by Bill Doyle
This book is dedicated to Alex Podeszwa
for being such an amazing kid.
–B.D.
Copyright
Text copyright © 2006 by Bill Doyle
Compilation, illustrations, and photographs copyright © 2006 by Nancy Hall, Inc.
Crime Through Time is a trademark of Nancy Hall, Inc.
Developed by Nancy Hall, Inc.
All rights reserved.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com
www.twitter.com/littlebrown
First eBook Edition: September 2009
ISBN: 978-0-316-08452-9
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A thank-you of historic proportions to Nancy Hall for making this book and the Crime Through Time series a reality. To Kirsten Hall, for her keen editing and insightful grasp of the overall picture, and to Atif Toor making the whole nbook come alive visually.
Special thanks to the editors at Little. Brown:AndreaSpooner. Jennifer Hunt, and Phoebe Sorkin, who are always dead-on, always incisive,and never discouraging. And thanks to Riccardo salmona for his constant support.
Contents
Copyright
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
April 13, 1906
April 14, 1906 6:30 AM
April 14, 1906 8:15 AM
April 14, 1906 10:30 AM
April 14, 1906 5:30 PM
April 15, 1906
April 15, 1906 1:15 PM
April 16, 1906 6:00 AM
April 17, 1906 6:55 PM
April 17, 1906 8:15 PM
April 17, 1906 10:30 PM
April 18, 1906 3:45 AM
April 18, 1906 5:00 AM
WARNING: This letter reveals the story’s ending!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
April 13, 1906
The adventure of a lifetime has begun!
The night landscape of the eastern United States is whizzing by outside my window I’m on board the Continental Express, a train bound from New York City to San Francisco. We’re racing along the rails at thirty miles per hour, so this trip will take only five days. Just a few years back, it would have meant six months on a horse-drawn stagecoach. I would have been fifteen by the time we reached California!
Two hours ago Cousin Frederick dropped me off at New York City’s Pennsylvania Station. What a madhouse! Whistles shrieked as trains clattered up to platforms. Shouting vendors wheeled their carts of fresh flowers and cured meats through the crowds of travelers. Choking clouds of smoke poured from the enormous black locomotives and hovered over the crowds. I loved it!
While people pushed by us at the entrance to the station, Cousin Frederick handed me a bag of cured-ham sandwiches and said, “Fitz, you tell that Aunt Elizabeth of yours hullo for me.”
He gave my appearance one last disapproving look from under his bushy eyebrows. “You’re full of grit but don’t go waking snakes on your vacation. Your father couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, too.”
Frederick was talking about my family’s bad luck. The flu had carried Mother away eleven years ago. And my brother, Killian, died three years later, in 1898. After that, Father and I were left knocking around in our big townhouse alone, and Father grew more and more protective of me. So much so that he waited until after my fourteenth birthday to let me visit Aunt Elizabeth in San Francisco.
I promised Cousin Frederick that Teddy and I would steer clear of trouble. Frederick looked a little doubtful, but with a quick wave he disappeared into the crowd, off to deliver blocks of ice from his horse-drawn cart.
Then I was alone with Teddy. Bundled up in a blue blanket, he squirmed in my arms. I cooed to him, “There, there, that’s a good baby,” loud enough for others to hear. I slid through the crowd to the ticket window–and my first challenge of the day.
“Where to, son?” the silver-haired ticket seller asked gruffly. Mystery and adventure! I wanted to shout. But remembering to keep my voice low, I answered, “San Francisco, please.”
The ticket seller yawned (how could he yawn upon hearing such an exciting destination!) and pointed a finger at the swaddled bundle in my arms. “How old is the little one?”
“Just a pup,” I replied, looking the man in the eye. Always maintain eye contact when working a case! It inspires trust in others.
“Infants ride free.” The ticket seller took my coins and slid my ticket through the window. He shouted, “Next!” to the person behind me when I didn’t move along instantly.
Dizzy, I focused on the arrow pointing to my platform. I left the main terminal and plunged into the station’s maze of tunnels. I didn’t want to get lost and miss my train–which, according to the big station clock, was scheduled to leave in just nine minutes!
I shifted the bundle in my arms-which was getting heavy!–and out popped Teddy’s tail, wagging happily. I couldn’t help laughing. The detective training mission for today-pretending to carry a baby-was complete. I unwrapped Teddy from the small blanket and put him down.
A frazzled businessman hurrying by did a double take as the “baby” gave his furry body a good shake, scratched behind his ears, and slobbered his tongue all over my outstretched hand.
I thought about telling the man, “Don’t worry, sir, this bulldog is part of my training!” But even if he had not rushed off to catch a train, I doubted he would have understood. Not many people do.
Take my teacher Mrs. Kerrit. She definitely wouldn’t understand. Six years ago, when I was eight, Mrs. Kerrit asked our class to list three things we wanted to be when we grew up. My friends put things like wife, king, or banker on their lists. I wrote:
Mrs. Kerrit sent a note to Father, calling him in for a conference. She said that it was unrealistic for me to think I could ever be a detective like he is. Luckily, I’ve got a great father. He told her that it was possible. “Anything that’s not worth fighting for isn’t worth doing,” he said.
