Echoes of Mercy: A Novel

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  He remained rooted in his hiding place and greeted her in a muffled whisper. “Carrie, over here.”

  Her steps slowed, and she searched the area until her heart-shaped face aimed in his direction. He waved his hand, alerting her to his location, and after a moment’s pause she slipped behind the cans.

  “I thought you’d decided not to come,” he said with a hint of chiding.

  “I was hungry, so I walked uptown and located a vendor cart. Here.” She held out a paper-wrapped bundle. “I purchased an extra sweet roll for you.”

  He appreciated her kindness, but he was much too tense to eat. Armed with information about the elevator shared by Father after he’d grudgingly agreed not to sign Oliver’s discharge papers, he wanted to complete their task. He tucked the packet into his jacket pocket and took her arm. “Thank you, but I’ll eat it later. Right now we have a job to do.” He guided her to the double doorway, then retrieved the ring of keys from his belt. With a surreptitious glance right and left, he inserted the proper key in the lock and twisted it. The door creaked open. Oliver gestured for her to enter.

  Carrie shivered and hung back. “It’s dark in there with the clouds hiding the sun and all the lights off.”

  Oliver peered through the gray shadows. He’d always loved the sound and smell of the factory, but empty of its workers and its machines silenced, the factory floor seemed a gloomy place despite the aroma of chocolate filling the air. He gave her a gentle nudge on the lower back, ushering her over the threshold. “I know. But the dark is really to our benefit. If it were light in here, someone might see us moving around and alert authorities. Everyone in town knows the factory is closed on Sundays.”

  He pulled the door shut behind them and secured the lock. Then he stood for a moment, listening to her deep breaths and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings. When he felt secure to move, he touched her elbow. “Come. We’ll get an oil lantern from my closet and use it when we’re away from the windows. Will that help?”

  She nodded, and when he pressed her forward, she didn’t resist. They moved along together, their wet soles squeaking against the concrete floor and her skirts swishing in rhythm with the whish, whish of his trouser legs. The farther they ventured into the factory, the richer the aroma of chocolate became, filling his senses. Or perhaps it was the aroma of the woman beside him stirring his chest to beat in double thrums. His pulse had increased its tempo the moment she appeared, and it showed no signs of returning to normal. Simply being in her presence gave him pleasure. He truly was smitten.

  And oh, how hard it would be to end their fledgling relationship before it even had a chance to bloom.

  Pushing aside those gloomy thoughts, he stepped inside the closet and located a small tin of matches and the coal-oil lantern placed there in case of emergencies. Still inside the room, he lit the wick, settled the globe into place, then held the lantern aloft by its curved handle. The glow fell on Carrie’s still form just outside the door, illuminating the serious expression on her face. The desire to protect her and put her at ease rose.

  “We’ll be all right,” he said, speaking quietly even though they couldn’t disturb anyone. “Are you ready?”

  She hugged herself, but she nodded. “Let’s go.”

  The elevator lurked at the end of a wide hallway, its gaping mouth seeming to wait to swallow them up. To dispel his childish imaginings, he shared with Carrie the things he’d learned from Father about the elevator. “Our freight elevator has the design patented by Elisha Otis. The inventor himself displayed the elevator at the New York Crystal Palace Exhibition back in 1854, so it’s hardly a new design, but its proven safety measures have become very popular over the years. Father insisted on an elevator safe enough for passengers even though it was meant to haul crates up and down.”

  When they reached the elevator, Oliver handed Carrie the lantern. “Hold that up here, and let me show you something.”

  She angled the light toward the iron gate, and Oliver pointed to a sprung latch.

  “See? The bed releases this catch by brushing against it. So if the bed isn’t in position for entry, the gate won’t open.” He gave the gate a tug, and it groaned as the crisscross of iron bars crunched together, creating an opening for them to enter the bed. He stepped inside, gesturing for her to follow. She did so, and the wooden platform swayed gently on its cables. He took the lantern from her and aimed the light toward the side, where an iron bar carved with zigzagging teeth ran up and down. “But this is what makes the Otis elevator truly unique. See those teeth?”

