by Joanne Dahme
“But I don’t want to go home!” I interrupted, the heat of the fire and Officer Hughes’ compliment warming me back to life. “I can’t go back there! I want to go with you . . . to find Patrick.” I felt my face flush from the revived fury I felt toward my husband. I pulled the blanket about my neck as I struggled to sit up on the loveseat.
Sean looked flustered. All he wanted to do was make everything all right for me. Mrs. Sully swept back into the room, tea tray in hand. She banged it down on the sideboard against the wall. “Pardon me, miss, for speaking my mind, but you are in your nightdress. You must go home first,” she intoned in a motherly voice as she poured me a cup of steaming tea. “You are not dressed. You have no shoes on your feet. You’ll catch your death of cold,” she continued, straightening up and placing her hands on her hips. “The police can borrow our carriage to get you home.You can’t climb into any wagon.” She set a warning glance at the policeman. “I’ll have Mr. Sully bring it around for you.”
“Isn’t there something of yours that I can borrow, Mrs. Sully?” I pleaded. I didn’t want to go back to that house. I wanted to go with Sean to find Patrick.
Mrs. Sully pursed her lips. “No, dear.You really must go home. I don’t keep a wardrobe here,” she smiled gently. “Your own clothes will make you feel much better.You’ll feel like yourself again,” she added encouragingly.
I didn’t want to feel like my old self, but I took the tea and acquiesced, reveling at the tingle of warmth in my hands. I looked at my bare feet, dirty and cut. I blushed as I remembered my nightdress.
Sean pulled a chair beside me. “Rose, you know I wouldn’t send you back to that house if it weren’t safe.” He placed his hand over mine. “Detective Buchanan has officers in the house. Go home, at least to get some warm clothes.” I noticed the stubborn set to his jaw.
“Why would Patrick go to the Water Works?” I asked, staring into the cup of sepia-colored water. I felt a flicker of panic and then realized that it must have been boiled.
“We’re not sure, but we think he went to meet up with Brophy. When we went looking for him this morning, he was gone before Buchanan was able to serve his warrant. The young servant overheard him talking to someone about going to the Water Works.”
“You were going to arrest him?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes, but not for what you are thinking. I promise I will explain everything to you.” Sean’s face became grave again. He glanced at the police wagon outside the window.
“I will go home,” I relented. I looked at the policeman. “But you must promise me, officer, that one of your men will take me to the Water Works after I have changed into more appropriate clothes.” I felt myself color again. “He’s my husband,” I emphasized, almost in a whisper. “I deserve to ... see him.”
Sean looked as if he were about to protest until I silenced him with my eyes. Officer Hughes cleared his throat. “I’m sure we can arrange that, Mrs. Dugan.” He glanced at Sean as if expecting an outburst. Instead, Sean stood and ran his fingers through his sandy hair.
“Rose, are you sure you want to do this?” he asked gently. “After all you have been through?”
I felt my eyes filling up with angry tears. “You haven’t even told me yet why you were going to arrest him,” I replied, turning my face away from him. “I can only imagine that he has done something despicable. It may not make a difference to him, but it will to me, to be able to confront him. Can you understand that?”
He was close to me again. His hand gently turned my cheek so that I was looking into his eyes. “Yes, I do understand. And I’ll be there for you, if you should need me.”
Officer Hughes cleared his throat again. “Excuse me, Mr. Parker. But the carriage is ready for Mrs. Dugan. It’s on the driveway now.”
Sean turned to the officer and nodded his thanks.Then he turned back to me, his lips pursed just the same way as his father’s. “All right, Rose. Let’s get you home. I will meet you at the Water Works.”
SEAN
I heard the enraged voice of Patrick Dugan before I saw him. It was his voice that tainted the air as Officer Hughes led the horses of the police wagon into the North Garden of the Water Works. Instantly, I scanned the gang of laborers that were digging around the tampered sewer and interceptor, just below the ferryboat launch. Would Dugan be audacious enough to stop their work? I clenched my fists and watched as a pair of horses dragged a cast-iron pipe, tied with a rope, to their saddles. The men continued digging. Nothing looked amiss.
