A House Divided

by Jonathan F. Putnam

  “Why did you want Fisher dead?” continued the mayor. “What had the man done to you?”

  “He’d done nothing,” Henry Trailor replied, “which is why we did nothing to him. When do I get to explain this to the judge?”

  “Later. How about your brother, William? What was his role in the deed?”

  “Didn’t have one. I keep telling you, there was no deed done.”

  The mayor stared hard at his prisoner and expelled a long breath. He was tiring of the jousting match. “We’ll see what William has to say for himself. The sheriff should be arriving with him before the morning is out.”

  Henry Trailor startled. “You’ve arrested William too?”

  Big Red nodded. “The sheriff and I agreed that my men would roust you while he went to apprehend William. Your brother will be bound next to you before long. Both of you can rot in jail, for all I care, until you admit what you’ve done. So if you’ve got something to tell me before your brother gets here, you’d better say it now.”

  Trailor leaned against the wall; his coal-black eyes narrowed with concentration, as if he was having some sort of internal debate. At last he looked up and exhaled slowly. “Very well,” he said, “I suppose I should make a clean breast of it.”

  He paused, as everyone stared at him expectantly. “Go on,” said Big Red.

  “Your accusation is correct, in part, sir. Flynn Fisher was murdered.”

  The three men who’d captured Trailor unleashed a shout of excitement. Big Red silenced them and continued to stare intently at his prisoner, who, after a deep breath, continued with his confession.

  “But the act was committed by my brothers, William and Archibald. The two of them acted in concert. I had nothing to do with the killing. They murdered Fisher, and then they made me help them hide evidence of the crime.”

  Big Red gave me a look of supreme triumph.

  CHAPTER 12

  “I knew I could get the truth out of this ruffian, if I kept at it,” Big Red cried with glee. “Ha! I’ll be a hero once the tale is told. You all saw me, didn’t you?” He pointed to his motley search party, who dutifully bobbed their heads and assured the mayor they would spread word of his exploit.

  “Hold on a moment,” I said, looking at Henry Trailor. “Why would Archibald, or William for that matter, kill this Fisher fellow?”

  “I’ll tell you everything,” Henry said, addressing me and the mayor together, “but only if you promise I’ll walk free. Like I said, I had nothing to do with the murder itself.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Big Red, his hands and ears flapping in excited symphony. “Tell us the full story of what happened, help us obtain justice for your brothers, and you’ll face no jeopardy.”

  “Can you untie my hands?” Henry asked. The mayor did so quickly, and Henry grunted his thanks and spent a few moments rubbing the red welts that encircled his wrists.

  “How about a shot of whiskey? It was a long journey, and your posse weren’t too gentle in their methods.”

  “Get the man some whiskey, Speed,” ordered Big Red.

  Henry Trailor seemed to have accepted me as a deputy to the mayor, and I wanted to sustain the illusion. I raced down the corridor to the legislative clerks’ room and searched through several drawers until I found an unopened bottle of firewater. When I returned to Big Red’s closet, Henry Trailor took a long pull, belched, and handed the bottle to one of his former captors, saying, “No hard feelings, eh, fellows?”

  The men accepted the liquor with broad smiles. Big Red ordered one to find Sheriff Hutchason and inform him about Henry’s confession so that William and Archibald Trailor could be confined to the jail cell at once. He asked the others to round up the search party and await further instructions. The men agreed and slouched away, passing the whiskey bottle back and forth with enthusiasm.

  “Flynn Fisher served alongside my brother William at Detroit, in Mr. Madison’s war against Great Britain,” Henry Trailor began. “Supposedly, William saved his life in battle by bayonetting a redcoat who was about to shoot him, though if you’ve ever shared a drink with my brother William, you know there’s scarcely any man who served beside him whose life he didn’t save at least once. In the event, William claimed Fisher was in his debt, and the two remained in contact. They would see each other every few years at Old Soldiers’ gatherings.”

  “Hurry along,” said Big Red irritably. “We’re not interested in the history. We want to know about the murder.”

  “I’m getting there,” said Henry. “A few years back, Fisher won a contract from the Canal Board to build a bypass on the canal near Ottawa. Fisher happened to see William soon thereafter, and he mentioned his new enterprise. I’ll give my brother credit for this: he’s faster than any man alive in figuring out how he can enrich himself from any situation. On the spot, William proposed a scheme to Fisher. Before the bypass route was laid out, we would buy up land in the area. Then Fisher would arrange to site the bypass through our freehold, greatly increasing the value of the land. We’d sell it in due course, and Fisher would get one-quarter of our profits.

