Whispers of Warning

by Jessica Estevao

  “I want you to pull all available officers off other duties and put everyone, you included, on safety patrols around the pier. With the opening happening tomorrow we need to keep focused on what’s important.”

  “What about the case I’m working on?

  The chief raised his great tuft of an eyebrow. “What case?”

  “The unexplained death of Miss Foster Eldridge.” Yancey was sure he didn’t like where this was going.

  “There is no case. The poor woman was clearly out of her mind when she dressed herself in a man’s coat, loaded her pockets with rocks, and jumped into the plunge bath.”

  “You believe she committed suicide?” Yancey’s mouth went dry and his stomach stopped rumbling and knotted up instead. He could feel righteous indignation fill his belly like a steaming bowl of stew.

  “Of course she did. I should have thought it would be obvious.”

  “Not to me it isn’t,” Yancey said. “What are you basing that decision upon?”

  “The woman believes women should have the right to vote, for starters. She was convinced she was in contact with spirits of the dead. She was found wearing men’s clothing, for God’s sake. What more proof do you need that the balance of her mind was disturbed?”

  “Your opposition to suffrage is not the same as proof that she took her own life. I hardly think any of the reasons you list can be considered proof of insanity.”

  “It is in my book.”

  “But Miss Foster Eldridge received a threatening letter. She told a close friend she believed the stage accident to have been no accident at all.” Yancey could hear his pulse pounding in his ears like an incoming tide. Yancey reached into his jacket pocket and brought out an envelope containing the photographs he had borrowed from Thomas. He held them each out in front of his boss at eye level.

  “What are these?” the chief asked, tapping the photographs with his paper knife.

  “They’re photographs Thomas Lydale took during the fray yesterday. I was wondering if you saw anything unusual concerning the stage?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “In this one you look like you’re talking to Henry Goodwin.” Yancey pointed at the photograph showing the boy.

  “What of it?”

  “That in itself seemed unusual. You are not the sort of man who spends his time socializing with children. And we both know Henry is not a particular fan of the police force.”

  “Are you implying something I should take offense to, Yancey?”

  “No, sir. I just wanted to inquire if you noticed anything amiss with him. Right after he spoke with you he and several other boys began jostling the crowd of marchers and setting off firecrackers. I thought you might have seen something having to do with that.”

  “No. I can’t say that I did. But why would I? If you hadn’t shown me this photograph I wouldn’t have believed I had spoken to him at all.” The chief tapped the second photograph. “And this one?”

  “This man is talking to you just before the stage collapsed. I thought maybe one of you might have seen something that would explain how the stage just happened to collapse.”

  “I was standing right there and you can take from me the entire incident had nothing to do with any of the bystanders. There’s no need to go riling people up and starting rumors.” Hurley banged his fist down on the desk. “You haven’t convinced yourself that there is more to that mess yesterday than a stiff wind and some shoddy workmanship, have you?”

  “You don’t think it is strange that just as Sophronia announces her intention to expose corruption by some of the people in attendance that the stage supporting her collapses from out beneath her feet? Do you think there is no link between that and her body being found less than twenty-four hours later?”

  “I don’t think it’s strange at all. I think it is proof there is a God and he is paying close attention to this beautiful nation of ours.”

  “Accident or no accident, can you identify the man standing next to you in the photograph?” Yancey asked as he held it a little closer. Yancey could tell from the way the chief’s mustache lifted on one side that he was smiling to himself. Hurley’s smiles never made Yancey happy.

  “Don’t you know who he is?” Hurley asked. “After all, the family resemblance is quite strong.”

  “So you do know him then, sir?”

  “Most people over thirty in the town know him. That’s Osmond. George Cheswick’s younger brother.”

  Hurley smiled again. “You can ask all the questions of Osmond or that Goodwin kid that you want but it won’t change the fact that this case is closed.”

  “Sir, you can’t close the case without a proper investigation.”

  “All the investigation that is needed has already been done. I took a look at the scene myself while you were off paying a call at the Belden. There was nothing to suggest she didn’t kill herself.”

  “You must have seen the wound on her head.” Yancey silently told his fists to unclench but they refused to listen. “She didn’t get that by drowning.”

  “Good God, man, were you the only one at the march who didn’t see the stage collapse? Of course she had a head injury.” Hurley leaned his chair on the two back legs. “I told you before, the town fathers will turn us all out of our jobs if anything casts a shadow over the pier opening. Robert Jellison was just here to remind me of their intentions.”

  “It’s funny, isn’t it, how often Mr. Jellison’s best interests and the intentions of the town fathers line up?” Yancey knew he was pushing the limits of the chief’s patience but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that since I know you have your own reasons to prefer that no case is ever ruled a suicide. But eventually you are going to have to face the fact that some people suffer from weak morals and an imbalance of the mind. The case is closed.”

  The chief pointed at the door with his paper knife. “Believe me, it’s best this way. You don’t want to go poking your nose into this any further.”

