Addleton Heights

by George Wright Padgett

  “Where’s the rest of it?” she asked. “There’s at least one more component that fastens to this, maybe two. Where is it?”

  “You know what that is?” I asked, trying to lock eyes with her so she wouldn’t look down at my arms.

  She held up the object. “This is some type of receiver, a very sophisticated piece of tinkware.” She let it blink the odd pattern for a few seconds. “A-M-D-E-S . . . My guess is that it can receive transmissions from many miles away. I can tell that there’s another part, a piece that attaches to this corkscrew bit right here.” She pointed at the brass spiral. “I suspect that the other part or parts of this elegant device is the transmitter. I want to get a message back to whoever’s on the other end of this thing. So where is it?”

  I was dumbfounded. “Someone’s sending a message in light? How can—”

  “Morse code,” she interrupted. “Dashes and dots are the same whether it’s a telegraph or pauses between bursts of light.”

  This was amazing. Was Sawyer trying to communicate to me from his confinement at Montague’s compound? “What’s it say?”

  “It doesn’t make sense. Where are the other pieces? I want to check what the sender means.”

  “Other pieces? Huh . . . Oh . . .” Now that she believed I possessed something she wanted, I could form a plan of escape.

  I already knew she didn’t have any information that would be of use to me, and we were wasting far too much time with useless explanations. Everything I’d said about Hennemann was true. He could burst in at any minute and end this little party.

  “The transmitting components are in my boots.”

  Her giddiness about examining Sawyer’s tinkware must’ve clouded her judgment, allowing her to believe the lie. “Why’d you put them in there?”

  I had one chance to do this. I knew to be calm and not overplay my hand. “Mr. Sawyer told me to. I put them in there to keep them safe in case I was robbed.”

  As ridiculous as the claim was, she bent to loosen the belt holding my right boot to the chair leg.

  That was half of what I needed.

  Frustrated that she couldn’t slide her fingers deeper into the boot, she violently tugged at it.

  Just then, I said, “Sorry, I forgot.” I braced for what I was about to do and carefully did not look at the gun on the floor across the room. “Both pieces are in my left boot.”

  The lie was absurd, but she took it and rapidly loosened the other one.

  Now I was ready.

  Silently taking a deep breath, I waited for my moment as she slid her fingers into my remaining boot. When I felt her hand snugly wedged between my upper ankle and the leather of the footwear, I sprang from the chair. Pure adrenaline covered the fatigue and soreness of my muscles.

  Clearly expecting my arms to still be bound, Janae was caught off-guard, which gave me just enough time to scramble for the gun. I knew it’d be mere seconds before she’d have Rodger activated, and there’d be no mercy this time.

  I lunged to snatch up Fitzpatrick’s pistol. Clutching the weapon’s handle, I spun to face her. My sudden movement had left her stunned on the floor.

  “Janae, don’t try anything!” I shouted as adrenaline sped through my veins. “Now, unhook Rodger and toss it in my empty boot.”

  Her hesitation intensified my tension.

  “Janae, there’s nothing to decide here. Do it! I don’t want to shoot you.”

  The venom in her stare was undeniable as she slowly removed the device from the hook on her belt.

  “Don’t try anything,” I reminded her.

  She snarled as she picked up the boot.

  “Put it in and slide it over to me.”

  “You lied to me,” Janae said bitterly as she hurled it. “Just like you lied about Jimmy.”

  I dodged the boot, and it hit the wall behind me. “Uh . . . Good. Now, place your palms on top of your head.”

  She complied with exaggerated reluctance.

  I wiped my brow with my free hand. “Now listen close. We’re going to do this slowly. I don’t foster any ill will towards you. I understand that you thought I was here to burgle the place. You responded in a reasonable fashion, and I commend you for it. But I’ve told you the truth. I didn’t come to steal but to help.”

  She was seething but didn’t say a word.

  With my gun aimed at her, I crouched for my boot. “If we can make it through the next five minutes without incident, I’ll get what I came here for, and you’ll never see me again.”

