Time of Fog and Fire

by Rhys Bowen

  He peered at it. “Yes, but…”

  I took the corner of black tablecloth again and held it up beside the woman’s face. “Can you picture her now?”

  “Maybe.” He sounded unsure.

  “Daniel, it all makes sense now. Douglas Thatcher makes a killing selling phony land grants. He disappears. Years later Bella Rodriguez arrives in San Francisco. I didn’t tell you but one of the things I discovered in her cellar was a trunk full of money. Thousands and thousands of bills. And I’ve just thought of something else—” I paused, putting this thought into order. “She claimed her husband’s ranch was in New Mexico. But Señor Garcia was from Mexico proper. And she told me he had bought her ranch after her husband died. So what if they had fled to old Mexico—a place of little law, where few questions would ever be asked. And Douglas was content to hide out there, but Lizzy was growing tired of his bullying ways. Perhaps they went beyond bullying. Perhaps he beat her.”

  I started to pace now, warming to my story, putting pieces together. “And Tiny was their ranch manager and she turned to him for sympathy and maybe more. Together they planned to kill Douglas. They buried him on the property, sold the ranch, took the money, and came here. And Elizabeth turned into Isabella, Lizzy into Bella, a flamboyant Hispanic woman who bore no resemblance to Lizzy Hatcher.”

  I had been staring out of the window into the darkness as I spoke, but now wheeled back to face Daniel. “But they didn’t count on Señor Garcia digging up the body. He said he’d been making improvements, building new barns. So he discovered Douglas’s body and I’d wager he started blackmailing her. So she and Tiny had to kill him.”

  Daniel was still looking at me quizzically. “Great story, Molly. How would you ever prove any of it?”

  “Have the Mexican police find Douglas’s body?”

  He shook his head. “After all this time Bella could easily say he died of natural causes. He fell from his horse and broke his neck. In fact she could deny any connection to him and we’d have nothing to link her to that past.”

  “Maybe we could persuade Tiny to talk if he thought he was going to hang for a murder?”

  Daniel sighed. “I’m afraid the general is right. There is nothing we can do for now. We can keep an eye on her if she returns to San Francisco, but my hunch would be she’d take this opportunity to move away, probably with that trunk of money you saw. I’m sure she knew that Mayor Schmitz and his cronies were in hot water and she was closely linked to them. So like so many people she’d take her chances and disappear.”

  “You’re prepared to give up so easily on everything?” I asked.

  “No, not give up. Bide my time. We’ve escaped an earthquake and fire, Molly. I have one task at this moment and that is to get you and Liam home safely. After that I’ll hand the matter over to John Wilkie and he can decide how he wants to pursue it.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. I sighed and turned away from him.

  “Molly, you can’t always make everything right,” he said. “The world isn’t fair or just. You know that.” When I didn’t answer he turned me toward him and took me into his arms. “You were very clever to figure all this out. I stayed in her house and it never crossed my mind that the person I was looking for was under my nose. I am married to a brilliant woman.”

  I gave him a slap, but I was smiling. “Stop trying to butter me up with your Irish blarney.”

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go to bed. It seems like ages since I slept in a real bed, and next to my wife.”

  I needed no more urging.

  * * *

  When we awoke in the morning I felt full of excitement and optimism. This was the day we were going home. The ordeal was over. We had survived. We ate a good breakfast of eggs and ham, drank welcome cups of coffee, and then borrowed a valise to pack our meager possessions. I thought briefly about that pink silk dress, the like of which I should probably never own again. But when you have been as close to losing loved ones as I had been you realize how unimportant possessions are.

