Where Cowards Tread (Ravenwood Mysteries #7)

by Sabrina Flynn

  Jin swallowed. Maa Min was dead. Niu Tou was dead. And still she burned with hate and emptiness. Maybe the healer was right.

  “I don’t know why Tan Ling helped me,” Sammy said. “But because of her, I don’t hate anymore, and what is left of my life belongs to her.” He got down to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground. “I am so sorry, mui mui. Please do what you wish with me, but don’t make her watch.”

  Jin eased back the hammer, its weight heavy in the sack. Without a word she left.

  The beggar was waiting for her outside. By waiting, he happened to be sitting on the corner where she crossed. Down the road braziers burned, and the lights of the theater blazed. She stopped in front of him.

  “You knew, didn’t you?” she accused.

  Still blindfolded, he tilted his head to the side. She wasn’t fooled by his blind act. He had tripped her with his cane on purpose. “Yes, I knew you dislocated your shoulder.”

  “You know who I am.”

  “I told you as much, child. Your sister sent me.” Their voices were low. Not quite whispers, but low enough that she had to strain to hear his reply.

  “Who are you?” she asked again.

  “I told you.”

  “Did you know my parents?”

  “I know of many things, but I don’t know anyone.”

  Jin frowned.

  “I hear every whisper in this Quarter.”

  “Then you know Sammy was there when my parents were killed. He used to be a hatchet man.”

  Justice nodded.

  “If you are truly Justice, what will you do with him?”

  “I was not the one wronged. His fate was left for you to decide.”

  “I nearly shot him.”

  “Then you would have shot him.”

  “And I would have left Tan Ling grief-stricken.”

  “Death has that effect. Justice doesn’t discriminate.”

  Jin sighed. “I let him live.” She could barely believe her own words. She felt as though she had failed her mother and father.

  “Then justice has been honored.”

  Jin wanted to scream at the beggar. He answered questions with more questions. Nothing he said made any sense. She was a storm of emotion, of pain, and there was only one thing to do. Jin stalked off into the night.

  The hearth glowed with heat, as Riot half dozed in a chair. That was all he had been doing of late. Drifting in and out of a daze, answering questions for the sake of answering them, but struggling to understand the words and meaning. But the fog was beginning to part. Slowly.

  Today was better than the last. Grimm had hitched up the hack and driven him to a barbershop. He felt human again.

  A knock sounded, softly.

  Riot blinked against the dim light, and got to his feet with glacial care. His head throbbed, his jaw ached, his ribs burned, every step felt like a victory or a glimpse into his future.

  He could have simply said, ‘come in,’ but this gave him something to do. The knock, a mere scratching, sounded again. “Yes?” he asked.

  “It is me,” a faint voice answered.

  “Jin?” She rarely came through a door. He opened it to find her standing in the hallway. Circles ringed her eyes. She looked stark in the gas light, her cheekbones severe, her eyes panicked. Her shoulder was in a sling, and bruises blossomed on her neck. The mark of a hand. She hugged a sack to her chest. “What on earth happened to you?” He reached out for her, but she rushed past him.

  When he turned, she sank to the floor on her knees, and placed the sack between them. She pressed her forehead to the rug. “I stole your gun,” she blurted out. “I stayed out past nightfall. I stabbed one man and shot another, but Justice killed him. And I nearly murdered a good man.”

  Riot took a moment to sort through her words, but whether it was from disbelief or his head trauma, he wasn’t sure. He knelt down to touch her back. “Yes, but are you all right?”

  Jin lifted her head to look at him. “I disobeyed you and Isobel.”

  “You do that frequently,” he said.

  “But this time I tried to kill a man. I am ready for my punishment.”

  Riot gave her back a quick pat. “Good, help me up.”

  She did so, and he closed the door before limping to his chair by the fire. Jin picked up the sack, and hurried over. She carefully unwrapped his revolver and held it out.

  Riot took it from her hands. “Have a seat.”

  Jin sat on the ottoman at his feet while Riot inspected the revolver. It was filthy—caked in mud and hastily wiped clean. One round spent.

  Riot glanced at Jin, who looked on the verge of collapsing, screaming, crying, or possibly attacking him. He emptied the chambers, paused, then pocketed the cartridges and set the revolver aside. He hoisted himself out of his chair, and dragged a blanket from Ravenwood’s chair and laid it on the girl’s shoulders before heading to his drink cabinet.

  Ignoring Dr. Wise’s orders, he defiantly poured two very small portions of brandy. He handed the second to Jin, who sniffed at it warily.

  “Am I allowed to drink this?” she asked.

  “Probably not.” He sipped his own glass, watching as Jin sampled the alcohol. Her eyes flared open and she started coughing in surprise. Color returned to her face.

  “Now, start at the beginning. Speak slowly. My head hurts and it’s hard to make sense of things.”

  “Isobel always says that too,” Jin noted.

  “Just so.” He raised his glass to her.

  Sao Jin told him everything. She watched him carefully for a reaction, but Riot betrayed nothing, until she came to the part about Maa Min, and dangling off a roof top, falling, and nearly being choked to death. At that point, he poured himself another glass of brandy. A generous one.