  Yancey returned to his desk. When Yancey thought about Lucy’s and Ruby’s likely reactions to the news about Sophronia’s case, he found he had thoroughly lost his temper.

  As he sat there he wished he could have been a fly on the wall in the chief’s office while Jelly Roll had been in there. It seemed more than a coincidence that as soon as he had visited, the investigation was curtailed. If Jelly Roll were the only one to have paid a call to the station Yancey would have suspected it was a matter of business to shut down the case. After all, a murder was far worse for the tourist trade than a suicide. And Jelly Roll would benefit from the taint on the competition’s bathhouse.

  But with Frank in on whatever conversation had occurred, too, Yancey had to consider there was more to the story than a business deal that required shoring up. How was Frank connected to Jelly Roll and the chief? Were they covering something up and was it for themselves or the interests of the pier or both?

  And a suicide theory did not explain the blow to Sophronia’s head. Even an accidental drowning wouldn’t explain that. Nothing found in the bathhouse when her body was discovered could have created the wound. He was now sure it was murder, pure and simple. He was going to have to keep investigating without the chief finding out. As much as he didn’t want a murder victim branded as a suicide, he wasn’t prepared to lose his job.

  Yancey was eager to solve Sophronia’s case but he was even more invested in solving the murder of Gladys Willard and his own father’s death almost twenty years earlier. But to do that he needed to stay close to the center of the action and remain on the force. He needed help, and as much as it pained him to admit it there was only one person who came to mind for the job.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Miss Proulx, might I have a word with you?” I looked up from my book to see that Officer Yancey stood
in the library threshold turning his hat round and round in his hands. I found myself happy to have anyone other than Mrs. Doyle calling my name. Even if that person was a policeman. I tucked a scrap of ribbon between the pages of The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes to mark my place and slid the book into the depths of the chair. I felt suddenly foolish about reading a detective novel in the presence of a real police officer.

  “Of course, Officer. Come in.” I gestured to the other wingback chair centered in the bookshelf-lined room. As he settled into the seat beside me I felt the intimacy of the space in a new way. It felt domestic somehow to be sitting side by side in matching armchairs separated by only a small table.

  An unusual shyness overtook me and I found it difficult to engage in my customary banter. It was vastly easier to manage Yancey when he raised my ire by being abrasive rather than by disarming me with good manners. It would never do to let him know he had left me feeling uncertain. I tucked my reserve down deep where it usually spent its days and gave him a piercing look. “Have you come to tell me you’ve already discovered what really happened to Sophronia?”

  “I wish I were. Instead, I am here to ask for your help,” he said, looking down at his shiny black boots as he spoke. “With the investigation into Miss Foster Eldridge’s death.”

  “I thought you were the only one who was permitted to ask questions.” I was quite enjoying myself watching his face suffuse with color and noting the way he shifted his weight in his chair like a small, nervous boy. “I seem to remember that you were very clear only a little while ago that my assistance was not required or desired.”

  “I should not have said that. I spoke rudely and my only excuse is that I am not in the habit of including those who are not on the police force in investigations.”

  “I beg to differ. You have routinely asked Mr. Lydale to assist you with your investigations. I believe he has been invaluable,” I said.

  “But Thomas is not a lady.”

  “I had noticed that Mr. Lydale seems to be most assuredly a gentleman.” If anything, Officer Yancey looked even more uncomfortable than before.

  “I only meant that his reputation would not be damaged by association with the police in the same way a lady’s would be. After all, there are no women on the force. It is a novel thing to consider working with one.”

  At least he blamed his remarks on habit rather than personal prejudice. I couldn’t resist needling him a bit more despite my overwhelming curiosity.

  “Why my help? You don’t wish for me to channel Sophronia’s spirit in order to ask who killed her, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Yancey looked like he was suffering from a grievous stomach complaint. “The truth is, the chief has decided to close the case.”

  “If it’s been solved I can’t see how you would need my help,” I said. “Unless you do not concur with the solution.”

  “That’s it exactly.”

  “So who is it Chief Hurley believes to be guilty?” I leaned forward eagerly in the chair. “Please tell me you haven’t arrested George as Lucy suggested?”

  “The chief has been persuaded that Miss Foster Eldridge was an unstable woman who committed suicide.” I wished I could say that I couldn’t believe my ears but after the way the police had behaved at the march it was clear they didn’t value Sophronia’s life. Blaming her for her own death was not much of a stretch.

  “You aren’t planning to stop investigating, are you?” I hoped with fervor that he was not. I hardly wished to think what would happen to the Yancey family if Orazelia and Lucy heard that he had sided with the chief.

  “I do not plan to do any such thing,” Yancey said. “But the chief has ordered the case closed and all officers on patrol duties for the pier opening. I’m not supposed to continue investigating in any way.”

  “Which is why you have come to me?”

