City of Saints

by Andrew Hunt

  “You once said the two of you were like sisters,” I said. “That you confided in each other.”

  “Please don’t do this, Mr. Oveson,” she said. Now tears streamed down her cheeks, one after another. “Not with Father in the room.”

  “Sweetheart,” said Dr. Pfalzgraf as he scooted closer to her and stroked her hand tenderly with his. “What is it you’re talking about?”

  “He doesn’t need to know,” she said between sobs. “Please don’t tell him. I beg you. It will break his heart.”

  The doctor stiffened and lifted his arm off of his daughter’s shoulders. He snatched one of the letters and read it through bifocals. His lips moved as he read, and before long his eyebrows quivered and hands trembled.

  “Helen wanted Parley to leave Miriam,” I said. “It’s possible Helen was pregnant with Parley’s baby.”

  All of this was more than Anna Pfalzgraf could take. She stood and rushed out of the room, halting briefly at the door to scream, “You’re a horrid man! Do you hear me? Horrid! There was no reason to do this to Papa!”

  Her footsteps echoed through the corridors, as did her forlorn wails. He slumped back in his chair, and his hand holding the letter fell to the couch, as if the weight of the paper had become more than he could bear. He appeared defeated, too shocked and blindsided to be enraged at me for revealing the ugly truth to him. I decided not to speak until he did, to give him time to take in the awful pain that came from reading those words of love and lust in the letters Parley Tanner penned to Helen Pfalzgraf.

  “I suppose I should’ve known,” he finally said. “Helen started out as a stenographer in Parley’s firm. He introduced the two of us. I really thought she…” He was quiet again for a while. “I thought she loved me. I guess I was a fool.”

  “You loved her and trusted her, and she ended up betraying you, in spite of that.”

  “Have you ever been betrayed, Mr. Oveson?”

  “No. I can’t imagine how painful it must be. I hope it never happens to me.”

  The doctor smiled. I think that was the first time I’d seen him smile today. I said, “I’m not quite done here, Doc. I need your help. Please.”

  “How can I help?”

  “I have questions.”

  “Ask.” He fell back deep into the couch.

  “Floyd Samuelson. Who is he to the Tanners?”

  “Parley and Miriam raised Floyd like a son. He came from a broken home. Floyd’s father was an alcoholic and a violent man who beat Floyd when he was a little boy. His mother died when he was seven. Floyd went to live with the Tanners. Miriam thought she was blessed because for the longest time, she couldn’t have children.”

  “So you already knew Floyd when he came to work for you as a security guard?”

  “Of course, I’d known him for years. Parley provided legal representation to the agency that hired Floyd, Bonneville Security. I pulled a few strings to get him placed with me. I’ve been his family doctor for quite some time. I’m an obstetrician, it is true, but I’m also a general practitioner. He was always a lovely boy. Never the sharpest razor, but kind with a good heart.”

  “Did he have a violent side to him?”

  “If he did, I never saw it.”

  “Why did you hire a security guard? Most doctors don’t have them.”

  “After my films went missing, I contacted Bonneville and arranged to hire Floyd as my guard. By this time, my secretary, Eunice, was getting telephone calls from victims of C. W. Alexander’s various blackmail schemes. They asked how on earth he got hold of the films. I feared my cover, which I’ve worked so long and so hard to protect, would be broken, and I’d be exposed in the press. That didn’t happen, luckily. Having Floyd around helped. There weren’t any more break-ins. No more stolen films. I felt safer with him around.”

  I changed the subject. “You said the Tanners couldn’t have children. What about Elizabeth? Was she adopted?”

  “No. Elizabeth came only after years of trying.”

  “I watched the movie of her visiting your office.”

  His eyes widened. “Do you have it?”

  I pushed the love letters off the film canister. “Right here.”

  The doctor studied it for a minute. He reached out and ran his fingers along the scuffed and dented metal. “May I keep this?”

  “It’s all yours. It doesn’t have the sound disk with it, though. I need to know what you two discussed that day.”

  “Mr. Oveson, there is something called doctor-patient confidentiality.”

  “There’s also something called a box of eighty of your movies in my possession.”

