Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by Locke, M. Louisa

  Wasn’t the last time he’d been a fool, either. There was Halloween, when he’d arrogantly assumed she would see marriage to him as a way to free herself from the need to work...to even sell the boarding house. Almost lost any chance for a future with her that day. Now, of course, he was eagerly anticipating being able to move into the boarding house, not sell it. By this time next month, he wouldn’t have to wait in the parlor for Annie. Instead, he could be up in her room—no—their room, helping her remove her Madam Sibyl costume...

  “What are you smiling about?” Annie’s warm laugh shook him from his reverie. “Did the arraignment go well today?”

  “In some ways you could say it did—since Mrs. Sullivan didn’t decide at the last minute to plead guilty.”

  “Did she get out on bail?”

  “No.” Nate felt terrible about this. “Cranston warned me not to expect the judge to set a bail amount any lower than $10,000, and Mrs. Pitts Stevens told me from the start that anything more than $5,000 was beyond her means. The judge set the bail at $15,000, evidently responding to District Attorney Dart’s argument that the fact that the accused was female should not be considered in a case involving the ‘brutal slaying’ of one of the city’s most respected businessmen.”

  “I’m sorry. Was Mrs. Sullivan terribly upset? Is that why you feared she would decide to plead guilty?” Annie tucked her arm through his and pulled him over to sit beside her on the settee.

  “No. Frankly, I really don’t think she expected to get out today. I’d sent her a note Tuesday about what Mrs. Pitts Stevens said, so she was prepared for what happened. She was mostly upset because her mother, Mrs. Tonner, was in court. The old lady is very deaf; so the whole time Dart spoke, we could hear Florence’s husband telling her what was going on.”

  “How upsetting that must have been for everyone concerned. Did she know her mother was coming?”

  “I warned her about that as well. Once she understood what was happening, the old lady insisted that she come today. However, it did give me leverage to get Mrs. Sullivan to eat.”

  Nate explained to Annie about the matron’s concerns over how thin his client was getting. “After I left the jail on Saturday, I wrote to Mrs. Pitts Stevens and got her authorization to get two meals a day delivered. Mrs. Gross, the matron, gave me the name of a good restaurant nearby that provides this service at a reasonable cost. Then I wrote to Mrs. Sullivan and explained about her mother coming and suggested that, if she didn’t want to distress her unduly, she would eat and build up her strength.”

  Annie smiled up at him and said, “You clever man. And they say women are masters at manipulating people to get them to do what they want. Did it work, do you think?”

  “She did look a trifle bit better today. I don’t want the jury to think her obvious weight loss is a sign of guilt.”

  “Do you think it is a sign of guilt?”

  “No, or at least not a sign she killed Rashers. After talking to the doctor who did the autopsy, and getting at least her tacit agreement to my statement that Rashers was already dying when she entered his office to talk to him, I am convinced someone else was responsible. What I didn’t expect was her reaction when I told her I was actively looking for other persons who might have both a motive and the opportunity to kill him. She became quite agitated, telling me that it wasn’t my place to find out who killed her employer. That Rashers had destroyed enough lives as it was, and that she wouldn’t be party to dragging some other poor soul’s name through the mud.”

  “And was that when she threatened to plead guilty?” Annie said.

  Nate nodded. She was so quick to understand the implications of things. He took her left hand and brought it up to his mouth to kiss. She breathed in sharply and turned her hand to caress his cheek. A noise in the hallway reminded him that the door to the parlor stood open, as was proper, and that if tonight was like any other, the elderly dressmakers would no doubt stick their heads in the door to say good night.

  He kissed Annie swiftly but lightly on the lips and said, “I just hope she doesn’t change her mind. The trial is set for Monday after next, the twenty-sixth, which should give me time to prepare my opening arguments and decide who I am going to call to the stand. Trials seldom last more than a week, so it should be done one way or the other well before the wedding. Did you have any luck finding a place for the ceremony?”

