Chinawoman's Chance

by James Musgrave

  Miss Benedict was a short woman in her forties, with black hair, brown eyes that took in all she surveyed with a calm austere gaze. She wore a simple dress of gingham and a white bonnet around her head. In fact, to Lees, she resembled a pioneer woman who might be a better fit riding some Calistoga covered wagon than working as a headmistress for a bunch of escaped prostitutes.

  When she spoke, Lees heard a definite Southern drawl. She grabbed onto his hands and pushed them up into the air as if she were refereeing a prize fight, and she was declaring him the victor.

  “O Captain, my Captain! What brings you to the Land of Milk and Honey? Haven’t you always wondered how the Bible would use such feminine images for Paradise? Milk from the mammalian breast and honey from the female bee. My work, you see, is to get these little bees busy so they can return to society. Correct, ladies?” She withdrew her hands and spread them wide.

  “Correct, Miss Benedict!” The girls shouted. “Bzzzzzzz!”

  “Indeed. Now Miss Benedict, if you will. I would like to ask you a few questions about the girl who was under your roof, one Miss Mary McCarthy.” Lees raised his voice to bring down the frivolity.

  The room immediately became silent, and Rachel Benedict frowned. “Mary was one of my best pupils. She worked harder at improving her body and spirit than any student I have had. She had escaped the pit of Hell, you see, and she wanted to be saved from that life. I tried to assist, but just when I thought she was ready to join the community of decent society, she vanished. Right after she got the highest grade on a geography test I had given.”

  “Did she say where she was going? What day did she leave your home?” Lees was working toward his primary question.

  “No, not a word about her destination. It was on a Sunday. Yes, Pastor Reeves had given the sermon that morning, and I then gave the test. Sunday, the 10th of February.” She cupped her right hand around her mouth and whispered, “Is it true what they wrote in the newspapers? Was her young body defiled in such a horrible manner?”

  “I’m afraid so. Did anybody bring her to you? Did she have any visitors when she lived with you?”

  Miss Benedict looked up to concentrate, and then she raised her right forefinger and smiled. “Why, yes! A young Chinese man brought her to me, and he would visit her from time to time. George, I believe his name was.”

  Lees’ jaws clenched. “George Kwong?”

  “How did you know? He was a fine young man. A journalist, I believe. He told me he wanted to save Miss McCarthy from a wretched occupation. He believed she was suited for a much better life.”

  “His employer, of course, is the same as yours, is it not? When the Methodist Church gives you money to buy girls at the auctions, is George Kwong or his father involved?” This was the point of Lees’ questions.

  “Why, no. I mean, I wouldn’t know about their involvement. I am given money by the church elders with specific instructions to purchase the youngest among the girls, as they are seen as the most salvageable. There are so many Chinese men at these auctions, I wouldn’t know if George Kwong or his father were there. Besides, it would be impossible to recognize them, even if they were there.”

  Lees, who had never attended these auctions, was still hoping he could place the Kwongs at the scene of such illegal business. “Impossible? How is that, Miss? Do you not have good vision?”

  “I have excellent eyesight, Captain. It’s just that the bidders all wear masks. They are quite aware the authorities might be spying on them, so they disguise themselves. Of course, they pay the proper bribes, but every once in awhile, the Chinatown Sheriffs Squad will attend and arrest some of these scoundrels.”

  “Thank you for this information, Miss Benedict. If I have further questions, will you agree to see me again?” Lees motioned to Vanderheiden to get the door. They both moved toward the exit.

  “Of course! I would do anything to help find such a monster. Although, God works in mysterious ways.” Miss Benedict’s brown eyes were glistening.

  “Yes? How so?” Lees opened the door. He could smell the foul odors of tobacco and liquors coming from the next-door tavern.

  “With a killer like that on the loose, my girls may think twice about the profession they’ve chosen.” Rachel Benedict smiled and closed the door.

  “Pretty smart dame, that Benedict,” Dutch said, reaching into his vest to pull out a cigar. He lit it with a match he extracted from his watch pocket, cupped it in his big hands, and set the end ablaze by flicking the tip with his thumbnail. He held the flame against the cigar end, blew out the smoke, and grinned. “You think she’s on the take at the auctions, boss?”

