Death on Telegraph Hill

by Shirley Tallman

  Samuel thought for a moment, then said, “You might try Gilbert Reese, of Reese and Markham.”

  “Aren’t they the lawyers who handled the defense for William Peters, the lumber tycoon?”

  “That’s right, last year,” said Samuel. “I’ve heard they’re very good.”

  “Yes, I’m sure they are.”

  He lowered his eyes, and I guessed what he was thinking. Reese and Markham were one of the most prestigious criminal law firms in the city. Judging by his humble cottage on Telegraph Hill, and the recent decline in subscribers due to Aleric’s efforts to put his newspaper out of business, I doubted he could afford such costly representation, even when it might mean his life.

  “Sanderson thinks I killed Aleric,” Remy blurted out. “He didn’t accuse me in so many words, but it was written clearly enough on his face. He said that the evidence against me was compelling.”

  I was filled with indignation that Sanderson would make such a statement, and on the very day his client was arrested and thrown into this pesthole. Whatever the man’s true feelings, his client was facing one of the most arduous ordeals of his life. He deserved loyalty and an open mind, not an automatic assumption of guilt.

  “Perhaps he doesn’t know you as well as we do,” I said. “My brother and I believe in your innocence. The evidence may appear compelling, but for the most part it’s circumstantial.” As I recalled my conversation with Samuel in the carriage, an idea occurred to me. “When was the last time you fired your revolver?”

  “What?” Remy looked confused.

  “Have you fired your Colt revolver lately?” I repeated. “If you haven’t discharged it recently,” I explained, “then you may be able to prove that the bullet that killed Aleric didn’t come from your gun.”

  Remy brightened at this possibility, then just as quickly deflated. “I shot at a skunk a day or two ago. Couldn’t get it out from under my porch. The damn thing stunk to high heaven.” He looked at us with renewed despair. “So it appears that won’t help me.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Samuel answered. “Although your revolver is a common enough weapon.”

  “Very common,” Remy said. “In fact, I know half a dozen residents on the Hill who have one. But that isn’t going to help me either, is it?”

  “No,” I said truthfully, “I’m afraid not. There must be something, though. Where were you last Wednesday evening, by the way?” George had already explained that he had no verifiable alibi, but I wanted Remy to tell us himself.

  “Well, I left the newspaper about eight o’clock,” he said, “and dined at a restaurant not far from my office. After that I went directly home, arriving there at about nine thirty or ten, as I recall.”

  “Did anyone see you? A neighbor, or a passerby?”

  He thought this over. “I don’t think so, at least I didn’t see anyone. Someone might have observed me walking up the hill, but if they did, they didn’t bother speaking to me.”

  I considered this. Even if someone had seen him making his way home, it would only prove that he had been there earlier in the evening. He could easily have left his house later, returning to town to attack Aleric after he left his friends. No, that wouldn’t help his case.

  “What time did you retire that night?” I asked.

  “Why, I’m not sure,” he said, looking puzzled. “Eleven o’clock, or perhaps as late as midnight. I honestly don’t recall. But what does it matter when I went to bed?”

  “It’s a matter of establishing a time frame,” I explained. “According to the police, Aleric’s friends last saw him leaving a restaurant sometime after midnight. And, of course, he didn’t return home. If your attorney could locate someone who saw your lamp being extinguished at that hour, it might at least lend some credence to your alibi.”

  “Yes, I see where you’re leading,” he said, another glimmer of hope lighting his eyes. “But how would one go about locating such a person? That is, if one exists.”

  I sighed. “I’m afraid the only way to do it properly is to inquire door-to-door.”

  “Good heavens,” he burst out. “That could take days.”

  “Yes, it could,” I answered honestly. “However, anything less than a complete survey of the neighborhood is apt to miss the very witness you hope to find.”

  Samuel gave a short laugh. “Don’t look so surprised, Mortimer. My sister has amazing perseverance, although some would call it pigheadedness. She will go to any lengths to sniff out a clue.”

