Clockwork Killer (Steampunk Detectives: Book 1)

by Hall, Ian

  Only then could I rest.

  But if I stayed with the Pinkertons another case would be presented to me, and I would be expected to give as much energy and thought to it as I had done my sister’s case.

  “You’re right.” I said at some length.

  “About what?”

  “I’m not a detective, I’m a scientist.”

  “I told you!” she scoffed.

  In Bloomington, our normal hostelry had only one room available, so we took it, by now well used to sharing a room. To my horror, when we opened the door, a single large bed dominated the room. “Oh my,”

  Emily caught my gaze, and sighed. “Well, we shall overcome this, like so many other problems in our short acquaintance.”

  Her voice seemed overly-clipped, but I did see her point. “I can pull two chairs together, no problem.”

  “You will do no such thing, Francis Smalling,” she scolded with some rancor. “There is frost already on the window, and snow will fall tonight. You will share this bed with me, and we shall embrace and share our body heat.”

  “Then I will not undress.” I said, hoping it would ease any thoughts of impropriety.

  “That is your decision, and it is a good one. I will also remain mostly dressed.” She brushed some moisture off her jacket. “Although we should shed our outer clothing; it has gotten rather wet.”

  In the end, after an evening of reading scientific journals, and comparing as we read, we kicked our boots off, and got into bed, folded the sheets under our cold feet, and cuddled in close. We even kissed goodnight, although, I must admit, I did keep my front away from her at all times, the whole situation had caused my considerable discomfort in the trouser area, and I did not want it to be a source of conversation.

  But even through two layers of clothes, our bodies did heat each other to the extent that we pushed the covers away from our necks, it being too hot.

  “James Clerk Maxwell just took the first color photograph.” I said, having just read the article.

  “Color? How?” Emily asked. I could see the vapor from her lips billow up into the air of the room.

  “Seems he took three black and white photos of the same thing under three color filters, then simply added them together.”

  “Well I never.”

  I grinned, knowing her mind now churned along similar lines.

  Thankfully the snow abated the next morning, allowing us to get on the road immediately after breakfast, and we continued north for two more days into Chicago.

  “There’s only one school that teaches acting in the whole of Illinois.” Chapman said, once we’d taken off our jackets and approached the host of blackboards lining the west wall. “I’ve spoken to the dean of Northwestern University in Evanston. He said the University has a pilot program here.” I looked at a chalk map of our crime area; Jacksonville and Springfield at the bottom, La Crosse and Wausau in the north. The border lay roughly two thirds of the way up the map. Just below the line sat a chalked ‘X’. Chapman tapped the site with his finger. “Rockford, Illinois. They call it a Department of Oratory English. But there’s no teacher on the payroll called Whiteman. Never has been.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’s not there.” I pointed out.

  “And it’s almost perfectly equidistant from the murder sites.” Emily jumped up and down on the spot. “It looks pretty likely.”

  I could hardly believe it. I almost wanted to go out right there and then, ride as fast as the wind, and grab old Frederick Whiteman by the collar. “How do we do this?”

  “Well, we don’t go by ourselves, if that’s what you’re talking about.” Chapman said. “I’ve already telegraphed all our nearby agents, and am waiting for answers. I’m not going near the place until we’ve got enough men to circle it properly. Once we’re on the property, he’ll be alerted; we can’t risk him slipping away.”

  I nodded. “So how many men do you consider enough?”

  “I don’t think we can even start without at least twelve or so. Six to ring the property, and six to go in.”

  “I can’t wait.” Emily said, and I shared her excitement.

  “You won’t be there, I’m afraid, Miss.” Chapman shook his head. “I can’t risk that. He will be armed, and he may have friends, accomplices; it could turn nasty.”

