Crooked in His Ways

by S. M. Goodwin

  Jasper took out Vogel’s picture. “Have you seen this man?”

  Sanger squinted at the picture and then nodded. “That’s Adolphus Vogel, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Where d-did you see him?”

  Sanger scratched his head and then shrugged. “Oh, well, in the paper, I guess.”

  “Never in p-person?”

  “Hmmm.” He stared at the picture and then shook his head. “Nope, I don’t think so. His ugly mug was in the paper when he bought the old glue pier.”

  “Glue pier?”

  “Sure, right near Peter Cooper’s glue factory. Cooper sold it and the rights to the Burling Slip along with it. Vogel owns that now. He’s renovating the old building and moving his office from Abattoir Row.” Sanger laughed. “Can’t blame him for that, can you? Anyhow, I’ve seen his carriage there—a huge thing with four bloody outriders—at all times of the day and night. Word is the rich bastard works day and night.” Sanger chuckled drunkenly. “I guess I should probably watch what I say about him.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “He’s my boss now, too.”

  “I b-beg your pardon?” Jasper said.

  “Vogel—last year he became the major shareholder in the Metropolitan Line.”

  * * *

  Hy took off his hat and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “This is … well, this is somethin’ else, sir.”

  “Indeed it is. I believe we have enough to get a w-warrant.”

  Hy heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thank God. I was worried you might want to detain him on suspicion.” While that was the usual method the coppers at the Eighth employed, it wouldn’t hold water if a wealthy man with a team of lawyers got involved.

  Lightner chuckled. “No, I think Mr. Vogel will be tr-tr-trouble enough—and then some.”

  “I’m not sure he’ll come with a warrant.”

  “That’s p-p-possible,” Lightner admitted. “Especially since M-Mayor Wood’s recent behavior demonstrates there is no punishment for such behavior.”

  Only a few weeks earlier Mayor Wood had thrown the chief of police out of City Hall on his arse when he’d showed up with not one, but two warrants for Wood’s arrest. So, arrest warrants apparently weren’t for the rich or mighty.

  And Adolphus Vogel was a hell of a lot richer and more powerful than Wood.

  “But we shall have to cr-cross that bridge when we get to it,” Lightner said.

  “You need me to go with you, sir?”

  “There is n-no need for two of us. Why don’t you speak to somebody at Vogel Distributing and see if you can g-g-get any more information on just what they delivered? It would be nice to get that crate tied to his company, although I doubt he’d be so f-foolish as to leave such a trail.”

  Hy nodded. “It’ll probably take you at least a couple hours to get the warrant. Do you want me to track Vogel down after I’m done with the delivery place?”

  Lightner chewed his lip, frowning. “I don’t want you confronting him alone, Detective.”

  Hy laughed. “Don’t worry, sir—I don’t want to confront him alone.”

  “Let’s just m-meet over at his offices—Abattoir Row, is it?” He paused. “I know it’s l-l-late, but according to S-Sanger he works a lot. If he’s n-not there then we can try him at the pr-premises of the new office, and then at his home if he’s at neither of those. Do you have a g-gun?”

  “No, sir.” There’d been talk of the new Metropolitan Police arming their coppers, but right now the new police force was just trying to stay in business.

  Lightner bent down and did something near his ankle, beneath his trouser cuff. When he stood, he had a pretty little walnut and silver pistol in his palm.

  “I’ve heard of those—a derringer, isn’t it?” Hy asked.

  “Yes. It’s single shot and the r-range is rubbish, but it’s better than n-n-nothing.”

  Hy reached out, but then hesitated. “What about you, sir?”

  “I’ve got a sp-sp-spare.”

  Hy took the gun and familiarized himself with it. It looked more like a child’s toy than an actual weapon, but he knew the .41 caliber bullet was deadly enough.

  He glanced up to find Lightner waving down a hackney. “You reckon we should meet down there at nine? Will that be enough time?”

  “I should think so.”

  “Billings ain’t workin’ tonight,” Hy said, sure the other man would take his meaning: that he’d likely get no help at the Eighth.