I looked toward the distribution arch, which commanded the landscape, imposing as a monolith, and examined the grounds of the garden. Beyond the trees, whose wizened branches clawed at the sky, I saw a knot of policeman, burly in their blue coats, standing on the far side of the forebay bridge.The figure in the broad morning coat with the homburg on his head was surely Buchanan.
There arose another shout. I squinted into the sun. I thought I saw two figures standing on the gazebo’s terrace. The sun flashed against something suddenly raised into the air, something long and thin. I caught the glint again and knew what it must be—Dugan’s walking stick.
“Do you see them, Officer Hughes?” I asked, leaning forward in my seat to point toward the gazebo. Officer Hughes flicked the reins as he guided the horses toward the forebay.
“I heard them before I saw them, but I see them now. I’ll tether the horses by the bridge,” he replied.
I rubbed my hands together, against the cold, against the anticipation I felt in my gut knowing that Dugan was trapped on the gazebo terrace. The terrace was built over the Mill House, and jutted into the river like a jetty. It rested on the end of the deck like a newel post, overlooking the dam. Dugan’s only way around the police officers now was the numbing, swirling waters of the Schuylkill River. He could choose the pounding falls, or the contaminated waters of the forebay. I relished the visceral justice of such an ending. If Dugan stood before me, I would have no qualms about pitching him in.
I could see Dugan now as he climbed from the wagon. He was dressed in his standard attire—pressed black trousers showing beneath his Chesterfield. He was wearing a top hat, as if he had been planning to attend a formal meeting. How in the devil did he manage to grab his coat and hat before he bolted from his house this morning? Unless he had been prepared. Incredibly, despite the wind blowing up the river corridor, the hat stayed on his head. The police officers on the terrace took turns making grabs at their own caps.
“That’s Peter Brophy with him,” I confirmed, as Officer Hughes and I walked briskly over the forebay bridge. My stomach churned as I watched Brophy laugh at something Dugan said. Brophy waved his hand dismissively at Dugan and then stumbled against a bench along the balustrade of the terrace. Dugan kicked at the bench. I felt a similar flare of hatred for Brophy as I watched the men argue. It was these two men that single handedly poisoned an entire city—and attempted to kill a woman who I knew, without a doubt, I loved.
I grabbed Buchanan by the elbow as I slipped behind the line of officers. Buchanan turned and put his finger to his lips and tilted his head toward Dugan and Brophy. Buchanan cheeks were ruddy, his red-rimmed eyes sharp. I caught a glimmer of excitement in them, as if Buchanan knew he had trapped his fox.
“He was paid by my enemies to make me look like a fiend!” Dugan roared, as he swung around to glare at Buchanan. I felt satisfaction ripple through my body as I stared at Dugan’s face. His usually tanned complexion looked yellow. His dark eyes were narrowed. His lips were curled in a snarl.
Brophy released a guffaw, as he pushed himself from the bench and stumbled toward the gazebo, about thirty yards from where Buchanan and I stood. “Yeah, that’s a good story, Mr. Dugan. Tell the policemen another one,” he challenged, pausing to make a rude gesture.
Dugan colored. His body visibly tensed. He took a deep breath before addressing Buchanan. “Detective,” he drawled, low and threatening, “I insist on seeing the mayor. I will not be made a spectacle like thi
s.”
Buchanan cleared his throat before answering. He took a few steps forward. I began to move with him until Officer Hughes grabbed me by my vest. “Mr. Dugan,” Buchanan replied easily. “I must insist that you prove your claims through the regular police channels. If you come with me, I can assure you that you will be treated properly.”
Buchanan removed his hat and held it at his chest with both hands. I marveled at Buchanan’s patience and control, although I didn’t think I could wait much longer. I wanted to see Dugan in leg irons.
“I will not have my word doubted, Detective,” Dugan replied, simmering. His hands were resting now on the serpent head of his walking stick. Brophy was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the gazebo and released another mocking laugh. Dugan didn’t flinch. “Surely, you are not going to take the word of a common laborer, over mine. The man is drunk!” he added, incensed.
“No one is doubting your word, Mr. Dugan. But this is not the place for our discussion.” Buchanan extended his right hand. “Please, allow me to escort you.”
