“That’s what you get, you son of a bitch!”
“Better than you deserve.”
“Hang!”
The boy who had placed the rope turned away and buried his face in his mother’s arms. Daniel Knecht’s chest heaved, the tension left his limbs, and he went slack. The rage drained from the mob immediately, and they transformed back into people. George Richter looked at Kamp, lying on the ground, noticing him for the first time.
He said, “What are you doing there?”
Philander Crow emerged from the upstairs room where his jury had been deliberating. He walked quickly down the stairs and found Kamp waiting for him there. Crow noticed that the color had drained from his face and that he appeared battered.
Crow said, “The jury has just come to a verdict that Jonas and Rachel Bauer came to their death by blows and cuts inflicted on their heads and bodies with an ax in the hands of Daniel Knecht, this day, December twenty-seven, 1870.”
Kamp said, “Look at this.” Kamp stepped aside so that Crow could see across the road to Knecht’s body, hanging slack and still. Crow hurried to the base of the tree. The mob had dispersed and only one man, an old farmer, stood by, eating a biscuit.
Crow asked him, “Who did this?”
“Why, the people did.”
Crow shook his head and said, “This is all wrong. All wrong.”
The old farmer said, “Is it?”
“It's murder.”
The old man said, “You saw what this man did.”
Crow said, “Did you have a hand in this?”
“No, sir. But it’s just.”
“Do you know who did?”
The old man stared at Crow and said, “No, and I don’t care. Whoever did it did the right thing.” He walked back to the road, whistling a tune.
THIRTEEN
KAMP AND CROW STOOD side by side under the chestnut tree, staring at the corpse of Daniel Knecht, which swayed in the breeze.
Crow said, “If nothing else, I suppose you can say the troglodytes around here prefer their justice rough.”
“It’s a nightmare.”
“You could say that, too.”
“I saw the whole thing,” Kamp said. “I know everyone who was involved. I can name them.”
Crow gave him a long look. “We should get that body down.”
“We’ll arrest every man who took part.”
“Your integrity is admirable, Kamp, but your thinking is colored by emotion.”
“How so?”
Crow went to the trunk of the tree and began working at the knot that held the rope in place.
“No one’s getting arrested. Nothing will come of this.” Crow motioned to the body. “It’s finished.”
“Finished? What’s the point of having any goddamned laws in the first place? And aren’t you the one who told me I needed to investigate real crimes? How’s this for a real crime?”
Crow continued working at the knot. “The jury reached a verdict. The man would have been executed anyway. And as for holding these vigilantes to account, you saw for yourself, half the town was here. The respectable and upstanding figures of Bethlehem just committed a murder.”
“That's right.”
“And they loved it.”
“And no one’s going to make them pay?”
“No one wants them to. Apart from you.”
“Don’t you?”
Crow said, “The crime was so egregious he granted them full freedom to kill him. If we were to prosecute them, we would be scorned, vilified, and in the end another jury of their peers—if we can find any jurors who weren’t here—will say they did the right thing and let them go. It’s pointless.” Crow loosened the knot until it came free. “Help me with this.”
Together, they eased the rope so that the body crumpled stiffly to the ground, face up. The two men looked at the face. Knecht’s eyes bulged, and his purple tongue protruded.
Crow said, “Well, I suppose the coroner won’t need to see the corpse.”
“How’s that?”
“The time and cause of death are fairly well established, I’d say. We’ll need to notify the family, tell them what happened and have them come and retrieve the body.”
“No one’s coming for him,” Kamp said.
“Why’s that?”
“Trust me.”
Crow said, “That leaves the burial. Someone will have to put him in the ground. And I’d suggest that whoever buries him makes sure not to mark the grave.”
“Just get rid of it right away. Is that it? Throw dirt on it like it never happened.”
Crow looked at Kamp with disdain. “It’s going to rot.”
They turned to walk back toward the house. Every last soul was gone along with the horses, sleighs and commotion.
When they reached the road, Crow said, “I need to return to the courthouse.”
The men shook hands, and Crow started off down the road. Kamp went to the shed behind the house and retrieved a pickax and a spade shovel. He walked back to Knecht’s body, selected a spot a few feet away and swung the pick. It bounced off the frozen ground the first few times before he was able to break through. He heard footsteps approaching behind him, and when he turned, he saw Philander Crow taking off his topcoat and rolling up his sleeves. Kamp handed him the shovel, and they soon fell into a rhythm. Kamp pierced the frozen soil, then Crow shoveled what was broken up. Together in the failing afternoon light, they dug the hole, and by nightfall the grave was finished. They dragged the body into position, and just before they rolled it into the hole, Kamp felt an object in the vest pocket of Knecht’s wool coat.
Kamp said, “Hold on.” He fished the contents out of the pocket. There was something that felt like a coin and also a folded piece of paper. Kamp put the items in his pocket.
Crow said, “What is it?”
“Nothing. I wanted to make sure he didn’t have anything in his pockets. He didn’t.”