  “No, and your little sister was no help—I tried to fob everything off on her. But Esther Stein has stepped into the breach, and she is going to ask around to see if she can find something for Wednesday, August 11. Miss Minnie tells me the dress is coming along nicely as well. But back to Mrs. Sullivan. If she doesn’t want you to find out who might have killed Rashers, doesn’t that sound like she knows who the murderer is?”

  “Yes, I really do think she is shielding someone,” Nate replied.

  “Someone she is willing to go to prison for...like her husband.” Annie frowned and stroked his hand.

  “That makes the most sense. He told me he left their home Friday night about six and walked down to Calvary Presbyterian, hoping to speak with the minister. Not finding him in, he sat for awhile in the back of the church, then made his way up to his job at the Morning Call, getting there right at seven.”

  “So, unless someone saw him, he doesn’t have an alibi. He certainly had time to go see Rashers and assault him before he had to show up at work. But would he let his wife go to prison for something he did?”

  “I don’t know. If he were capable of murdering Rashers...”

  “Yes, that is always the rub, isn’t it? What makes a person step over that line, where the life of another isn’t worth preserving? And if someone has stepped over that line...what else might they be willing to do?”

  Nate thought about the rare times when he’d felt capable of doing serious physical damage to someone else. They all were times when he thought someone he loved was being threatened. He said, “What if Rashers was killed in order to protect someone else? Someone who the killer thought was in danger?”

  “What kind of danger?” asked Annie. “Physical? Moral?”

  Nate struggled to see where this idea would lead, but then he said, “I don’t know. Just a sudden thought I had. Anyway, I assured Mrs. Sullivan that I would confine my efforts to proving she couldn’t have killed Rashers rather than discovering who did the deed.”

  “And did you have your fingers crossed?” Annie teased.

  “That is where you come in. You haven’t promised not to pursue the real murderer.”

  Annie looked genuinely astonished at this statement.

  He slipped his arm around her waist, thinking, Hang the Moffets and propriety, and said, “As if I could stop you from doing what you do so well. So, my dearest, what did you learn from your meeting with the good widow Rashers?”

  “I learned that she certainly knows how to manipulate men. I am very proud of you for not succumbing to her obvious attractions,” she said, giving him a saucy smile. “The combination of her little girl act and her very womanly physical attributes is highly effective. Every man in the printing shop was under her spell—except perhaps Seth Timmons. Even the apprentice that was working with Seth tripped over himself to fetch an umbrella for her, and she is certainly old enough to be the boy’s mother.”

  Nate laughed. “But not the motherly type, is she?” He saw her face go still, and he said, “You disagree?”

  “I really don’t know; I would have to see her with her children. What I can say, however, is that when there aren’t any men in the room, she is a completely different person. I think she is an intelligent and ambitious woman who is determined to see that neither she nor her children are hurt by her husband’s death.”

  Annie once told him she regretted how she’d handled her own husband’s death, letting others––particularly her father-in-law––tell her what to do. She said this was one of the reasons she tended to react badly if she thought he was giving her unsolicited advice�
�she didn’t want to make that mistake ever again.

  Nate said, “You sound as if you liked her.”

  Annie cocked her head thoughtfully. “Maybe I just feel I understand her and even feel slightly sorry for her. It is my impression that all the affectations and the efforts to appear fifteen or more years younger than she really is was the coin she felt she had to use to get what she wanted from her husband.”

  “Which was what? A nice house and pretty clothes?” Nate had trouble imagining Annie doing something that was against her true nature for any of these reasons.

  “That I don’t know. Nor do I know if she really believes that Florence Sullivan killed her husband or if she even cares.” Annie sighed. “What I do know is that she is worried about something.”

  “Worried about her financial future?” Nate thought of Mrs. Voss, a recently widowed client whose world had coming crashing down when her husband died.

