The lady leaned over the table to reach the centerpiece and extract a golden object that had been hidden among the flowers. It glittered and flashed in the candlelight.
“Do you recognize this, Jonathan?”
The blood drained from his face when he saw it.
“It’s quite a pretty hair ornament, and expensive too. Elsa was wearing it at the time she died. I had a little difficulty finding the jeweler who made it, but his records indicate the commission was given by one Jonathan Blackthorne.”
She walked around the perimeter of the table, holding the object in her hand for the other guests to see. Then she held it up toward the chandelier. “The piece was reworked by another jeweler at a later date to give it a most curious property. If you press this ruby at the top, something interesting happens.” Evangeline demonstrated by pushing down on the gem with her thumb. The stone, which had appeared to be raised above the surface of the hair ornament, remained depressed. With a quick motion of her hand, Evangeline pressed down on the vertical bar of the cross.
To everyone’s amazement, a knife blade shot out from the hollow bottom of the ornament. When Evangeline released her hold, it just as quickly shot back into place. The red stone had popped back up above the surface of the ornament as well.
“I’ll do that again slowly,” Evangeline said. This time when she released the knife, she kept pressure on the bar preventing the weapon from slipping back into its hiding place. She held the object forward for the guests to see. The end of the knife contained a brownish coating. Superintendent Flint was about to touch the blade when Evangeline cautioned, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
He looked up at her in surprise.
“It still contains traces of curare mixed in with the blood stains you see there. Dr. Doyle very kindly analyzed a small quantity of the substance for me yesterday. It’s the same poison that killed Elsa. Administered by the man who presented her with this gracious gift.”
Blackthorne cast his eyes about the room, looking for someone to support him, but all he saw were looks of judgment. “I will make no comment until I’ve spoken to my attorney.” He then retreated into a stony silence.
Evangeline turned to Flint and suggested delicately, “Superintendent, I believe this would be an opportune moment for you to use the telephone to call the nearest precinct house. You might want to tell them that you’ve apprehended two dangerous criminals who need to be held on a charge of suspicion of murder.”
“I?... Oh... ahem... yes... I guess I should. A very good suggestion. Thank you, Miss LeClair.” The superintendent collected his wits and made straight for the telephone in the hall.
When he left the room, Evangeline turned her attention to Mrs. Templar. “Berthe, I trust that if any of the facts which were brought to light this evening should go astray in police files, or if this case were never brought to trial, say perhaps because of some unforeseen political influence exerted on the murderer’s behalf, that you would hold the matter to strictest account?”
“As a member of the Civic Federation, I’m sure I could apply the necessary pressure to see that nothing untoward occurs.” Nodding to the other guests, Mrs. Templar rose to take her leave. Evangeline walked her to the dining room door where the great lady paused to kiss her hostess lightly on the cheek.
“A most eventful evening, Engie. I’m pleased that we managed to prevent a very grave miscarriage of justice.” She glanced briefly at her two servants. “Humphrey, Briggs, time to go.”
The desk clerk bustled to open the front door for her while the porter ran down the stairs to summon her coachman.
Jack held the two suspects at gunpoint until Flint’s officers came to collect them. The superintendent, with a belated sense of officiousness, decided to see them off to jail personally.
Before he left the room in custody, Blackthorne bowed to Evangeline and kissed her hand. “My compliments to the puppet mistress.”
Evangeline studied his face for several seconds. “As you once observed, Jonathan, we are a great deal alike, you and I.”
“Au revoir, ma chérie,” he added bitterly.
“You can be sure of that. I will see you again... when you hang!” And then in a whisper to herself, she added, “Perhaps somewhere in my nightmares, too!”
***
The only two guests remaining were Freddie and Mason. The latter whistled appreciatively. “Miss LeClair, I must say you really know how to throw a party!”
She smiled grimly. “Yes, a most interesting evening by any standard. We must all do this again sometime.”
Freddie snorted in disgust. “When Hades freezes over will be soon enough for me!”
Evangeline linked her arm through Bill’s and led him toward the door. “Mr. Mason, I believe you and I have a business arrangement to conclude?”
“Yes, miss.” He seemed abashed by all the personal attention.
“Would you not agree that I have given you the story to end all stories?”
“Nothing short of another mayoral assassination could beat it!”
“Well then, having kept my part of the bargain, these are my terms, which you agreed to uphold in advance... ”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Go ahead and give me the bad news.”
“You may have exclusive use of this story for tomorrow morning’s edition of the Gazette, as well as many other interesting details of the case that weren’t revealed tonight, on one condition.”
“And that would be?” He braced himself for the worst.
“On condition that you allow Freddie to pen the story and prevail upon your editor to offer him a job as a reporter.”
Evangeline waited expectantly. Freddie held his breath.
Bill tilted his head back and laughed. He slapped Freddie on the back. “Son, much as I might like to take credit for this scoop myself, I always knew you had printer’s ink in your blood. This is your one chance, and I might as well be the one who gives it to you! Come on, we’ll go over to the Blackfriars’ Club. After a few stiff belts, you’ll see just how easy writing can be.”