  I could see Emily’s smile darken, but she stayed silent. I wondered what she planned, because I could see the all-too-familiar cogs working in that mind of hers. “I’ll look after her.” I said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

  As a silence swept over us, Anna entered the large detective’s office. “Telegram from Jim in Fort Wayne, Indiana.” She handed a typed sheet to Chapman, then stayed close, watching him read it. He handed the sheet to me, and Emily and I read it together.

  To Paul Chapman. Have located Whiteman’s mother in Dervish. Suspect left town in 1862 with Indiana militia. He has never returned. Bald since teenager. J.T.

  “So we’ve confirmed his name.” I said, handing the paper back. “He’s not using a false one.”

  “Nope,” Chapman gave a heavy sigh. “We’ve got him.”

  Paul Chapman, Pinkertons National Detective Agency, Chicago, Illinois

  April 20th, 1867

  There seemed so much to organize for the raid on the school.

  First I needed some of the ‘old hands’ backing me in the capture. Young Smalling had proven himself so far, of that there was no doubt. Between the three of us, we’d caught up with the guy far quicker than I had initially envisaged. But when I rode towards the ‘acting school’, I wanted men at my side that I could trust in a gunfight. Francis Smalling had far too much emotion invested in this case for me to have confidence in him fully.

  And the delightful miss Emily could just stand a mile distant and await our return, a gunfight was no place for a woman. I tried my hardest to think of a distraction to keep them both in Chicago, but failed miserably.

  “Do you have a map of the area?” Emily asked.

  “Not a detailed one.” I answered. “I’ll send an agent out soon enough, find out the lie of the land, so to speak.”

  “We could do that for you,” she immediately countered. “Francis and I,”

  I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “How?” her eyes never left mine. “We wouldn’t go near, we’d just ride close. I have a magnificent memory; you’d get the most detailed map you’ve ever seen.”

  Again I shook my head. “Miss Hettinger, I simply can’t allow civilians to go near him right now, we don’t want to spook him.”

  “It’s an acting school,” she persisted. “There’ll be people in and out all the time.”

  “No!” I snapped. “We just can’t risk it.”

  She stamped her foot petulantly, and walked away, heading towards the stairs to the stables. Francis looked ashen. “What do I do?” he asked, looking first at her disappearing frame, then back at me.

  I wanted to laugh. “You’d better get after her.” I almost had to put my hand over my mouth; it had gotten far too funny. “Otherwise she’ll ride all the way to Harvard.”

  I watched him take after the fiery Miss Hettinger, and returned my attention to the blackboards.

  Anna had watched the whole episode. “She is a willful young lady.” Her eyes held a kindness. “She reminds me of myself when I was her age.”

  I looked at our telegraph operator, and wondered about her past. Then she turned and caught me looking. Damned if I felt my cheeks get hotter. “He’s certainly got his hands on a wild one.” I admitted.

  “Most men would not complain.” Anna held my gaze. “She is very pretty. And although she wears her man’s clothes far too often, her beauty shines through.”

  I looked at the archway to the stairs, and nodded. Emily had been in jodhpurs and jacket for most of the trip to Jacksonville, and yes, she still had looked good, most fetching. I turned to Anna. “Is it time for dinner, Missus Jenkins?” I flipped my pocket watch open, and compared
its time to the large clock above the blackboards; Four thirty-five. “Close enough, I think.”

  Anna had become a regular at my table, and had actually never missed one evening meal whilst I worked in town. The staff at the restaurant, knowing our tastes and favorites sometimes even cooked specials, just for us; I looked forward to each evening immensely.

  We would always share time after dinner, sometimes we played checkers in one of our rooms, or she’d sit and sew while I read my newspaper. That evening, we had chosen to sit in my room, the lamps burning above our heads.

  “Why do you read the Tribune?” Anna asked that evening, suddenly putting her latest sewing project in her lap. She had measured the garment in front of me many times; I think it would resemble a shirt one day.

  “It’s a Republican paper.” I looked over the pages at her.

  “But there are others.”

