Contagion

by Joanne Dahme

  Buchanan interrupted. “My assistant has been exposed to the contagion, doctor. Is there anything we can do to stop the infection?”

  The doctor looked from Buchanan to the cadaver. “Beyond the normal treatment of rest and the avoidance of solid foods?” He shook his head. “Pray. And perhaps do a better job of cleaning our drinking water.”

  “I agree, sir,” I answered somberly. “The point has been made, at much too great a toll.”

  The coroner cast us both a curious look. “Are you planning on biking home, Detective? It’s a bit dark for that, and I don’t want your body in its curious attire greeting me from one of my tables in the morning. I’ll call for my carriage. I’ll have you both taken home while I clean up.”

  I found conversation difficult, once we were seated in the carriage. Buchanan leaned toward me and patted me on the knee. “The last time I was confronted by typhoid, face to face, I lost my wife,” he said softly. “I was horrified by it. I recoiled from the disease.” He shook his head miserably. “Not this time. I need to know every detail, every characteristic of this weapon.”

  I knew now that Buchanan had suffered at the hands of typhoid as I had. Tonight, Buchanan had been willing to stare at it, in all its gory victory.Typhoid was a merciless foe, greedy and ravaging. Were the same traits to be applied to the men who were wielding the disease as a weapon? The detective seemed to think so.

  When I finally did get home, I fell into my bed, sick to my stomach. Buchanan had introduced an appalling new dimension to an enemy I thought I knew.

  It was still dark when I awoke to the noise of someone banging adamantly on my front door. “Who the hell could that be at this hour?” I heard my father yell in the darkness. I felt a jolt of adrenaline suddenly course through my body. “I’ll get it,” I muttered, carefully descending the narrow, winding stair of our trinity.

  I threw open the door and was shocked to find Trout, dour and dressed in black, looking all the part of an undertaker, standing on my sidewalk. A carriage blocked the street.

  “Chief? What is it? Is something wrong?” I asked. I immediately thought of the epidemic. While I dozed, could typhoid have claimed hundreds more?

  “Get dressed, Sean. The mayor wants to see us immediately.” Trout turned to signal to the driver that we would be a few minutes. I squinted into the darkness to see if I recognized the man. He was one of the mayor’s staff.

  “Do I have time to shave?” I asked. I hated going out, unprepared and disorganized. I considered these flaws a disadvantage.

  “No,”Trout instructed. “The mayor said immediately, and at this hour, I doubt if it’s a commendation that he is looking to bestow.”

  I turned, my eyes narrowing at the bitterness in Trout’s voice. “Are we being fired?” I asked, still holding the door as an offer to Trout to enter.

  “I don’t know,” Trout replied. He shook his head. “I’ll wait in the carriage, Sean. It is enough of an outrage that I appear at your door at this hour like the Angel of Death.” His dark eyes reflected the misted light of the street lamps.They were hard and cold. “Please apologize to your father for me.”

  I nodded and quickly washed up and dressed. I rubbed my hand against my stubbled cheek. In minutes, I was sitting in the carriage, opposite Trout. Just hours ago, I had sat in a similar position with Buchanan. I knew it wasn’t the right time to discuss my earlier excursion.

  Not many words were spoken between us.We were still silent as we sat in the mayor’s office, awaiting his arrival.Two hard-backed chairs had been pulled up in front of the mayor’s cherry wood desk, as if the arrangements for our execution had been made the previous night. This was my first visit to the mayor’s office, and I felt incredibly small, trapped below the condescending glares of Philadelphia’s past mayors as they gazed at me from their ornately framed portraits. Trout had been in the office numerous times. He simply stared ahead already defeated.

  “You look like hell,” Trout finally muttered, running his fingers along the rim of the top hat in his lap.

  I looked curiously at my boss and thought he looked pretty awful himself. When his eyes weren’t glowering at something or someone, they looked haunted. The epidemic was taking a toll on us both.

  “I feel like hell,” I agreed. “I didn’t sleep much last night.” I really hadn’t slept at all, not even after Buchanan dropped me off after our long visit to the coroner’s office. I just got close enough to the edges of sleep to feel exhausted.

