Thursday's Child (Out of Time #5)

by Monique Martin

  Catherine had already heard the stories about the body's discovery and suspected the police would do little to solve the case. She was not only willing to help them uncover the truth, she was eager to. Any opportunity to help a downtrodden woman, she'd said, was one she couldn't ignore. If anything, Catherine was positively electrified by the idea. The only thing that had kept her from going along herself had been Abraham's promise to tag along after them. They knew he wasn't doing it for them, but to protect Catherine from herself, which was apparently a full-time job.

  Elizabeth laughed as she heard Simon's voice in her head. Something about a pot and a kettle. She tugged on her jacket and refocused. She might have been an idealist, but she wasn't stupid. It was a risky plan. Despite a part of her being excited at the prospect of getting to do something and finally being free of her dang repressive clothes, she knew there were genuine risks involved.

  She let out a breath and looked at herself in the mirror again when a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

  “Come in,” she said, knowing it was Simon.

  He came into their room and closed the door. She could see his frown in the mirror as he walked up behind her. His dark wool suit and an old brown frock coat marked him as a man from the middle class, a low merchant. He held a short brimmed hat in one hand and tapped it against his thigh as he stared at their reflection. A surly man and his idiot son stared back.

  Simon shook his head. “I'm not sure this is wise.”

  Elizabeth turned to face him. “Since when has that stopped us?”

  “That is hardly a comfort.”

  At the appointed time, they snuck downstairs. While the Colonel had graciously allowed them to stay at Cypress Hill, they somehow doubted he'd condone their little late-night excursion. The stairs creaked under them with every step, but they managed to escape without being detected. They met Abraham by the back door and started their half-mile walk to the police station.

  It was well after midnight when they turned the last corner. They'd crossed paths with barely a handful of men, most of whom were drunk or well on their way to being. A few solitary horses and draft carts trundled past, but in the darkness of the night, no one paid them any heed. There were no street lamps, so staying in the shadows was not difficult.

  The police station was housed in a nondescript two-story brick building on the edge of town. They'd cased the area earlier in the day and discovered that the room that served as a morgue at the jail had its entrance at the back in a narrow alley between the station and a barbershop.

  Simon instructed Abraham to remain at the mouth of the alley to warn them if anyone approached. For a moment, Elizabeth thought he might try to convince her to take the post instead, but if he'd considered it, he'd wisely kept the idea to himself.

  Simon made his way as stealthily down the alley as he could. No matter how cautiously he stepped though, his footfalls resonated loudly in the echo chamber of the narrow alley. If they weren't careful, they were going to get caught before they even got started.

  “All right?” he whispered once he was at her side.

  Elizabeth nodded and knelt down in front of the door. The lock was simple enough, but not one she'd ever worked on before. Her “Uncle Tony” had taught her how to pick locks. He also taught her how to palm dice, mark cards and deal from the bottom of the deck. Growing up in the back of pool halls had its advantages. Now, she was ready to put some of that knowledge to use as she studied the keyhole and judged the striker. Old locks like these didn't have tumblers, so the usual picks wouldn't be any good; she needed something to work the lever inside the ratchet.

  She patted her pockets and found two large hairpins. They were long, but the tips were wrong. She was just about to bend one into a crook when Simon tapped her shoulder.

  “Just a sec,” she said.

  “Elizabeth,” Simon said with another tap.

  “What?” she said, turning impatiently.

  A key dangled between his index finger and thumb. She stood. “You have the key”?”

  “I have a key,” he said and pulled out a handful of others. “Abraham culled these from various places at Cypress Hill and suggested we bring them.”

  Elizabeth scrunched up her face in disappointment.

  Simon took a small key from his palm. “I'm sure we'll find something else for you to burgle before long,” he said as he slid the key into the hole and turned. It moved freely, but was too small to catch the ratchet and move the bolt.

  Elizabeth looked nervously down the alley and saw Abraham leaning casually against the wall, his hat tipped forward over his eyes. It was a risk for him just being out seemingly alone at this time of night. There were some free blacks in Natchez at the time, but she somehow doubted their loitering presence would be anymore welcome than a slave's.

  It took two more tries before Simon found the right sized key. The bolt slid back with an audible thunk that echoed loudly and unnervingly down the alley. Gently, he eased open the door. Elizabeth went in first, moving carefully into the darkness. The stench was immediate and overwhelming. It was a mixture of chemicals and rotting flesh and not one she would ever forget. She covered her nose and tried to see in the dark. But there were no windows and not a scrap of light entered the room once Simon closed the door. She heard his footsteps and then felt him as he bumped into her from behind.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  She heard him strike a match and the small glow from it lit their corner of the room. He held the match in front of him until he found an oil lamp. He lit the wick and then put it on the desk in the corner.

  The room wasn't very large, perhaps fifteen feet across with a tile floor. Shelves with various bottles and crates lined the wall opposite the desk. Filing cabinets were against the other, and a door to the jail rounded out the scene.

  In the middle of the room sat a long narrow table. On top of it lay a body wrapped in a dirty white sheet. Mud and things Elizabeth didn't want to contemplate stained the lower half and seeped through the fabric like bruises at pressure points. The body had been bound with ropes about the ankles and midsection like some grotesque present.