  “Who knows? I’m not after the little fish, Dutch. I am going to press hard about George Kwong and his father, however. They look like the best suspects so far, don’t you think?”

  “Would seem so. Let’s see what the mayor says about the Kwongs. Maybe he wants to clean up the city a bit.” Dutch spat a flake of cigar tobacco into the gutter and hitched up his pants.

  “Indeed. The excrement does roll downhill.” Lees patted his partner’s shoulder. “We need to follow the money.”

  As luck would have it, Lees and Vanderheiden were met by a man running toward them, coming from the direction of City Hall. They recognized him as being from the mayor’s office. Breathless, he stopped. He wore a dark suit and red tie with red suspenders, and Lees thought at first there might be another murder.

  “Captain Lees?” The man was still panting. Lees nodded. “There’s been a change in venue. The Mayor wants you to meet him in Chinatown. He’s dining at the Pagoda Inn on Jackson Street.”

  “Very well. Thank you, son. We’ll head back there.”

  The office assistant turned on his heels and ran back up the avenue. Lees and Vanderheiden retreated back to Chinatown.

  Inside the Pagoda Inn, the odors were mouthwatering. Captain Lees could taste the variety of dishes whose smells bathed him in their luxurious energies. Scallion pancakes, shrimp dumpling soup, Peking duck, shredded pork in hot garlic sauce, and chicken chilli. Lees and Vanderheiden often came to Chinatown to eat, as it was their favorite food. Also, many of their street informers were Chinese, so they never had to pay.

  “Over here, Gentlemen!” Mayor Washington Bartlett was waving from a booth in the back of the restaurant. Lees and Vanderheiden hurried over to greet him.

  “Buenos dias seňores. Como estan ustedes?” Among other things, including being one of the most prominent officials in San Francisco, who wanted all Chinese immigration stopped, Bartlett was also fluent in Spanish. He was a tall man, a former naval officer under President Andrew Jackson, a life-long Democrat, whose relative signed the Declaration of Independence. His hair and full beard were now all white, and the Six Companies in Chinatown called him “The Great White Whale,” not in literary reference to Melville’s novel but because he was wide of girth and brash of manner. Captain Lees found it more than ironic that the mayor dined so often in Chinatown, and yet still professed his racism at the table, but mostly in Spanish.

  Lees and Vanderheiden squeezed into the booth. Bartlett pointed to the heaping mounds of rice, crackling orange duck, and other delights. “Enjoy!”

  “Sorry, Mayor. We’re working the McCarthy case right now. I wanted to ask a favor.” Lees wanted to get down to business right away.

  Bartlett filled his bearded face, with a shoveling action of his chopsticks, from his bowl of rice. “Go on,” he mumbled.

  “Your man Connolly and his Chinatown Squad have arrested fourteen Tongs. I realize they might be suspect, but to get to the heart of this murder case, I need these men free and out in their community. Violence is bound to break-out if you keep them under lock for much longer, and then my case will become shrouded in anger. I won’t be able to get an honest answer from anyone in Chinatown. You can understand my dilemma as a detective, can’t you?” Captain Lees pleaded, aware that the motto hanging over Bartlett’s desk read, “Honesty in
Government.”

  Bartlett finished chewing, set down his chopsticks, and picked up the tiny teacup filled with oolong. He sipped, smacked his lips, and said, “Of course! I will have them released right away. By the way, how is your case going?”

  Lees was taken aback. He had not expected this, and now he was wary. Lees and Vanderheiden had always expected Bartlett to be in on most of the crime going on in Chinatown and that his racism was a way to cover it up from the public.

  “Thank you. I’m just gathering testimony from witnesses. There are a few suspects, but releasing the Tongs will improve things substantially. I don’t think this murder is connected to any gang rivalries or retributions. I have reason to believe, however, it may be related to something familial. Perhaps a father-son jealousy or something to do with a love affair gone wrong.” This was the first time Lees had voiced his suspicions out loud. They sounded coherent enough.