  A carriage rolled to a stop and Lightner turned to him. “I’m n-not going to the station, Detective.” Lightner’s lips curved into a sly smile at Hy’s questioning look. “Superintendent Tallmadge has t-told me repeatedly to ask for help if I n-n-need it. I’ve decided to t-take him up on his offer.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “You have to be arrogant or stupid or both to come down to my world at night. Alone.”

  Jasper recognized Vogel’s voice but couldn’t see its owner until the bigger man stepped out of a dimly lighted shack and strode toward the waterfront, like Hades emerging from the underworld.

  Judging by the eye-watering odor and damp greasy cloud that filled the air, there was either fat rendering or gut cleaning taking place inside the building.

  The slaughterhouses were a misery of crying animals and choking stench that ran for blocks. Mountains of manure dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see.

  Which, granted, wasn’t far, because a heavy yellow-brown fug clung to the single gas lamp that flickered at the entry to the abattoir pier. Right beside Vogel, grinning like a hellish minion, was Detective Featherstone.

  Jasper smiled. “Ah, M-M-Mr. Vogel, just the man I was looking for.”

  “Come to admire my empire, my lord?”

  Before Jasper could answer, a wagon came down Thirty-Ninth Street. The carriage didn’t halt until it rolled onto the wooden slats of the pier. Two men hopped down. One had a gun and one held a big roll of oilcloth, which he laid on the ground beside the wagon.

  Jasper ignored the men and turned to Featherstone. “I w-wish I could say I’m surprised to find you here, b-but at least your behavior is consistent.”

  Featherston sneered, smacking his police baton in the palm of one hand. “I’m s-s-s-s-sorry to d-d-disappoint you.”

  The two men roared as they leaned against the side of a big white caravan with Vogel’s Fine Meats painted across the side in fancy gold script.

  “Now, now,” Vogel said, laughing as well. “Let’s keep things civil for his lordship. We don’t want to give him the wrong idea about us Americans.” Vogel gestured to the wagon. “Isn’t she a beauty? I own ten of them and I can fit six sides of beef or ten whole hogs in it,” Vogel said, as if Jasper had asked.

  The big butcher began to unbutton his sack coat. “It’s got plenty of room inside for one scrawny aristocrat.” He grinned and Jasper had to admit it was less than pleasant.

  Jasper turned to Featherstone, who’d taken a step closer and was still smacking his baton.

  “I’ll give you one l-last chance to make the right decision and recall the oath y-you took as a p-policeman. I have a warrant for this man’s arrest. He will likely hang for m-murder, with or without me. If you assist in his arrest, I shall m-m-make sure word gets to White Street.”

  All four men laughed—it was a quite a merry crew—but, yet again, it was Vogel who laughed the longest and loudest. “Mr. Featherstone works for me now, Lightner. He’s come up in the world. I can’t say the same for you—you’re about to go down. About six feet down, I reckon.” The three men smirked appreciatively at their employer’s jest.

  Vogel shrugged out of his coat, tossed it to Featherstone, and then began to open his cuffs and roll up his sleeves.

  Jasper hoped to God the man wasn’t planning to strip much further.

  Vogel turned to the two men against the wagon and gave a sharp nod. “You keep an eye—and gun—on his lordship, Gerry. Go ahead, Victor.”

  Victor—the man not ho
lding the gun—bent to the roll of oilcloth he’d just set on the ground. Jasper knew what was in it before Victor unrolled it, exposing metal tools that glinted and gleamed under the gas lighting.

  “I might be a wealthy man now, but I always come down to the slaughterhouses at least once a week and get my hands bloody,” Vogel boasted. “I’m something of an expert and I can kill, gut, and dress any animal you give me—any animal, my lord.” He grinned. “You could say I’ve made a study of efficient, wasteless killing. This collection of tools is unlike any other.”

  Victor plucked out a narrow tool—perhaps eighteen inches long, not including the stout wooden handle—and wordlessly brought it to Vogel, who displayed the knife, making the sullen yellow gaslight glint off the wicked blade.

  “I’ll wager you’ve not seen one of these before, my lord.”

  “I believe it is a b-boarding knife.” Jasper couldn’t help taking some pleasure at the man’s gawping. He couldn’t fully enjoy the moment, however, because he was wondering where the hell Law was.

