The Hanging Women

by John Mead

  “Brandon also saw the threat the Knights posed but, rather than fight them decided to take a different path. Leaving Nina fearing he might win you over and she might lose you as well,” Jack filled in another piece for himself.

  “I did not see it as a battle between one or the other,” Hank stated sorrowfully, “but for her it was all or nothing. She wanted her vengeance and my undying gratitude.” Hank paused, he knew it was his love above all else she wanted, a son’s love and respect for his mother, but she could not win from him more than he already gave. “She has been using Jaunty to manipulate and diminish the Kings and Black Hawks, as well as to plot against the Knights. I do not know the details but I can see the confusion and uncertainty that grows on the streets. She wanted Brandon humiliated, as he humiliated her, before having him killed. All done so she could hand me an empire: the gangs, workers, industry, finance, the political support, everything that is required to run this city.”

  “You’ve no idea where she is, I take it?’ Jack already knew the answer but had to ask the question, he intended to leave no reason for Cage to question Hank.

  “None, or I would send these back,” Hank tapped the box causing its contents to rattle. “Jaunty was silent on the matter, he is under the strictest of orders to say nothing of how he is in contact with her and he fears her retribution more than my persuasion.”

  “What about Joe Mannheim? or Black Rube?”

  “Jaunty is in touch with Joe, I know he goes to a place north of the stockyards but I haven’t found out the exact address. Black Rube hasn’t been seen around for some time, all I know are the old rumours that Rube used to work for my godparents,” Hank stated, pausing before adding, “I should thank you for helping Kitty.”

  “Oh. How is that?” Jack could think of nothing more to say.

  “You can take your finger off the trigger of your revolver,” Hank gave a hearty laugh. “I know it your habit to keep your hand on the revolver in your pocket but you have no cause to shoot me with it. My thanks are sincere. Kitty is safe in Canada, I may not like the look of her travelling companion but she has only ever wanted her independence and I regret I stood in her way of gaining it.”

  “I see,” Jack stated, not at all clear that he did.

  “I have had her watched for a few days past and I know you and Martha helped her, even to the disguise and money. Somehow you both seem to have that instinct to help others without question.” Hank’s gratitude seemed sincere and heartfelt so Jack decided not to disillusion him and instead rose to shake his hand, wishing Hank and his family good fortune.

  Jack took Martha to lunch and talked about going to the theatre, they had not been out together for some time and, given recent events, he thought it would help repair any rift between them.

  “There can never be any rift between us,” she assured him. “Though a play or the opera would be a pleasant change.”

  “Good,” he agreed, “then all is settled and harmonious between us?”

  “Of course Jack. We have traversed many difficulties and always come out the other side stronger in our love for each other.”

  “I am glad of it,” he smiled. “Then we should be getting back in order to prepare.”

  “Prepare?”

  “Yes, for dinner, with our friends from the Pinkerton agency and the Chicago police force,” Jack explained, finishing his last mouthful of steak, “I have sent word to the four of them to dine with us so we can discuss our plans.”

  “Of course, our plans,” Martha smiled, though her eyes spoke of a less than happy emotion. “I take it these are the plans to bring Minsky’s and Beatrice’s killers to justice?”

  “The very same,” Jack saluted her insight by raising his glass. “Along with Miss Blackstaff’s and Miss Walsh’s was well.”

  The beef soup was hot, thick and perfectly flavoured, so Jack was taking his time savouring it. The table had a lack of ‘balance’ as Martha and Fellows expressed it when commenting on the fact there was only one female diner: Martha. However, doing their best to accommodate this, they placed Pug opposite Cage and Pinky opposite Magnus with Jack and Martha at the table ends. Jack had asked Hank if Fellows could be drafted in before he had left the younger man to both mourn his godfather and rejoice in his new son. With the O’Shea residence temporarily shut, and likely to close permanently, Fellows was more than content in doing service for the Stevens’.