  “Check the files first,” Simon said.

  They rifled through the files as quickly and as quietly as they could. The only record they found was the paper Simon had seen earlier. There was no other trace of the case at all.

  “Nothing,” Elizabeth said and then cast a nervous glance at Simon who nodded grimly and approached the body. The excitement from the start of the night wore off quickly and was replaced with a growing sense of dread.

  His hands hovered over the sheet for a moment, fingers flexing, until he let out a breath and untucked the top edge of the sheet from its bindings. As soon as he unfolded the sheet, the stench in the room increased tenfold and Elizabeth felt the urge to wretch, but fought it down.

  “I'll need the light,” Simon said.

  Elizabeth picked up the oil lamp and walked around to the other side of the body. She held the lamp over the woman's head, what was left of it. She'd seen some horrible things. King Kashian's death, a man shot, but she'd never seen anything like this. Her stomach lurched and she had to look away.

  She could hear the sticky sound as the fabric was pulled away from something it had adhered to. Simon groaned and pushed out a quick breath. “I know I saw a necklace,” he said.

  Elizabeth couldn't leave him to face this alone and turned back to look. The woman's head was displaced, sitting just off center, her hollow eyes staring into nothingness. Her shoulder looked dislocated.

  “Was she so…apart when you saw her?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Some, but not like this.”

  Obviously, little care had been taken to preserve her or any evidence when they'd transported the body. There was no CSI: Natchez.

  “Maybe it fell down there when they moved her,” Elizabeth suggested waving her hand in the general direction of the woman's neck.

  Simon nodded and took out
his handkerchief. Slowly and carefully, Simon moved the woman's hair aside. “More light,” he said.

  Elizabeth walked around to the head of the table and held the lamp where Simon was focused. “There,” he said in triumph.

  Elizabeth leaned forward. She could barely make out the glint of something metal.

  Simon quickly went to the desk and found a pencil. Then, like some twisted game of Operation, he reached down into the skeleton with it and hooked the end around the chain. Carefully, he lifted the chain up until it dangled and danced in the light.

  “They must have missed it,” Elizabeth said.

  “Or didn't care enough to find it,” Simon said. He wrapped it up in his handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. “Come on.”

  Elizabeth put the lamp back where Simon had found it while he rewrapped the body. Once he was finished and positioned at the door, she blew out the flame. He opened the door and after checking to make sure the coast was clear, they hurried out of the morgue and into the alley. The night seemed positively bright and cheery by comparison.

  Abraham pushed off the wall and started down the alley toward them. Simon fumbled with the keys in his pocket to find one to relock the door. Just as he found the right key and locked the door, footsteps came from the street at the far end of the alley.

  Abraham put his hand on Simon's arm to still his movements. Even in the dark, the silhouettes of two police officers were unmistakable. Elizabeth held her breath as the two men walked casually by arguing about whether Tom Hyer or Yankee Sullivan was the better fighter. They'd almost passed completely when one of them turned around to show Sullivan's jab when he froze in mid punch.

  “You!” he called out. “What are you doin' down there?”

  His partner followed his gaze and the two started down the alley toward them.

  “Run,” Abraham said in a hoarse whisper.

  Both Simon and Elizabeth turned to him in a panic.

  “Now,” he said. “Run!”

  Elizabeth didn't need to be told twice, except of course that she had been, and took off as fast as her feet would carry her. Sadly, that was not very fast. Between the oversized boots she wore and having skipped Pilates classes for the last year or three, she was painfully slow. She felt Simon pull up at her side and heard the clamor of other footsteps behind.

  Suddenly, Abraham was with them, clearly scrubbing his speed to accommodate for theirs, or hers. “Left,” he urged them in a coarse whisper.

  When the alley dead-ended into the street, they took a sharp left and ran as fast as they could. Simon reached out and grabbed ahold of Elizabeth's arm, trying to pull her along faster. The contact threw her off her stride and it was a miracle they didn't fall to the pavement in a tangle of limbs and regret.

  She knew Simon and every hero in every movie nearly always grabbed onto the woman's arm or hand in a chivalrous, I'll not leave you behind! way, but all it really managed to do was turn running away into some three-legged race with arms.

  Elizabeth had just managed to find a good rhythm again when Abraham gave them another instruction. All she could hear was “wall”, but she saw Simon nod and trusted him to know what the heck that meant.

  Almost seconds after their first sharp turn, Simon made another, this time, pulling her along with him. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could see Abraham turn the other way. But there wasn't time to ask any questions.

  She and Simon slid to a halt in front of a six-foot tall granite wall. Elizabeth looked at him in a panic. Had he misunderstood? They were trapped!

  Simon laced his hands together and turned to her. “Hurry!”

  Elizabeth could hear the officers' footsteps, but didn't dare look back. Every second counted. She put her foot into the stirrup of Simon's hands. Bracing herself on his shoulder, he heaved and she felt herself fly up and over the wall like a human caber. She landed with a thud on the hard ground on the other side. Not exactly catlike, she barely had time to roll over and out of the way as Simon appeared at the top of the wall and vaulted down next to her.

