Contagion

by Joanne Dahme

  I was shocked at the question. Dugan represented many evils to me, but Mrs. Murphy was a friend of Rose’s. Even Dugan was not that base.The letter had been a threat against Dugan.

  “No. I didn’t mean to imply that, Officer,” I replied slowly. “Dugan was in control yesterday, but I’ve never seen him otherwise. He has ice in his veins.”

  Russo’s brown eyes narrowed. He paused before asking. “Did you think it odd that Mrs. Murphy was wearing Mrs. Dugan’s cape when she fell?”

  Again I thought of the incident in the South Garden. Should I mention it to Russo? I knew Rose should be the one to tell Russo that story.

  I stopped walking and grabbed Russo by the arm to slow him down. We were only a block away from Rose’s house. “Wait a minute. You aren’t saying that you think Dugan had some knowledge about what happened at the Water Works yesterday, are you, Officer?” A new level of dread gripped me.

  “What do you think, Mr. Parker?” Russo shot back.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I struggled against my instincts to tell Russo about the letter. Rose had asked me not to mention the letter to anyone. Again I told myself that she would tell the police. “I’m not a good judge. I just don’t like the man.” I reddened at how ridiculous this statement sounded. I knew I needed to better explain my position. “I may not be the most unbiased observer. Dugan and I are on opposite fences concerning the need to build filtration plants. I want to save the old while he wants to build the new without addressing the problem—the condition of the water supply and what is necessary to clean it up. You’ll discover miles of bad ground between us.”

  If Dugan was involved in something dangerous, such as his battle to receive the contract for the new filtration plants at whatever costs to his competitors, and the threatening letter was a result of that, Russo would see the link, if indeed such a link existed, as soon as Rose showed him the letter.

  “I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Parker. I am aware of his reputation.”

  I was so preoccupied with my desire to tell Russo more, that I hadn’t noticed that we had reached the Dugans’ home. Both of us stood and stared for a moment at the dark brick façade of the house, almost ginger in the sunlight, and the imposing stone columns which flanked the door. The curtains were tightly drawn in all the windows.

  Russo turned to me. “Well, Mr. Parker, thank you for accompanying me.”

  I stepped back with a start. “What do you mean? Aren’t I going in with you?”

  Russo smiled sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Mr. Parker. But I can’t permit you to be a part of the follow-up interview. It’s against our policy.”

  I felt duped. “But you invited me to join you yesterday. You told me to meet you at the station house,” I argued, my voice rising.

  Russo answered gently. “I invited you to walk me to the Dugans’. I knew I couldn’t stop you from coming to the station.” He extended his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Parker. You’ve been very helpful.”

  For a moment, I was speechless. I knew I couldn’t change Russo’s mind. Already, I knew that Russo was an officer who worked by the book. I stared at Russo, searching my mind for some credible reason that I should remain with him. I only had the letter, and I couldn’t cite that, not yet. I sighed in disgust, more at myself than Russo.

  “Please, will you let me know if something develops—if I can be of any more assistance?” I asked, struggling to control my frustration. I felt deflated, but I also didn’t want to be completely blocked from further involvement. I wanted to see Rose, to ensure that she was all right and in no immediate danger.

  “Of course I will,” Russo responded as he touched the brim of his hat.

  I watched as Russo climbed the steps to the door and knocked. I tried to ignore the curious glances of the men and women who passed me on the sidewalk, their eyebrows raised at the sight of the uniformed police officer and the man left stranded on the pavement. In a moment, the door was opened by an older woman. Russo quickly slipped in.

  I took off my bowler. My ears felt as if they were on fire. I continued to stand there, unabashed by my own lack of pride. I didn’t want to tear myself away until I had a semblance of something that would ensure me that Rose was well. As I stood staring at the burnished residence, I thought I saw a curtain move in a second-story window. The tree behind me cast its shade on the house, so I moved a few steps closer to get a better look. My heart paused as I saw Rose pull open the curtain. She was dressed in black and her hair was pulled back from her face in a tight bun. She looked down and then away from me, embarrassed. I didn’t know what else to do except to cautiously wave and mouth to her, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded and gave me a sad smile. Then she turned away, as if someone were calling for her. In an instant, she was gone.

