City of the Absent

by Robert W. Walker

  “Put nothing—nothing—past Kohler.”

  “I’ll remember that. But, Mother, there was this sad, sad giant showed up at the lineup.”

  “Giant?”

  “With a hunchback, yes. Name’s Vander, and how he clung to his brother, when the brother was thrown into jail for coming at Alastair with a knife.”

  “My God, and you in harm’s way at that place! Was Alastair hurt?”

  “I was never in any danger, and Alastair was masterful the way he took the knife from the other man.”

  Jane frowned at this. “But why would Father O’Bannion suspect Ransom in this hideous affair?” This Jane could not fathom. Kohler, yes; Father O’Bannion, no. This felt like a bona fide mystery.

  “Apparently, Alastair had gone looking for Father Jurgen the night before, and was quite upset with him.”

  “Upset with a priest, Ransom? For what reason?”

  “At first I heard gambling debt, but in fact it was something far worse, Mother, an allegation of wrongdoing.”

  “Worse how? Wrongdoing? Be direct, dear.”

  “Alastair claimed he’d gotten information that Father Jurgen had been…that is…was…”

  “Out with it!”

  “Petting children.”

  “Petting children?”

  “All right, playing with children.”

  “Playing with children, how? Like St. Francis of Assisi?”

  “Oh, Mother, you can be so dense for an educated woman.”

  “Oh, my God, you’re saying Father Jurgen has touched children inappropriately?”

  “Molested, yes—but we’ve no real proof.”

  Jane stepped off and moved about the small house and clinic, her heart racing. She imagined an enraged bull named Ransom going after a man, any man, who harmed a child. Then she shook off the thought that he could possibly have castrated a priest. “I saw the man’s wound, and I must agree with Dr. Fenger. Whoever mutilated Jurgen was sending a message.”

  “A message meaning what?” Gabby asked.

  “A message of let the punishment fit the crime.”

  “Chicago justice? The sort Inspector Ransom might mete out,” Gabby mused aloud.

  “There’s no proof of his involvement, is there?”

  “None, and he stood a lineup in that old man’s disguise of his and passed.”

  “I see. But we don’t have evidence of Father Jurgen’s crime either, now do we?”

  “Only hearsay.”

  “What sort of hearsay?”

  “Well…rumors are flying, but I hate to pass along a—a—”

  “Pass it!”

  “I only heard it by accident.”

  “Overheard, yes, yes…I know you do not engage in idle gossip. What did you over—”

  “That Father Jurgen had indeed molested a child, and that the child’s grandfather had stalked the priest to the ship, and this old fellow bided his time, and the moment he got the least close, he—he exacted his terrible revenge for his grandson.”

  “A priest molesting a young boy? It’s too horrible to contemplate.” Yet she’d read lurid accounts of priests in cloisters and monasteries going mad and attacking nuns, or nuns doing likewise, some attacking children.

  She recalled the horrible case popularly called the Devils of Loudun, France. Descartes had written about it in some vague attempt to quantify evil. She’d also seen it written up in a medical journal, the author an obscure German medical man who attempted to understand the psychology of temperance and abstinence, and the role that religious political fervor played in the case. The Loudun, France, incident was generations ago, in 1635, during the Renaissance.

  Perhaps such horrors occurred more often than anyone imagined and were kept quiet—secrets of the Church hardly being a new concept.

  Still, Jane’s mind, seemingly independent of her, wanted quickly to reject the notion. Priests were sworn to serve man through the love of Christ, to walk this Earth as His angels, to care for the poor, the destitute, the ill and infirm, and especially to administer to children, and to harm not so much as a mockingbird. This accusation against Father Jurgen simply could not be.

  And yet, who maims a priest in such a way without cause? And if there is cause, there is affect. Cause meant reaction to an action. Was this mystery grandfather reacting to something imagined or real? How much horrid truth might come of Gabby’s rumor?

  Gabby continued with her tale of all that’d happened at the station house, although Jane’s thoughts had gone astray. “You’d’ve been so proud of Alastair, Mother.”

