Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery

by Locke, M. Louisa

  *****

  Something wakened Laura from a dream she was having. The dream evaporated as she tried to figure out why she was using a book as a pillow. Then she sat up, flushed with embarrassment as she realized she’d fallen asleep. The room was darker than it had been; the kerosene lamp must be about out of fuel because the flame was very low and flickering.

  She looked over at Seth, who appeared to be still sleeping. She hated to disturb him, but she should get home. Carefully closing the text, after trying to smooth out the page her slumbers had wrinkled, she went over to his side and said softly, “Seth. You need to wake up now.”

  When he didn’t respond, she sat down on the bed, resisting the impulse to push back the short lock of black hair that had fallen over one of his eyes. Up this close, she could see the sprinkle of silver in his hair. He’d spoken tonight of dark things in his past, and she wondered exactly what kind of events would have caused a man, no more than in his early thirties, to turn grey. With his flint-colored eyes closed and his lips relaxed into a rare half smile, he looked so vulnerable. Not wanting to startle him, she leaned over and said his name again, putting a hand on his shoulder to slightly shake him.

  In one flurry of movement, his eyes flew open and he sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. They were now only inches away from each other. He whispered her name and, without thinking, she leaned in and let him cover her lips with his. She’d never been kissed before, and her initial surprise at how soft his lips were and the discovery that his mustache tickled were quickly overwhelmed by sensations that swept away any coherent thought.

  The sound of a book hitting the floor broke the spell, and Laura found herself being pulled up into a standing position by a wild-eyed Seth, who was backing away while muttering something under his breath about how sorry he was...how he didn’t know what had happened...but he should never have...

  Laura, suppressing a nervous desire to giggle, said something inane about it being nothing. Then, noticing that her shawl lay on the floor, she bent over to pick it up. That movement brought the discovery that most of her hairpins had come unmoored and her hair was cascading untidily around her shoulders. Shocked, she turned and went over to the washstand in the corner, where she had noticed there was a small mirror, and began to systematically re-pin her hair. Taking up her brown hat, which she’d taken off while reading, she pinned it on her head.

  When she turned, Seth had put on his coat and was looking at his pocket watch. She said calmly, “I am afraid we both fell asleep. What time is it?”

  “A quarter to twelve. I’ve got to get you home. I’m not sure there will be any cabs in this district at this time of night.”

  “That’s fine. The walk is all down hill from here and shouldn’t take much more than a half an hour. If it’s still as clear as it was earlier, we can quiz each other on the constellations as we go. I have a key, and so there won’t be any difficulty when we get to the boarding house.”

  Laura’s heart began to slow to a normal beat, and she was proud of how composed she sounded. Thank goodness Seth had stopped apologizing. For once she appreciated his natural reticence because she really didn’t want to discuss what happened or even think about how much she enjoyed his kisses and wanted to experience the sensations they’d aroused, again.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Sunday mid-day, August 1, 1880

  “It is ridiculous for a great State to have laws, and courts to administer them, yet to be wholly unable to punish a man for murder unless he is friendless, moneyless and alone.” San Francisco Chronicle, December 23, 1880

  Seth sat on the hard wooden bench, leaned against the rough walls, and willed himself elsewhere. This was not the first jail cell he’d been in. But it might be his first time completely sober, which was not the condition of the other three men in the cell with him. At least he’d been able to get down the coffee and sandwich the guard brought by at noon, something he wouldn’t have been able to do if he was hung over. Food and caffeine helped, as did the ebbing of his initial panicked fear that this was about Laura.

  The knock had come on his door about six this morning. His first thought as he pulled on his pants was that it was Nate come to flay him alive, at least verbally. Then, when he opened the door and saw a uniformed police constable and the tall Sargent Thompson who’d questioned him last February, he went right to the worst thing he could think of—that something had happened to Laura after he left her at the boarding house back door last night, and they were coming to notify him that she was dead.

  Thank God he’d kept his mouth shut. Learned that in Andersonville prison, where he’d spent his last year of the war. Never forgot it. Don’t say anything...ever...until you knew the lay of the land. Even then, say as little as possible, and if you could get away with not saying anything—that was best. People were going to do what they were going to do...no reason to give them ammunition to use against you.

  Thompson asked if he would get dressed and come on down to the station to help them out with some inquiries. Seth let them in, relieved that this probably meant something new had come up in the case against Mrs. Sullivan. However, when they got to the Old City Hall and they took his hat and coat from him and ushered him into a cell, he pretty much gave up on that hopeful thought.

  Instead, he’d turned to the next task, which was keeping the Andersonville demons at bay. Never was good in confined spaces surrounded by unwashed bodies after that time. This jail wasn’t as bad as some. Just knowing he couldn’t leave some place could start the shaking. He sometimes thought the reason he stopped drinking was because he’d finally accepted that alcohol ensured he would continue to wake up in one of those enclosed spaces he feared so much.

  The older man who shared his blanket with him at Andersonville taught him how to recite the poetry he’d learned in school to stave off the terrors and the hunger pains. Today, it was the Greek plays that kept his mind from unraveling. Also kept him from thinking too much about what had happened last night with Laura and what it meant.