  “True, but the Chicago Tribune is the only newspaper Allan Pinkerton allows in his sight. I’ve just gotten used to it, I suppose.” I gave a smile at her questioning look. “Allan’s far too anti-slavery to give the Times the time of day.”

  She fell silent for a moment. “My husband used to read the Times.”

  It had been the first time she’d mentioned the man in many weeks, and for some reason, it struck me as odd. “Have you heard from him?”

  She shook her head firmly. “No, it’s his birthday next week, I don’t know why he came into my head.”

  Again, a silence descended on us, and I continued to look at her as she absentmindedly picked up her shirt project.

  “Do you regret leaving him, Anna?” I asked.

  I sighed as a smile coursed over her face. “Oh, no. Never.” Then her gaze lingered. “You are a good man, Paul Chapman.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, conscious that I had reddened again.

  She set her sewing aside, rose and crossed the room. Slowly she took the newspaper from my reluctant hands. Folding it neatly, she set it on the table beside me.

  “You are a gentleman,” she said, her accent more heavy than normal, reaching down and taking my hand. Slowly she pulled me upright, and I found myself far too close to her for comfort. “And because you are a gentleman, you would never ask me. But I am not a gentleman, so I will ask you.”

  I found her the smell of the wine on her breath quite intoxicating.

  “Do you want me to leave tonight?”

  “I beg your pardon,” I found my hands slipping round her waist. For the first time in years, Paul Chapman held a woman.

  “Paul, I would like to stay here tonight.” She put her hands on my shoulders. “In her bad mood, wild Miss Emily will be no company for me. I would like to sleep here.”

  As I pulled her towards me, our lips met, and the room dissolved around me.

  Gone were all thoughts of detecting.

  That night Anna ruled my world.

  I woke the next morning a changed man. As I lay in bed, the still sleeping Anna to one side, I determined that the Whiteman case would be my last in the field. The next time Allan Pinkerton set foot in the office, I intended to ask for a desk job.

  I smoothed some of her hair from her forehead, and she stirred beside me. It felt good, and the warmth that emanated from her body beat more blankets any day.

  I got out of bed as carefully as I could, and dressed, picking my clothes from the floor where I’d discarded them so quickly the night before. Closing the door quietly behind me, I set off for breakfast. Twenty minutes later I returned to an empty room with hot croissants and bagels.

  “Damn.” I looked at the disturbed bed, and lingered over the night’s love-making.

  I had just put the food on the dresser when Anna opened the door, gliding into the room.

  Damn it if we just didn’t slide into each other’s arms again.

  Moments later, she spread a finger across my probing lips. “Wait, Paul Chapman.” She said, grinning from ear to ear. “Miss Emily must have been more upset than we thought. She did not sleep in her bed last night.”

  “Maybe she slept with Francis?” I offered.

  But Anna shook her head. “I do not think they share a bed yet. I would have noticed the change.”

  “One way of finding out.” I slipped into the corridor, and along to Francis’s room. Even after pounding it with my fist, no noise came from within. “Smalling’s gone too.” I said after returning to my room.

  “Where do you think they are?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” I rubbed my chin, feeling the stubble, promising myself to shave. “I hope they haven’t done something stupid.”

  “What do you fear?”

  I knew Francis enough to know he hadn’t gone to Rockford on his own, but Emily was a wildcard. “I think they’ve maybe gone to Rockford.”

  “Without you?” she looked anxious.

  I nodded. “She’s headstrong enough to try something like that, and he’s love-struck enough to follow her.”

  “What will you do?” she came deliciously close, and I found it difficult to concentrate.

  “There’s not much I can do. They’ve got a day’s start on me, and let’s face it, we don’t know for certain they’ve gone to Rockford, they might just have stayed at a hotel for the night, you know, getting away from me.”

  But despite her hands running over my back, a feeling of dread fell over me, marring what might have been an exciting morning with my new love.