  At that moment, I wanted to dash up the steps and bang on the front door. But I knew I couldn’t do that, knew that any action so irrational would only result in trouble for Rose. I didn’t want to betray her. I had no claim here. I turned away and decided to walk back to the Water Works, banging the stiff rim of my hat against my palm.

  As I approached the Water Works by way of the North Garden, I flinched at the sight of reporters milling about the deck of the distribution arch, taking photographs and interviewing sightseers about Mrs. Murphy’s fall. I knew the reporters didn’t care if these people knew nothing about the accident. I hated the fact of Mrs. Murphy’s death, hated too that it happened here, at the site I was struggling to save.

  As I crossed the bridge of the forebay, I was startled to see Chief Trout standing outside the Watering Committee Building. Two reporters, with notebooks in hand, were standing beside him, peppering him with questions. A third reporter leaned a camera box and its stand against the building’s wall.

  “Chief Trout,” I called, attempting to interrupt the minor onslaught. “The police informed me that we are not to talk to reporters about the accident, as it is still under investigation.” Parasites, I thought bitterly. I’ll be damned if I participate in an exercise to paint this site as a place of doom.Trout looked relieved.

  “Thank you, Sean,” he nodded briskly, his bearded chin bobbing up and down. “You heard the engineer, gentlemen. We’ve received our orders from the police.” I thought I saw a gleam of desperation in Trout’s eyes. I was surprised. Trout usually treated reporters with easy contempt.

  The reporter from The Public Ledger shot back, “That’s a lot of rubbish.You’re public officials.We have every right to ask you questions about what happened here yesterday.” I noticed that the reporter’s coat was flecked with dirt and grass stains. Obviously he had been climbing on the reservoir hill, looking for something.

  “I’m sorry. But police orders are orders. I’ve just arrived from the Ninth Police District. Perhaps you should start your questioning there,” I stated in an even tone. Let Russo deal with that.

  The Public Ledger reporter squinted at me and then turned to spit. “Come on, men. I’m sure we’ll be back. Let’s pay the station house a visit.” He scowled at me and Trout before leading his crew back to the North Garden.

  I noticed that Trout appeared shaken. A sheen of sweat dampened his forehead and his hands were visibly trembling.

  “Chief, let’s go inside and sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water.” I pushed open the heavy wooden door and guided Trout to the table, pulling out a chair and easing him into it. “What is it, sir? Is it the reporters?”

  Chief Trout waved the notion away with his hand. “Thank you, Sean. And no, it isn’t the reporters, at least not just them. And don’t worry about that glass of water. You know I don’t drink it without the use of my filter bottle.” He looked at me incredulously. “You don’t mean to tell me that you don’t at least boil your water, Sean.” He cocked an eyebrow.

  I could only stare at Trout. “How can you say that, and not fight for the anti-pollution laws? You’re supposed to be the city’s expert, protecting the public against the epidemics.” I had nev
er spoken so bluntly to Trout before. But today, protocol seemed frivolous.

  “Please, Sean, not now. I don’t need for you to get on your soapbox. I am doing what I can. That’s why I’m here. To tell you what happened in Council Chambers today.”

  I tried to ignore the sudden dread that jabbed at my stomach. “They weren’t supposed to come to a decision for at least a week.”

  “I know. But their schedules are made by public and political whim. And as with life, one can never foretell what might happen,” Trout said slowly, thinking about his words. “What happened yesterday, Sean?”

  I wanted to say I didn’t know—that I couldn’t find a sound reason to adequately explain anything that happened here anymore. But I attempted to describe the events as I thought they had occurred, leaving out the details of Mrs. Murphy’s battered body.

  “How tragic,” Trout said simply. “Did you know Mrs. Murphy?” I thought I detected a catch in his voice.