  The door to the mayor’s office suddenly banged against the wall. Trout and I stood immediately. Trout was pale, and I had never seen the mayor look so agitated. Mayor Warwick was alternately pulling at his starched collar as if it were choking him and checking the time on the watch fob that he held in his hand. His normally friendly face was stern. Sweat beaded along the edge of his scalp. He marched behind his desk but addressed us while standing.

  “Gentlemen, what the hell are we doing about the epidemic?” he asked, his voice low and throttled. His hands splayed across the desktop as he leaned menacingly toward us. “Patrick Dugan has arranged for an emergency hearing tomorrow on the status of the filtration contracts. As you both know, Dugan is an influential man and has many friends on both the Select and Common Councils.”

  “Dugan is a rogue,” I interjected, as a result of my own anger on hearing Dugan’s name and the pained expression that twisted Trout’s face. “He cares nothing for the public. He only wants those contracts.”

  The mayor bestowed me with a look of pity. “Mr. Parker, Dugan’s personal desires don’t mean a damn to the Councils and their filtering committee, unless they compliment the Councils’ own interests. He’s riding the wave of public fury, and with more than five hundred now dead from typhoid, it’s not going to take a whole lot of imagination to capture public sentiment.”The mayor took a deep breath and looked at Trout. “Well, Chief Trout. How are you going to make this right? And don’t allow your engineer here to argue that we need to enforce the sewer laws. It’s too late for that.” He glared at us both now, daring us to protest.

  “Mayor Warwick, we are doing everything in our power to track down the cause of this latest epidemic. We’re constantly sampling the water; we are flushing our water mains; and we’re checking for overflowing sewers in the upstream reaches of the river. Although some of the water samples have tested positive for the bacteria, as you know, it’s extremely hard to quantify . . .”

  “Please, Mr. Trout!” the mayor almost roared. “We have no time for this.” I was about to intervene when a sharp rap on the door interrupted us.

  “What is it?” the mayor demanded. He looked on the verge of apoplexy.

  Patrick Dugan, serpent-headed walking stick in hand, stood in the doorway. As usual, he was dressed in his well-pressed black attire. His long, dark hair, with its flecks of white, shone under the soft morning light. His eyes gleamed mischievously, but his voice was harsh.

  “Excuse me, Mayor Warwick,” Dugan threw me a look of contempt. “I wanted to inform you in person of my request to demand an emergency session for the Councils’ filtering committee.”

  “I know all about it, Patrick, although I appreciate the gesture. Now if you will excuse us, I am not finished with Mr. Trout and Mr. Parker.”

  “I know,” he murmured, as he slowly walked into the room, closing the door behind him with his stick. “I wish to confront these gentlemen myself.”

  I swallowed hard to hold my tongue. I thought I saw Trout’s left eyelid twitching.

  “These men and their callous pride are the reason that my carriage driver has been stricken and are to blame that my neighbors are in quarantine. But for me, the most personal outrage,” he hissed, turning to confront me directly, “is that this man has been trying to use my wife against me, through a bungled attempt to kill her, and now through a brazen attempt to woo her.”

  The mayor drew back, surprised at the unexpected twist in Dugan’s accusations. I felt my face redden with rage.


  “That’s not true, Dugan.” I could feel the adrenaline pumping through me. I knew that I must contain it, or the entire battle would be lost. “Your wife and I are . . . friends ... partners in a quest, if you will. We share the same beliefs about our city’s natural resources, and for you to say...”

  “Oh don’t be coy, Mr. Parker,” Dugan sneered. “My housekeeper sees you every morning on our corner, saluting my wife.” He then trained on me a malevolent smile. “A bit bold of you in broad daylight. Or shall I say stupid?”

  “Well, Mr. Parker? These are shameful accusations,” the mayor interrupted before I could reply. The mayor seemed actually relieved not to be talking about the water supply. “If what Mr. Dugan is saying has any truth—that you were behind the attempt to kill Mrs. Dugan and accidentally killed her friend . . .”