Hughes and the four other officers stepped back to open a path to the forebay bridge, as if they understood a silent command from Buchanan. I remained where I stood, and Dugan’s gaze suddenly cinched onto me. His strained face relaxed, and he widened his stance. His black eyes flashed as he flicked back his head.
“And what does Mr. Parker think?” Dugan boomed. “Parker, a man that can’t even be trusted to protect his own grounds from a good-for-nothing like Brophy.” He stared at me, hatred twisting a cruel smile onto his face.
I stood for only a moment, losing all sight of Buchanan and the other men around me. All I could see was Dugan’s mocking sneer. I felt my whole body shake as I struggled to quell the emotions erupting inside of me. I didn’t remove my sight from Dugan for a second. “What do I think about you?” I asked, feeling my muscles burn as I stood stock still. “I think you are the vilest kind of scum that has ever plagued this city. Because of your greed, hundreds were callously sacrificed. If you could have seen your handiwork as I have ...” I stopped, suddenly confronted by the image of the infant’s feet peeking from beneath the shroud in the morgue.
“Nice speech,” Dugan spat. “But it is your responsibility to keep the water safe. The dead will be clinging to your soul, not mine.”
I felt the hands grabbing at my sleeves and vest, but they weren’t enough to stop me from charging Dugan. I thought I heard Buchanan call my name as I tackled Dugan at the waist. I felt the impact of my shoulder on Dugan’s chest, felt Dugan’s breath on my face as I knocked him onto his back. I could hear the walking stick clattering onto the hard stone of the terrace as I sat on Dugan’s stomach, pulling back my fist to strike Dugan hard in the face. Dugan still smiled, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise, the nostrils of his aquiline nose flared. “You want to kill me, don’t you, Parker,” he whispered in a taunt. “You’re not much better than me after all.”
I thought this fury would split me in two if I didn’t strike Dugan with all my power. It was only the voice that commanded me from behind, infuriatingly clear against the soft roar of the falls. “Mr. Parker, for God’s sake, get yourself off Mr. Dugan.”
I lowered my arm but didn’t move another muscle. For what seemed like minutes, not another word was spoken. I didn’t turn around. I continued to stare at Dugan. Dugan stared back with a contemptuous smile. “You heard the mayor, Mr. Parker,” Dugan murmured. “Get the hell off.”
I didn’t think. I just struck Dugan, not knowing quite where, blinded as I was by the dazzling spots of light that flared before my eyes. I felt Dugan’s body stiffen, felt Dugan’s hand claw at my shirt.
I did hear the mayor curse. “Buchanan, if you don’t get Parker, I will.” Immediately, I felt Buchanan lift my body off of Dugan. I turned to see the mayor standing alone on the terrace apron. The police officers formed a small cavalry behind him. Their hands now rested on the billy clubs at their waists.
“Mr. Parker,” Mayor Warwick drawled. “I didn’t realize you held a second position with the police department.” The mayor stood stiffly in his frock coat, his expansive waist exposing a pot belly. In his spats and top hat, the mayor struck a particularly jarring figure to the arrest scene. His eyes looked small; his expression was humorless as he glared at me.
I pulled at my vest. I struggled to keep from shouting, as the wrath I was feeling toward Dugan was redirected toward the mayor. Buchanan was helping Dugan to his feet. On my periphery, I could see Dugan bending to pick up his top hat and brushing it off with petulant little swipes. The mayor wants to release Dugan. The realization provoked me to respond without the veneer of respect.
“The crime Mr. Dugan has committed has gone considerably beyond the purview of the police, Mr. Mayor. This man has sabotaged the Water Works and has willfully created a typhoid epidemic.” My body was trembling with this unspent rage. I wanted to grab the mayor by his crisp black tie until he understood the magnitude of Dugan’s act. “What he and his men have done here, on my grounds . . .”
“What proof do you have that Mr. Dugan was involved?” the mayor cut in impatiently. “I’ve never thought of you as a man who metes out his own justice, Mr. Parker.”
Detective Buchanan intervened. He was standing beside me now. I saw him cast a warning glance at his officers. “Mr. Mayor,” he interrupted. Buchanan’s voice was calm and practiced. “I’ve explained everything to the superintendent last evening. He approved the warrant for Mr. Dugan’s arrest.”