  “Yes, but not well. We had met a number of times as a result of her work with the Women’s Park Beautification Committee. She was a kind and vibrant woman. I still cannot understand how such a thing could happen, or why,” I explained.

  “Don’t let it haunt you,” he replied, “Whether it was a horrible accident or murder, we will never find a justification for it.” I thought Trout suddenly sounded like a school teacher or preacher, although he seemed to be directing the advice at himself.

  “Tell me what happened in Council today, Chief,” I encouraged.

  Trout sat quietly for a moment, not looking at me but fingering the rim of his top hat. His dark eyebrows creased to create one long line. “This morning, the filtering committee of the Select and Common Councils met to discuss the new filtration plant proposals.” He paused as I anxiously shifted in my chair. I hated Trout’s formalities. Anything of importance required an exhaustive resummation of the issue to date.

  “And ...” I prodded.

  Trout suddenly glared at me. “The committee has decided to postpone the ordinance indefinitely. Apparently, your testimony last week scared them.”

  I straightened, feeling a glimmer of hope for the first time in a long while. “Don’t tell me they are honestly concerned about pollution in the Schuylkill? That they understand finally the connection between treating the river like a sewer and the typhoid outbreaks?” This was too good to believe. “Are they serious about enforcing the sewer laws?”

  Trout smiled ironically. “No, Sean. They don’t give a damn about the sewer laws. They don’t care if sewage from every slaughterhouse and tannery and dye factory or home and factory in this city empties into the river.” I turned away. How could I expect it to be any different?

  “Now don’t get me wrong,” Trout continued. “They’ll pretend they care and make the appropriate noises about the horrors of typhoid, about addressing the problem by enforcing the law, but it’s the cost that sobered them, Sean—the tax increases that would result due to the millions of public dollars required to build new plants.”

  I felt my shoulders sag. In essence, the Councils will continue to do nothing. “Nothing will change—and my testimony provided them with the excuse to continue to ignore the frightful quality of our drinking water.” I lowered my face into my hands, rubbing my forehead and temples. “It will only get worse,” I murmured.

  Trout leaned across the table, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Sean, you should know by now that politics and the public good do not go hand in hand, and only make good partners when someone’s career can be furthered.”

  “Oh please ...” I muttered. “This is useless.” The memory of Eileen invaded my thoughts. I suddenly saw her once beautiful face, pale and convulsed with pain as she lay dying.

  “How many died in last summer’s epidemic? Over two hundred, wasn’t it?” I snapped. “How many more bodies will we bury as we argue relentlessly about the politics and the money involved fixing the damn problem?”

  “Don’t take that tone with me,” Trout warned. “You know I support the filtration ordinance, if it’s accomplished sensibly.” He studied the back of his veined hands before he continued. “I never had the faith you did in the city’s ability to make industry adhere to the sewer laws. But my proposal for an experimental filtration plant was tabled also.” Trout shook his head. “Stupid men. I could have proved for them the benefits of filtration at a fraction of the cost. I could have handed them the evidence they needed to support filtration within the year.”

  “This all sounds so hopeless,” I replied angrily. “Our job, our very mission, is nothing but a farce.”

  A sharp rap at the door interrupted us. Trout looked at me questioningly and then scowled. I shrugged. “Probably one of my men. Come in,” I ordered.

  Patrick Dugan appeared in the doorway. His expression was inscrutable. He removed his top hat as he entered. His black coat and trousers were immaculate and pressed. I wondered if the man ever sat down, he always looked so crisp. He held his serpent walking stick in his hand, his grasp tight around the creature’s throat. Trout and I both stood. Trout barely extended his hand.

  “Gentlemen,” Dugan greeted us, his black eyes flashing a tempered excitement. I had the feeling he was struggling to repress a secret exuberance. “Forgive me for interrupting your meeting. I am sure you are celebrating your victory.” I could say nothing in reply to his glibness.Why was Dugan not at home with Rose for the police interview? Trout narrowed his eyes. His dislike of Dugan was barely masked.