  I tucked the boot under my arm and slowly stood, though my heart beat wildly. “So here’s how it’s going to go. I’m going to take you into the other room. Once in there, you’ll peacefully stand in the corner with hands on your head like they are now while I look for something around the desk. If you behave, that’ll be it. If you don’t, that’s on you.”

  Other than Olsen, I’ve never held a gun on someone for an extended length of time, much less a woman. It was becoming a habit I didn’t like.

  “Are we agreed, Miss Nelson?”

  “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

  “No, but like I said, just a few minutes and I’ll be gone.” I motioned with the end of the pistol as she moved clockwise around the room.

  She took a couple of small steps toward the bedroom door and paused.

  I positioned myself behind her, leaving a safety buffer of three feet. “What are you stopping for? Go in.”

  “I’m not going in there. Just shoot me now.”

  My body stiffened. “That’s a very bad idea, Miss Nelson.”

  Looking over her shoulder at me, she said, “I don’t think you’ll do it. In fact, I’m betting you won’t shoot a woman in the back for fear of how that would look to your police detective friends.”

  “You underestimate me.” She was right and calling my bluff—this woman was intolerable.

  Closing the gap between us, I shoved the barrel of the gun into her back, nudging her forward a few inches. “You’re betting your life that someone that you shocked until he puked doesn’t want revenge?”

  “You’ve got a gun pointed at me. Congratulations, you’re in control now. If retribution was your game, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  How I hated her being right. As distasteful as the idea was, I realized the situation required me to be more forceful. I prodded her back with the barrel. “Have it your way, Miss Nelson, but I should warn you that—”

  She spun around and faced me with a malicious smirk.

  I stumbled a step backward, attempting to catch my balance.

  Her hands went for the ruby brooch fastened in the center of her neckpiece. Instantly, putrid yellow-green mist shot from slits in the side of the leather brace. A bittersweet smell like mold accompanied the hiss.

  Dropping the gun, I jumped back and threw the sleeve of my jacket over my nose and mouth. “Dammit, Miss Nelson!”

  She didn’t say a word, holding her breath as she pursued me.

  Scurrying backward away from her, I tripped over one of the rockers and hit the ground. The noxious spray continued filling the air.

  How long could I hold my breath?

  I dumped the contents of her burlap bag to the floor.

  When she bent to fill my face with the gas still jetting out, I threw the sack over her head. I cinched the bag tight around her shoulders, then I slammed both our bodies into the wall. The unexpected impact forced her to gasp, no doubt inhaling a fair amount of the poison.

  That was what I wanted. Now she’d have to administer the antidote to herself, and I’d take some of it too. Hopefully, there was enough for both of us.

  She flailed her arms while screaming from within the sack, “Get off of—”

  I pulled the back of the burlap tighter, forcing her head to cock back. “Janae, where’s the antidote? Tell me where it is, and I’ll let you go.”

  More flailing, but the hisses of gas had stopped.

  I desperately pressed my c
hest against her back, smashing us into the wall for a second time. “Tell me or we both die here.”

  She mumbled something. The fight was draining from her muscles.

  “Say it again!” I shouted, fearful that the effects of the gas were already taking her from me.

  “No . . . anti . . . antidote.”

  I shook her and placed my ear against the side of the bag. “What do you mean there’s no antidote?” I screamed. “Who carries poison with no antidote?”

  She coughed and wheezed from within the bag, mumbling something.

  Throwing all caution to the wind, I yanked the bag from her head and spun her to face me. “What did you say?”

  Her eyes were thin slits, her words sluggish. “Not . . . po-poison. Sl . . . sl . . .ee sleep.”

  Her body went limp as she slid against the wall into a collapsed sitting position.

  I leaned over and shook her face, attempting to revive her. “It’s only sleeping gas?”

  She raised a hand. I couldn’t tell if she reached toward me for help or if she intended to slap me in her trance-like state. I fell to my knees to hear her. The voice was a whisper. “B-b-bas . . . bas . . .”