Together we decided I might need to work harder than some other people, but I could sharpen my skills with a daily regimen of detective training–my version of a one-person investigator academy.
Now Teddy was yanking on his leash. I flicked my index finger three times toward the floor. This was one of the 25 or so silent commands Teddy and I had developed. Father jokingly called them “Teddyspeak.” We had signals for “Open the door” (which Teddy could do by using his front paws while standing on his hind legs) and “Find Father’s glasses.”
The command I had just made meant “Wait a minute. Teddy,” and my dog grudgingly sat down on the floor.
Before moving on, I wanted to get a quick look at my reflection in the nearby glass display case, just to make sure that I looked right. I did. My dark cap, which all the boys wear, sat straight on my head and hid most of my brown hair. I had on a grass-colored jacket–it covered my white shirt and suspenders–and matching knickers that ended at my knees.
Teddy pulled on his leash again. He was right–we were running late. Time to get moving!
At the end of the corridor, we reached the platform next to our train-with just two minutes to spare! Steam hissed from the locomotive as if the engine was begging to start racing down the rails. The cars behind the locomotive stretched the length of at least two football fields.
MY RULES OF DISGUISE
1) Keep it simple! Remember you want to blend in with your surroundings, not stand out with and odd-looking hat or mustache.
2) Create a story (including first and last name, age, birthplace, etc.) about your “new self” that you can tell others if th
ey ask.
3) Be sure to carry “pocket litter” and other props in your pockets or bags. You might never carry ticket stubs store receipts, but your “new self” might.
4) Study local accents and jargon so the way your talk doesn’t betray you.
5) Never panic! Maintain eye contact, keep your voice steady, and stick with your story, even if you think you are about to have your identity revealed.
A mass of travelers, baggage handlers, screaming children, vendors’ carts, skittish horses, and shouting porters swarmed between the passenger cars and us. “Stay close,” I told Teddy by patting my hip twice.
“Watch out!” A thin woman pushing a baby carriage suddenly screamed, her voice rising above the din in panic.
With its horn blaring, a long black automobile came barreling through a gate meant for emergencies. It drove directly onto the platform, sending people scurrying in all directions. It screeched to a halt and just narrowly missed the back wheel of the screaming woman’s baby carriage.
My train!
WHY LEAVE YOUR PALACE?
Take it with you!
George Pullman built the first modern sleep in car in 1863. Later, he started the Pullaman Palace Car Company. He wanted to give travelers a more comfortable way to travel—and he succeeded! Discover all the ways your Pullman car can transport you to luxury!
The driver sprang from his seat and opened the back passenger door. I watched as a beautiful woman gracefully emerged. Most women wear their hair up these days, but her black hair ran down her back, nearly to her waist. Long black gloves covered her hands and extended up past her elbows.
As the woman was handing the driver some money, a little girl who looked about six sprang out of the back of the car. The girl wore an expensive gray dress with ruffled petticoats, bloomers, and stockings. She had two pigtails tied tightly with ribbon the bright red color of blood. The instant her feet hit the ground, the girl broke into a sprint, heading for a vendor’s cart. Something–maybe the grape belly wash or another soft drink–must have caught her eye.
The woman took the girl’s arm and gently pulled her back. Bending down, she whispered in the girl’s ear, pointing across the platform. They both grew very still as they continued to stare.
I followed their gaze and discovered they were studying another little girl. She was pretty, with straight blonde hair that was swept up behind her head in a loose bun. She looked about nine years old, but she wore the long brown dress of someone much older–a woman who is serious and has an important job to do. No petticoats or ruffles for her, just straight lines. Only a bright purple scarf provided a splash of color.
The blonde girl was struggling to free her hand from the extremely large woman who stood next to her. The woman looked like a schoolteacher and held tight to the squirming girl’s hand.
As a detective, I wanted to discover what made this girl special enough to attract stares. I moved a little closer to them and was just in time to hear the girl demand, “Why do you insist on holding my hand in public? It’s humiliating! You are my governess, not my jailor!”
The woman took a deep breath, as if they had this argument all the time. “Until you are safely in the custody of the Pullman car porter, I cannot trust that you will not follow your whims. You know how you get distracted.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” the girl proclaimed. “Besides, I get focused. Not distracted.”
The governess sniffed.
A tall man dressed in a porter’s black uniform bounded up to them. About nineteen, he was skinny, all arms and legs. Before speaking he removed a shiny gold pocket watch from his vest pocket, flipped open the cover, and gave it a quick glance. He snapped it shut and looked at the girl and her governess.
“Hello! Right on time, I see. That’s something I really admire,” he said to the pair. “My name’s William Henry Moorie. I’ll be your porter for the trip to San Francisco.”