  “What can we do for you, Mr. Dugan?”Trout muttered, throwing a sideways glance at me.

  Dugan appraised Trout with a closed lipped smile. He rapped his stick on the floor, to physically release his pent up energy. “What a pleasant surprise to find both of you here.” Dugan sauntered over to the table and began pulling off his gloves, tugging a finger at a time. “I have just come from City Hall.The mayor shared the results of the filtering committee’s decision.” He paused to measure reactions.

  “And ... what does that have to do with your visit here?” Trout prodded dourly. I was suddenly aware of the intensity of Trout’s loathing of Dugan. In past encounters, I had sensed the disdain between the two. A fresh hatred was percolating beneath their skins. The air fairly crackled with it.

  Dugan turned to smile at me reassuringly. “Chief Trout, you offend me by your accusatory tone. I am here merely to demonstrate that I am a good loser, and that I too share your concern for the public’s well-being.” He paused to rest both hands on the serpent’s head. “I am here to assure you that I will continue to support whatever measures you believe are in the public’s best interest.You can count on me to be in your corner at City Hall.”

  Trout didn’t allow emotion to color his demeanor. He glanced at me before replying. “What will you target as your next public works venture, Mr. Dugan, as so many of the city’s projects could benefit from your knowledge and expertise?” He pronounced the last word sarcastically.

  Dugan was delighted with the question. “Oh, I think I’ll keep my hands in the water supply business, Chief Trout, if it’s all the same to you. Epidemics certainly ratchet up the level of excitement and public debate.” Dugan turned to me expectantly. I could barely contain my disgust. I had no patience for these games.

  “And one could hardly argue that the water is good. It’s just a matter of time before we stumble into the next water crisis, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Parker?”

  “Why did you come here, Mr. Dugan? To antagonize us? Do you really lack any sense of decency?” I could feel the blood throbbing in my temples.The absence of propriety in Dugan never ceased to amaze me. “After what happened here yesterday to Mrs. Murphy—when it could have very possibly been your own wife who was killed. What am I missing, Mr. Dugan? What are you not telling us to justify your presence here?”

  Dugan said nothing for a moment. A slight smile remained on his face as he stood by the door. For a moment, he seemed almost repentant. He replied, in a voice barely above a whispe
r.

  “Do you think my wife is in danger, Mr. Parker?” His tone was suddenly chilling and low.

  “I don’t know. Is she?” I replied with equal venom. Trout seemed to be holding his breath.

  “It appears that as long as she stays away from this place, she should be just fine,” he suddenly smiled pleasantly. “The character of the people you allow—to work and play here—is certainly questionable.” Dugan paced his remarks. “But I can’t help but notice your ever growing concern for my wife’s welfare. I trust this concern wouldn’t extend from any guilt on your part, Mr. Parker?” Dugan placed his hand over his heart in mock disbelief of such a notion.

  I was stunned. The man was truly incorrigible. I leaned toward Dugan.

  “And what do you mean by that?” I challenged, controlling my urge to lunge across the table at Dugan.

  Trout stepped in, planting his hand on my shoulder. “Please, gentlemen. It is obvious that our nerves have been frayed by recent events.” Trout walked to the door and opened it. “I suggest, Mr. Dugan, that you take your leave. We appreciate your gesture—of support, but no one has really won here. And excuse me for taking this liberty, but isn’t it time to go home to your wife?”

  Dugan raised an eyebrow. “Really, Chief Trout. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll return to my office.” After a slight pause, he added, “I’m confident that Mr. Parker will worry about my wife enough for the both of us.”

  I slapped my hand against the door at McGillin’s, entering the pub without seeing the faces of the men I brushed past. My father sat on the last stool on the far end of the bar, holding his glass of whiskey with both hands, gently swirling its contents. He looked up at the same time I was about to call to him. My father scowled and tapped the empty bar stool beside him. His blues eyes were sharp as he narrowed them, the way he did when he was playing the numbers.

  “Good God, Sean. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been waiting over an hour,” he grumbled.