  She waited for Abraham to appear, but he didn't. She looked at Simon in a panic and he shook his head.

  What the hell had happened?

  They huddled up against the cold stone and listened. Elizabeth tried to control her rapid breathing. She was definitely signing up for a Zumba class when they got back. She could just make out the sound of footfalls echoing off into the distance. Simon waved for her to stay put and then slowly stood. Using the cover of one of the trees on their side of the wall, he peered cautiously over before kneeling down next to her. They waited in silence crouched down in the bushes for a minute that moved so slowly it virtually limped along as with a broken leg.

  He took her hand and urged her to move quickly and quietly along the length of the wall. Elizabeth followed him and realized they'd jumped into someone's yard. She looked around in the darkness. Please, don't have dogs. Please, don't have dogs.

  Either the family didn't or they were sound sleepers because Simon and Elizabeth managed to run the length of the yard undetected. When they arrived at the far end of the wall, Simon peeked over the edge again. “Clear,” he whispered and laced his fingers together again.

  This time, he merely lifted her up until she could clamber onto the top of the wall. He lifted himself up with annoying ease and flipped one leg over. He helped slow her descent to the other side as she slid down the wall to the street and then leapt down to join her.

  “Where's Abraham?” Elizabeth asked as they tried to get their bearings.

  “He led them off the other way.”

  Elizabeth felt a wave of guilt. He shouldn't have come in the first place. If they caught him, it would all be their fault. She shook her head; there would be time for recriminations later. Now, they had to get the heck out of here. She took quick measure of the streets. She recognized it. She'd come this way when she'd visited Dr. Walker's. “This way,” she said and they walked as quickly as they could away from the mess they'd made and back to Cypress Hill.

  Catherine was waiting for them on the back porch when they arrived. She smiled with relief when she saw them, but it faded quickly. She hurried down the steps and peered out into the darkness of the back yard. “Where's Abraham?”

  “We ran into a spot of trouble,” Simon said in that uniquely British way of understating really bad things.

  “We'd almost gotten away,” Elizabeth said, “and then these two police officers showed up.”

  Catherine stepped forward, her face drawn and pale. “Did they catch him?”

  “No,” Simon said. “I don’t think so. We ran and he led them away. Gave us a chance to escape.”

  Despite her worry, Catherine smiled. “That's Abraham.”

  “He was much faster than they were,” Simon assured her. “I'm sure he lost them.”

  “I hope so. If they catch him…” she said and then let out a shaky breath. With an effort, she composed herself and ushered them back into the house. “You should change.”

  They agreed and made their way upstairs as quietly as they could.

  Once inside their room, they set about shedding their disguises.

  “Do you really think he made it?” Elizabeth asked.

  Simon nodded, but the worry on his face was plain.

  “If he gets caught, we'll come forward,” Elizabeth said. “He won't take the fall for us.”

  Simon rolled their dirty clothes into a ball and set them aside. “Yes, but I fear it won't spare him.”

  “But if he's—”

  “He's a slave, Elizabeth,” Simon said and then sat down heavily on the bed. “If he's caught I doubt it will matter what we say.”

  Elizabeth felt like she'd been slapped. She'd been so stupid. How had she not realized that? She'd been so used to thinking of people as people that she still hadn't digested the notion that, here, that was not the case.

  “We should never have let him come,” Simon said, the weight of it all clear in his
voice.

  Elizabeth sat down next to him and took his hand in hers. “Maybe he got away?”

  Simon nodded slowly. He patted her hand and stood, then bundled up their dirty clothes. “Maybe.”

  Once they'd changed back into their usual clothes and cleaned up a little, Simon and Elizabeth went back downstairs. They found Catherine sitting in the second parlor at the back of the house. She'd lit a single oil lamp and was sitting on the settee near the large bay window at the back of the house. She turned away from her vigil when they entered.

  “I'm sure he'll be along shortly,” Catherine said, forcing a smile to her face.

  Elizabeth sat down opposite her. “I'm sure.”

  Simon remained standing in a posture Elizabeth had come to recognize as “still pacing” — feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back and a far off look in his eyes. He was replaying it all in his head, just as she was. Self-reproach and worry mixing in equal parts.

  Simon might prefer silence's company to mindless chatter, but Elizabeth did not. She couldn't stand the “what ifs” that lurked in the quiet. “How long have you known Abraham?” she asked.

  Catherine smiled again, this one genuine and fond. “Nearly all of my life. We practically grew up together.” Her smile faded a bit. “As much as two in our positions can. We were very close until I went away to school.”

  Catherine turned away from the window and settled into the sofa. “I'm the youngest and only girl. When my mother died, my father sent me away to finishing school.” Her eyes held a hint of laughter and a little pain. “Apparently, I was unfinished. I think I still am.”

  “I'm not sure any of us are ever fully cooked,” Elizabeth said.

  Catherine laughed lightly. “You're right about that. I resisted my father's efforts to refine me and I found myself shuttled from one school to another. I finally ended up with my mother's sister in Connecticut where I attended Miss Porter's. One day, I heard Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, no relation I'm afraid, give a speech.”