Unholy Fire

by Robert J. Mrazek

  The little colonel stared up at Val for fully ten seconds.

  “Wait here,” he said, finally.

  We heard the sound of his boots going up the servant’s stairs. He was back a minute later.

  “The general will see you,” said Colonel Sloat with a venomous glare.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  He was admiring himself in front of a carved walnut-framed mirror in one of the bedrooms on the second floor. Bare chested, he wore only a tightly fitted pair of navy blue uniform pants over polished calf-length cavalry boots. Without removing his eyes from his own reflected image, he drew a starched white linen shirt over his strapping shoulders and began to button it from neck to waist.

  Not a hair on his flaxen head was out of place, and the wide-set blue eyes looked stern and commanding as he continued to appraise himself in the mirror. They softened when he looked up and saw the reflection of Amelie in the glass.

  “I’ve missed you, little one,” he said, turning to face her. “I regret that I wasn’t told you were here last night.”

  “She wasn’t here last night,” I said coldly.

  His eyes took me in as Amelie sat down at a chair next to the fire.

  “Well, Kit, I understand you are here to arrest me,” he said, with a sardonic grin.

  “That comes within my purview,” said Val, his eyes scanning the room.

  “The notorious Colonel Burdette,” said General Hooker. “I gather every desk general in Washington quakes upon hearing that name. Your reputation is fearsome, sir.”

  “Justly earned, I can assure you,” replied Val.

  “Well, Sam Hathaway thinks you walk on water, and that is good enough for me,” said General Hooker, as he deftly tied a black silk cravat around the linen collar of his shirt. Retrieving a carefully pressed uniform coat from the bed, he aimed another jaunty smile at us.

  “So you have concluded that I am guilty of murder,” he said. “Well, in truth I soon will be. In another hour you will have good reason to arrest the entire general staff for capital murder. I’m to say that we are about to witness the greatest corpse making of the entire war. General Burnside’s stupidity is only exceeded by his stubbornness.”

  He looked up at the loudly ticking clock on the marble mantle piece above the fire.

  “General Hooker, I am here solely to investigate the murder of a young woman who attended a birthday party in your honor three nights ago. As you are fully aware, she was a prostitute brought down here from the capital.”

  “Yes, well as Kit knows, I do not ride with God’s cavalry, Colonel Burdette. If you have a moral dilemma with that, I regret it. However, I am an unmarried soldier, and can do as I please. Enjoying female comfort has been the custom of soldiers since the days of Scipio. I prefer the company of whores, principally because one doesn’t have to make false promises to enjoy their favors.”

  He paused to smile at Amelie.

  “I have no moral qualms about your sexual preferences, General, regardless of where they may lead you,” said Val. “Our legal forbearance, however, stops at murder.”

  “I only pleasure them, Colonel,” replied General Hooker, “I don’t murder them. That would be a waste of the good ones. Wouldn’t you agree, little one?”

  Amelie sat motionless by the fire in her chaste organdy dress and said nothing. Behind her, my eyes took in a canopied bed, its sheets and blankets in complete disarray, as if a hand-to-hand skirmish had been fought upon them. A drop-leaf walnut table stood next to the bed. The carcass of a baked chicken lay in the center of it surrounded by several serving dishes. There were two place settings at the table. I remembered the girl who was leaving just as we arrived.

  “The prostitute’s name was Anya Hagel,” said Val.

  General Hooker put on his uniform coat and began to fasten its two matching rows of gilt buttons. From outside the window, I heard the drumbeat of horses clattering up the lane toward the mansion house.

  “I do not recognize that name,” he said, picking up a half-full bottle of whiskey from the table and pouring two inches into a pewter field mug. “That does not mean I didn’t know her, of course. I have enjoyed the company of many women without ever discovering their names.”