  The general had left before we were awake but we thanked his wife profusely and invited her to our house if ever they were to find themselves in New York. A soldier was sent to accompany us to the ferry building, and to drive the auto back. We set off. It was a clear, bright morning with a sky like blue glass overhead. The Bay glittered and the green hills on the other side looked serene and inviting. But as we drove into the city the clear light only accentuated the utter devastation. From Van Ness Avenue all the way to the Bay there were only blackened ruins where once there had been homes and businesses and churches and concert halls. Soot covered everything and flew up in a cloud as we drove past. Gangs of men were already working heaving bricks out of the streets and piling them onto wagons. I said a silent prayer that Daniel had not been press-ganged into joining them or who knew how long we’d have had to wait before we could go home. As it was we were to catch the next ferry.…

  We bade farewell to our driver and stood on the dock, waiting for the arrival of the boat. Other refugees joined us, clutching bundles of rescued possessions. A nun supervised a group of children who stood, huddled close together, looking around fearfully.

  “These poor mites all lost their parents,” she said. “Either killed or just got separated from them. I’m taking them out of harm’s way, up to Oregon, where they’ve been offered a refuge. But who knows if any of them will be reunited with their families? It breaks the heart, doesn’t it?”

  I nodded, unable to speak, and thinking how close I came to losing Liam. Daniel was holding him, pointing out the ship that had docked on a nearby pier and was now unloading crates and bales of supplies. The ferry came and we piled aboard with the other refugees. Oakland station was also crowded. We learned that a train would be arriving in an hour, but it was only normal carriages, no sleeping cars, and we’d have to change in Denver, to get to Chicago. Since all we wanted was to be away, we bought two tickets and were lucky enough to find seats, while others had to stand.

  In such crowded conditions we pulled out of the station. Luckily quite a few people disembarked in Sacramento and we were able to enjoy the view as the train huffed and puffed its way up the mountains of the Sierra Nevada. The peaks were still snow-clad and the late afternoon sun painted the snow pink in scenes worthy of romantic painters. More people disembarked in Reno and we were met by reporters as we tried to buy food at that miserable shack at the station. The station was full of them, waiting their chance to take the next train to San Francisco, to report on the events. When I was questioned about my own exciting earthquake experiences, I told them about chasing the nursemaid into Chinatown and being hit on the head and losing my son. They seemed enthralled. Just the sort of story they wanted; full of drama and the human touch. And to my astonishment they handed me ten dollars for sharing my story, much to Daniel’s disgust. But as I pointed out, I’d lost a whole wardrobe of clothes, for the second time in two years, and every penny counted.

  We ate cold beef sandwiches. Daniel drank a beer, I a glass of sarsaparilla. Liam had a glass of milk and the rest of the muffin Mrs. Funston had packed for him. Darkness was falling as we set off again across the high desert. Eventually Liam fell asleep on Daniel. I was feeling restless and went for a walk. At the end of the last carriage I stood out on the little balcony, feeling the cold wind on my face and watching the moon rising over high desert and distant mountains. Snow still clung in hollows and there was no light, no sign of human habitation in any direction. The feeling of remoteness and loneliness swept over me as well as a great longing to be home and safe. How many years had my life been tinged with danger? Ever since I fled from Ireland and found myself on Ellis Island facing a handsome police captain who wanted to arrest me for murder.

  I was tired of it. I wanted a normal family life. I wanted more children and to watch them grow up safely. At last the cold got the better of me. I returned to the warmth of the train car and started to make my way back to my seat. As the train lurche
d more violently than usual I had to grab onto the back of a seat. I was almost thrown onto the woman sitting there. I looked down at her to apologize. I started to walk on, but then I turned back and slid into the seat beside her. She was an older, grandmotherly type with gray hair and round spectacles. And she was knitting. She nodded and smiled to me.

  “Lizzy Hatcher, I presume?” I said. “Or should I say Bella Rodriguez?”

  Thirty-two

  She gave me a puzzled smile. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. The name is Minnie Fenway.”

  I grinned. “Oh, that’s right. They mentioned you originally came from New England. I’d forgotten that. You must be more creative with your choice of names, Mrs. Hatcher.”

  I saw her give a swift glance at our fellow travelers but they were either reading or settling down for a long night. There was nobody within hearing distance but she lowered her voice anyway. “I am Minnie Fenway, widow of Arthur Fenway of Massachusetts,” she said. “And I defy you to prove differently.”