  Jasper was half an hour late. Law should have been here, waiting. Although Tallmadge had been happy to accommodate Jasper’s warrant request, albeit with no small amount of shock, Jasper had first needed to track the man all the way up to Twenty-Second Street.

  “I’m man enough to admit when I’m wrong,” Vogel said, flicking the long knife back and forth in front of his thick body with unexpected facility. “You’re right; this is a boarding knife—of sorts. You see, this is something special I designed after several years spent living on a whaler. Butchering is always hard work, my lord, but nothing compares to whaling. Most men don’t last more than a few years—they physically wear out. I labored for five years on a whaler, worked my way up to harpooner. It’s a brutal way to make money. But I’ll tell you this for nothin’—any job after whaling is easy. We’d stay out six, eight months, twenty men crammed together in a fo’c’sle that was slimier and filthier than any of my slaughter pens.” He shifted his jaw from side to side, nodding. “But I did it. And I came back with enough money to buy my first shop.”

  Jasper wondered if Vogel was going to talk him into a stupor before killing him and dressing his corpse.

  Still, he was hardly in a hurry.

  “You should’ve seen my first wife.” Vogel said, his grin so vile that it made Jasper feel dirty just looking at him. “I wasn’t always so lucky as I am now. Della was the daughter of the owner of the third shop I bought. Marryin’ old Della was part of the deal, her pa said. She was old, too—a good decade older than me. She was also horse-faced, mean, and as barren as one of those African deserts you read about. After she passed on to her final reward—God save her soul—I knew what I’d have next.” He nodded as if Jasper had spoken. “I’d have the best—because now I can afford the best.”

  The longer the man talked, the better. So Jasper obliged him. “And your w-wife is the best?”

  Vogel leered. “My wife was the most sought-after woman in this city. Hell, probably in the entire state—and she’s mine, a thoroughbred who’ll bear my child, bought and paid for as surely as any other animal I own. She’s chaffing at the bit right now, my lord, but I’ll break her to bridle—of that you can be certain. Under the law, she belongs to me. Short of killing her, I’m within my rights to use whatever discipline I see fit to bring her to heel.” The brutal humor in his face drained away. “And I don’t need a smug foreign bastard stickin’ his nose into my business.”

  He was breathing heavily, his barrel-shaped body vibrating with fury. “You were so eager to give Featherstone a chance that I reckon I’ll give you a chance.”

  “I’m n-n-not going to change my mind about arresting you for the m-murder of Anita Fowler.”

  Vogel chuckled. “Oh, I already guessed that. You’ve got that look about you; you’ve dug in like a wood tick and won’t let go. And there’s only one way to get rid of a tick.” He let those ominous words hover in the humid air for a moment.

  “The evidence against you w-w-will not die with me, Mr. Vogel. The superintendent himself granted the warrant for your arrest. You w-will go to jail with or without me.”

  Vogel grinned. “So, then, I might as well get the pleasure of killin’ you, shouldn’t I?”

  Jasper couldn’t fault his logic.

  Vogel took a step closer. “Tell me where my wife is.”

  “Why would I do that if you are g-going to kill me?”

  “Because I’ll make sure you go nice and fast. We both know I’m right handy with this blade. One quick punch to the back of your skull and you’ll never know what hit you.”

  “Like Miss Fowler?”

  “Just like Miss Fowler,” Vogel agreed. “Except this time there won’t be a body for anyone to find. That was a mistake I made.”

  The man’s easy admission was chilling. He really believed he would get away with not only one murder, but two, and was not bothered in the least by admitting to it in front of four other people, certain that his wealth would protect him, shield him from punishment.

  Jasper hated to admit it, but it was looking more and more like Vogel was right.

  “What is the other option y-you mentioned?” Jasper asked.

  Vogel gave a startled laugh. “Well, I’ll be. You look like a sissy, but you’ve got spine. Too bad I know how to rip out a man’s spine as easily as butchering a steer. I’ll cut you into pieces—starting at your feet and workin’ up—and feed you to my hogs. Which is what I shoulda done with Miss Fowler.”