  A guard stood at the cell door and beckoned. “Mr. Timmons, Chief Jackson is ready for you.”

  He escorted him upstairs to a small room with a table and chairs, where Sergeant Thompson—tall, grey, and nondescript—stood in the corner. He directed Seth to sit down. In a few minutes, Jackson swept in and sat down across from him, putting something wrapped in a cloth on the table next to a notebook and a folder.

  “Well, Mr. Timmons. I’d like to get to know you a bit before I get to the reason I have you here. Could you tell me some of your particulars? Birth place, date of birth, military service, past employment history and so forth.”

  Seth nodded and told the bare bones of his story. Born in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, on June 5, 1848, joining the Union army just shy of his sixteenth birthday, fighting with the 101st Pennsylvania Volunteers, and then being captured in April 1864 at the battle of Plymouth, North Carolina. The year in Andersonville Prison, until the Civil War ended, followed by six wretched months back home trying to adapt to regular life. Ten years working on ranches in Texas and driving cattle on the Chisholm Trail, then three years working his way through Kansas State Normal School in Emporia, Kansas. His year and a half at San Jose Normal School to finish up and get his teaching certificate. Finally, he told of his move to San Francisco, his spring term teaching at the Pine and Larkin School, and then starting the job at Rashers.

  Jackson steadily took notes. He then asked, “Ever in trouble with the law?”

  “Only some drunk and disorderly charges a few times at the end of a cattle drive.” Seth thought he heard Thompson make a sound behind him. Didn’t like not being able to see the man’s face.

  “Tell me about your work on Saturday, when you came in, jobs you worked on, when you left?”

  Seth brought his attention back to Jackson, wondering why the questions were about yesterday—not the day of Rashers’ murder. He gave him the details Jackson asked for.

  “Was eight o’
clock your usual quitting time?” Jackson asked.

  “No, sir. I usually left at six. But I had permission from my foreman, Griggs, to work two extra hours since I might be late coming into work on Monday.”

  “Why?”

  “I am taking the entrance exams for the University of California Monday morning.”

  Jackson looked up sharply at that point, and Seth thought he’d finally said something Jackson didn’t expect.

  Jackson consulted some notes and said, “I understand your main responsibility is running the big steam-powered press. The Babcock?”

  “Yes. I was hired specifically for that press, although I can run the smaller Gordon jobbers if need be.”

  “And the Babcock, is that something you can run on your own?” Jackson continued.

  “Can...but not easily. Usually my apprentice, Dunk, catches and stacks the paper as it is printed.”

  “He worked with you last night?”

  “Until six, which is when we both would normally end our shifts. But Griggs told him to go on home, he would catch for me until eight.” Seth stopped, chastising himself for volunteering unasked for information.

  “And that is what happened?”

  “Yes, sir. I left at eight.”

  “What about Griggs?”

  “I assumed he’d be right behind me, locking up.”

  “And you went straight home? Didn’t come back for any reason?”

  “No, sir.”

  Seth felt a small sense of relief. Jackson was definitely focused on Rashers—which meant he wasn’t particularly concerned with what he’d done when he got home—or who he’d been with. He really couldn’t believe that Laura would have tried to get him in trouble...even if she’d later regretted what happened. But she could have confessed it all to Annie or her brother—and they might not have been so forgiving.

  “Tell me about Orrie Childers. Was she working yesterday as well?”

  Puzzled, Seth said, “Yes.”

  “When you went out on a meal break around one, was it with Miss Childers?”

  Seth shook his head in the negative, meanwhile wondering if all this was because Orrie had seen him meet Laura on his break and decided to get back at him. Maybe she accused him of stealing something. Wouldn’t put it past her.

  Realizing he’d been quiet too long, he said, “No, sir. I believe she took her usual break at noon.”

  “You believe? You aren’t sure?”

  “I was pretty busy at that point, working on maintenance of the machine while Dunk took his break.”

  “How would you describe your relationship with Miss Childers?”

  “We both work at the same place.”

  “You wouldn’t say you were particularly good friends?”

  “No, sir.” Seth wanted desperately to ask what this was all about, but he bit his tongue.

  Jackson leaned forward and said, “So you take all your co-workers out to dinner, do you?”

  “No. I usually eat with my apprentice. Miss Childers joined me once—not at my invitation.”

  “Really? You didn’t want to take a meal with a lovely young woman. Why is that, Mr. Timmons?”

  Seth wanted to say, none of your business, but instead said, “Not interested, sir.”

  “Ever been to her home?”

  “No.”

  “And tonight, you didn’t make an arrangement to see her back at Rashers?”

  “Certainly not.” Seth wasn’t able to keep the surprise out of his voice.

  “What time did you say you got home?”

  “I left at eight, took the Clay Street car to Larkin, walked up to my place, got there about eight-twenty.” Seth flashed back on seeing Laura in the alley. Could Orrie have followed him home and this was all due to a spiteful desire on her part to get revenge?