  “And what happened to Bella Rodriguez?”

  “I understand that she died in the fire,” she said smoothly, “like so many other poor souls. I’m glad to see you survived, my dear.”

  “And where is Tiny? Has he become a Bostonian too?”

  “Tiny is no more, so I heard,” she said. She was still speaking in that sweet, soft voice. “It would seem that Bella sent him back to the house to check on certain things for her, but soldiers saw him coming out of the house and he was shot for looting. Such a tragedy.”

  “And did Bella happen to tip off the soldiers that someone was looting her house?” I asked.

  She sighed. “He was becoming a burden. A nuisance. He had outlived his usefulness.”

  “How conveniently you dispatch with people who are a nuisance to you,” I said.

  There was a swift flash of wariness on her face.

  “I know all about Señor Garcia,” I said. “I went down to the cellar. Such interesting things you kept in trunks there.”

  “Alas, all burned beyond recognition now.” She was still looking at me with cool gray eyes, completely confident, almost as if she was enjoying this.

  “And so you’re reinventing yourself yet again?”

  “I had grown tired of San Francisco and its lack of civilization. I think I’ll be quite content to buy a small house somewhere in New England and return to the society of my birth.”

  “No more the grand dame of society? Won’t you miss that?”

  “Perhaps. We’ll have to see. Maybe I’ll marry again. A better choice this time. An honorable gentleman, a cultured man with no wild ideas.”

  “You were obviously attracted by Douglas Hatcher and his wild ideas once before,” I said.

  “I was young and foolish.” She even smiled at this. “I’d grown up sheltered, raised by two maiden aunts. Can you wonder that I was swept off my feet when I met a man like Douglas during my last year at Radcliffe College? He always was a good talker, a complete showman. Here I was, the shy girl from Massachusetts. And he the flamboyant Texan. He told me about his ranch and his cattle and the prospects for oil. I ran off and married him. I had a small inheritance from my parents and Douglas got through that very quickly. That’s when I found that the ranch and the cattle and the oil were all lies. He had nothing except big ideas.”

  She had been staring down at her hands. Now she looked up at me, expecting me to understand.

  “I also found out quickly enough that he was a bully with a terrible temper. When he was crossed in any way he’d lash out. He thought nothing of knocking me clear across the room. He threw a knife at me more than once and pointed a gun at me.”

  “Why didn’t you leave him?”

  “I had nowhere to go,” she said simply. “The aunts died. There was no one else, and no money. Douglas made sure I was completely subservient, and dependent.” She sighed. “Then he came up with this grandiose scheme. A way to make ourselves rich beyond our wildest dreams, he said. I didn’t really believe him but I was prepared to go along with it. If we were rich, I’d have a way to escape. And if he was caught by the police, I’d claim to know nothing about it.”

  “But it worked,” I said. “He made a fortune and escaped with it.”

  She nodded. “And I thought, stupidly, I suppose, that we’d travel, lead the life I’d dreamed of. But instead we fled to Mexico and he bought the ranch he’d always wanted and was content. Can you imagine? Miles from anywhere in a country of peasants? I suppose I hoped we’d have children but it never happened. And I saw my life slipping away in misery. Then he hired Tiny.”

  “You finally had an ally.”

  “He wasn’t the brightest lad,” she said, “but willing. And I was kind to him. He came to worship me, following me around like a dog. I don’t think anyone had ever spoken to him nicely in his life before. I think he was also attracted to me in a way, but there was never anything physical between us. One night Douglas got drunk and started to knock me around. Tiny came to my rescue and killed him. Shot him in the back. I was stunned. Horrified. Then I realized my luck. I was free. I could escape. Become a new person. We buried Douglas. I sold the ranch. Nobody asks too many questions in Mexico. So we escaped.”

  “You took Tiny with you.”

  She shrugged, as if she was trying to shrug me away like an annoying insect.