  “I know! As an old newspaperman, myself, I understand your concern. Would your suspects happen to be Andrew and George Kwong of The Oriental newspaper?”

  Once again, Lees was astounded at the mayor’s words. How would he know about Kwong? How had word gotten to him so quickly? “Why, yes, I just interviewed them both today. How did you know?”

  “I have been in secret communications with them for six months now. I know none of you in the police force could know of this, but Mary McCarthy is not the first murder victim in Chinatown.”

  “What?” Lees looked over at Vanderheiden, whose eyes were now as large and round as the tea saucer under Bartlett’s cup.

  “Correct. There have been seven prostitutes killed—all of them Chinese—over the previous six months. When Kwong told me, I immediately knew this information could never reach the community in Chinatown. If so, there would be wholesale panic, and my administration, and even the Sheriff’s Department and Chinatown Squad, could become suspect in their eyes. So, I have kept it under wraps. Until McCarthy’s murder.” Bartlett took another sip of his tea and licked his lips. “You might be interested to know that each of the killings had the same earmarks. The body was flayed and disgorged of innards, leaving the basic skeleton intact.”

  Lees swallowed hard. “But, why? This makes my case a completely different affair! I need a complete run-down on these successive killings. There is not one minute to waste! What you’ve done, Mayor, is a complete miscarriage of justice. How could you?” Lees pounded his fist on the table, and the dishes and silverware rattled.

  Bartlett’s white eyebrows furrowed, and his grimace was vicious. “Listen to me, Lees. If my precious City of San Francisco became aware of these murders, can you imagine what would happen?”

  “You might lose your job?” Vanderheiden said, and Lees punched him under the table.

  “Not just that. The Committee for Vigilance still exists. If you think the Chinese riots were terrible, word of these murders would have people torching all of Chinatown! We must keep these murders out of the press until we solve this case. Is that understood?”

  Sadly, it did make some sense to Lees, even though he was now mentally including Mayor Bartlett on his list of suspects. “So, are you going to get me the list of victims and all the evidence you have on these murders?”

  “Of course, O Captain, my Captain! In fact, Andrew Kwong has been keeping all of this information for us. He plans to write a detailed story for his readers as soon as we can find the murderer. Won’t that be special? Let’s just hope the murderer turns out to be Chinese. Otherwise, it may not be only my job at stake but yours as well.”

  Lees again slammed his fist on the table. “I follow clues and discover the truth! I don’t give a hang who this killer turns out to be! Good day, Mayor.”

  “Oh, Gentlemen,” Bartlett called after the retreating officers’ figures. They turned back around, and he said, “keep this out of the newspapers, or you will be arrested as well. And you better both pray you find this killer soon.”

  “Oh, and why is that?” Lees asked.

  “If the next victim is a person who lives outside of Chinatown, then you can imagine how the anger will escalate.”

  “Indeed,” Lees mumbled. “Hopefully, right up your mammoth posterior,” he whispered. Lees also thought about where he had heard that expression before. “O Captain, my Captain.” Of course! The pioneer woman of the Home for Wayward Women, Rachel Benedict. Did the mayor know her? Were they having an affair? As Isaiah Lees marched down Jackson with his partner, his mind chewed on the rising level of complication.

  Chapter Four: The New Investigation

  Tin How Temple, Waverly Place, Chinatown, San Francisco, February 15, 1884.

  When Clara met Captain Lees the next morning, inside the Tin How Temple basement, she was expecting a rather mundane police procedural. After stopping at the mansion on Nob Hill to retrieve her friend and translator, Ah Toy, they arrived at their destination at around half-past nine.

  Once inside, Clara was surprised by a boisterous scene. There were a dozen policemen present, including Captain Isaiah Lees and his partner, Eduard Vanderheiden, and they had transformed the meeting room into an investigative headquarters. There were eight gruesome photographs affixed to the wall above the Six Companies clan table. They were lurid replicas of women who had been stripped of their skins and intestines, and their bodies were draped over chairs, on beds, and inside closets. These pictures also had arrows drawn, from one to the other, and beneath each photo was a physical description of the woman, including her name, the time of her murder, and the location.