  My face was mere inches from hers. Janae’s eyes were closed. “Bas . . .”

  I shook her again firmly enough to rouse her. “Bassel? Are you saying bassel?”

  Her forehead crinkled as her closed eyelids tightened. “Bastard!”

  Then she was out.

  Nineteen

  The rhythmic sound of Janae’s snoring from the corner of the bedroom allowed me to turn my back to her without worry. Though I’d strapped her in a chair, I listened for the slightest change in breathing. Wishing to avoid any more narrow escapes, I unstrapped her neckpiece and tossed it out of reach on the bed. In addition, I placed Rodger nearby on the desktop. My muscles were still sore and twitching.

  I returned to the entry and barricaded the front door with the kitchen table and chairs. The ramshackle pile wouldn’t stop Hennemann, but the noise from it falling down would alert me to get the gun and maybe Rodger.

  The familiar smell of turpentine filled the air as I hunted through Nelson’s desk and waste bin for a second time. Like taking slow steps down a long spiral staircase, my heart sank with each piece of refuse that I sorted through. There was nothing other than the clues I’d discovered from my previous visit.

  On the off chance I’d find a clue in a false drawer of the roll top, I emptied the desk and then pulled it away from the wall to see if anything was stuck to its back. I checked his closet, the pots in the kitchen, between books on the bookshelf, under the perfectly spaced rugs, between the linens of his water closet, the boards of his fireplace mantle, under his mattress—I checked everywhere.

  Pushing the bedpost of his straw-stuffed bed to the side, I discovered a loose board under one of the legs. Lifting the wood slat, I found a small leather pouch stuffed with money—a lot of it. I thumbed through it and shoved the wad of cash into my pockets. If I found myself needing to bribe someone at the airship station, I’d be more than set.

  I suspected they were funds that Nelson had intended for their new life down below in the states. Whatever large sum he’d donated to Father Jacob’s orphanage hadn’t hurt the bankroll here.

  I glanced up at Janae. She’d slept through it all. Her snoring had changed to the soft constant purr of a kitten, or maybe more like a bloodthirsty lioness. Either way, she’d be coming out of it soon, though I doubted she’d offer up any of Nelson’s hiding places, if there were any.

  Looking up from the floor at her drooping head, I tried to imagine the relationship between the siblings. There wasn’t the faintest trace of a family resemblance. Michelangelo would have portrayed her likeness in Carrara marble had he ever gazed upon her. Jim, on the other hand, resembled a rodent—and not a cute mouse, but more like one of those disease-carrying rats that’ll take a child’s finger off given the chance. I returned the photo of the two of them to my pocket and yawned. It was obvious they didn’t share the same mother and father.

  Though this wasn’t the way I would’ve have planned it, I was in the company of a tink. I wasn’t certain of Janae’s skills, but given what I’d seen of the Rodger device, the gas delivery system of the neck brace, and her assessment of Sawyer’s brass coil, I felt she could help. I simply needed to convince her that we were on the same side, whether that proved to be true or not.

  If she could be persuaded to share what Sawyer’s Morse code message was, I might know what to do next. I contemplated taking her to the statue in Chinatown with the full version of Sawyer’s tinkware in its forehead. I wasn’t ready to expose my office and home to this woman. If the statue’s device did have a transmitter, I could get her to find out what was going on from Sawyer himself.

  “My head . . . hurts,” she said, slightly slurring her words with her eyes still closed.

  “Miss Nelson? I have a proposition for you.” I looked for any indication she’d heard me. “Are you awake?”

  Her head rolled to the side as she fought a losing battle to open her eyes. “Is he . . . Is Jimmy really . . . gone?”

  A lump formed in my throat. “Yes, I’m afraid he is.”

  “Oh, Jimmy . . . what am I going to do?” She sniffed, her brilliant blue eyes partially opening to a squint.

  I let her sob a moment, and then I wiped her eyes with the pillowcase. She didn’t resist me.

  “Miss Nelson, you can help me figure out why he died.”