  “As soon as I had your message about Mr Jaunty Tipwell I had a watch set upon him,” Magnus Magnuson told Jack, whilst trying his best not to slurp his soup and making a mental note of everything he saw and heard in order to relate it to his wife later that night.

  “I don’t know why I don’t just turn my entire section over to you,” Inspector O’Leary bemoaned Jack’s intrusion into police affairs.

  “You should be thankful for my husband’s assistance,” Martha pointed out, giving O’Leary a stern look just in case he was serious in his observations, “given his wide experience in law enforcement.”

  “Just try keeping his nose out,” Pinky ruefully pointed out, then resumed eating his soup as Martha glanced his way with a clear warning in her eyes to ‘mind his manners’.

  “I simply passed on information and your sergeant acted on it, rather efficiently as it seems,” Jack explained, nodding and smiling at Magnus.

  “Forgive my surliness,” O’Leary, who was much more socially adept and used to dining in elegant company than he let on, “however, I have spent the morning explaining to my superiors my lack of progress and the dead ends I have run down. Whilst the afternoon has brought in no new information or leads.”

  “Then perhaps we should change the subject,” Martha suggested. “If Fellows will bring the fish whilst Hortense clears the table.”

  “We also have had a busy day,” Pug pointed out as Fellows served him. “The rumour that the Knights of Labour plan a big rally have been confirmed. It is to take place in a few days, 3rd May to be precise, at the McCormick Reaper Works in support of the strike there.”

  “These strikes are a terrible thing,” Martha stated, “Chester said they are costing the McCormick’s thousands of dollars, I believe he and Andrew are dining with the father and elder son tonight in order to discuss what can be done.”

  “Along with the Pinkerton brothers,” Pug informed them all, “as well as the police commissioner and the deputy mayor.”

  “Quite the gathering,” Jack commented. “Let us hope they eat as well as we do, Fellows please tell Hettie this fish is delicious.”

  “Yes, sir,” Fellows smiled an acknowledgment of thanks on behalf of the staff, he’d been in the house only a few hours but had already established himself as the head servant.

  “Do you have any truck with these Knights and strikers?” Pinky asked the Englishman.

  “I have no thoughts on the matter, sir,” Fellows was quick to respond, noticing Mrs Stevens’ look of annoyance at her guest’s question he sort to smooth over the contentious debate. “On the whole I have found house servants are generally loyal to their masters, when working in a household, no matter how large, one is in contact with the family. Whilst for the average labourer, working in their hundreds and without site of the owners their loyalty goes to the man at their shoulder.”

  “Much as it is in the army,” Jack pointed out, taken by the thought. “You fight for the men either side of you, not the officers or some great ideal.”

  “Not unlike the gangs that run the streets,” Magnus pointed out, he had enjoyed the fish and wine more than he thought he would, “most have grown up in the same neighbourhood and many are related by blood or marriage, it creates a close bond. Though they are quick to exploit the weak and vulnerable that live and work around them.”

  “The pork, if you would Fellows. The fish has been so well received it has disappeared from our plates,” Martha did her best to lighten the tab
le conversation. “How are your children, Mr Burke? And your wife is well I take it?” Martha turned to Pug.

  “All in excellent health, thank you Mrs Stevens,” Pug told her, his face lighting up at the thought of his family, then quickly returning to a less happy countenance. “I have not been home much recently, we have been keeping a close eye on the more extremist elements who associate with the Knights as we are fearful they will resort to violence.”

  “I thought the Knights of Labour only supported peaceful protests and rallies,” Martha stated, her curiosity of current events overcoming her desire for a more genteel dinner conversation.

  “That is their public view, but the struggle for worker rights is not an easy path to tread and the employers can be as robust in defence of their capital as the workers are in demanding improvements in their rights. And men, like Joseph Mannheim, exploit the situation by providing the means to turn the throwing of fists into the hurling of lead and dynamite,” Pug stated without thought, causing Hortense to drop a fish knife as she cleared the table. “I apologise,” he quickly added, “I dwell too much on the evils in society.”