  Pfalzgraf thought it over, then rose to his feet and walked to an enormous framed painting of a sailing ship at sea. He opened it like a door, thanks to three hinges that kept it fastened to the wall on one side. Behind it was a large gray wall safe. He turned the dial and pulled down a chrome handle. The heavy door squealed open, and a little electric lightbulb inside lit up, revealing jewelry boxes, stacks of papers, and assorted valuables. He took out a phonograph in a brown paper sleeve and walked over to a Victrola sitting on a three-legged table and put on the album. He turned a crank on the side and lowered the needle. The album opened with hissing and popping, and the first voice sounded clear, as if in the room with us.

  “I am Dr. Hans Pfalzgraf. This recording is made at my office, second floor, Brooks Arcade, nine July nineteen twenty-eight.”

  A few clicks sounded, followed by a low humming in the background. From this point, the voices echoed like people talking into buckets.

  “Please state your name, where you’re from, and why you’re here,” said Pfalzgraf.

  “I certainly will,” she said nervously. “My name is Elizabeth Tanner. I am from Salt Lake, born and raised here, and I have come here today to, uh, line up one of your surgeries. I’ve heard you are the very best man to see.”

  “Why do you seek my assistance?”

  “I am pregnant and I wish…” Elizabeth paused.

  Pfalzgraf finished her sentence. “You wish to halt the pregnancy through medical scientific means.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That is what I want.”

  A long pause followed. The next voice was Pfalzgraf’s. “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I cannot help you.”

  “Wh-why? Why not?”

  “Your parents are like family to me,” he said. “They are my family. To perform one of these surgeries on you would be a betrayal that I could not—”

  When she interrupted him, I could hear panic in her voice. “I brought my money. It’s right here. Two hundred and fifty—”

  “No amount of money will make me change my mind, Elizabeth. My answer is no, I’m afraid. There are certain ethical lines I will not cross.”

  “You don’t understand. I think I’m already three months along—”

  “I will not perform this operation on loved ones, and I regard you and your parents and Floyd as akin to my own family. This is a policy I will not violate.”

  “I know, but I have the money right here—”

  “The answer is no. I will not operate on you, I’m afraid. There is nothing else to discuss. I am happy to call you a cab—”

  “I need this done right away. If the baby keeps growing, I won’t be able to—”

  “I’m certain your mother will help you take care of the baby.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” she said, crying now. “My father and mother will never approve—”

  “Please do not ask me to go against my principles,” said Pfalzgraf. “I could never do this to your parents. I love all of you dearly. I am willing to be your obstetrician, and in that capacity I’ll do what I can to ensure that your pregnancy is a healthy one.”

  For a long moment, the only sound on the phonograph was a faint, pathetic sobbing. “I beg you…”

  Elizabeth spoke through a veil of tears I could not see, but I could plainly hear the agony in her voice. “I can’t let the baby grow more or I’l
l never be able to give it up.”

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I urge you to try talking to your mother and father. Tell them about it. Be honest with them. Give them a chance. I’m sure they will be—”

  “No! Never! They’ll never understand…” Sobbing. “I would rather die, Doctor.”

  “I am sorry, Elizabeth. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  She seemed to regain her composure. “Th-thank you, Doctor. I understand your reasoning. I … I just wish … Oh, never mind. I’d better go.”

  Pfalzgraf raised the Victrola needle, set it on its rest, and shut off the machine.

  “That visit will always haunt me.”

  “You mean you wish you’d performed the surgery on her?”

  “No, but I wish I had helped Elizabeth. I let her leave my office distraught. I now understand that her death is partly my fault. I let her go. I didn’t help her.”

  He returned to the couch and sat motionless for a long while, not saying a word, deep in his thoughts. I was still trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. I had absorbed a lot of new information over the past several days. It reminded me of those puzzles that Sarah Jane and I put together on the big table at home. I was beginning to see a clearer picture, and my thoughts kept drifting back to that wound on Floyd’s hand when we greeted each other at the sheriff’s office. That he was like a son to the Tanners—and, presumably, like a brother to Elizabeth—gave me a clearer understanding of his involvement. Plenty of puzzle pieces remained missing, though, and there was a great deal I still could not see.