  She nodded, and I could see her head was clearing. “Jimmy wouldn’t hurt a fly. Put me in front of whoever did it and I’ll . . .”

  I patted her knee to calm her as she struggled sluggishly against her restraints. “It’s a little more complicated than that. I have to find out what’s going on here. You can help with that.” I held up Sawyer’s blinking tinkware. “You said this was a message. What’s it saying?”

  She sniffed and groggily asked. “Do you really have a photograph of him . . . of Jimmy?”

  “I do, but it’s—”

  “I need to see it. I need to see him . . . what happened to him.” She bit her lip. “You show me, and I’ll tell you what the message is.”

  The request surprised me. Most people would choose to remember a slain loved one alive as opposed to viewing their corpse. I had to hand it to her, she was braver about it than I would’ve been.

  I held up the paper she’d marked with dots and dashes before our scuffle. “This is the message. All I have to do is find someone who knows Morse code, and they’ll tell me. It would save time if you told me here . . . now.”

  “It’s nonsense anyway, not from a master tink like William Sawyer, I guarantee that much.” She said it as if her tongue were made of acid. “He’d never write that.”

  “Let me be the judge. Why do you say it’s nonsense?”

  “Because it’s preposterous.” She pulled harder against the chair arms and let out a sound that was more of a growl than a scream. “Let me out of here!”

  “Tell me the message, and I’ll untie one of your arms.”

  She thought for a second. “Then what? What does that get me?”

  “Miss Nelson, I know it may be hard to believe, but I think we’re really on the same side. When I have what I need, I’ll send the picture to you. I have your address in the city directory.” It was then that I remembered leaving it in the steam carriage.

  “Not good enough,” she said. Her speech was nearly back to normal and not as sluggish.

  “You’re hardly in a position to—” I started.

  “Untie me—all of me—and I’ll tell you.” Sensing my reservation, she added, “Look, I don’t know what’s going on here, but it’s clear you’re not a thief or you’d have left by now, though you’ve made a mess of this room. And you’re not a pervert or you would have had your way while I was unconscious. All I know is my head is pounding too badly for another skirmish, so I’m going to have to take a chance on you here. Are you willing
to take a chance on me?”

  “I’m keeping Rodger,” I said, studying her reaction. I tapped Fitzpatrick’s LeMat combination revolver on the bed. “And I’ll have the gun.”

  “Fine, just let me go.”

  Careful not to accidentally trigger anything, I cautiously held up the neck brace and brooch. “And this—you definitely can’t wear this, not around me.”

  She shrugged. “It’s too tight anyway. Now untie me.”

  “First tell me the message.”

  “Fine. Hold up the paper. I’ll read it to you, but don’t blame the cow when the milk goes sour. If you don’t like what it says, you still untie me.”

  “Agreed.” I held the sheet before her.

  “It says, ‘I am destroying the Under,’” she answered.

  I was astonished. “Are you serious?”

  “Hey, you said you’d untie me no matter what.”

  I snapped to. “Yeah, sorry . . . just thinking.” I started on the ties around her shins. “Don’t try and kick me or anything.”

  “I told you, my head hurts too much for another bout right now.”

  “After I untie you, I want you to look at the receiver and see if there’s anything else from Sawyer.”

  “All right, but I told you it’s not from him. The idea is ludicrous. The trench area beneath the city is even bigger than Addleton Heights above. How would they destroy such a vast area? And why would they want to anyway? Sawyer wouldn’t.”

  I loosened her right hand, the one that’d punched me before. Thankfully, she only used it to massage her forehead. Maybe she actually did have a headache from the gas.

  “Anyway, the island is roughly thirty miles, give or take. The platform covers nearly twenty of it.”

  I loosened the belt around her remaining arm. This was it, the moment of truth. Would she retaliate? Relief set in as she continued with her explanation.

  “No, I can’t even begin to imagine what it would take to destroy the pit down there. It’s gotta be a metaphor for something. It must mean something else, or it’s a joke. Someone’s taking you on a dody.”