  Jackson flipped through the folder and pulled out a piece of paper that looked like it had been folded several times. He smoothed it out and handed it over to Seth and said, “Do you recognize this?”

  The note read, “I need to see you at 11. Leave the shop door open.” It was signed, “Orrie.”

  Seth shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Jackson frowned and said, “Then I would like you to explain why we found this in your jacket this morning?”

  Seth’s mind raced. It was hot yesterday, and he had removed his jacket and hung it on a peg near the back door. Did he remember Orrie going near it yesterday? Couldn’t say, but it would be easy for her to slip the note in his pocket. Why would she trust that he’d get the note? And what would he have done if he had?

  “Didn’t see it, sir. Don’t know how it got there. But my jacket hung on a peg in the shop all day; anyone could have put it in there.”

  “And you are saying you wouldn’t have seen the note?”

  “Not unless it was in my inside pocket where I keep my smokes. Was that where it was?” He would bet it wasn’t there—because he would have noticed it then. And even if he had noticed it, would he have gone back? Then everything that happened last night with Laura wouldn’t have happened.

  “Can you tell me why Miss Childers would write you a note or ask to see you back at Rashers at that time?”

  “No, sir. Doesn’t make sense. Could have asked me in person if she needed to see me.”

  It sounded more and more to Seth like Orrie was trying to get him in trouble.

  Jackson leaned forward and said, “You don’t have any idea why she would want to see you?”

  “No, sir. You’ve got to ask her.”

  Jackson took up the object on the table and began to unwrap it. Looked to Seth like the large wrench from his tool box.

  Jackson handed the tool to him and said, “Do you recognize this?”

  “Well, it’s a wrench.”

  “Look at it closely. Is it yours?”

  “There are a couple in the shop. Don’t know that I could tell if it is the one I use from the tool box that stays next to the Babcock.”

  Seth looked at the wrench, trying to remember if there were any particular scratches on it that might identify it. For some reason it looked rusty, which he knew wasn’t true of the one he used yesterday.

  Jackson interrupted this thought by saying, “Where were you between the hours of ten and midnight last night?”

  “At home.” He’d already answered that question—so clearly they didn’t believe him. He put his finger on the rust, not finding the gritty feel he expected.

  “And is there anyone who can verify that?” Jackson’s voice was sharp.

  Seth looked up at him and said, “Sir, is this blood? Is Orrie all right?”

  “No, Mr. Timmons. She isn’t all right. And you didn’t answer me. Is there someone who can substantiate your claim you were at home between ten and twelve last night?”

  Seth shook his head in the negative and didn’t say another word.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Sunday, evening, August 1, 1880

  “The register at the central station show the following as yesterday’s arrests...driving over street-crossing faster than a walk...” San Francisco Chronicle, July 1, 1880

  “Have Kitty and Ned gone already?” asked Annie, who was coming down the stairs just as Laura closed the front door.

  “Yes. Even though Kitty’s exam isn’t until Tuesday, and Ned’s and mine are scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, we thought we all should get a good night’s sleep.”

  “I think that is a excellent idea.” Putting her hand on Laura’s cheek, Annie said, “You do look exhausted, my dear. As Beatrice would say, you’ve been ‘lighting the candle at both ends,’ haven’t you? Shall I get Kathleen to bring you up some hot milk and honey? Help you go to sleep.”

  “No, it’s still too warm. I probably shouldn’t have gone to the theatre Friday night when I had to get up so early on Saturday. Mostly it’s this odd weather. The dry heat and the wind have made it difficult for me to sleep—that’s all.”

  Laura wondered if Annie’s comment abou
t burning the candle meant Kathleen told her about how late she arrived back home last night, even though the young maid promised not to say anything.

  When Laura crept into the kitchen a little after midnight, she found Kathleen standing at the kitchen sink, which had windows that overlooked the backyard. She said that she’d come into the kitchen for a glass of water when she heard something, but Laura suspected she’d been asked by Annie to wait up for her.

  Since the kitchen windows were wide open, and Kathleen must have overheard her say good night to Seth, Laura felt she needed to explain that they had been up late studying, and he’d escorted her home. Her hope was that Kathleen would assume that he’d been bringing her from Kitty’s home, not his own.

  Annie gave her a hug and said, “All right then, you go on up. Am I correct that you got permission to come in late to work tomorrow?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Richmond said she was very pleased to think that one of her workers was going on to get a degree. So I will be able to do some last minute reviewing in the morning. I will try to get back to the WCPU by five. Iris said she didn’t mind sticking around the shop so I could get in at least three hours work tomorrow. I hate to lose a full day’s pay.”

  As Laura climbed the stairs to her room, she wished she knew if Kathleen had told her mistress about Seth bringing her home. Her brother would kill her if he found out she’d been alone with Seth in his room for nearly four hours. While she’d always thought the rule that a man and a woman couldn’t be alone without the woman losing her reputation was stupid and archaic, Nate obviously didn’t agree. Not given how careful he was to keep the door to the parlor open when he visited Annie without someone else present, even after she became his fiancé. Laura could just imagine how he would feel about her visiting Seth...completely unchaperoned.