  And finally she came to Sammy.

  “I let him live. I could not shoot him. I failed my parents.” Jin fell silent. She clutched her hands, nails biting into the skin, and hung her head in shame.

  Riot leaned forward and took her hands in his. The edges of his vision narrowed and a wave of dizzying pain hit him, but he managed to keep upright. “Jin,” he said softly. “How did you feel after Maa Min was killed by the beggar?”

  Jin looked up at him. “Relieved. Empty. Angry. I do not know… My parents are still dead.” Tears spilled from her eyes. She bit them back, but before she could swallow them down, Riot pulled her closer and then up onto his chair. She fit beside him, under his arm, and buried her face against his waistcoat, her tears soaking the wool as he stroked her hair.

  How many people had failed this girl? The police. The community. The justice system. Small wonder she had taken the law into her own hands. He knew what it was like to be utterly alone and invisible in a harsh world. He should have seen it; he should have realized what she’d do.

  “I know what it’s like growing up in… less than ideal circumstances. Of fending for yourself. Of wanting revenge. Of getting it. But you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to carry the weight by yourself.”

  Jin pulled back to look up at him. “But I am a coward.”

  “Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.”

  She wiped her nose on a sleeve. “Hamlet.”

  “What did vengeance cost Hamlet?”

  “Everything.”

  “But he got it,” Riot said.

  “So did you. You killed the man who killed Ravenwood.”

  Riot nodded. “But before that… I killed people who I thought killed him.”

  “The tongs. Hatchet men,” she nearly spat the word. “I heard about the attack when I was a house slave. The merchants threw a celebration in your honor.”

  “Still, I have to live with that.”

  “But they were bad. Boo how doy cause terror and misery in Chinatown. Everyone is afraid of them.”

  “Not everyone,” he said. “Your father wasn’t. Justice isn’t. But hatchet men have families, too. I made widows and orphans that day. How do you suppose thei
r sons and daughters view me? How many will grow up and come gunning for me one day?”

  Jin was quiet for a time, but she was relaxed by his side, safe under his arm. Alive. Riot closed his eyes briefly. He owed Sin Chi Man three debts he could never repay. For saving his own life, for saving Sarah’s, and now Jin’s.

  “It is a cycle,” she whispered.

  “And you broke it when you let Sammy go free—you saw past blind rage, listened to your conscience for what was right, and you broke that cycle.”

  “Maa Min is dead because of me.”

  “One could argue that Justice saw to that.”

  Jin twisted to meet his eyes. “So you think I was right to go after him?”

  “No,” Riot said, firmly. “I do not think an eleven-year-old daughter of mine should have gone off to assassinate a notorious killer, by herself.”

  Jin pulled back as much as possible in the close confines.

  “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

  “Like Hamlet, I did not expect to live.”

  “And how do you think your death would have made Bel and me feel?”

  “Glad to be rid of me?” she asked slowly.

  “Heart-broken,” he said in clipped tones. “Shattered.”

  “And then you would have avenged me and killed Maa Min,” she accused.

  Riot opened his mouth to deny it, but… “I’m trying to work on that.”

  Jin scrutinized him. “Is that why you were beaten so badly? You tried to kill the man who killed your agent?”

  “No, I tried to talk with him,” Riot said dryly. Two decades ago, the man he was would have simply shot Monty and been done with it. Civilization would be the death of him.

  “Talking didn’t work out so well.”

  This talk was not going in the direction he wished either. So he changed it. Riot was not the one to give lectures on vengeance. “As for your punishment…”

  Jin stiffened.

  Riot pointed to the bookshelf. “See that tattered book there. The book by the green one. Bring it over, please.”

  Resigned, Jin dutifully walked over to the shelf. She hesitated over the indicated volume. “This one here is thicker. Would that not be better to beat me with?”

  “Jin,” he said firmly. “I want you to read the book to me.”

  “What?”

  “For your punishment. Read me the book.”

  “Why?” She picked up the leather bound book.

  Riot lay his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. “I currently can’t read for more than ten minutes before my head feels on the verge of bursting.”

  He felt her settle back beside him. “Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen?” Pages rustled. “I would rather read you the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.”

  “This is not up for debate.”

  “You do not like Sherlock Holmes?”

  “Holmes is an ass,” Riot muttered. “Watson’s a good chap, though.”

  She fell silent at this. Then after a time she confided in a threadbare whisper, “I… hated the man, Sammy, for sparing my life almost as much as I hated them all for killing my parents. He should have let me die.”

  Riot put an arm around her. “There’s times I’ve felt that way. Things would’ve been easier for certain.”

  Jin looked up at him, surprised. “But I would not know you. My life would be even worse.”

  “Likewise. And if I had died, I wouldn’t have met Bel or Sarah or you. That’s a terrifying thought. I suppose we’re all responsible for each other, in all sorts of little ways.”

  “I want to visit Tan Ling, but I do not know if I can forgive Sammy.”

  “No one’s asking you to.”

  “Tan Ling said that ‘hate poisons the hater, not the hated.’ Do you think she is right?”

  Riot considered the girl looking up at him. He answered truthfully. “I do. But I don’t think all men deserve forgiveness. I do believe in redemption, however.”