  “Why d-didn’t you?” Jasper asked, genuinely interested.

  “I wanted to send a message to her partner in crime—let him know what waited for any blackmailer.”

  “She had a p-p-partner?”

  “I know she did,” Vogel scoffed. “No woman could plan and pull off such a thing by herself. Besides, the bitch didn’t have my glove with her when she came to collect her money. No doubt her partner held on to it, thinkin’ to bilk me for all time.”

  “Who would her partner be?” Jasper asked.

  “Whoever killed Beauchamp.”

  Jasper blinked in surprise. “I thought y-y-you killed him.”

  Vogel snorted. “I can’t take credit for that—although I certainly wanted to kill him.”

  “So why p-pay the m-money if you didn’t kill him?”

  Vogel scowled. “Because they had enough to drag me into the muck—which meant Helen would get dragged in, too. And it all started with Helen, didn’t it?” His lips twisted with fury and disgust. “Everyone would want to know what Helen was doing with that swine; her depravity would make the front page of every paper in the city.” He seemed to shake himself. “Now, your time is up. What’s it going to be?”

  Jasper decided to play his last card. “You’d b-better be quick as I’m expecting company right about n-now.”

  Vogel’s eyes widened, and then he slapped his fat belly and laughed. His hilarity seemed genuine, as did that of his men.

  Once Vogel was able to get his mirth under control he nodded to Victor, who opened the back of the meat wagon.

  “Don’t try anything or I’ll blow your head off,” Victor said to somebody inside.

  And then he pulled out none other than Hieronymus Law.

  CHAPTER 36

  As Hy sat in the goddamned meat wagon, trussed up like a prize hog, he couldn’t decide who he hated more: himself or Featherstone and his bastard cronies.

  How many times in his life did people have to sneak up on him before he learned to watch his back?

  Although—judging by the fact that Vogel had made sure Hy knew who’d taken him—Hy wouldn’t live much longer to learn anything new.

  Meat wagons were made with triple thick walls, and the metal trays above and below him—to carry ice and keep hanging meat cool—added even more insulation. Nobody would have heard Hy, even if he hadn’t been gagged.

  His only chance was to loosen the rope tying his wrists.

  Featherstone had done the tying, rig
ht after he’d lured Hy—foolishly—into one of the swill-milk rooms. The stench of the sour, rancid milk in the vats had made Hy ill and he’d been close to puking when Vogel’s thugs jumped him. The two other men had held Hy while Featherstone had delivered a beating.

  It was lucky for Hy that Featherstone hit like a girl.

  Actually, that wasn’t quite true—Hy knew a few women who threw one hell of a punch.

  Anyhow, based on Featherstone’s knot tying, he wasn’t much of a hand in the rope department, either.

  Hy twisted and pulled and stretched until the ropes were bloody. That was fine as it made the harsh rope slippery. His hands hurt so damned bad that he had to take frequent breaks, but if he just had a little more—

  One side of the double doors swung open and the man Vogel had called Victor grabbed Hy’s upper arm and yanked.

  Victor was a big bastard, but he would have had to yank harder if Hy hadn’t been so goddamned interested in getting the hell out of the meat wagon. He also didn’t want to give Victor a reason to check on the rope around his wrists.

  Hy forgot all about his hands when he saw who was standing a few feet across from Vogel.

  “Hallo, D-Detective.” Lightner smiled at him, looking as if they were greeting one another over tea and Mrs. Freedman’s delicious almond cake.

  Hy, gagged so tightly his tongue was shoved halfway down his throat, could only stare, hoping like hell that Lightner could see what he would say if he could talk: that he was ready for whatever plan the Englishman might have; all Lightner needed to do was give the word.

  Lightner gave an almost imperceptible nod and turned back to Vogel, who was holding something that looked like a short, skinny sword. Hy could guess what it was.

  “Is this the help you were expecting?” Vogel asked, laughing.

  Lightner gave his cane a spin, and Vogel’s eyes dipped to the plain pewter handle; Hy’s heart pounded in his chest. Oh yes, he remembered this particular walking stick.

  “You can toss that stick aside,” Vogel said.

  “Why sh-should I do that?”