By now, the trio were standing outside on the front stairs. For the first time in their strangely enduring relationship, Freddie turned to Evangeline and, without hesitation, took her in his arms and kissed her on the lips. “Thank you, Engie,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything!”
Evangeline smiled and pulled him by the ear. “Be off with you, young man. You have a story to write.”
As the two men walked down the steps and into the street, Bill turned to observe, “Your performance tonight, Miss LeClair, puts me in mind of another clever lady who once furthered the cause of justice. To paraphrase the immortal bard... ,” he spread his arms wide in a theatrical gesture and intoned, “‘Most worthy lady, I and my friend have by your wisdom been this day acquitted... And stand indebted, over and above, in love and service to you evermore.’”
Evangeline, who still stood leaning in the doorway, laughed. “Ah, The Merchant of Venice. One of my favorites. I see you’ve taken a liberty with the gender as I will with the pronoun since Portia was, after all, a ‘she’ disguised as a ‘he.’ ‘She is well paid that is well satisfied; And I, delivering you, am satisfied and therein do account myself well paid.’”
Bill stared at her, speechless.
“Close your mouth, Bill,” Freddie said laconically. “You weren’t the only victim of a classical education at this dinner party.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Bill chuckled and dug around in his pocket for a cigar as he turned back toward the street.
Evangeline called after them worriedly. “Freddie, don’t drink too much or you’ll wake up with a headache instead of a headline.”
She shut the door and walked back into the foyer where Jack stood grinning at her. She smiled in return. “Yes, a most satisfactory evening, I think. Now what to do about the leftovers?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully as she strode off to the kitchen.
Chapter 28—Sins Of Omission
&
nbsp; When she came down to breakfast the following morning, Evangeline found a copy of the Gazette lying next to her coffee cup. The front-page headline blared, “Wealthy Banker Accused of Murder! Mast House Accountant Implicated in Scandal!”
“Bill Mason, you are indeed a man of your word.” Evangeline sipped her coffee and read the purple prose account of the apprehension of two dangerous felons penned by one Frederick Simpson. Once she had digested both the story and her breakfast, she went to wake Rosa Grandinetti for a lengthy chat about matters past and future.
***
After Evangeline finished restoring domestic order, she telephoned the Van Buren Street police station to speak to Superintendent Flint. Given the fact that she’d allowed him to take credit for solving the crime, he was most cooperative in giving her the details of the little scene that unfolded downtown after the arrest.
As Evangeline had expected, the weak link in the chain proved to be Sidley. Once taken into custody, he agreed to confess his own part in the crime in exchange for a lesser charge. He confirmed Evangeline’s theories and added the appalling news that it was he, not Blackthorne, who had attempted to push her down the bluff in Shore Cliff. Equally appalling was his admission that he and Blackthorne both shared in the “sport,” as he called it, after their victims were drugged. For his part, Blackthorne admitted to being in Elsa’s hotel room the night she died, but insisted that she was still alive when he left via the fire escape. Both men denied murdering anyone including their first victim, the unfortunate Janet Stewart.
***
After satisfying her grim curiosity regarding the details of the crime, Evangeline wanted to satisfy her curiosity regarding Franz’s release. She decided to go personally to City Jail to see if he’d received the news yet.
As she came through the doors, she was amazed to see that the prison waiting room was swarming with reporters, police, firemen, and curiosity seekers. A uniformed guard was trying to hold the crowd at bay. Evangeline was startled to see Bill Mason at the head of a pack of newshounds yelping for information. She walked up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Mr. Mason, what’s happened here?”
The reporter turned with a worried scowl, which relaxed only slightly when he saw who was standing by his side. “I’m afraid it’s bad news about your friend, Miss LeClair.”
“Franz? What in God’s name has happened now!”
Bill shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Here, why don’t we sit down.” He led her to one of the benches in the waiting room. “You know how things operate in this town. The coppers are quick enough to round up suspects, but they drag their feet when it comes to letting them go. They call it ‘paperwork.’ Anyway, the guards were on their way up to his cell about an hour ago to process his release when they heard the explosion.”
“The what?” Evangeline could barely make herself grasp the inevitable conclusion.
“He’s done away with himself.”
“How?”
“Stuck a dynamite charge in his mouth and lit it. That’s how.” Bill shook his head in disbelief. “Of all the crazy, fool ways to die. He blew the top of his head clean off. From what the cops tell me, it was a mess.”
“Like Louis Lingg,” Evangeline whispered in shock.
“That’s right, another crazy anarchist. The parallel wasn’t lost on your friend either, because he wrote a message on the wall of his cell before he died.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Evangeline recalled the words sadly. “‘The day will come when our silence will be more powerful than the voices you strangle today.’”
Bill nodded. “I covered the Haymarket trial and execution. Those were August Spies’ last words from the scaffold before he was hanged.”
Evangeline removed her gloves and distractedly twisted them around her fingers. “Why couldn’t he have held on just a little while longer? Why was he so willing to believe that this was the only way out?”
Bill sighed and patted her hand comfortingly. “Miss LeClair, there are some men who are determined to die for a cause, even if they have to make one up out of thin air. Franz Bauer certainly seemed like the type.”