  “Fisher knew a good deal when he saw one. It was a chance for big profit on the side, merely for doing something the Board was already paying him to do. So he agreed, and William, Archibald, and I spent five hundred dollars on a huge tract near Ottawa. It wasn’t the best place to put the bypass, but it would do, and it would be easy enough for Fisher to run his section through.”

  “But your scheme didn’t go as planned?” I said. As I listened to Henry, my mind was drawn back to the argument I’d overheard between him and Archibald on the evening before the Sudden Change. They’d been scheming over how to get a rid of a business partner; in light of Henry’s explanation, it seemed a fair guess that Fisher was the one.

  Henry nodded. “Fisher proved a miserable businessman. Unreliable. He’d disappear for weeks at a time, when he was supposed to be making progress on the canal. Worse, he spent the first three quarterly advances from the Canal Board putting up the best navvy housing those ignorant Irishmen had ever seen. Out of sympathy for his countrymen, I suppose, but a complete waste of money. They might as well sleep in the dirt with their animals, for all the difference it’d make.” Henry Trailor spit on the floor again.

  “By the time Fisher started laying out his section of the canal, the distributions from the Board had stopped. They’d run out of money. Fisher’s crew only cleared a hundred yards of land before they walked off the job for lack of wages. He never got within a mile of our freehold.”

  “Serves all of you right,” said Big Red, “for trying to profit from a public commission.”

  Henry cackled. “You mean to tell me you’ve never profited from your office, Mayor? Anyway, the last straw fell here in Springfield, the day before they killed him. William and I had come to talk to any members of the legislature we could find, to convince them to finish the job Fisher was supposed to do and direct the canal through our land.

  “Then Fisher tried to play a card he didn’t hold. He asked William for a loan of one hundred dollars. Against his share of the profits, he said. Of course, William told him there were no profits yet, and at the rate we were going there weren’t going to be any. But Fisher told William that if he didn’t make the loan, he’d tell the Canal Board we’d bribed him in the performance of his official duties.”

  “You heard this conversation yourself?” I asked.

  Henry shook his head. “William spoke to Fisher alone. Archibald and I were putting on a good drunk and exploring some of the amusements available in this town.” Henry grinned at the memory.

  Trailor’s reference was not obscure. The legislature was not the only recently arrived business in Springfield in which a variety of personal services were available if the right price could be agreed upon. A careful student of the economic sciences might conclude it was the appearance of the one that had given rise to the advent of the other.

  Henry continued, “Archibald and I
met up with William and Fisher afterwards. That’s when it happened.”

  “What happened, exactly?” I asked.

  Big Red shot me an angry glance. “This is my interrogation, Speed. Don’t go interfering.”

  “But I know Archibald,” I said. Turning to Henry, I repeated, “I know your younger brother. I can’t imagine his being involved in something like this.”

  Henry looked over at Big Red questioningly, and for a moment I was afraid I’d undermined my disguise as an aide to the mayor. But before Henry could challenge me, Big Red said, “It’s going to come out in court soon enough, Trailor. Why don’t you tell us the details now?”

  “Archibald and I had done our business, and I was about to return to the tavern where I was staying when William found us. He said he needed our help. Told us how Fisher was trying to squeeze us for money and how we’d be ruined if he spilled. He led us to the tavern where Fisher was staying—”

  “Which one?” I asked.

  “Somewhere on the edge of town. Anyway, he rousted Fisher from his room, and the four of us proceeded out of town. Eventually we got to a clearing, near a grove of birch, and he shoved Fisher to the ground and told him we wouldn’t be betrayed.”

  “What did Fisher say?”

  “Denied he’d done anything wrong, but we knew he had. Fisher started to get to his feet, to run away, but Archibald grabbed him by both arms. William told Archibald to bind him to a tree. So Archibald dragged him into the woods, and there was scuffling and shouting. At one point William yelled for them to be quiet, and eventually the sounds faded away. Archibald came back to say he’d tied Fisher to a tree and stuffed a rag down his throat as well, to make sure he couldn’t call for help.”

  Big Red’s ears flapped excitedly. “Go on,” he prompted.

  “We stood in the clearing and debated how to shut up Fisher for good. Then I noticed there were no sounds at all coming from inside the grove, and I went to have a look and …” Henry hung his head low. “That’s when I saw it.”

  “Saw what?”

  “The first dead man I’d ever seen. Fisher was still tied to the tree, but he wasn’t breathing anymore. His body had gone rigid. The rag Archibald had stuffed in his mouth—the poor fool must have stuffed it too deep and it suffocated the man.”

  Big Red gave a small cry, seemingly of triumph rather than sympathy. “Murder!” he hissed excitedly.

  “What happened next?”