  “No,”Trout said, loudly and without emotion. His voice sounded disembodied. “It is my fault that Mrs. Murphy is dead.” For a moment, no one spoke or reacted. Trout continued, his voice full of pain.

  “It was a ruse to scare Mrs. Dugan . . . to encourage her to influence her husband to stop pushing filtration, for all the wrong reasons.” He glared at Dugan now. “No one was supposed to die.” He shook his head in disbelief. Still, a shocked silence filled the room.

  I thought I saw something akin to excitement flash across Dugan’s face, before he suddenly raised his serpent-headed stick threateningly above his head.

  “You tried to kill my wife?” Dugan roared, his face now twisted in rage.

  Trout did not flinch, or try to back away. I placed my body between the two men. “Put that stick down, Dugan,” I demanded, shoving at him and causing him to stumble back. “There must be some misunderstanding.” I stared at Dugan, standing now in a pose of constrained rage.

  “You heard him yourself, Parker,” he snapped.

  “Patrick, please. Get a handle on yourself and let the man speak,” the mayor implored.

  Trout shook his head, defeated and ashamed. “No, there is no mistake about what I just confessed. Only in what I did,” he faltered. “My hope to protect our city from the likes of you,” and only then did Trout’s eyes flare back to life as he addressed Dugan, “went horribly wrong. No one was meant to die.”

  I went cold. Trout? The murderer? The notion was impossible. But what about Russo? I couldn’t believe that Trout would have attacked the police officer in such a heinous manner.

  “Mr. Trout,” the mayor coughed, obviously incredulous. “This is indeed a serious confession. Are you feeling all right?” The mayor stared at Trout as if staring at a stranger. Trout was a bureaucrat, not a murderer.

  “Chief Trout,” Dugan growled, closing the distance again between them till their chests were almost touching. Both men were about the same height. Trout did not back off. He just stared with defiant resignation into Dugan’s flashing eyes. “You are a coward—attacking and killing an innocent woman.You are nothing more than a cur, something that I would find beneath a damp rock and grind with my heel.”

  “That is enough,” the mayor interrupted. “We will take care of this matter, Mr. Dugan, with the proper authorities ...”

  “No.This man attempted to kill my wife!” Dugan thundered. “I will not go until Detective Buchanan is called. I want Trout behind bars and my name cleared. I will not leave until the detective himself arrives to arrest this scoundrel.”

  “Very well,” the mayor agreed sighing, knowing that he would not be rid of Dugan until Dugan was satisfied. I watched as the mayor picked up the telephone and asked for the detective’s office. I looked at Trout, seeking a clue for what had just transpired, but Trout would only look at the floor. Dugan just stood there, his hands now folded over the head of the serpent, in that cocky stance that I had come so much to abhor. I wished I could hear Buchanan’s response to the mayor’s call. I wanted to shout at Trout that surely he was not involved in the attack on Russo. I wanted to grab him by the collar and demand to know just what the hell was going on.

  I stood on the step of my front door, despondent and confused. How the hell was I going to solve the problem of the epidemic alone? I was sickened by Trout’s outrageous confession. I squinted in annoyance at the sunlight sliding over the rooftops into my eyes. I jiggled my pocket, searching for my keys. I was sure my father was up and about already, and I didn’t feel quite prepared to face him.

  The door, with its tarnished brass knocker, was particularly heavy as I pushed against it. I expected to see my father in the chair beside the hearth, and instead, I saw Rose Dugan. For a moment, she didn’t seem real, or more accurately, my mind could not reconcile the fact that she was sitting in my living room, smiling at me anxiously with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She quickly stood up. Her eyes were bright and her complexion flushed from the heat of the fire.

  “Rose,” I stammered in surprise. “Is everything all right?” The vision of her temporarily erased all other concerns.

  “Sean, you must forgive me. I know this is extremely inappropriate.” She paused, looking toward the hearth for courage. “When I searched for you at the Water Works this morning, and you weren’t there, I just had to find you as quickly as I could . . .”

  I closed the distance between us. “What happened, Rose? Has somebody threatened you again? Was there another letter?” I thought of Trout and Russo. How could I tell her? What should I say? My mouth set in a hard line as I searched for the words.