  I ignored this. “Another tactic would be to question the employees of restaurants and clubs in the vicinity of the one Aleric and his friends frequented. He might have been seen hailing a cab, or perhaps talking to someone. He cannot have simply become invisible as he left the restaurant. It would be a great help to at least learn the direction in which he walked.”

  “But won’t the police be doing that?” he said.

  “Ha!” Samuel interjected. “You have a good deal more faith in that august force than do I. Of course, there are a number of good men in the department, but they haven’t the time or the resources to be in every place they’re needed.”

  “And I fear the department is already convinced of your guilt, Mr. Remy,” I added in a soft voice. Much as I hated to speak so bluntly to the unfortunate man, this was no time for glib, and false, reassurances. “They’ll not be readily motivated to launch such a search, when they’re confident they already have the killer in custody.”

  Whatever small hope had flickered to life on his face was just as quickly extinguished, and he buried his head in his hands. “Then it is truly useless.”

  “Nonsense,” I said, silently berating myself for perhaps being too forthright. “Granted, defending these charges will not be easy. But nothing is ever hopeless.”

  He regarded me with infinitely sad eyes. “Thank you for trying to bolster my resolve, Miss Woolson, but you haven’t yet heard the most damaging evidence the police have against me. I said some foolish things to Aleric the day Mr. Wilde left San Francisco. I—” He stopped, as if the words were too dreadful to be acknowledged or spoken aloud. “I’m afraid that I actually threatened his life. I was very angry, you see, and now those hastily spoken words will certainly be used against me.”

  “As it happens, I was at the train depot that morning and overheard what you said, Mr. Remy,” I confessed. “It was my impression that Mr. Aleric was deliberately trying to provoke you into doing or saying something rash.”

  He looked at me in surprise. “You were there, Miss Woolson? I apologize, but in all the commotion I didn’t see you. I’m mortified that you witnessed such a childish demonstration. Mr. Aleric has, er, had, a way of bringing out the worst in me, I fear. I do not offer that as an excuse for my appalling behavior. No, no, I should have learned by now to control my temper where he was concerned. The good Lord knows I have had ample opportunity since the day he set foot in San Francisco.”

  I recalled the rumor that Jonathan Aleric had persuaded Remy’s wife to leave him, only to pass away several months later. As far as I was concerned, it was a wonder he was able to bear the sight of the author at all, much less attempt to be civil toward him. Remy was right, of course: the prosecution would certainly use those hastily spoken words in their case against him.

  “There is no need to apologize,” I told him sincerely. “As I say, I was there and saw the altercation for myself. Mr. Aleric’s conduct was inexcusable.”

  “That is good of you to say, Miss Woolson. But every man must take responsibility for his actions, and the fact remains that I did not behave well that morning.” He lowered his head, then looked up at us, this time not bothering to disguise the trepidation on his face. “But never would I have actually harmed the man. Perhaps in the heat of the moment I might have struck him. But murder?” He gave a small shudder. “No, never murder.”

  “Which brings us to the question of who else might have wished to see him dead,” I said. “Have you any thoughts to offer, Mr. Remy?
Surely such a provocative man must have made enemies in the city.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he did. He was undeniably ambitious, especially when it came to his newspaper. Mine were not the only toes he stomped on in his attempts to obliterate the competition.” He paused. “I think he missed the wildly popular acclaim he enjoyed after the publication of his Civil War book. I asked him once if he had ever tried writing a second novel, but he insisted that such a great story came only once in a writer’s life. Perhaps he thought to recapture his lost fame in the field of journalism.”

  “Then that is yet another possibility your lawyer should explore,” I offered. “Every life has secrets, Mr. Remy, as I’m sure you know. It is up to a good defense attorney not only to unearth them, but to follow them to their logical conclusions.”

  “I admit I hadn’t thought of that,” he said. “Do you really think that looking into Aleric’s past might shed light on his death?”

  “It might,” I told him. “The more one understands the victim, the more likely one is to find his killer.”