The governess turned to him, pointed to the girl, and–to my amazement–said, “May I present Miss Justine Pinkerton.”
I was thunderstruck! No wonder people were staring. The little girl was a Pinkerton. An actual Pinkerton!
The governess gave Justine’s head a farewell pat and put the girl’s hand into William Henry’s. “She is all yours. Good luck. You are going to need it”
Justine instantly began defending herself to the porter. “My governess is exaggerating! She’s just upset because she had to be rushed to the hospital once when–” I didn’t hear any more because they disappeared into the crowd.
Suddenly, Teddy started barking at something in the air. What was the matter? I looked up. A fluttering green paper was floating by over our heads. I reached up, snatched it out of the air, and gazed at it in wonder.
INVESTIGATOR DAILY: JULY 2. 1884
FAREWELL TO OUR “FINDING” FATHER!
Allan Pinkerton was a Scottish immigrant and Chicago’s first police detective. In 1850, he started The Pinkerton National Detective Agency, our country’s first nationwide investigative company. Known by its trademark open eye and slogan “We Never Sleep,” this agency has nabbed criminal after criminal and may have foiled an assassination plot against Lincoln in 1861. One of the company’s specialties is railroad security.
Justine is a relative of “The Eye”
A dollar bill.
Oh, the things I could buy–a magnifying glass, fingerprint powder, the latest guide to blood typing. But, of course, these were just dreams. I had to return the bill to its rightful owner. I sighed. Sometimes it’s not such fun to be one of the good guys.
I gauged the direction from which the bill had come and retraced its path. I figured it must have come from the back of the train, where a special Pullman car was hitched.
The car shone with the Great Seal of the United States. The car belonged to the government!
I spotted two men stepping from the shadows of the platform onto the Pullman car. They were too far away to see clearly.
“Hello!” I shouted, but they couldn’t hear me. I headed toward them and lowered the pitch of my voice: “You dropped your dollar–”
“All aboard!” a conductor shouted. A sudden wave of passengers cut off my path as they shoved their way toward the train. I struggled against the tide of people but made no headway toward the two men.
It was no use. I gave up, put the dollar in my jacket pocket and let the crowd push me toward the center of the train. Teddy and I climbed aboard the passenger car. Moments later the conductors blew their tin whistles, and the train pulled out of Pennsylvania Station.
I looked out the window of the passenger car door as the train–and the beating of my heart–picked up speed. I was on my way to San Francisco! The sun was setting, but I felt as if the curtain was rising on a great adventure.
April 14, 1906
6:30 AM
“Wake up! Wake up!”
The words dragged me out of sleep this morning and started my first full day on board the Continental Express.
I had figured the uncomfortable wooden bench and my excitement would keep me awake. But sometime during the night, the rocking motion of the train had lulled me into deep, dreamless sleep. Now I didn’t want to wake up.
“Get up and play with me! Now! Now! NOW!” the voice whined.
I kept my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep. Silence. Whoever it is has left, I thought.
Then pop! Something wet sprayed all over my face.
What on earth? I opened one eye. Squinting against the light of the just-risen sun, I could make out a little girl with pigtails tied with blood-red ribbon. She was leaning against the seat in front of me and blowing bubbles of spearmint gum in my face.
Disgusting!
It was the girl from the platform who had arrived in the long black car. I closed my eyes and wondered why I’d never trained Teddy to bite pigtailed girls.
The girl didn’t leave. Instead, she became more insistent “You’re awake, silly boy. Don’t pretend. Play a ga
me of hide-and-seek. Now. In the baggage car. I really, really, REALLY want to!”
She paused, and I was sure she was getting ready to blow another saliva-filled bubble. My eyes flew open and I sat up, startling her. “Little girls shouldn’t blow bubbles in the faces of strangers on trains,” I said sternly.
Her lips puckered and she sucked in a long breath. I didn’t need to be a detective to know I was about to witness the biggest tantrum in the history of the world. “What’s your name?” I asked quickly, trying to avert the approaching storm of emotion.
The question took the wind out of her sails for a moment “Asyla,” she snuffled quietly. “Asyla Notabe.”
Before I could introduce myself, Teddy growled softly, and a shadow fell over my seat. It was the woman with the long black hair and gloves. Looming over us, she said, “And I am Mrs. Rabella Notabe, her mother. Why are you bothering my daughter?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
I started to explain. “I–”
But Mrs. Notabe wasn’t interested in what I had to say. She took her daughter’s hand and they left. I could hear Asyla’s whining drifting away as they headed out of the car.
Still in my seat, I stretched my stiff muscles and glanced around. The coach car was like a large open room, filled with 30 wooden benches just like mine. Almost all of the other seats were filled by families or businessmen.
This old car was in pretty good shape but starting to fray around the edges. Windows–a few with cracks–lined each side and presented dusty views of the passing scenery. There were old-fashioned kerosene lights instead of gas, and they smelled like burning toast. Still, last night, those lamps had cast a dim but friendly glow as passengers had arranged themselves for the long trip.