  “Ohhh, and why is that?”

  “The way he just took charge.”

  “He has that quality about him, yes.”

  “I mean when he leapt from the stage so…so—”

  “Melodramatic?”

  “Dramatically, yes! Tearing away his wig and beard, revealing himself to his accuser.”

  “Sounds rather like pure theater, dear.”

  “I don’t mean to say he was playacting, only that he was, well, dashing.”

  “Swashbuckling, heh? Well, it is a brash fool who wields a knife in Alastair’s face.”

  “Yes, Alastair said, and I quote: ‘I’ll not stand here and be judged by the likes of this wharf scum!’”

  “Ahhh, an apt line. I can hear it rolling off his tongue myself.”

  “The man with the knife turned out to be the giant’s brother, also addressed as Mr. Rolsky,” she continued. “Although one of the pair is deformed, their features are uncannily similar. And Mother, recall the pair we saw that night milling about the street near Colonel Dodge’s place?”

  “Of course, brothers! One misshapen, a growth on his back?”

  “Yes, like I said, Vander.”

  “Vander? And the other one, Philander?”

  “Yes, but how did you know his name?”

  “And the one appears normal, he orders the deformed one about like his dog, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. How did—”

  “I must interview these two men.”

  “What? Whatever are you talking about?” Gabby’s eyes had grown wider each time her mother spoke.

  “I’m, ahhh…conducting a study.”

  “A study?”

  “A medical study of criminal families…and this pair certainly sound as if they are familiar with crime. Their anecdotes might be of help.” Jane watched Gabby’s features to see if the lie had taken hold or had failed.

  “A mental study of criminal families, really? How fascinating.”

  “Yes, fascinating.”

  “Ahhh…something Dr. Fenger set you to doing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and it pays well.” Jane latched onto the explanation.

  “He’s a great one for doling out studies for others to do.” Gabby paced, looking a bit hurt now. “But why didn’t he put me on to it?”

  “Perhaps he feared you’ve enough on your plate. In the meantime, I’m finding it an intriguing and absorbing study, dear. Do you think I might gain entry to the cell where this Mr. Rolsky is being held, you know, to conduct a proper interview?”

  “I can get you in.”

  “Wonderful. Today? This morning?”

  “Today? Now?”

  “Dr. Fenger is a taskmaster.”

  “Why not speak to the retarded one first; he’s likely to be home, and if I go with you, he’ll remember I was kind to him at the station. He might open up.”

  “Then later, will you get me in to see his brother?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “All right, then that’s how we’ll proceed. I merely have to do my disguise.”

  “You needn’t see either of them as Tewes, Mother! Go as yourself. Assert yourself. After all, you have a medical degree. Besides, Vander’s sure to know nothing of Tewes, and he responds, I think, far better to women.”

  “All right, I rather fancy the idea, but the final study will have Dr. James Phineas Tewes’s signature on it.”

  “Whatever
makes you happy, but I for one am so fatigued over this business of your dual personality. And if I am, so you must be.”

  “Frankly, dear, there are so many advantages to walking out there”—she pointed to the window—“as a man than as a woman, I’ve rather become fond of being Dr. J. P. Tewes.”

  “That’s become increasingly obvious, and scary, Mother, and it has put a strain on everyone around you, including me…including Alastair. And it’d go a long way in helping you two make up.”

  “There’ll come a time when Mr. Ransom learns how to apologize, I’m sure. Now let’s make our way to see your gentle giant, Vander. I need a good talk with this fellow.”

  “Well…I’m not sure where exactly he lives.”

  “I’ll get that information quickly enough,” replied Jane, taking her purse and herself to the phone, finding a pencil and pad while simultaneously cranking the phone. In a moment she made a show of talking to Alastair, saying she and Gabby wanted to visit Vander Rolsky, adding loudly, “We mean to bring the poor dote an urn of soup and bread, and to sit and pray with him, and to educate him as to his many options here in the city that cares.”