  “I hear that the Reverend Blackstaff might speak at the rally following the protest,” Pinky told them, believing himself to be on a safe topic as far as Mrs Stevens was concerned, “though I believe he is still far from recovered from the news of his daughter’s death.”

  “I fear, as things stand, he may never recover,” Cage told them without thought, the roast pork being his main focus.

  “Our prayers, are with him,” Martha stated, looking genuinely sympathetic of the parents loss. “It is a tragic thing to loose one so young, with such potential as I understand the daughter had.”

  “Amen to that dear wife,” Jack agreed, realising that they had a daughter of a similar age and what her loss would mean to them. “You said love was at the heart of these foul deeds, as strange as the thought seems, I agree.”

  “How so?” Cage asked, the idea intruding on his enjoyment of the pork and wine.

  “The love that existed between the two young women, I believe, gave them them the courage to visit Ruby’s and it was the love of violence that led to their murder.”

  “That is not what I meant, Jack,” Martha was obviously aghast at the thought.

  “It is hardly the same thing,” Cage also protested.

  “Love is never the same for any two people, even those that love each other,” Jack explained, raising his glass and nodding to his wife, receiving a ‘blushing smile’ in acknowledgement of the compliment from Martha. “However, if you define love as being an intense relationship with someone, then it can apply to many situations. Even to a killer, who so lusts after pain and humiliation of the one he destroys, that it is a love of sorts and is undoubtedly remembered by the killer with considerable pleasure for the remainder of his days. Which hopefully will not be many.”

  “Fellows, I must apologise for my husband,” Martha had turned to the English butler in despair. “You understand our normal table conversation is not so dark and grim as it is currently. Our guests profession and the absence of their wives turns the talk to such low and unpleasant thoughts.”

  “It is perfectly understandable, Mrs Stevens,” Fellows was unperturbed, it not being his place to listen to what was said as he served at the table, though truth was he found the discussion considerably more interesting than many he had overheard in his years of service. “Such political theories and deep philosophies are rarely heard outside of the most refined households.”

  “There, Martha,” Jack raised his glass again, “I have been called many things but never refined, now you have the truth of it. I am not the dog you all think me.” The sentiment raised a laugh as well as Martha’s despairing eyebrows.

  “What is more,” Cage determined to continue, as Fellows started to clear the meat course, “if what you told us about Mrs O’Shea and your belief she is at the back of all these acts, then it is the love for her godson that is her motivation.”

  “Though Black Rube is a dark mover in all this,” Martha said, surprising them all that she continued in the same vein that she had rebuked her husband for, “and I can see nothing of love in his actions in these dire events.” The conversation might have continued in this manner through dessert, cheese and port but a knock at the front door and a message, brought in by Fellows, for the sergeant interrupted proceedings.

  “We have them!” the sergeant stated triumphantly, having read the message and passed it to the inspector. “Jaunty Tipwell has led my men to an address in a residential area to the northwest of the stockyards. It is outside the Kings main territory but a convenient distance from Ruby’s, an area of quite and unassuming apartments of the middling sort. My men are watching the place and have seen many they identify as members of the Kings go in and out and have now also seen Joseph Mannheim at one of the windows. I can take a detail and arrest him within the hour.”

  “It will need preparation,” O’Leary contradicted his sergeant, though gently as he understood the other’s desire for action after so many days of frustration. “Have more men sent discreetly to the area to lock it down, though under no circumstances inform the local coppers in case one is in the pay of the Kings. Then have plans ready for a dawn raid, using only our most trusted men. I assume we can also count on the support of the Pinkertons?”

  “Ourselves and four others, perhaps half dozen more if we can get hold of them,” Pug assured him.