  “I think it is more than just worrying about whether to sell the firm or try to run it. I think the reason she hired me is she believes that, for your sake, I will really dig into the company’s finances. I think she also believes if I find something detrimental to the reputation of the firm, I won’t be able to tell anyone without compromising my ethical position as an independent accountant.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t over-estimating her? That sounds awfully devious for the woman I met.”

  Annie laughed. “I can assure you that the woman you met is not the real Mrs. Catherine Rashers. No, I do think she is that devious. However, I think our purposes––for now––are in tandem. We both want to discover if there is anything in Rashers’ files that might explain why he was stabbed to death.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday, morning, July 15, 1880

  “If the law for hanging causes juries to acquit murderers entirely, then it should be changed.” San Francisco Chronicle, December 23, 1880

  “Damn it all to Hell!” Nate exclaimed as he opened up the Morning Call and saw the headline, “Has the Fair Sex Struck Again? Lady Typographer Arrested in Murder of Prominent Printer.”

  One of the law office clerks stuck his head into Nate’s office and said, “Anything I can do, sir?”

  “No, no...well...just ask Cranston to step in here when he arrives,” Nate said, then he slowly read through the article, taking notes.

  He’d expected the small notice of Mrs. Sullivan’s arraignment that showed up in yesterday’s Chronicle. It was their standard policy to list all the court actions daily, so there wasn’t much he could do about that. But this story not only sensationalized the murder, with a lurid description of Rashers’ body “drained white by the loss of gallons of blood,” but the reporter’s whole slant to the piece was to compare the murder and arrest of Mrs. Sullivan to the Laura Fair—Alexander Crittenden scandal. Exactly what Mrs. Pitts Stevens hoped to avoid.

  “You needed to see me, Dawson?” Able Cranston stood at his door a few minutes later. He was a large tall man, who carried his weight well. But it wasn’t just his physical presence that made him such an effective defense attorney. He had a calm assured air that worked equally well in soothing a client, persuading a jury, or lulling the prosecution into making a mistake. Nate noted wryly that he wasn’t immune since he already felt better knowing he could turn to Cranston for advice.

  “Yes. Did you happen to see the article in the Morning Call about my client?”

  Cranston came in and took the paper from Nate, reading rapidly through the two columns that were devoted to the murder and arrest. Then he said, “Well, it looks like our good district attorney has decided to try this case in the court of public opinion.”

  “So you think Dart gave the reporter the details about the case? I wondered if it was Mrs. Rashers since the whole ‘woman scorned’ motif seems to echo the statement she gave the police.”

  “Yes, but you’ll notice Dart is the only one he quotes, and the reporter hasn’t even described Mrs. Rashers beyond calling her the bereaved mother of two young children. Doesn’t sound like he’s actually met her.”

  “You’re right. And believe me, no man who’s met Mrs. Rashers would pass up the chance to detail her attributes.”

  Cranston chuckled. Then he said, “It is a shame, for your client’s sake, that the reporter dragged in the whole Laura Fair scandal—but that was to be expected. It also gives you an opportunity to get your message out as well. If you started the press battle—everything positive you said about Mrs. Sullivan would be seen as special pleading. Now you can marshal people to come to her defense because she’s been attacked.”

  Nate nodded and said, “Am I right to refuse to be interviewed if asked for comment? I did promise Mrs. Pitts Stevens to try to keep the case from becoming a public circus.” He knew that Cranston didn’t grandstand in the press the way most defense lawyers did.

  “Mrs. Pitts Stevens is canny enough not to expect miracles. But you are correct...you need to be seen as above the fray. Get that friend of yours, Newsome, to do a piece.” Cranston glanced at the article again and said, “You know, when you look closely at this article, there isn’t much there besides old stuff about the Laura Fair case. Means Dart doesn’t have much to go on.”

  “I’ll steer Newsome to the angle about Rashers’ sharp business practices. Suggest he might interview some of Rashers’ failed competitors.”