“How ironic,” she murmured, half to herself. “They were twins—Franz and Elsa. Twin destinies as well, it would seem.”
“I just can’t figure who would be crazy enough to smuggle explosives into his cell.” Bill rubbed his chin speculatively.
“I can!” Evangeline’s voice was bitter. “If you talk to Otto Schuler of the Sozialistische Tageszeitung, I’m sure he’ll have a statement that he’s eager to share with the world. I’ve no doubt he’ll use the event to his political advantage somehow.”
“Ah... ,” the reporter said, drawing wordless conclusions.
Evangeline sat very still, feeling nerveless and limp.
Bill gave her a worried look. “Miss LeClair, would you like me to escort you back home? There’s really nothing more you can do here. Nothing much anybody can do here now.”
Despair threatened to engulf her but she stopped herself. She could help no one by giving in to it. “You’re right, Bill. There’s nothing more to be done here.” She stood up, declining the assistance of his hand. “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll be fine. A walk will clear my head.”
He rose to accompany her to the door.
“It would be better for me to salvage what remains.” She drew on her gloves decisively. “As far as I’m concerned, there are now two deaths to lay at the door of Messrs. Sidley and Blackthorne. I intend to see them pay for this!”
Chapter 29—Judgment Day
Evangeline’s grim wish for the fate of Sidley and Blackthorne was to be granted. By late January of 1894, the trial was over and Blackthorne was convicted of murder and sentenced to hang. Sidley was convicted of being an accessory to the murder and sentenced to thirty years in Joliet State Prison.
The icy sleet of February gave way to the dogwood blossoms of April. These in turn gave way to the steam-wilted begonias of July, which in turn gave way to the scorched grass of August. During this time the Blackthorne family had appealed the verdict to a higher court to no avail. They even petitioned the governor for clemency and were turned down. After every other option had failed, an execution date was finally set. On Tuesday, August 28, 1894, in the prison courtyard, Jonathan Blackthorne would meet his death by hanging.
Evangeline belatedly made a decision to speak to him one last time. A week before his execution, she was admitted to a dim corridor in City Jail to see what remained of Blackthorne. The only source of light came from the glazed and barred windows above the catwalk down which Evangeline passed. There was no sound of other inmates because Blackthorne was caged on the fifth tier of the jail—an area normally reserved for prisoners in solitary confinement. When they approached the bars, the guard made no move to unlock the cell door. Evangeline motioned to the man to let her in.
“Are you sure, ma'am?” the guard asked in a shocked tone.
“Quite sure.”
The guard undid the lock and announced the presence of a lady to the man in the cell. Then he shut the door behind him and drew back out of earshot.
Evangeline stood with her back pressed against the bars of the cage and peered into the interior. Her eyes hadn't adjusted yet to the darkness. She moved forward cautiously and strained to see into the shadows. The cell was narrow and deep.
“Jonathan?” she whispered.
A darker shadow separated itself from the back wall and moved toward her. “Who’s there?”
She said nothing.
As he moved into the light, he recognized his visitor. “Hello, ma belle. I didn’t expect to see you here. Did you fear the sight of me on a scaffold wouldn't afford you sufficient amusement, and you had to indulge in bating me personally before my execution?”
“That’s not it at all, Jonathan.” Evangeline instinctively retreated toward the door. She noted a marked change in his appearance. Gone was the formality of a buttoned vest and pr
ecisely knotted cravat. Given the oppressive heat outside and the stifling, airless cell, she hardly wondered why. His hair had begun to gray prematurely. The hollow circles under his eyes suggested that sleep didn't visit him easily or often. However, his attitude seemed unchanged since their last meeting—still the same air of calculated composure.
He advanced and grasped the bars of his cell. “Then why have you come, Engie?”
Evangeline didn't move. She studied his face for several seconds before replying. “I want to know what happened."
Blackthorne raised a corner of his mouth in a crooked smile. “You have pages and pages of trial transcripts to tell you that, my dear.”
She shook her head. “No, that isn’t what I meant and you know it. I want to hear it from you.”
Blackthorne let go of the bars and walked toward the far wall. He threw his head back and laughed. Peering at his visitor from the shadows, he said, “I didn’t kill anyone. Don’t you believe me?”
“You tried to kill me.”
Blackthorne strolled back toward her and leaned down until their faces were nearly touching. “You really do believe the worst of me, don't you? You're convinced that I orchestrated that disaster on the Ferris wheel along with everything else." He straightened his shoulders and retorted, “Perhaps you ought to ask yourself why I would attempt to kill a woman I love!”
“Love me!" Evangeline exclaimed in disbelief. “You're very free with that word! I'm sure you told Elsa you loved her, too. Why do you persist in lying even now, when it can't possibly matter?"
Jonathan whispered urgently, “Why do you persist in believing I'm such a black-hearted rogue?”
“You’ll have to forgive me for doubting your virtue.” She folded her arms truculently across her chest. “Your crimes are a matter of public record. Why would you stick at attempting to kill a woman who doubts your love when you showed so little restraint in killing one who believed in it?”
The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) Page 29