  “What is that?”

  “Making amends for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

  “What is right and wrong?”

  Riot raised his brows. “I’m no philosopher, and I’m definitely not a preacher. I don’t have those kinds of answers, Jin.”

  She considered this for a moment. “You are a good man,” she stated with certainty. “I do not think you have much to make right.”

  “I wasn’t always.”

  Jin looked at him in a new light. “Just like Sammy.”

  “I can’t vouch for him, but I believe men, and women, can change for the better.”

  “Then I will help Sammy with his redemption.”

  Riot blinked. “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, but I will do it. It feels right.”

  “Jin, I’m not comfortable with you visiting him.”

  “Why not?”

  Riot found himself backed into a corner of his own making. “I don’t want you going alone. At least until I meet him.”

  “You should not go into Chinatown.”

  “Your safety means more to me. It’s not up for debate.”

  To his surprise, Jin didn’t argue. She looked relieved. “I will not go without you.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Now, for your own redemption…” He gestured at the book.

  “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Jin stopped reading. “Is this a romance?”

  “It’s my favorite book. I find it soothing.”

  She made a sound of disgust.

  “It’s part of your punishment,” he reminded.

  “What is my other punishment?”

  “You have to do the voices for the dialogue.”

  “I would rather be whipped…” Jin muttered under her breath. But she began to read, voices and all.

  45

  Interrogation

  Wednesday, October 24, 1900

  The local sheriff offered an escort, but Tim didn’t like the idea of handing their captive over to the law. They’d manage just fine, he said.

  And they did.

  All the while Tim coached her on the finer points of escorting a prisoner. What to watch for, what to expect, and the tricks prisoners played to escape.

  At least they didn’t have to worry about a gang trying to break him free.

  They were in a private compartment, a first-class one stripped down to transport prisoners. Isobel sat across from Hadley. He wore iron on his wrists and ankles and looked resigned to his fate.

  Something was nagging on her mind. He seemed sincere. Adamant that he hadn’t killed Ella. But who else could have?

  Once they arrived in San Francisco, she’d likely never get a chance to interview him, so she considered her approach. Blunt confrontation and demands might not work here.

  “You met Ella at the library, didn’t you?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  Hadley looked up. “I’m not talking to you without a lawyer.”

  She smiled. “If you’re telling the truth about Ella, I’m your best chance, Charles.”

  “Who are you? You’re obviously not Mary Read.”

  “Isobel Amsel with Ravenwood Detective Agency.”

  His eyes widened a fraction.

  “You’ve heard of us, I see.”

  Tim sat on the far bench, puffing lazily away. He had his rifle on his lap, the barrel pointed casually at Hadley. He didn’t seem overly concerned with a misfire.

  “I have,” Hadley said.

  Isobel leaned closer, steeling herself for what she was about to say, no matter how much it sickened her. “I believe you—that you didn’t know Ella was fifteen. My husband and I are separated by twenty years or so. Age is only a number when minds connect.”

  Hadley licked his lips. “It’s true. Madge introduced us.”

  “Madge Ryan?”

  Hadley nodded. “I met her at the Olympia. Nice girl, but she… the man living with her drunk of a mother
is a real piece of work. I was helping her get on her feet.”

  I bet you were, Isobel thought, but she held her tongue. She needed his trust. Silence wasn’t her style. She didn’t have Riot’s patience. When he looked at a person, he was calm, as if he had all the time in the world. On the flip side, as Riot had informed her, she had daggers for eyes.

  So she tried a different tactic. “You were helping Madge?”

  “She ran away from home months ago. I helped her get a place to stay, and find work.”

  “Did you rent her a house?”

  Hadley shook his head. “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t…” He trailed off. “Maybe at first, but I only fronted her some money. I found her a lodging house and helped her get settled.”

  “Then you met Ella?”

  “Ella was different. She was vibrant, innocent, but headstrong. And sharp. Madge was already world-weary. I wasn’t the first man to know her.”

  Isobel put on a pleasant, listening sort of face, while her fist curled at her side. No, you weren’t the first man to take advantage of Madge, Isobel thought. But you did. And how old would Madge have been when Charles Hadley ‘helped her out’? Fourteen? “Did your lady friend, Miss King, know about the girls?”

  “Of course not. Look, Jessica and me aren’t married. But I planned to do right by Ella. The house was only a first step.”

  “A first step?”

  “I was going to marry her.”

  Hadley looked drained. He slumped against the seat, his eyes hard.

  “Did you tell anyone about the house you rented for her?”

  “Not a word,” Hadley said. “I was careful. I know… I knew how it would look, her and me, and Jessica has a temper on her.”

  Isobel would have a temper on her if she discovered Riot was courting teenagers.

  “Jessica would’ve brained her in a heartbeat. I have no doubt about that. But I didn’t say a word to her, and I left no evidence. I was careful.”

  “You were careful?” Isobel asked.

  Hadley nodded. “The mustache, the clothing, even my name. All I can figure is someone followed us from the Popular. But then I don’t even know how you managed to find me.” There was a question there, but Isobel ignored it.