  “You say you weren’t even aware that Aleric was dead when you were arrested?” asked Samuel.

  Remy shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t imagine what the police were doing in my office. Then, before I realized what was happening, they had put me under arrest.”

  “That must have come as quite a shock,” said Samuel.

  “Indeed it did. I hadn’t seen him in a week, not since the morning Mr. Wilde left San Francisco. In truth, after that dreadful episode at the train depot, I hoped never to see him again.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised that whoever shot him was taking advantage of that altercation,” I said, then was struck by another thought. “Mr. Remy, who might have known that you had no plans for Wednesday evening?”

  “Why, I don’t know.” Suddenly my meaning seemed to dawn on him. “You think someone deliberately conspired to make it appear that I shot Aleric?”

  “You must admit the circumstances may have presented the killer with an opportunity too good to be ignored,” Samuel said.

  “Precisely,” I concurred. “However, if this is what actually happened, the murderer had to know beforehand that you would have no alibi.”

  There was a loud bang at the door, and the jailer’s voice called out that our time with the prisoner would be up in five minutes.

  Remy stepped to the cot and held out his hand to help me rise. “You have brought me more comfort than I can say, Miss Woolson,” he said in his soft southern drawl, and I detected a suspicious moisture in his brown eyes. “It was kind of you and your brother to visit me here in this—in this deplorable place.”

  “We are delighted if we have been of some small assistance,” I replied. “Please, do let us know if there’s anything we can bring you. Perhaps food of some kind, or reading material?”

  He didn’t answer. In fact, he was staring at me with a peculiar expression on his face.

  “Actually, I rather think there is something you can do for me, Miss Woolson,” he said at last. “Would you … would you consider representing me in this matter? As my attorney?”

  I stared at him, dumbfounded.

  “You’re asking Sarah to be your lawyer?” Samuel said in surprise.

  “Yes, that is exactly what I am asking her to do,” Remy replied, looking more animated than he had since we had entered his cell. “In the short time you have been here, your sister has not only declared her belief in my innocence, but she has asked far more pertinent questions about the case than Sanderson did in an entire hour. Not only that, but she’s suggested several steps we can immediately initiate in my defense.”

  “But what about Reese and Markham?” asked my brother.

  “They are undoubtedly a fine firm,” Remy declared. “But I am committed to placing my faith in your sister.” He looked at me intensely, as if I held the fate of his life in my hands. Which, if I agreed to take his case, I surely would. “What do you say, Miss Woolson? Will you agree to represent me?”

  I hesitated for only a minute, but during that brief time a dozen reasons for not taking the case flashed through my mind. Despite my words of reassurance, the evidence against Remy was daunting, if largely circumstantial. There was nothing to tie the man directly to the crime scene, mainly because no one knew for certain when the murder had taken place, or even where. On the other hand, he had threatened Aleric just days prior to his death, and he had undeniably good reasons for wanting to see the man dead. He also lived just a few blocks from where the body had been buried, and the fatal bullet had been fired from the same caliber revolver as one in his possession.

  It would have required a woman with a far more callous heart than I possessed, however, to refuse the man standing before me, his kind face silently, desperately, awaiting my decision.

  “Yes, Mr. Remy, I will act as your attorney,” I told him, extending my hand so that we might formally seal the agreement. “I give you my word that I will do everything in my power to clear your name, and see you released from this dreadful place.”

  * * *

  “Have you any idea what you’ve gotten yourself into?” Samuel asked the instant we were back in Eddie’s brougham. “It’s all well and good to promise to go door-to-door looking for witnesses, but you have about as much chance of finding one as you would locating the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

  “You know as well as I do that we must at least try. Oh, and thank you very much for your support back at the jail. You sounded as if you couldn’t believe Mortimer had actually asked me to represent him instead of Gilbert Reese.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Well, I was a bit taken aback. As were you, for that matter. Don’t deny it.”