  She stretched out her hand and touched one tooth. “Yes. I observed those when I was in here last and wondered about their purpose. They look vicious—like a crocodile’s mouth.”

  He chuckled at her picturesque speech. “They’re meant to be as strong as a croc’s jaw. Should the cable be severed, the elevator box is equipped with safety brakes that catch on the teeth, keeping the box from falling to the bottom of the shaft. Want me to show you?”

  “No!”

  He couldn’t resist laughing at her horrified expression. “I was only teasing, Carrie. Apparently when Otis showed his elevator at the exhibition, he did just that—had someone cut the cables while he stood inside the box. People were amazed. And the elevator always saved itself, thanks to those teeth.” He furrowed his brow, examining the sides again. “That’s why I find Bratcher’s accident so puzzling. Father chose this elevator because it’s known to be the safest one. Obviously the bed didn’t fall, so somehow Bratcher entered the shaft when the bed wasn’t settled at one of the floors. But how, when the doors are designed not to open unless the bed is at floor level?”

  Carrie made a slow circle in the elevator, seeming to examine every inch of the walls on all sides. When she completed her survey, she shrugged. “I don’t know. But given the safe construction of the elevator, it does seem unlikely that he would accidentally fall. Unless …”

  Oliver leaned close, his curiosity aroused. “What?”

  “You can’t open the door unless the bed is pressed against the catch. But will the elevator rise or descend to another level if the gate is left open?”

  “I’m not sure. But there’s one way to find out.” He grinned, eager to test her theory. “Let’s give it a try.”

  Caroline

  Caroline heaved her weight against the gate on the upper-level landing, grunting along with the groan of the hinges. She stepped into the hallway, and Ollie trailed her, a look of joy on his face. “Carrie, you solved the mystery! If someone neglected to close the door after entering the elevator and rode from the upper to a lower level, then it’s possible for someone to come along and fall into the shaft.”

  “It’s true we’ve discovered it’s possible for someone to accidentally fall down the shaft. But”—she grimaced, taking no pleasure in dampening his delight—“we still haven’t proved it wasn’t deliberate.” She trailed her finger over the crossbars of the iron gate. “Wouldn’t anyone who used the elevator have been warned about the importance of closing the gate before sending the elevator to another level? An open shaft is an invitation for danger.” She glanced at him, noting his euphoric grin had disappeared. Her heart ached at the change in his demeanor, yet she had to be honest. “Would any of the workers in the freight area be careless enough to leave the gate open?”

  Ollie leaned his shoulder on the wall, releasing a heavy sigh. “Unless they were overly tired or rushed, no. They all seem to be very dedicated, responsible men. So the likelihood of it being an accident diminishes.”

  Unable to bear his slumped shoulders and somber tone, she brushed his arm with her fingertips. “We don’t know for sure yet. We need to explore further.”

  He caught her hand, clinging as if in need of encouragement. “How?”

  She swallowed, aware that her next words could cause Ollie much pain. Yet he needed to know what his father had said to her. “Can we sit? I—I need to tell you something, and I think it would be be
tter if you were sitting down.”

  His scowl deepened, but he nodded and guided her away from the elevator to a stack of empty crates. After choosing two of them, he settled them in the middle of the hall. He placed the lantern on the floor between them, then held his hands out in invitation. She sat, and he plopped onto the second crate, facing her and resting his hands on his widespread knees.

  “All right, Carrie. What is it?”

  Calmly, without even a hint of malice, she shared the details of her conversation with Fulton Dinsmore. She watched Ollie’s expression change from concern to disbelief and finally to anger. She asked, very gently, “Is it possible your father might have left the door open, knowing Bratcher would be unaware of the missing elevator box when he—”

  Ollie leaped up and exploded. “No!” He ran his hand over his hair, stomping back and forth between the walls. “Of course not! My father isn’t capable of … of planning a murder.”

  “But, Ollie, he specifically warned me about ‘unpleasant consequences.’ What could be more unpleasant than falling down a dark elevator shaft?”