  Feeling famished, Gabby only half heard the one-sided conversation as she scrounged about the kitchen for a slice of cheese and crackers for herself. But then she clearly heard Jane pronounce the street and address they required.

  “Telephone’s such a marvelous invention,” said Jane, returning to the sitting room where she shared the block of cheese and soda crackers that Gabby had placed on the table.

  “You might’ve asked Alastair how he is faring.” Gabby munched at her food. “It must be awful…his having to endure such godawful accusations. Why do people hate him so?”

  “Well for my part, I didn’t want him to think I had a single thought in my head of his being capable of such a horrid act!”

  “I see…so you said not a word of it. Hmmm…perhaps being prudent on the subject is the right approach.”

  “Shall we go see Mr. Vander Rolsky?”

  “What about that soup and bread?”

  “On second thought, it is rather presumptuous of us to assume the poor man has nothing in his cupboard.”

  “Ahhh yes, Mother, but I think in this case it’s a fair assumption.”

  Jane smiled at her bright daughter. “You are so wise.”

  “And you, Mother, are so caring.”

  “And no doubt your concern for the man at the police station won favor. So yes, let’s take the time to gather that soup and bread. It could be our Trojan horse.”

  “All right. Better to be presumptuous than unprepared.”

  “Hey, I rather like that phrase.”

  Gabby smiled at this. “Perhaps it could be useful at our next rally.”

  “Oh please, don’t you have enough to do without carrying on in the streets with those bloomer girls?”

  “Suffragette sisters, Mother. For heavens sake, New York ladies run their undies up a pole, and we’re all branded as fools. Besides, I’m just saying it’d make a nice banner.”

  “I’m sure that men everywhere will appreciate it more than bloomer-waving flags.”

  “I’m afraid too many men prefer the bloomers.”

  Jane laughed and added, “And sadly, fewer still can read.”

  “I’m sure that’s true in the case of this Vander Rolsky.”

  “Yes, from what little I know of him, I am quite sure he’ll appreciate the food over the slogan. And in that spirit”—Jane worked her way around the kitchen as she spoke—“it does a heart good to do for others. Man the cooking utensils!”

  “Yes…yes, it does a heart good.” Gabby followed her mother’s lead. “If more people would discover that joy, I think we’d have a far better world.”

  While Jane consulted her raggedy cookbook, Gabby began cutting up vegetables for the stew. Mother and daughter went about cheerfully fulfilling an old recipe. In the midst of this preparation, Jane telephoned the Bryce Hansom Carriage Company for transportation to the Atgeld Avenue address where the two suspected ghouls made their home in the first floor flat at the rear. Information she’d gleaned from Henry Dot ’n’ Carry Bosch. By this time a fresh loaf of bread was rising in the oven.

  CHAPTER 34

  When they finally got to the Atgeld address of the Rolsky brothers, it was mid-morning. The Tewes ladies held the cab at a distance for most of a half hour while uniformed police, directed by Mike O’Malley, went in and out of the residence, carrying out various items and storing these into a paddy wagon.

  Jane feared they were too late, that the giant Gabby had spoken of would be arrested and hauled off to join his brother, but that was not the case. O’Malley and the others left on the police wagon with some clothing, a rug, and a box, the contents of which might be anything. She suspected the box and its contents were likely headed directly to Chief Nathan Kohler’s office and lockup, pending a trial that would put Philander Rolsky away for a lifetime or until he was hung.

  However, they hadn’t arrested Vander Rolsky. The big man sat hunched over on his stone doorstep, head in hands, quaking, looking a bit like an abandoned child or a stone gargoyle, depending on one’s attitude.

  “Perhaps we should return tomorrow,” suggested Gabby.

  “Whatever for?”

  “I’m sure Mr. Rolsky has had enough turbulence for one day.”

  “But we are hardly turbulence; besides, his soup and bread belongs to him.”

  “All right, Mother, if you’re sure, but I worry.”

  “Worry?”

  “About what O’Malley carried out of the apartment.”