  “Yes, actually I was. But no one seems to be on the poor man’s side. Even his present attorney thinks he’s guilty. We have to do something to help him.”

  “Well, it’s not going to be—” He stopped suddenly, turning to look at me. “Wait a minute, you’ve used the word we twice, Sarah. You mean to drag me into this mess, don’t you?” He gave a dry little laugh. “Although I can’t imagine why that surprises me.”

  “Questioning Mortimer’s neighbors means returning to Telegraph Hill,” I told him, belatedly remembering my father’s thoughts on that subject. “Papa would have a fit if I went there alone.”

  “He’ll have a fit if either of us steps foot on Telegraph Hill again,” he reminded me. “Not to mention what Robert will say.”

  “Hmmm. If he’s so worried, perhaps he can help. And Eddie as well.”

  “Good Lord, Sarah, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

  I regarded him in surprise. Surely he of all my family knew me well enough that such a question was superfluous.

  “Naturally I’m serious,” I told him. “There’ll be a number of other avenues to explore in planning Mortimer’s defense, but we shall have to begin by canvassing the neighborhood.”

  “If Father gets word of your plan, he’s going to explode,” he said, his mouth twitching as he attempted to repress a smile. “And whether you like it or not, so will Robert.”

  “Robert has no business caring one way or the other where I go, or why I go there,” I said firmly. “He is not my father.”

  “True, nevertheless he’s concerned for your safety.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him studying my profile. “You may pretend to disdain any sort of romantic entanglement, but you must know that poor man is besotted with you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, refusing to discuss the subject with him. “Besides, I don’t merely pretend to scorn romantic entanglements, as you put it. You know it’s impossible for a woman to have marriage as well as a career. I have made my choice and I am living with it, very contentedly, as it happens.”

  “Yes, you’ve been telling me that since we were children. But what if you come to regret your decision one day, and it’s too late to have a home and a family?”

  “Please don’t start lecturing me on t
he blessings of hearth and home, Samuel,” I told him shortly. “I hear more than enough of that from Mama, sometimes even from Celia and Charles.” I sought for a way to make him understand. “My current situation is a good example of why marriage and a career could never succeed. Papa, and even Robert, who is merely a friend, after all, have decided that it is too dangerous for me to leave my home, or my office, unescorted by a man. Do you honestly believe it’s possible to marry a man who would not impose the same restrictions upon me under similar circumstances?”

  Samuel started to respond, then seemed to think better of it. “When you put it that way, I begin to appreciate the difficulties involved. Still, I—” He stopped in midsentence, looking out the carriage window. “Why are we stopping here?”

  “I instructed Eddie to take me to City Hall,” I said. “I must find out exactly when Mortimer’s arraignment is to take place, so that I will be prepared.”

  “What about Ricardo Ruiz’s bullring? How are you and the SPCA coming along on your petitions?”

  “Mr. Dinwitty and I have decided to submit the signatures and the brief Monday morning. However, I’ve been working on a new approach, which I’m hoping may make the petitions unnecessary.”

  This sparked my brother’s interest. “Really? And how do you propose to accomplish that small miracle?”

  I smiled. “If you’d like to come inside and lend me your assistance, I’ll be happy to explain.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I submitted the SPCA petitions and my brief to City Hall on Monday morning. Once I had completed this piece of business, I requested a formal hearing with the city council as soon as possible, in order to present the new evidence I had unearthed. I was pleased when it was scheduled to take place in two days’ time. The clerk informed me that Mr. Ruiz would be duly notified of the proceeding.

  Mortimer Remy’s arraignment was held later that morning. I’d had little time to prepare for the proceeding, but it would not have made much difference if I had. The charges against my client were read, at which point we submitted a plea of not guilty. Owing to the severity of the crime and fear that Mr. Remy might be a flight risk, our request for bail was denied by the judge. The entire procedure was over in less than ten minutes. I was allowed a brief consultation with my client in a guarded area outside the courtroom, after which he was returned to his jail cell.