“All right then,” Crow said, “one, two, three.” They tipped the body into the hole where it landed with an impressive whump. The two men filled the hole with dirt and did their best to conceal the grave. When their work was complete, Kamp extended his hand to Crow. Instead of shaking Kamp’s hand, Crow handed him the shovel and said, “Thank you.” He politely tipped his hat and walked into the darkness.
KAMP LIT A LANTERN and walked into Jonas Bauer’s house one more time for the night to make certain all the doors were locked and that the house was empty. He knew tomorrow would bring another crush of spectators to the location which had gained instant and possibly permanent notoriety. People would want to see the place where not only the grisly murders had taken place but also where the murderer had been hanged on the same day.
He went through each room, starting with the front of the house where the Christmas tree now lay broken in the corner. The room was otherwise bare. People must have taken the furniture and other family possessions as souvenirs, he thought. He went up the stairs and looked in on the girls’ room, which was empty, save for the bed frames and mattresses. He assumed that the girls had been taken in by a neighbor, and he resolved to check on them the following day. He then went to Knecht’s room, where Crow had set up the makeshift courtroom. Here, too, everything but the chairs in which the jurors sat had been taken. He walked back down the stairs, each footfall echoing loudly. He walked to Jonas and Rachel’s room and found that the bodies had been removed. Kamp knew that A.J. Oehler would have taken them to the morgue. Much of the blood remained on the wall, though someone, likely Oehler himself and his assistant, had begun scrubbing. He felt relieved that most of the gore was gone. He took a brief inventory of the room. Someone had put the cigar box back on the windowsill, but the ax and the quilt were both gone. He locked the bedroom door behind him, put out the lantern, left the house and stood on the front step.
Kamp forced himself not to contemplate the enormity of the tragedy, the way that three human beings had been utterly destroyed. He thought abo
ut the hardships Bauer’s daughters would face, not to mention Knecht’s sisters. He couldn’t even begin to answer any of the questions large and small, immediate and long-range, that the catastrophe generated. Even though he decided he’d wait until tomorrow to analyze the day’s events, Kamp’s ruminations began right away. Images of the murder scene assailed him, fragments of memories that triggered other recollections much deeper down. He tried to explain to himself that the intensity of the storm in his mind was the result of everything he’d experienced during the day. No doubt the terrible power of what he’d seen and heard could drive any man to the brink of madness. He reminded himself that he had seen carnage before on the battlefield, and participated in it. Something was different here. The proximity of the catastrophe to his own home might have been part of it. He tried without success to banish the demons and then resigned himself to suffer. Kamp locked the front door of Jonas Bauer’s house and walked home.
It was late, probably after midnight, and it occurred to him that he’d been gone nearly twenty-four hours. In that time Shaw had not come to see the goings-on at Bauer’s house, at least not that he knew. And he felt glad she hadn’t seen any of it. He saw a candle in the window as he reached the house and found the front door locked. The door opened, though, almost as soon as he tried it, and once again, he was met by the Druggist, E. Wyles.
Her hair was pulled back and matted to her forehead. The sleeves of her white blouse were rolled up to her elbows and spattered with blood. Her typical hawk-eyed expression had been replaced with what looked to him like a woozy smile. She let him in the front door and motioned for him to go upstairs.
“Quiet,” she said.
He climbed the stairs and peered into his bedroom. A candle was burning on the table by the bed and by its light, Kamp saw Shaw cradling a sleeping baby.
Shaw looked up at him and said, “Ours.”
“Is it a—”
“Girl.”
He took Shaw’s hand and knelt by the bed, marveling at the child. “I wasn’t here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I know I should have been–”
“It’s all right.”
“I just got caught up. Everything that happened today. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Everything is all right.”
“What are we going to name her? We haven’t even really, with everything that’s been, we haven’t—”
“Tomorrow.”
“What kind of name is tomorrow?”
Shaw laughed. “No, love, I meant we won’t worry about anything now. Tomorrow, we’ll name her.”
E. Wyles walked in the room and said, “They need to rest. You do, too.”
“Right, right.” He looked at Shaw and said, “I love you.” He kissed her softly on the forehead.
“I love you.”
Kamp and E. Wyles walked back down the stairs to the front room where a fire was burning. For the first time since he’d gone out the door the previous day, He noticed how cold he was. He also became aware that he was covered head to toe in grave dirt. The joints in his fingers thrummed with pain. He sat on the floor and unlaced his boots. Fatigue hit him like a sledge as he stretched out in front of the fire.
“Thank you, Emma, for everything.”
E. Wyles stood over him and said, “It wasn’t easy, for anyone. It was a difficult delivery for Shaw and for the baby.”
“Tomorrow, Emma.”
“Some men came to the door looking for you. I told them you were on official business.”
“I want to hear about it all tomorrow.”
FOURTEEN
HE OPENED HIS EYES to a dead fire and a cold floor. He could smell breakfast, though, which enabled him to sit up and think about starting the day. He wasn’t surprised to hear E. Wyles’ heels clacking purposefully across the floor and to see her in her typical formal attire.