  “He wouldn’t do such a thing!” Ollie roared the words, his cheeks mottled red with anger. He stormed over and leaned close, his face only inches from hers. “You’re wrong, Carrie. I know you’re wrong. If anyone is to blame, it’s Hightower—not my father!”

  She understood his fury. If someone made allegations against Noble, she’d react in the exact same way. And she ached at having caused him pain. She adopted a calm, even a placating, tone. “Then explain the discrepancy in him telling me all workers are compensated equally and the differences I’ve seen in pay envelopes. Surely you’ve observed some of the workers taking out their pay and placing it in their pockets or purses. Haven’t you noticed that the women’s and children’s envelopes always contain significantly less than the men’s? Something doesn’t make sense, Ollie.”

  He remained bent forward, his narrowed gaze spitting daggers at her, and she braced herself for a verbal attack. But then he swept his hand over his face, and when his fingers trailed away, the intense rage was gone. He sank onto the crate and propped his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low.

  “You’re right. Something … is amiss. Something … requires explanation.” Raising his gaze, he looked at her with such agony that tears spurted into her eyes. “When Father and I talked, he told me.” He paused, swallowing. “He told me Hightower has always followed his directions. If he told Hightower something had to be done about Bratcher—that Bratcher was causing trouble that could interfere with the factory’s successful continuation—then maybe … Maybe …” He covered his face with his hands. A groan poured out, a tormented release.

  Caroline couldn’t bear watching him suffer. She longed to wrap him in her arms and offer comfort. During the course of their conversation, she’d become convinced that whatever had befallen Bratcher, Ollie had possessed no prior knowledge of it. His innocence thrilled her, yet she couldn’t celebrate, seeing how their inspection of the elevator and her sharing about the conversation with his father had wounded him.

  “Ollie?” She spoke tenderly and waited for him to lower his hands. “What we need to do now is discover the truth concerning wages. We need to see the books. The truth will be found there.”

  He nodded slowly and swallowed again, the sound loud in the silent hallway. “You’re right. As hard as it is for me to question my own father’s behavior, I have no choice.” Slowly, as if his joints had stiffened during the past minutes, he pushed to his feet.

  Bending down, he caught the handle on the lantern. “The books will be in Hightower’s office, I’m sure. He serves as bookkeeper as well as manager and hiring agent.” A rueful chuckle rolled from his chest. “Such power Father has bestowed on the man.” He held his hand out to her. “Come.”

  She rose and caught hold. His fingers were icy—a sure sign of his turmoil. She’d save him the distress of branding his beloved father a liar if he’d allow it. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can go alone.”

  A sad smile quavered on his lips. “I have to know the truth.”

  She nodded, and she clung hard to his hand, hoping her grip might offer a touch of comfort. “All right.”

  Ollie kicked the crates from the middle of the hallway and then turned toward the corner leading to Hightower’s office. “I’m sure one of my keys will open Hightower’s door.” His face was grim, his fingers clamping painfully around hers. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Oliver

  The first three keys on Oliver’s ring proved ineffectual in opening Hightower’s door. Three remained, and he found himself offering an unexpected prayer—Please, Lord, let this work—as he inserted the fourth one in the lock. He let out a gasp of surprise when it turned and the door swung inward.

  He gestured Carrie over the threshold, his body abuzz with nervous excitement. Even though the factory belonged to his family, he couldn’t deny feeling like a burglar as he entered the room. He paused for a moment just inside the door, then impulsively snapped the door closed behind them and twisted the lock. He turned to find Carrie staring at him with a wary look on her face.

  He stepped toward her, concerned. “Are you all right?”

  “Why did you lock the door?”

  Oliver glanced behind him at the turned lock, then shrugged. “I don’t know for certain. It just seemed the right thing to do.”

  Her wariness remained. “I’m not fond of being closed in this office.”

  White walls barren of photographs or paintings surrounded them. A large desk, its top cleared of everything except an ornate oil lamp, and three leather chairs were precisely arranged in the center of the bare wood floor. Two tall oak cabinets, each with four file drawers, stood sentry in a corner. Oliver shuddered. The room was cold, impersonal. Much like its occupant. Being closed up in the room felt like being closed in a tomb. Yet he didn’t move to open the door.