  “Exactly. It occurred to me that those nearest and dearest to the victim would be more inclined to speak with one of their own rather than the police anyway. I was hoping you would be willing to ask questions and share any findings with me, Miss Proulx.”

  Yancey sounded eager to have my help. I had very much enjoyed our previous joint effort and found myself curiously elated at the prospect of sharing a second collaborative investigation. In fact, the sense of excited anticipation was strong enough to make me also feel rather ashamed of myself. It was not seemly to take pleasure from the death of another.

  “How do you propose I should begin to question suspects? If you are not the face of the investigation, what authority do I have to demand that people share their secrets with me?”

  “I doubt you’ll have any trouble there. I’ve noticed you have something of a knack for extracting information from others.” Officer Yancey actually sounded as though he were complimenting me. “If that doesn’t work you could use your unique position as a medium to encourage cooperation.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”

  “I don’t but many of the people on my suspect list do. In this case, your perceived authority may well be higher than my own anyway.” Yancey gave me a smile that looked more weary than charming. It would be foolish to say no, since I wanted to help. And it looked as though there might not be justice for Sophronia if I didn’t lend a hand.

  “I am willing to do it but I have a request.”

  “Which is?”

  “You treat me like an equal partner in the investigation. No taking information from me and keeping your information to yourself.”

  “That’s all?”

  “That’s all. If there is one thing I value, it is respect. The equal sharing of confidences will convey that respect from you.”

  “I thought you were going to make this much harder on me.”

  “Why would I do a thing like that?”

  “I have behaved quite rudely in the past and have made it clear I was very skeptical of your motives and even your morals. I am not sure if the situation were reversed that I would be as forgiving.”

  “I didn’t say that you were forgiven in the least,” I said. Yancey jiggled his leg up and down in place. “I said I would help. I am doing so for Sophronia and for the cause of suffrage.”

  “How may I make it up to you?” Yancey asked. I found not only was I enjoying the prospect of investigating once more, I was also enjoying Officer Yancey’s change of attitude toward me. It almost made me think we could become friends. Almost. I decided not to warm up to him too easily. His instincts about my character had been good ones and if the truth about my past surfaced, it was a friendship that wouldn’t last.

  “You could start by telling me why you left the Belden without questioning the rest of the people here who knew Sophronia,” I said, giving him a bright smile and folding my hands in my lap as though I were prepared to wait all day for his confidences to be shared.

  “I wanted to question Congressman Plaisted before anyone could forbid me from doing so.”

  “I understand the urgency. Did you ask him why he assaulted Sophronia in the alley?”

  “I thought I would keep that information to myself for a bit. I asked him to confirm the report that he had broken off with Sophronia many years ago and married a friend of hers instead.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Thomas, of all people. Apparently he used to work for Sophronia at a temperance newspaper she ran with the woman who became Congressman Plaisted’s wife.”

  “That explains the hostility between them but not why he would be angry with her.”

  “He says she was the one who ended the relationship instead of him,” Officer Yancey said. “I hoped maybe you could make some inquiries amongst those who might have known about it.”

  “Like Theda Rice?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s something to start with. You’ve kept yourself well
occupied.”

  “There’s more. I stopped in at Thomas’s studio for photographs from the march. You were right about Henry Goodwin talking with the chief.” He pulled a photograph from his jacket pocket and handed it to me.

  “Did you ask your boss why he was talking with Henry?”

  “I did.” He gripped the chair arms so tightly his knuckles paled. I had hit upon a sore spot.

  “What did he say?”

  “He denied the conversation had any importance and was not pleased to be asked about it. I am afraid I will lose my job before I have had a chance to complete my investigation.” Officer Yancey’s knuckles grew even whiter.

  “Are you still speaking of the investigation into Sophronia’s death?” I asked. “Or something else?” He gave me a long look and then drew in a deep breath. I could see from his expression that he was trying to come to a decision.

  “Lucy thinks very highly of you and I am inclined to trust that she is right to put her faith in you.” He leaned toward me and lowered his own voice. “I am investigating Chief Hurley himself.”

  “Because of what happened yesterday?” I asked.

  “Because I believe that he is entirely corrupt and has been abusing his position of authority for years.” Officer Yancey closed his eyes for a moment. If pressed I would have said he was stalling. “I think it goes back at least as far as my father’s case and I think it is still going on today.”

  “Is there something besides the photo of Chief Hurley and Henry to make you believe that?”

  “I am concerned that Robert Jellison may have been involved.”

  “Robert Jellison? Did he even know Sophronia?”

  “Her body was found in a competitor’s bathhouse. And he left the chief’s office with a smug grin on his face just before Hurley called me in to tell me the investigation was over.” Yancey let out a deep breath. “At the very least Jellison is asking for it to be hushed up so as not to put a damper on the pier opening.”

  “Ask why he suspects his partner.” The voice spoke with startling clarity in my left ear.