  After our breakfast, I returned to the office to find two agents already there. I brought Milner and Deacon up to speed on the case, then got Anna to telegraph the other agents close to Chicago again. If the ‘kids’ had indeed gone to Rockford, we needed to hasten my schedule. It saddened my heart to be planning a rescue rather than a take-down.

  Before lunch I had six replies from this morning’s telegraphs, promising their return to Chicago by the next day.

  That gave me nine including myself.

  It was during this period of planning that Allan Pinkerton arrived, marching into the office with a scowl on his face, hardly acknowledging our presence.

  Ten minutes later, Missus Bainbridge crossed to my desk. “Mister Pinkerton wants to see you.” She said softly. Her serious face did not bode well.

  Allan Pinkerton sat at his desk, wringing his hands. “Paul, come in, sit down.” He stood, and pushed his leather chair hard against the desk, then paced back and forth behind it. “How’s the Criminology class coming on?”

  Somehow I sensed that he hadn’t got to the crux of his mood yet. “The course structure is on your desk, sir.” I indicated his ‘in-tray’, but he made no effort to look. “Francis and Emily put it together over the winter.”

  “Emily?” he stopped pacing for a moment and gave me a sharp stare.

  “Smalling’s beau, sir. She attached herself to him in Harvard.”

  “And she collaborated?”

  “Oh she’s quite the scholar, sir.” I decided to halt there, and not spill beans on my work. The boss had something on his mind, and I didn’t want to cloud it with tales of Jacksonville.

  “Humph.” He grunted, and resumed his exercise. “I’ve just returned from the House of Representatives.” He began. “Seems more and more of my time will be spent performing political machinations than here at the office where my heart is. Damn it, my wife has hardly seen me in six months.”

  I sat and said nothing, extremely conscious that Allan Pinkerton seemed in dour mood.

  “I lobby for support, and monies are applied to me through back-door means. Damn it, Paul we should be able to operate without me worrying about these bloody things!”

  He stopped pacing, and gripped the back of his chair. I watched the dark green leather wince under his grip.

  “How’s the case, Paul?”

  “Sir?” I felt stymied by his change of tack.

  “The case you’re working on with Smalling?”

  “Oh, yes. We hit a series of breakthroughs this week sir, I’ve got agents coming in tomorr
ow. We head off to Rockford soon.”

  “Rockford?” he seemed startled. “That’s close to my home town.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’ve been considering a shakeup in the office. With me gone most of the time, and the railroads marching significantly west, I need a permanent overseer here in Chicago.”

  I could hardly believe my ears.

  “I’d like to get you in out of the cold, Paul. You take over my place here in the office, you run the detective side of things. What do you say?”

  “Heck yes!” I blurted.

  Pinkerton looked surprised. “Damn it if I didn’t think it’d be this easy.” He laughed, coming round his desk to shake my hand. I stood up quickly. “I thought I’d have to fight you tooth and nail to get you off field work.”

  “No, sir,” I beamed at him, my feet wanting to sprint from the room to tell Anna. “After I’ve settled the Whiteman case, I’ll get my feet under a desk.”

  “Whiteman case?” he looked at me under furrowed brows.

  “We’ve got a name now, sir.” I felt myself puffing my chest slightly. “Frederick Whiteman, out of Dervish, Indiana.”

  “You really have made headway.” Pinkerton slapped the wooden top of the desk. “This is yours now, Paul. I give it to you freely.”

  “Yes, sir,” I beamed, hoping that there would be a pay rise somewhere soon, but I held my tongue, content with my new lot in life. One more job, then I’d settle down.

  To Tread the Boards

  Francis Smalling, Pinkerton National Detective Agency, Chicago

  April 21st, 1867

  To say that Emily had simply lost her temper would have been the biggest understatement in the history of the world. Well, my world. She stormed down to the stables, and then, on finding our horses still not taken care of, our bedrolls still tied to our saddles, she mounted hers, then stared down at me, daring me to cross her. “Well?”