  I removed the drawing of Anya Hagel from my uniform blouse. Crossing the room, I handed it to him. The odor of his cologne did not mask the scent of a strong perfume that hung in the air next to him. He stared down at the sketch with the appraising eye of a horse breeder at a Thoroughbred auction.

  “I assume that Amelie has already given you a full account of everything that took place that night,” he said, before taking a swallow of the whiskey. His high-bridged hawkish nose was already pink, his cheeks almost red.

  “To the contrary,” said Val. “She refused to tell me anything about that night or any of the people who were there.”

  As the general continued staring at Anya’s face in the portrait, his eyelids seemed to become heavier, making him appear almost drowsy.

  “I do appreciate your sense of loyalty, little one, but I have nothing to hide,” he said, finally looking up from the portrait. “In any event nothing occurred that night that didn’t take place at a hundred other affairs I have attended. When my admirers in Washington tell me I should run for president, I remind them that I already have a district full of whorehouses in the nation’s capital named in honor of me. That cools their ardor rather quickly.”

  “Do you recognize her, General?” asked Val.

  “I never knew her name,” he said, finishing his whiskey. “But yes, I had her that night. A very energetic girl … she thrashed around like a rabbit in a snare.”

  He emerged from his reverie long enough to add, “Of course, I had Amelie that night, too. You are the best my child … absolutely the best I’ve ever had.”

  She stared back at him without emotion, still looking prim and virginal. I knew that she hadn’t even known me when she had made love to him, but it didn’t matter. The thought of her in his arms, enjoying his body the same way she had seemingly enjoyed mine, made me almost crazy with jealousy. I actually hated her then. I hated her with the same level of passion that I loved her.

  “You touched my heart, Johnny,” she had whispered to me when we were lying together. But General Hooker had touched every other part of her, along with dozens if not hundreds of other men. Through a black cloud of anger, I heard Val’s voice again.

  “When did you last see Anya Hagel?”

  “I believe she was performing with some of the other guests on the balcony. Isn’t that right, Amelie? Although I was somewhat the worse for spirits by that point, I seem to recall that you and I were heading upstairs to your room.”

  Val glanced in her direction. Amelie nodded.

  “I have no idea who might have killed her or why,” added General Hooker. “But I hope you discover who did, Colonel, and that he is punished accordingly.”

  “You might be interested to know that Miss Hagel was syphillitic,” said Val.

  General Hooker was pouring himself another whiskey. He took a hefty pull on it and said, “Well, that is sad. But it is not at all uncommon in her profession, I can assure you.”

  Going to his field chest next to the canopied bed, he removed a small article wrapped in waxed paper from the top drawer and tossed it to Val.

  “I always use the lamb myself, he said. “It cuts down on the pleasure but is always safer in the long run. You can keep that.”

  Val shook his head disbelievingly and said, “Who supplied these women to you?”

  General Hooker again paused before answering.

  “I don’t see the harm in telling,” he said. “There was certainly nothing illegal in it … simply a favor from a friend. It was Laird Hawkinshield. He told Dan Sickles that the girls were a birthday present for me.”

  “Are you aware that we have solid evidence implicating Congressman Hawkinshield in the supplying of substandard equipment to the army, including the defective gun carriages?” sa
id Val.

  “If that proves to be true, I will have him shot myself!” General Hooker came back hotly.

  “That won’t be necessary, General. We will be arresting him shortly. Was he a guest at the party?”

  “There were several esteemed members of the House and Senate there that night,” he said, with a facetious grin. “Laird was one of them.”

  “Where was the party held, General?”

  “I cannot tell you that with any specificity. I remember that the house overlooked a pond. That is all I can remember about it.”

  “We need to know the exact location, General. The girl may have been murdered there.”

  “Of course. Well, Major Bannister can certainly tell you … he arranged the details … no, he can’t, I’m afraid,” he said. “Seems he accidentally broke his jaw on the way down here … You can ask Sloat. He was there, too.”