  I broke the long silence. “How did Elizabeth go from your office to Dr. Wooley’s?”

  Pfalzgraf shrugged. “That, I do not know.”

  “I know.”

  I turned in my seat to see Anna Pfalzgraf in the doorway, no longer crying. She moved across the room, returning to the place beside her father, and took his hand in hers and squeezed it. He squeezed back.

  She inhaled a deep, shaky breath and averted her eyes to the ceiling. I could tell she was preparing to say something significant, simply by the change in her posture. If there was ever a time for me to remain silent in spite of that investigator inside of me urging me to ask more questions, it was now.

  “Before Helen was…” Anna couldn’t bring herself to say “murdered.” “She confessed something to me. It was Helen who told Elizabeth about Wooley. Elizabeth was desperate. She wasn’t in her right state of mind. I knew she’d fallen for a young Mexican fellow named Juan. She met him at a dance, and they started seeing each other in secrecy. But Elizabeth was afraid her parents wouldn’t accept him. She told him she couldn’t see him anymore. It broke her heart.”

  “Because he was Mexican?” I asked.

  She nodded. “And because he wasn’t of the faith. You see, Mr. Oveson, the Tanners—unlike us—are Mormons.”

  “If you and Elizabeth were so close, why didn’t she tell you about her plans to see Wooley?”

  “She was ashamed. She didn’t really want the surgery, but she was so fearful of her parents’ reaction. I think she went to Helen because she hoped Helen could persuade Father to change his mind. Instead, Helen suggested she go to Wooley.”

  “Surely Helen knew Wooley wasn’t safe.”

  Anna was biting her lower lip, resisting the tears. So far, she was winning. “Not every woman who went to Wooley died afterward. Hundreds survived before Elizabeth went, and she didn’t know about all the deaths. I imagine Helen could see how desperate Elizabeth was—how frightened and alone she was.”

  I nodded, glanced at her father’s forlorn expression, then returned my focus to Anna. “Didn’t finding out about Helen’s affair with Parley put a strain on your relationship with her?”

  “I didn’t learn about Mr. Tanner until that last time I saw her.”

  “You mean that last night you saw her alive? Friday?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I nodded. “How did the subject of her affair with Parley come up?”

  “Helen was on her way out the door. I was worried because she was so drunk, and I asked her where she was going. She said she had to talk to Mrs. Tanner. Helen said she needed to get some things off her chest before she left for California. I asked what things. That’s when Helen told me about this secret past of hers. The affair with Mr. Tanner. Telling Elizabeth to see Wooley. Getting pregnant with Mr. Tanner’s baby. Or what she thought was his baby. Helen wanted to confess all of these things to Mrs. Tanner. She said she needed Mrs. Tanner to forgive her before she could leave.”

  I shut my eyes. Miriam Tanner’s appearance had been seared into my consciousness, as indelible as a red-hot brand. Her gray curls, narrow face, and Mona Lisa smile; her small figure hidden under layers of ritzy clothing. Even when I first met her, without knowing a thing about her, I sensed tragedy only slightly below the surface. If what Anna was saying was true, Miriam might have been one of the last people to see Helen Pfalzgraf alive—and not just see her alive. Helen was visiting Miriam to beg her forgiveness for three devastating transgressions, any one of which could drive the most decent person over the precipice into a murderous rage.

  “I tried to talk her out of it,” said Anna, “but she wouldn’t listen. She walked out of the house, and I never saw her again.”

  The entire room shook for a second, and I looked up at rattling chandelier crystals. Dr. Pfalzgraf rose and went over and parted the curtains at the very moment a bolt of lightning webbed across the skies above the mansion. The thunderclap sounded much louder this time. He stood at the window, watching clouds cast shadows in what was shaping up to be a tumultuous early spring storm. I knew where I had to go next, but I did not relish the confrontation ahead of me. I put on my Stetson and collected the love letters that C. W. Alexander had likely used to extract a decent sum of money from Parley Tanner.

  “Sorry if I made you miss your train.”

  “All things considered, it may be wise for us to postpone this trip,” said Anna.