I looked for Dugan. He was standing tall against the balustrade. He held his walking stick in one hand. He was oblivious of the blood trickling from his lip. His gaze was focused on the mayor. I then looked for Brophy. He lay on the floor of the gazebo, as if asleep. “And there is an additional charge, involving Mr. Dugan’s wife, that I haven’t had the opportunity to inform the superintendent about,” Buchanan added. Dugan’s eyes flashed.
“What are you talking about, Detective?” Dugan demanded. “What are you saying about my wife?” Lines of concern suddenly etched his smooth face.
“We’ll discuss this later, Mr. Dugan,” Buchanan muttered dismissively.
“I am well aware of your call to the superintendent, Detective Buchanan. I have since spoken to him and have assured him that his presence here was unnecessary,” the mayor interrupted, attempting a small smile. His wooly mustache twitched. “Do you require any more explanations, Detective?”
I took a few steps toward the mayor. I could see the police officers behind him hesitate for a moment before surrounding him.
“Surely you are not going to allow Dugan to walk away?” I protested. “I must insist that you speak with us. There’s much you don’t know.”
Buchanan was right behind him. “I second Mr. Parker’s urgency, sir. As far as I am concerned, Mr. Dugan has been implicated in this serious crime. It would be a mistake ...”
“Did I say that I was allowing Mr. Dugan to walk away?” the mayor snapped, suddenly peevish. “He is to accompany me to City Hall, where the superintendent and I will speak with him about his supposed involvement in this crime.”
“But you must listen to us!” I shouted, pushing Buchanan’s hand away. Dugan sauntered by me, dabbing at his lip with a handkerchief. I felt the urge to wrestle him to the ground again. Dugan didn’t even look at me.
“Of course you will have your opportunity, Mr. Parker. I’ll see you and Detective Buchanan later today in my office.” The mayor was annoyed and had obviously enough of this business. A few policemen and I were not worth his temper.
“Mr. Parker, I do have one favor to ask you,” the mayor drawled, his tone suddenly patronizing. “Mr. Dugan and I are going to spend some time in the Watering Committee Building,” he glanced at the structure behind him. “That is until Detective Buchanan’s officers get rid of the reporters who I know have caught the scent of this event.”
I said nothing. I entertained the idea of tossing my keys into the river. I preferred that the may
or and Dugan meet the press. It was only when Buchanan agreed to the mayor’s wishes, with one small caveat, did I slip a key into the building’s door.
“Certainly, Mr. Mayor. But I will stay behind and serve as your personal escort to City Hall. Mr. Dugan’s warrant is still in my charge.” Buchanan spoke like a soldier.
The mayor lifted his chin. The lines about his eyes creased with scorn. Only Dugan appeared relaxed. His lip had stopped bleeding, although he continued to dab delicately at his mouth.
“Of course, Detective,” the mayor agreed. He took Dugan by the elbow and assisted him into the room.
Almost an hour had passed by the time Buchanan and Officer Hughes had the unconscious Brophy loaded into the police wagon. The reporters were gone. Brophy would be kept at the station house until his arraignment. Then he would probably join Chief Trout in one of the jail cells at Central Station. I couldn’t imagine two more different men sharing the air of one room.
I refused to leave the deck of the forebay, except for a brief visit I made to George and Martin who were working in the turbine room.They confirmed that the steel plate that Dugan and Brophy’s men had placed in the river to direct the sewage into the forebay had been removed. But the contractor’s progress in excavating the tampered sewer and manhole was taking more time. The cold slowed the men and made digging difficult. They did not work with the same outraged frenzy that had fueled our work the night before.
I had watched the officers chase the reporters away, each insisting dutifully that there was no story here. When the reporters had pointed with their pencils at the horses dragging a pipe and the men in overalls disappearing into trenches to dig, Officer Hughes had simply shrugged and offered, “Construction.”
The North Garden was clear of people now. Only the shadow of the distribution arch moved imperceptibly across its grounds. For the first time since I had given my coat to Rose, I shivered. What would happen to her if Dugan was somehow able to walk away from this crime? Could Dugan also convince the mayor that he had nothing to do with Rose being locked into the mausoleum? Now I felt a coldness in my soul.