  The thought of the toadlike little staff colonel enjoying Amelie’s body filled me with a another rush of anger. As I struggled to control it, the windows suddenly began vibrating in their frames, and I felt the floor tremble under my feet. A moment later we heard the first tremendous roar of a massive artillery barrage, followed by a succession of detonations farther south. The door to the hallway swung open, and Colonel Sloat strode into the room.

  “We’re attacking, sir,” he called out over the din.

  “And so it begins,” said General Hooker.

  “A wire from General Halleck in Washington,” said Sloat, handing him an envelope.

  General Hooker tore it open and looked at the telegraphed message before crumpling it in disgust.

  “The battle hasn’t even been fought yet, and Old Brains Halleck is already maneuvering to escape responsibility for the impending disaster.”

  He stopped to pick up a pair of leather gauntlets from his field chest and started toward the door.

  “Please forgive those ramblings of mine, Colonel Burdette,” he said, over the cannonade. “I don’t mean to sound callous to the matter you’re investigating, but a few hours from now thousands of young men will lie dead across that river and most of them will be wearing blue. If I had been allowed to cross the Rappahannock three weeks ago, we might very well have been in Richmond by now. The fortunes of war, perhaps, but a terrible waste nevertheless.”

  Amelie stood up from her chair, and he headed straight for her.

  “I wish I had time for you now, little one,” he said, “but I have to go and kill some Rebels first.”

  As he leaned over to kiss her on the mouth, she turned her head, and the kiss landed awkwardly on her cheek. Her arms remained rigidly straight.

  Stepping away, the general began pulling on his gauntlets. As he passed me on his way to the door, he seemed to remember something, and stopped. In the manner of a kindly father dispensing advice to his son, he leaned close and whispered, “If you get a chance, you should try her, Kit. I meant what I said. She is the best I’ve ever had.”

  I swung at him then, the blow glancing off the side of his handsome jaw. It sent him staggering back against the upholstered settee. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Colonel Sloat grab his service revolver from its holster. Before he could bring it to bear, Val had plucked the gun out of his hand as if it were a toy.

  “I will have you court-martialed!” Sloat screamed at me.

  As General Hooker rubbed his jaw with his gauntleted hand, a look of sudden revelation registered in his eyes.

  “No, you won’t, Tom,” he said, grinning ruefully at me. “The young man just happens to be in love.”

  Val handed Colonel Sloat his revolver back.

  “Remember what I once told you, Kit,” said the general, as he disappeared through the door. “Be a Michelangelo.”

  Val slowly shook his head at me.

  “Brilliant,” he said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The house sat on a tree-covered knoll overlooking a small brackish pond filled with water lilies and marsh grass. It was modeled after an English manor home; with mock battlements, Gothic windows, and a low-pitched slate roof. Three stories high, its exterior brick walls were covered with denuded vines of Virginia creeper.

  It had taken us almost an hour to find it. Hundreds of army vehicles were clogging the roads leading to the river, and Val was forced to use a maze of unmarked farm lanes to follow the directions Colonel Sloat had reluctantly provided to him. Through the long ride, I would look up and see Amelie staring at me, her eyes reflecting continued awe at the thought that I had actually thrown a punch at one of the commanding generals of the army.

  At one point, we were stopped at a small country crossroads while the driver asked directions of a local farmer. Out of Amelie’s earshot, Val whispered, “Our primary mission must continue to be the gathering of evidence against Hawkinshield and his manifold conspiracies. Solving this murder will almost certainly help to accomplish that task. If we’re fortunate, there will be something to aid our cause in the place of their drunken bacchanal.”

  The furious cannonade from both Union and Confederate guns continued unabated as we slowly threaded our way through the federal positions. By then the fog had lifted, and whenever we traveled across a patch of higher ground, I could look across the river and see a vast pall of black smoke rising high in the sky over Fredericksburg. Sunk in gloom over my conflicted feelings toward Amelie, I only knew that we had arrived at the party house when Val poked me in the ribs and growled, “Look there.”