  “Then meet us at the precinct station an hour before dawn, if we catch them sleeping it will be a less bloody affair.” The meal was over and the four men out of the door too attend to their preparations, apologising and thanking Martha, whilst Jack waved and nodded and finished his desert, then starting on the cheese and port.

  Fellows was sufficiently startled by the sudden turn of affairs to look slightly perplexed, but continued calmly to pour the port, quite a good bottle he thought, for his temporary master. Martha, having fulfilled her hostess duties of seeing her guests out of the door, returned and took her seat, sat upright, hands folded in her lap and giving Jack a hard stare.

  “Habit, I am afraid dear,” he said, motioning that she should join him in a port now they were alone, “formed long ago. I always eat a hearty meal before a dawn raid, in case it intrudes on breakfast and lunch.” The jest, however, did not seem to alleviate Martha’s anxieties.

  11

  An Unravelling

  Day Sixteen – Wednesday April 30th 1886

  Jack was the last to arrive at the police station. He had jogged along on the horse he had sent Gideon to rent for the day, surprised at how many birds filled the air with their dawn chorus. The air itself seemed sweeter in the half-light of dawn; it was damp from the overnight rain with the mildest of breezes bringing a slight but pleasant chill that woke and heightened the senses. The deserted, birdsong filled streets hardly seemed like the city and he could almost imagine himself out on the prairie again, if it wasn’t for the plodding mare on which he sat. He had used to own a good horse for many years, a powerful and clever animal, but it had not taken to city life, the noise and bustle spooked it and the paved roads were not to its liking and, after a short while, Jack had sent the creature back to the small western boomtown he had been sheriff of; a present to a young man of color he had known.

  “You look like a gunslinger,” O’Leary had told him, much to Jack’s annoyance, though given that he wore his range clothes, more suited to riding and the work ahead for the day than the town suits Cage and the sergeant wore, and with his stetson, three pistols, Winchester and pockets that rattled with spare ammunition, it was an understandable observation to make. “But as a civilian I can’t let you come with us. I have a dozen officers in street clothes already at the scene and two dozen uniformed men to take with me and five Pinkertons, as much as I’d like you beside me Jack I can’t let you attend.”

  “Six,
” Pinky stated loudly, standing to the side of them, his comment cutting across whatever response Jack was about to make.

  “What’s that?” the inspector turned to the smartly dressed diminutive detective, who also carried a Winchester.

  “Six Pinkertons,” Pinky smiled broadly, knowing Jack would be as put out having to thank him as the ex-sheriff and bounty hunter would be at being called a gunslinger. “Mr Stevens is with us, under my command as a temporary agent. Given his shooting skills we thought he would be an asset to have with us today.”

  “Very well,” O’Leary was not displeased. “Stay with the Pinkertons who will cover the rear of the property we raid whilst I and my men go in at the front. Apart from myself all other men entering the premises will be in uniform so take care who you shoot at.”

  “I’ll try not to put a bullet in my own foot,” Jack sarcastically replied to Cage’s back as the inspector strode off. Then turning to Pinky, “What are you waiting for? An Invite?” and followed the inspector out of the station.

  Jack and the other Pinkertons were on horseback whilst the police rode on their specially made wagons, on which the uniformed men sat back-to-back facing outwards towards the side.

  “The house we go to,” Pug, who rode on Jack’s right on a huge gelding suitable for a man of Pug’s great stature, informed him, “is at the end of a row, the gable end is windowless and faces across the street to a high wall of a manufacturing works on the opposite side. We are to cover the rear of the house, there is one large courtyard that serves the rear of the entire block and the one behind, it will have all the usual outbuildings, privies, laundry rooms and washing lines and such; plenty of places for cover.”

  “The police led by O’Leary will go in the front, a half dozen will burst in the door, the others to remain outside with their wagons as cover to fire on the windows if needed,” Pinky, who rode on Jack’s left, explained. “Though the inspector hopes they will catch them all asleep at this hour and he will be inside and have them before a shot is fired.’