She said, “I’ve already checked in on Shaw and given her something to eat. She seems fine. I’ve also boiled some water for you. I want you to wash up. Get as clean as you can, and change your clothes before you go in to see them.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
“This is serious, Kamp. She had a hard labor and a complicated delivery. She lost a considerable amount of blood, and she’s weak. I need to return to the pharmacy. It’s up to you to take care of her. At least until others start arriving to help.”
“I doubt anyone’s coming.”
“What about her family?”
“It’s just her father. And I don’t know where he is.”
“Well, once they hear the baby’s been born, the neighbor ladies will come and help.”
“Not after what happened yesterday.” He related to E. Wyles the events of the previous day and mentioned the likelihood that his actions on behalf of Daniel Knecht and his inclination to hold the lynch mob to account might dampen their neighbors’ enthusiasm to assist them.
She said, “In that case I’ll be back day after tomorrow. Until then, make sure she doesn’t get out of bed. Give her everything she needs. Good luck.” E. Wyles buckled her bag and headed for the door. As she left she looked back over her shoulder and said, “I made you some food, too. You should eat it.”
He tiptoed up the stairs to take a look at Shaw and the baby, both asleep. He went back down to the kitchen and took off his jacket and shirt. The pot of water had cooled enough for him to be able to cup his hands and douse his face with the steaming water. He repeated the process until he felt clear-headed and clean and then toweled off. He wolfed down the scrambled eggs and hash browns E. Wyles had fixed for him. He saw that she’d even left him some coffee beans. He ground up the beans and made a cup. Sitting at the table, Kamp breathed a heavy sigh.
Immediately, thoughts about the previous day streamed into his consciousness. He remembered the things he found in Knecht’s pocket. He picked up his jacket off the floor and fished them out. The first item was a piece of paper, which he now unfolded. It was a child’s pencil drawing, showing a simple house with two smiling faces, one in each upstairs window. In one downstairs window was a candle, and through the other window, a Christmas tree could be seen. Across the top of the picture were the words “WEEL MISS YOU DANNY!” And across the bottom, it read, “LOVE MERCY.” He wondered whether Knecht’s little sisters had been notified yet, and if so, by whom.
The second object was an eight-sided silver coin. One side pictured a steaming locomotive engine. The other side depicted the bust of a smiling figure wearing a cap in the Phrygian style, superimposed on a crossed pickax and shovel and enclosed in a circle. Inside the edge of the circle were the words “Ex Fratrum Ordine, Et in Corvo.”
Kamp felt the coffee working in his system. These were the only things Knecht carried. No money, no food, no tobacco. Nothing he would have needed if he’d intended to get away. It’s possible that before he committed the murders, Knecht had already stashed a bag somewhere, possibly in the barn where Kamp found him. Then again, the act itself was rash, an unplanned fit of rage. It seemed unlikely to him that Knecht would have made any preparation at all. Knecht would have had time after the murders, though, to think about and plan his next move. Kamp turned over the coin in his hand. He’d seen train coins before, particularly on his journey back from the war. But he’d never seen a coin such as this. He didn’t know where it came from or what the motto meant, and he wondered how it came into Knecht’s possession.
HE STOOD UP from the table and walked to the front room. Out the front window of the house, he saw a stream of sleighs and carriages all going in the direction of Jonas Bauer’s house. He also saw Sam Druckenmiller riding a horse up the path. Kamp laced up his boots and walked onto the front porch.
Druckenmiller tied up his horse and called to Kamp, “One hell of a mess over there!”
“Hey, Sam. Wie gehts?”
“Oh, it goes, it goes.” He walked up to the porch and shook hands with Kamp. Druckenmiller twitched with nervous energy. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t burn the house down. Ach, they’re
looking for the body so they can tear it apart. Do you know what happened to it?”
“It’s taken care of.”
“Where is it?”
“Don’t worry,” Kamp said. “We buried it.”
“Yah, yah, but where?”
“In the ground.”
“Say, have you been over there today, Kamp, to the Bauer house?”
“How come you went over, Sam?”
Druckenmiller cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “Why, to keep the peace.”
“How’d that go?”
“Ach, why ya hafta be so, so disagreeable?”
“I’m asking what, in particular, you went there to do,” Kamp said.
The color began to rise in Druckenmiller’s face. “And I’m telling you, in particular, I went to keep the peace. Disperse the onlookers and so forth.”
“Who sent you over there?”
“The Judge asked me to come over here and—”
“The Judge sent you?”
“No, I decided to go to Bauer’s house on my own. But the Judge also asked me to come over and let you know he wants to talk to you.”
“That’s the message?” Kamp’s left temple began to throb.
“That’s the message. Christ, you’re a piece a work. You really are.”
“Sorry, Sam. Late night.”
“Ach, yah well, don’t worry about it. Say, did ya hear what they’re sayin’ about the murders? About why Knecht done it?”
“No.”
“People are sayin’ it was a hex murder. Someone put a hex on poor Danny. That’s why he done it.”
“Hex murder, huh. What do you say?”
“I told you from the first, Kamp, that guy was trouble, a no good goddamned nix nootz. Hex or no.”
“Yes, you said that.”
Druckenmiller studied him for a moment and said, “You know what else they’re saying?”
“Tell me.”
Ax & Spade: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 1) Page 12