  Our open carriage was winding up a narrow drive toward a knoll dotted with evergreens. As we emerged at the top, I saw that the front door of the house was yawing open at an odd angle. From the dark aperture, two federal soldiers came scuttling out with an immense grandfather clock between their outstretched arms. Seeing us coming, they began running toward the closest line of trees, the clock making loud clanging noises with each step they took.

  “We are too late,” said Val.

  I fired my revolver into the air, and two more deserters came slithering out through one of the downstairs windows. They ran toward the far side of the knoll and down toward the pond.

  Approaching the open doorway, I could see that most of the windows had been smashed out from the inside. Family possessions, including furniture and clothing, lay strewn on the ground beneath the shattered frames.

  Inside, the house was a scene of wanton destruction. The marauding soldiers had not been content with stealing everything of value. They had enjoyed ransacking it too. The acrid smell of urine assailed my nostrils as soon as we stepped into the high-ceilinged great hall that took up most of the first floor. A stone fireplace dominated the room, and flames were licking out from the burning furniture that had been stuffed into its enormous hearth.

  A wide staircase led up to an intricately carved balcony that overlooked the great hall. It also opened onto the second-floor bedrooms. A smaller set of stairs led to more rooms on the third level. Amelie gazed at the debris covering the floor and shuddered. Wrapping her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, she moved closer to the fire.

  Muttering a string of imprecations, Val began to systematically crisscross the room like a huge mastiff searching for a lost scent. He spent less than ten minutes in the great hall, before slowly heading up the staircase to the balcony. An Oriental carpet runner extended across its entire length. His attention was briefly focused on some stains he found beneath the edge of the railing. From there, he moved into the second-floor bedrooms, apparently finding nothing that aroused his interest.

  It was only when he entered one of the smaller rooms on the third floor that he became visibly excited. To me it appeared no different from the rooms we had already searched. Most of the furniture had been tossed out through the smashed window. A clutter of broken debris covered the floor, including a cracked chamber pot and the head of a bisque doll.

  Val went straight to the window and began minutely scrutinizing its shattered frame. From there, he moved onto the sill, and then the floor beneath it. S
tanding up, he leaned so far out the window that simple gravity should have caused him to fall the twenty feet to the ground.

  When I took hold of his uniform coat, however, he shook me off. With an agility I did not suspect he had, Val lowered himself out of the window, and then crawled slowly down the creeper vines until he reached the ground. After rooting among the rhododendron bushes that grew at the base of the wall, he meandered across the lawn toward the tree line. A few minutes later, he was back in the room with Amelie in tow.

  “This was Miss Hagel’s room, wasn’t it?” he said, as if already knowing it to be fact.

  “Yes,” she replied. “We were each given a room to change into our party clothes and then later … to entertain the guests. This was hers.”

  Her eyes found mine for a moment, and then returned to the floor.

  “She was murdered here,” said Val, without further preamble.

  After six months of serving under him, I no longer showed my amazement at his startling deductions. To relieve my own growing tension, I looked at him diffidently and said, “My own conclusions, precisely.”

  Ignoring me, he said, “The murderer was not a guest at the party. And he also has the strength of a circus acrobat.”

  “How could you know these things?” she said.

  “Because he didn’t enter the house through the front door. He came through this window, and he left the same way,” Val replied. “From the dried pool of bile at the base of the windowsill, I know that she was strangled to death in this room. The angle of the scraped indentations of his boots on the husks of the vines confirms that he was carrying her on his way down.”

  “Why did no one notice her disappearance?” I asked.

  “I can only assume that it occurred at a point in the festivities when no one cared,” he said, already heading through the door and down the hall.

  “This part of the investigation will have to wait,” he said, when we were back in the carriage. “I must go back and issue the warrant for Congressman Hawkinshield’s arrest before he discovers that some of his rats have deserted ship.”