  Rose’s hands were clasped at her waist as she opened her mouth to reply. Before she could speak, my father limped in from the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Dugan and I have just returned from a visit to Officer Russo. He was surprised to see—both of us, I might add,”Thomas chuckled.

  I stole a look at Rose. She knew about Russo?

  “How is Russo?” I asked, not wanting to take my eyes away from Rose.

  “He looks horrible,” Rose said disgustedly, her voice filled with compassion. “I’ve never seen so many colors in a man’s face.”

  “But he isn’t feverish yet,” my father interrupted, “although I know it’s still early for the typhoid symptoms to appear.” My father was carrying a cup of tea in his hands for Rose. He gestured to her to sit down again. “I told him you were with Buchanan last night. He was grateful and anxious to know what happened to the detective.”

  “Sean,” Rose interjected. She still hadn’t sat down, even though my father was hovering by her side with the tea. “Your father told me about the water that was forced on Officer Russo. Martha did something rather frightening with our water too, although Patrick promised to take care of it. Has the entire city gone mad?” she asked.

  “You didn’t drink any of it, did you?” I wanted to rush to her side and grab her hands.

  “No, I didn’t.” She glanced at my father for a moment. “That’s not the reason I’m here, Sean. I wanted to warn you about Patrick—that he is convinced that you are out to malign him and that he will retaliate in some way. His pride sometimes misguides him.” She flinched and turned away from me, as if this declaration pained her.

  “It doesn’t matter, Rose,” I replied, dreading what was still unsaid. “I must tell you something that happened less than an hour ago, while I was at the mayor’s office.” I took a deep breath. “Chief Trout and I were with the mayor this morning, when your husband burst in to accuse us of trying to ruin him.” I clenched my fists. “He accused me of trying to murder you.”

  Rose’s hand covered her mouth. “He didn’t,” she said. “I don’t understand why he believes that.”

  I held up my hands. I had to get this out. “In the midst of a number of accusations, Chief Trout confessed to having a part in Mrs. Mur phy’s death, although it appeared it was completely an accident,” I hastened to add.

  My father narrowed his eyes as if something was not being stated. Rose’s eyes were large with disbelief.

  “He killed Nellie?” she asked incredulously, turning away from us a moment. “Was he trying to kill me?” she
asked, her voice breaking.

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stand telling her this. I nodded yes. “He didn’t mean for either of you to get hurt. I don’t have all the details,” I amended. “It appears he hired someone to scare you while you visited the Water Works, as a warning to your husband to stop pushing for the filtration contracts.” I knew this explanation sounded weak, absurd as the cause for a woman’s death. “Trout had no idea that his scheme would go so wrong.” I stopped to search Rose’s face and saw that she was trembling. “He’s broken over it, Rose. He’s haunted by the fact that he can’t make it right.” I now reached for her hands, to hold them, to steady them.

  Rose stepped back. She looked from me to my father, shocked and wide-eyed. “Mr. Parker,” she addressed my father. “May I please have my coat? I must get home.” Her fingers touched her lips, holding something back.

  “Rose, it was an accident, a singular, horrible accident.” I felt desperate. “I think there is more to this, something that is not apparent. I don’t believe that you are out of danger yet.”

  “I don’t know what to think now, Sean. But I must speak with Patrick and Detective Buchanan. So much needs clearing up. I must go.”

  Again she turned to face the hearth until my father touched her lightly on the shoulder and offered to assist her with her coat.

  I felt desperate. I had to convince her that she still must be careful. “Rose,” I pleaded. “Please, you must be on your guard until this epidemic is over and the case has been officially closed by the police.”

  Rose laughed now, but the sound was full of a bitter anguish. “I don’t know what to believe, Sean, except that Patrick and the detective should have an understanding now.”

  “Rose, you came here for a reason,” I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for her hands again. She needed to understand. My father looked on disapprovingly.

  “Please, Sean. It sounds as if the reasons that propelled me here don’t exist anymore, especially if what you tell me is true.”