  “What happened, Captain?” Clara touched Lees on his gray cape, and he turned to face her. He was obviously preoccupied.

  “I’m afraid this murder case has grown way out of proportion, Misses Foltz. I was informed yesterday that your clients have been hiding information about seven previous killings of prostitutes—all Chinese—which took place on different dates and locations during the last six months.”

  Clara noticed that Ah Toy was standing on the other side of the room, under an ornate lantern, talking with Andrew Kwong. His son, George, was standing next to him.

  “I can see that they all have the same operative details.” Clara pointed to each photograph. “Do you suspect that the same assailant committed all of these murders?”

  “Until I discover evidence to the contrary, I must assume so. The recent murder of Mary McCarthy seems to be a movement in a different direction, obviously. Also, the interval of time between each murder seems to be less.” Lees pointed to the dates under each photo. “See? The first one was on August 17, the next September 12, then October 15. But then, from November 17 until February 12, three days ago, there were five murders committed, each one closer to the next by a week. At this rate, we might expect another one at any time. Oh, and here is the affidavit of the journalist who saw George Kwong on Sacramento the night of the McCarthy girl’s murder.” Lees handed the paper to Clara who tucked it inside her handbag.

  Standing with a group of three men, including Jesse Cook, the Chinatown Squad leader, was Sheriff Patrick Connolly, a clean-shaven, red-faced Irishman, with curly-black hair, who was sporting a black frock coat with matching trousers, a vest, and white shirt and tie. When he overheard Lees speaking to Clara, he walked over to them.

  “So, you’re the new lass Andrew was telling me about. Don’t pay attention to old Isaiah. His mind was fogged up in London, don’t you know?” Connolly was in his thirties, and his accent was very Irish.

  “Thank you for the advice, Sheriff, but I can think for myself. Captain Lees was going to show me the intricacies of his investigative technique, but now there seem to be many more cooks stirring the homicidal kettle, if you will.” Clara was used to bantering with men, as she was the only female barrister in San Francisco.

  “Somebody invoke my name?” Jesse Brown Cook called from across the room.

  “Not that kind of cook, me lad,” the Sheriff said.

  Captain Lees knew that it w
as dangerous having Cook and Connolly in on this investigation, as there was probably a lot of money to be made for a leaked story. However, when Mayor Bartlett gave the order to release the Tongs, he had also decided to inform Connolly and his holy roller pal, kid Cook. Lees had decided to keep all of his findings a secret until he could uncover a suspect, but he would pretend to fully cooperate with Connolly and Bartlett to keep the peace in the ranks. The fly in his ointment was Clara Foltz. He needed her and her translator’s help more than ever, and he was going to use it very carefully.

  “Sheriff, you and your men are going to question the Tongs about what they know concerning the seven murdered Chinese women. We need to know who they were dating and when, and then we’ll need to compare notes to see if there are similar patterns at work.” Lees took his Bowie knife from his vest and held it up. “For example, I immediately suspected the killer might have used a blade of some kind to do the flaying of his victim. I even had one of my men question butchers in the city. None of them was suspect, as they all had alibis as to their whereabouts at the time of McCarthy’s murder.”

  “A blade is a blade, me boy-o. It’s the sharpness and skill that matters,” Connolly said.

  Lees nodded. “Correct, Sheriff. But butchers also know how to dispose of the blood and intestines with the least amount of splatter and chaos. Each of these murders has an almost pristine crime scene, so where does that leave us with butchers?”

  “Excuse me, Gentlemen, but what about a coroner who must perform an autopsy? He or she would also have such grisly expertise. And, what about all of those who work in the burial services? They must also do such work.” Clara was using her attorney’s logic, and the men were paying notice. “Don’t you think you should widen your net to include these types as well?”

  Captain Lees was secretly irate. He hadn’t expected this woman to divulge what he hoped to keep from Connolly and Cook. He was going to send them out to interview more butchers because there were now more victims. Now he would have to allow them to question coroners and funeral directors.