  “That’s the ticket. It will probably bore the readers, but he can then slide in some statements from Rashers’ employees about what a valued employee Mrs. Sullivan was—I assume that was the case?”

  “Absolutely. He even relied on her to help with the accounts.”

  “Hmm...might not want to go down that path. The ‘lady typographer’ in the article’s heading suggests that Dart is planning on milking the theme that women who work are more likely to be of loose morals than the Mrs. Rashers of the world who stay home and tend their babies.”

  Nate thought how much Annie and his sister would hate that, but he said, “Right, I’ll suggest he emphasize that she was a respected church-goer and only worked to help support her infirm and widowed mother—which is the truth as well.”

  “Sounds good. Doesn’t mean you aren’t in for a rough ride until the trial is over. Sex and murder is what sells papers. But with Laura Fair, there was plenty of fire to go with the smoke—which is why there was so much written about her. Sounds to me like your client is very different kettle of fish. Leastwise, you better hope so.”

  *****

  As Annie sat in Joshua Rashers’ former office early Thursday morning, she thought about the article she’d read in the Morning Call. Made her so mad to see how the reporter had used the old Laura Fair scandal to make it look like Mrs. Sullivan was some brazen hussy. Nate would be so upset. But maybe his client would finally start to cooperate.

  Meanwhile, she hoped that her job auditing Rashers’ books might help. Maybe the answers to Rashers’ death could be found in the columns of numbers written in ink in the large black leather-bound account book laid open before her on the desk. Her father taught her to respect numbers. Not that they didn’t lie. They frequently did––or at least they were frequently used to perpetrate lies. It might be that the seven reams of paper stock that were listed as having been bought last month weren’t really delivered. It might be that they didn’t really cost as much as recorded in the account book. But no one could quibble over what the number seven meant.

  On the other hand, words, whether spoken or written, weren’t so concrete. What did the word love, for instance, mean to two different people? Before her marriage to John, she’d said she “loved” him. Later she learned this meant that she was infatuated with the idea of him—not the reality. Once she actually knew her husband—she discovered she didn’t even like him, much less love him.

  And when John said in the wedding ceremony that he would “love” her “till death do us part,” was he really lying? Maybe to him, “love” simply meant not humiliating your wife by publicly t
aking a mistress. Which was what he implied one awful evening when he’d drunkenly confessed to her that he could have bedded a friend’s wife that night but hadn’t, because he was such a good, loving husband.

  Shaking her head at this memory, she consciously replaced it with the image of Nate, who, after a lingering farewell kiss last night, whispered a fervent, “I love you” in her ear. Older and wiser, she no longer expected that her definition of love was identical to his. Instead, she trusted him and herself enough to spend a life-time with him parsing its meaning together.

  “Mrs. Fuller, may I come in? Would this be a good time to go over the employee accounts with you?” asked Franklin Griggs, the shop foreman.

  Surprised, Annie looked up. After spending an hour going laboriously through the past six months of income and expenses, her mind obviously was wandering, so she welcomed a break. She said, “Of course, Mr. Griggs. That would be very helpful.” She stood up and discreetly stretched as he walked into the office.

  Annie’s first impression of Griggs last Tuesday hadn’t been all that favorable, perhaps because he’d been so obsequious to Catherine Rashers. Jarring behavior in a man of his age and position within the firm. Today, when he welcomed her at the shop door, he’d acted more appropriately—more like a man in his fifties who was in charge of a successful print shop with over twelve employees.

  Griggs put down on the desk a large dark green ledger and a folder that contained the contracts for each employee. Opening up the ledger, he pointed out that as foreman he was paid a set weekly wage, as was Florence Sullivan, Seth Timmons and the other full-time pressman, and the apprentices—although all of them were only paid once a month. The three other full-time typesetters, on the other hand, were paid in the traditional fashion for typographic work. Their pay was based on how many lines of type they set each week, which meant their weekly wages varied between $12 to $18 a week, depending on how quickly they completed their work.