  “No doubt Nathan or Alastair Ransom sent him to search for anything incriminating against Vander’s brother to keep him behind bars.”

  “Suppose they find something truly incriminating and that poor wretched soul sitting on his stoop is left for a year or even several years without his brother to take care of him? What then?”

  “You’re predicting an awful future for the man. Why not a good future?”

  “I fear there can be none for him. Mother, he’s like a stray dog in need of…of a farm place where he can just be himself and have the run of the place and be left in peace and no one taking advantage of him.”

  Their eyes met on this note. Jane had held the same fearful opinion of the big man’s future. “Enough with such grim thoughts, child.”

  “I tell you, Chicago eats people like Vander alive.”

  “And it is equally as possible that some Chicagoans, such as ourselves, can find a place for the fellow.”

  “All right, touché, but Mother, what if—”

  “Come, let’s keep a cheerful faith, shall we, dear?” Jane opened the slot overhead and ordered the coachman, “Carry on. Drop us across from 400 Atgeld.” She paid him well for his time, pressing a bill through the slot.

  In a moment the ladies, dressed in their wide-brimmed hats and flowered, casual prints, one yellow, the other pink, climbed from the coach with the gifts they bore for Vander. “I want you to let me do the talking, Gabby.”

  “Why so? Mother, what’s going on inside your head?”

  “The study I am doing requires no interruptions, coaching on your part, or insertions from outsiders,” she lied again. “Understood?”

  “I see. I’m on hand for introductions only.”

  “Exactly, to break the ice.”

  The cabbie having been paid, the hansom pulled away, over the cobblestones. The ladies stood across the street from Vander’s place, and they saw the last of him moving like a meandering, confused buffalo around the outside of the building.

  Urn of soup and loaf of bread in hand, the ladies made haste to catch Vander before he should disappear completely. To this end, they made their way to the run-down, ram-shackle apartment house, an obvious, blatant monument to typical Chicago graft, as it screamed fire violation multiple times over. On approach, in fact, as they closed on the edifice, Jane saw the clinging wood fire escape and the stacked
porches and landings rising alongside a stripped apple tree. The closer one got, the more obvious was the firetrap nature of the place.

  “This place should be condemned,” said Gabby.

  Jane laughed nervously. “I suspect it has been, many times over.”

  “Ahhh…and approved many times over on account of promised repairs?”

  “Money talks.”

  “Meanwhile lives are at risk.”

  “The way of it, I’m afraid.”

  They walked to the rear of the building and found it looked the same, only here was a court with a pair of trees, box elders, rising to the top of the building in search of more light.

  It was a simple matter to find Vander Rolsky, as he’d returned to a kind of sitting fetal position on his back stoop. Fewer prying eyes here. Neighbors and the curious had earlier watched the police activity, but they’d all gone back to their own concerns now. The police had made Vander a public figure for fifteen minutes as they’d tagged his home as worthy of a search and seizure operation.

  Vander lifted his gaze from the dirty stone steps when their combined shadows and the smell of bread and soup caught his attention. He instantly recognized Gabby from the police station. “Oh…it’s you.”

  “We brought you something, Vander,” she replied.

  “I’m Jane, Gabby’s mother.” Jane held out the soup urn while Gabby extended the wrapped bread.

  Gabby, seeing how Vander wanted the food, suggested, “Why don’t we go inside where you can eat in peace?”

  “And where we can talk in private,” added Jane.

  Vander hesitated only a moment, his desire for the food overcoming him. He nodded and lumbered to his feet, and the three of them retired to Vander’s apartment.

  Deep inside the firetrap now, Vander pushed through an interior door and went directly for a small table. Here he sat like the proverbial giant of “Jack and the Beanstalk.” Wasting no time, he began slurping his soup and dipping his bread.

  “Thought you might like some home cooking,” said Gabby.

  His eyes registered his pleasure over the gifts they’d brought. He remained astonished. “Really good,” he muttered. “Nobody ever done such a kindness.”

  “Yes, really good home cooking.” Gabby smiled across at Vander.