  He held his hand toward Hightower’s desk. “Let’s just get busy, hmm? The sooner we find those books, the sooner we can get out of here.” Cold sweat was beading across his body, making him fidgety. He’d make a lousy agent.

  Carrie crunched her lips together into a scowl, but she crossed behind the desk and began opening drawers. Oliver stood beside her, peeking at the drawers’ contents. Hightower apparently had a taste for spirits, as the large drawer on the bottom right held three half-empty bottles of liquor and a small glass cup. Office items—envelopes, pens and ink, notepads, rubber stamps—were neatly organized in other drawers.

  Oliver frowned. “He has to have the books here somewhere.” He moved to the file cabinet and began rummaging through drawers. He discovered file after file of employee records, some dating back fifteen years. Oliver whistled through his teeth. Hightower might be cold, but he was meticulous. As Father had said, the man knew his job.

  Behind him, Carrie released a little grunt. He looked over his shoulder and saw her yank on the bottom left-hand drawer. She shot him a disgruntled look. “This one’s locked.”

  Oliver crossed to her and crouched down, angling the lantern to illuminate the brass-plated lock. “I don’t have any keys small enough to fit this, but …” He looked at her hair. “Do you have a hairpin?”

  She pawed around in the heavy bun weighting the back of her head and pulled one loose. A coil of hair came with it and fell along her neck, inviting Oliver to travel its length. She caught him looking, and his face heated. He plucked the pin from her hand and set to work on the lock. After a few deft flicks, the catch clicked.

  “Aha!” The exclamation left his throat without conscious effort. He pulled the drawer open and withdrew a black bound book. He placed it on the desk, settled the lantern beside it, and opened the cover. Carrie leaned in, and together they examined page after page of entries. As he looked, his elation began to build. He tapped a page, angling a grin at Carrie. “See? It’s just as Father said. Salaries are contingent upon the position and the number of years on the job
. He told you the truth.”

  Carrie’s brow puckered. “That’s what this says, but …” She stood upright, gazing into the gaping drawer for a moment. Then without warning she dropped to all fours.

  Unnerved by her action, Oliver immediately ducked down beside her. He whispered, “What is it?”

  She began pawing the drawer—one hand inside, one hand outside. “Something isn’t right. Look at the big drawer with the liquor bottles. It’s twice this deep, yet when viewed from the outside, the drawers appear to be the same size.” Her hands stilled and her face lit. “I knew it!”

  “What?”

  She tapped the bottom of the drawer with her knuckles, grinning at him. “It has a false bottom.”

  He gawked at her. “For what purpose?”

  She let out a little huff and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Ollie, think! The books don’t match what I’ve witnessed on payday. If Hightower is recording one amount but paying a different amount, some money is unaccounted for. Where do you suppose that money is?”

  Excitement built in Oliver’s chest. “In the secret compartment?”

  “At least some sort of records are probably there.” She bent over the drawer again. “Help me find a means of opening the compartment.”

  Oliver lowered the lantern, and after searching for a few minutes, he discovered a metal catch. He pressed it, and what had appeared to be the bottom of the drawer folded upward on a hidden springed hinge, revealing a compartment beneath. The lantern’s glow fell on a second leather-bound book resting atop a flattened curl of papers. Oliver handed the book to Carrie, then reached for the papers. He unrolled them and stared in open-mouthed amazement. He’d found the elevator blueprints.

  Lifting his gaze to Carrie, he shook his head. “What all has Hightower been doing?”

  Carrie had opened both books and was examining them side by side. She gave him a brief, grim look. “He’s been stealing from the factory. Apparently for several years. I need to show these records to Noble. He’ll be able to determine the extent of the financial damage.” She tore out several pages from the middle of each book, folded them together, and jammed them into her pocket. After flipping the record books closed, she shoved them toward Ollie. “Put everything back like we found it, and let’s go.”