  “I had to,” she said at last. “He knew everything, didn’t he? We went first to Mexico City and I admired the flamboyant women there—so fashionable and European-looking. So I became Bella Rodriguez. Black wig, face paint, lovely clothes. And when I was ready we moved to San Francisco. There was still plenty of Douglas’s money to live the way I’d always dreamed. I invested it in thriving businesses and made even more. Everything was going exactly as I had planned.”

  “Until Señor Garcia showed up?” I suggested.

  She frowned. “He bought the ranch and when he was making renovations he dug up Douglas’s body. And enough evidence to realize he had been shot in the back. He searched me out. He found me in Mexico City and threatened to go to the police. I paid him off, but he traced me to San Francisco. I don’t know how. I can’t tell you what a shock that was.”

  “So Tiny took care of him too.”

  She nodded. “Tiny would do anything for me. Poor Tiny. Such a shame, but necessary.”

  “You’re telling me all this so calmly,” I said. “And yet you’ve been responsible for several deaths.”

  “Not me, my dear. I am not my brother’s keeper. If my employee was a trifle impulsive and violent, then he met a just end, didn’t he?”

  “An end to which you sent him,” I replied. “Are you not afraid that I’ll go to the police myself?”

  “With what? There is no proof that I was anyone other than Minnie Fenway. It will be assumed that Bella Rodriguez died in the quake or the fire. So many people did, after all.”

  She was still looking at me calmly, but I thought I detected a glint of satisfaction, almost triumph in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry for you though, my dear,” she said reaching across to pat my knee. “I liked your husband. It must be a great loss for you.”

  “And yet I suspect that you were the one who tipped off the police that Daniel was going to the cliff top at Lands End. Am I right? Ellen told me there was always a man waiting outside your house to follow him.”

  She looked away. “I said I’m truly sorry for your loss. I hope you’ll marry again and have a happy life in New York City. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m rather tired of talking.” She went back to her knitting. When she sensed that I hadn’t left she said, “What are you waiting for? You’ve said your piece. You’ve been a clever girl, I’ll grant you that. Now please leave or I’ll have to summon the conductor and tell him that you’re annoying me.”

  “I’d be careful about summoning anybody, if I were you,” I said. “You see, you said I had no proof, but I do. I went down to your basement and found my husband’s
valise down there. And I wondered, why would you have claimed you turned it over to the police if you didn’t have something to hide? And if you’d looked more carefully in that case you’d have found a photograph of Douglas Hatcher and his wife.” I saw her blink but she said nothing. “I have that photograph,” I went on. I was rather enjoying myself now. This woman calmly sent my husband to his death. She deserved no mercy. “And I have something else. One of Bella’s wigs. I went back to the house and I found it, and rather naïvely I thought that you might be missing it and want it when I found you again.” I actually smiled. “Oh dear, Bella. I bet you’re rather annoyed that you invited me to stay, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You stupid woman. No one will believe you. They’ll think your mind snapped in the double tragedy of the earthquake and your husband’s death. You’ll be locked away in an insane asylum for your wild ideas.”

  “One more thing I failed to mention,” I said, standing up now and looking down at her, my face an expressionless mask. “My husband isn’t dead. He survived that fall down the cliff by a miracle. It was the man with him who died. In fact my husband is currently sitting a couple of cars further down this train and when we get back to civilization I think we’ll find that his word carries a lot of weight.”

  I didn’t wait for her reply. I simply went back down the train to our seats.

  Daniel sat in silence after I recounted the conversation to him.

  “So what will you do?” I asked. “Can you not simply walk down the train and arrest her?”

  “I wish it were that simple,” he said. “She is not in New York City, which is the extent of my jurisdiction. To arrest her I would have to present my case to a local magistrate, and I don’t personally think it would be an easy case to prove. A small snapshot and a wig? Would they be enough to prove that she was once Lizzy Hatcher and then Bella Rodriguez? And when you give the facts, she was personally not responsible for the land fraud or the deaths of her husband and Señor Garcia. She could claim to be an innocent bystander to both.”