  “I agree,” said her father. He returned to his open wall safe, fished something out, and brought it over and placed it on to the coffee table in front of me. “You should know, Mr. Oveson, that I never gave Sheriff Cannon a campaign donation. I would never donate a cent to that useless man.”

  I read the name on the label of the film canister sitting in front of me on the table, but it didn’t mean anything to me. MAE CALKINS. 3/22/29.

  I ran my fingertips along the cold metal, wondering who she was.

  “Mae did not see me alone,” he said. “Once in a while, a man will accompany the patient. The man who came in with Mae was Fred Cannon. He had to sign a consent form, because she was only seventeen. I thought he was her father, but I later found out that they knew each other through church, and he…”

  Pfalzgraf paused for the right words. “He had his way with her. In the film, she expresses reluctance to have the surgery, so he asks me to leave the office. He says he wants privacy so he can—in his words—‘talk sense into her.’ I did as he asked. It may not have been a wise idea. Once I left the room, the film shows him striking her in the back of the head with the palm of his hand, calling her a fool, telling her she will ruin his marriage if she has the baby. He reduces her to tears. Then he summons me back in the office and tells me that Mae wants the surgery. I ask her if this is true. She says yes, signs on the dotted line, and goes through with it.”

  He blinked at the film. “At the time, I didn’t know what happened when I was out of the room. I didn’t watch the film until much later. I was shocked by what I saw. After Helen was murdered, I used the film to keep Cannon away from me. Not that I had anything to hide, mind you, but in my encounters with Cannon, I found him belligerent and vulgar. I suppose you could say I took a page out of Alexander’s book.”

  He watched me looking at the canister. “Go on and take it,” he said. “It’s yours.”

  At first, I had a hard time finding the words to form a reply, because I was so shocked, but I snatched the ca
nister off the table and stuffed it in my coat pocket. The canister was a little wide for my pocket, and I had to push it hard to get it in there. It formed a round imprint on the outside of my coat. “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “I have a feeling you’ll put it to better use than I will.”

  On my way out of the Pfalzgraf mansion, the doctor stopped and shook my hand. He squeezed it tightly before he released it and flashed an uncertain smile at me. By the time I left, it was raining—a harder and more violent rain than we’re accustomed to in Salt Lake City, where we’re doing well when a few drops fall on our valley.

  Twenty-seven

  On a sunny day, it would have seemed absurd to drive the short distance from Dr. Pfalzgraf’s mansion on South Temple to the Tanners’ house in Federal Heights, only a few blocks away, but today’s downpour had flooded the gutters and roads. In Federal Heights, I steered onto the quiet, tree-lined street and drove slowly past the city’s grandest dwellings. I parked at the curb, shut off the engine, and straightened my Stetson in the rearview mirror. My arm brushed up against the film canister in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced down at the label, as if to assure myself it was not a dream. The name was still there. MAE CALKINS. 3/22/29. My gut told me I’d need this bargaining chip. I tucked it under my seat, in a safe crevice that seemed to be made to store movie reels this size. Next, I placed Parley’s letters inside the glove compartment and locked it with a little silver key. Before leaping out into the storm, I made sure all of the car windows were rolled up tightly.

  The Tanners’ house loomed large at the top of that long flight of stairs, with lights glowing in its windows. I ran through the rain, my feet plunging into a street torrent that went halfway up my shoes. I reached the porch—dry ground—and leaned against an Adirondack chair to catch my breath. Lightning brightened the sky, and the tree branches overhead formed gnarled silhouettes against the flash. A Plymouth coupe chugged down the road, spraying a tidal wave onto the sidewalk and lawns. For a second, I thought about getting in my car, driving down to the Public Safety Building on State Street, and sharing everything I knew with Buddy Hawkins. His words from the night before—telling me he’d be waiting for me in his office today—echoed in my mind. I could turn the responsibility for this miserable deed over to him. What harm could he do? I knew Buddy was honest. He’d see to it personally that everybody received fair treatment and justice prevailed. And who knows? If I told him everything I knew, maybe it would put me in good stead for a job on the police force. Being out of work left me feeling weak and demoralized. I needed an income. I had a family to support, bills that needed paying. Clara’s salary as an English teacher couldn’t support all of us indefinitely.