are having with ready access to downtown businesses. Others are moving because fire wagons can’t reach their houses anymore. The terrible death of Daniel’s wife and son . . . .” Eich paused, sighed heavily, and continued, “With so many people moving their households, it increases the likelihood of folks tossing useful objects into their refuse bins.”

  Eich smiled wryly before continuing, “So, there I am, examining the contents of a particularly bounteous barrel when two men lumber past engaged in heated conversation. One is castigating the other for letting ‘Sam’ escape and demanding to know when they are going to find someone named ‘Chester.’ Based on what has transpired in the past few days, I kept my head in the barrel, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me by the attire adorning my nether region. After they traveled a sufficient distance, I took a look. From the back, I recognized one of them.

  He helped carry you into the cooperage—I remembered his gait and torn yellow slicker.”

  “And the other man? Who was he? His accomplice?”

  Eich shook his head emphatically. “No, not the accomplice, a different man. I only saw his backside too, but I am thinking that he might be that third man who visited later at the cooperage.”

  “That’s right. You told me about the third man, someone you thought seemed familiar,” Sage said.

  “Unfortunately, my view of him this morning was of only his backside, which was no different than any other backside. So, I remain puzzled as to why he strikes me as someone familiar. One thing I know now, from listening to their exchange, is that the third man is definitely the other man’s superior.”

  “Superior?”

  “His boss in their endeavor. When he talked to the first man, it was with that degree of disdain common between hirelings and their bosses.”

  “Oh,” Sage cast a glance around the dining room and saw the two waiters efficiently finishing the task of readying the remaining tables for business. Hopefully, their efficient diligence wasn’t due to their desire to avoid his “degree of disdain.”

  When his gaze returned to Eich’s face, he saw an amused glint in the man’s deep-set brown eyes. Sage silently acknowledged Eich’s perception with a quick smile before saying, “So, maybe this means the two of them might be staying somewhere south of the Marquam Ravine.”

  Eich laughed.“When you come to know me better, you will discover that curiosity is my greatest weakness,” he said. For some reason, that implicit promise of a continuing relationship with this odd fellow gave Sage a buzz of pleasure. He found himself liking the idea that, someday, there would be an easy familiarity between the two of them. Making new friends was hard. His life was too complicated, with too many ways to slip up. Eich’s stumble into the middle of Sage’s adventures by-passed all the customary subterfuge. Sage studied the weathered face across from him and thought, “Maybe that is a damn good thing.”

  Eich continued talking, oblivious to the transformation taking place in Sage,“I followed them to a boarding house where

  I suspect the two thugs are staying. Not the third man, though. I got the sense he stays somewhere separate from those two.”

  “What makes you think just the two of them are staying there and not all three?”

  “The establishment is second rate and the third man remained inside only for a few minutes before he came out and headed back toward town. Gave me a bit of a startle. Caught me standing outside on the sidewalk looking up at the door when he opened it.”

  “Do you think he noticed you?”

  Eich shrugged. “I turned away quick. Who notices a ragpicker, anyway? People tend to glance at me and quickly look somewhere else. They never allow themselves to really see my features nor meet my eye. After all, if they allowed themselves to see me, they might see someone like themselves and that might lead to self-questioning they don’t wish to undertake.”

  Sage blinked. Eich’s observation twanged home sure as an arrow hitting a bullseye. He quickly brushed that distracting thought aside until later. “That third man, were you able to get a good look at him?” he asked.

  Eich shook his head. “Not really. I tried to catch a glimpse of his face by staying there and pretending to fuss with my cart. It was of no use. He ducked his head and looked away the minute he glimpsed me. Something about him rings a bell. I just cannot place that bell’s location or its particular note.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  “Like a typical working man. Soft, wide-brimmed hat, dirty brown canvas coat. Work gloves on his hands. Nothing about him really stood out. He looked like thousands of other itinerant working men in the city.”

  “What is the address of that boarding house where you saw them? Mr. Fong and his men are scouring the city for those two men. An address may help them.”

  Although Eich raised his eyebrows at this piece of information, he handed over the address, already written on a scrap of paper saying, “Thought you might be wanting it.”

  “Mr. Eich, please wait here. I need to get this address off to Mr. Fong and I want to talk to you a little more.”

  Eich assented and Sage started searching for Matthew and his bicycle before realizing that the boy might be in school where, according to the kitchen helpers, he in fact was. One of them, however, agreed to take Sage’s note the few blocks to where the Fongs both lived and operated a small provision store. That task set in motion, Sage returned to the dining room where Mr. Eich waited.

  “I am sure by now that you’ve figured out that I’m helping the strikers down at the Mackey Construction Company,” Sage began. Eich smiled slightly, saying nothing.

  That smile was disconcerting. Had Eich’s curious nature already uncovered significantly more information? Sage decided to brazen it out. “Anyway, I’m working on the strike line to help a friend. For reasons that are not important, the men on strike line know me only as ‘Sam Graham.’ The thing is, the union president, Leo, is in jail. They’ve charged him with old man Mackey’s murder. Leo did not murder that old man. I think those men you saw attack me are the ones who killed him.”

  Eich said nothing, merely waited, appearing totally receptive to whatever Sage said. Sage found this silent attentiveness unnerving but pushed on, saying, “Anyway, I mean, based on what I overheard them saying, I’m thinking that Abner Mackey knew nothing about his son’s unethical bridge repair practices. So now, we’re trying to find out whether only Earl Mackey was involved in bribing the city engineer, Horace Bittler. It was Bittler who approved Mackey’s shoddy bridge repair jobs. Folks think maybe Earl Mackey charged the city full price for replacement lumber that he later sold to other people, making twice the profit. It’s likely old man Mackey knew nothing about that swindle either. None of the bridge carpenters ever s
aw the city engineer meeting with the elder Mackey. He met only with the son. I’m also certain Earl deliberately kept Abner in the dark about the underhanded tactics Earl planned to use in handling the labor dispute. Those two at the cooperage made that clear. Apparently the older Mackey raised a fuss when those thugs on horseback rode down on the strikers. Maybe Mackey and his son had a falling out over Rufus’s death. Maybe that’s why they murdered him.”

  Skittering sounded overhead. Both men looked up and Sage felt his face burn hot, “Time for the rat man and his dog, I guess. Unfortunately, these buildings near the waterfront sometimes get infested when the rats start moving indoors for the winter.”

  Eich waved away Sage’s discomfiture. “You are forgetting to whom you speak, Mr. Adair. I am quite familiar with, and not the least offended by, our smooth-tailed cohabitants. Generally, their behavior is eminently rational, and therefore less offensive, than that of our own species.”