  “Archibald collapsed onto the ground. Wailing. William tried to get him to stop. And then William told me to take Archibald back to town, put him to bed, and make sure he didn’t say anything to anybody, while he took care of the body. He said he’d hide it under a bush.”

  “How is it possible,” asked Big Red, “that this man Fisher had such a weak constitution he could be killed by a rag?”

  “On that score I can testify,” I said. “He never looked healthy, walking around leaning to the side like he did.”

  “ ‘Never looked healthy.’ That’s exactly the way to put it,” said Henry. “He had periods when he was lucid, but mostly, he wasn’t a strong man. Anyway, William said he’d come back later to dispose of the body. I told him he had to do something. We couldn’t just leave the body in the bushes. Before long the wolves would drag it out to have a meal and someone would stumble on the remains.”

  “What night did all this take place?” Big Red asked.

  “Not sure I remember the exact date,” Henry said. “A couple weeks back. I know it was on the night of the full moon, because I told William as I was leaving we were lucky no one had seen us.”

  “The night of the gala at the American House,” I exclaimed, recalling Ninian Edwards’s remark about the moon’s effects on Mary Todd’s suitors. “In fact, I talked briefly to your brother William at the affair.”

  Henry nodded. “He was on his way to some social gathering of the legislature as we went off to our amusements. He must have had his talk with Fisher, where Fisher threatened us, before going to that party. And then, afterwards, he came to roust us. My brothers are quite a pair. One of them can’t think straight, and the other never bothers to. They’d be lost without me.”

  I whistled softly. All the time I’d been talking to William Trailor that evening of the gala, all the time he’d been petitioning Lincoln and Douglas and the other legislators, he must have been thinking of how he was going to deal with the traitorous Fisher. Not only that, but William had actually mentioned to me he was in town with Fisher. Far from hiding the crime he must have been contemplating at that very moment, he was practically bragging about it. I shook my head, marveling at the man’s nerve.

  “It’ll be an open-and-shut case at trial,” said Big Red, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “With your testimony, a murder conviction will be assured. And nothing does more to raise the spirits of the town than a public hanging. Come to think, the only thing better than one hanging is two of them, side by side.”

  I shivered at the image. But as I thought about Henry’s confession, there was an obvious problem. According to his story, William and Archibald had killed Fisher in a bout of panic brought on by Fisher’s clumsy attempt at blackmail. But back in Henry’s cabin before the Sudden Change, months ago, the brothers had already seemed to be plotting to get rid of the man, and Henry had seemed to be the chief plotter.

  “Can you show us where this all took place?” the mayor asked before I could decide whether to challenge Henry. “The fight, the tree Archibald tied him to. The bush William hid the body under.”

  Henry smiled. “I’ll lead you there right now, if you’d like.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Big Red, Henry Trailor, and I left the mayor’s closet and exited through the front door of the capitol building. Across the street to our left was the impressive three-story building, fronted by marble columns and topped by a triangular pediment, that housed the Springfield headquarters of the State Bank. Like the capitol itself, the bank structure was part of a frantic building effort that had swept Springfield in the past eighteen months.

  The common rabble of the town, however, were interested in more immediately gratifying matters. An excited crowd waited for us at the bottom of the steps.

  “Ahoy, Mayor, is that him?” shouted one of the layabouts as we came down the steps. “Is he the murderer?”

  “Afraid I can’t say,” Big Red replied, slowing his pace. “We’re on official business. Off to search for … well, I can’t say what our business is, neither.”

  “That’s one of the Trailor brothers, ain’t he?” said another man, who had been leaning against a hitching post.

  “He is,” the mayor acknowledged, almost too eagerly. Our little procession, slowed to a crawl, was attracting men from all directions.

  “Where’re you taking him?” called the first man.

  “We deserve an explanation,” said another, a tall man with a toothpick jammed into the corner of his mouth, “after all the searching we did for you. I put my knee through my jeans in one of them cellars. We’ll follow you, Big Red, wherever you’re heading. Ain’t no law against it.”

  The mayor stopped and surveyed the group, which now comprised more than a dozen men, the same collection of miscreants who had participated in the helter-skelter search for Fisher’s body the previous day. Big Red climbed up onto a rock.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, “if you must know, this man is Henry Trailor.” A murmur passed through the crowd. “He is not one of the murderers, although I have extracted from him a confession of who the actual murderers are, and you’ll not be surprised to learn they’re men very close to him.” The mayor looked around, soaking up the passion of the mob.

  “Henry Trailor has promised to lead me to the body of the victim, Fisher.” A buzz of excitement swirled about. “As you men have waylaid me, it’s only sensible I invite you to join us. The more hands on board, the quicker we’ll find the body.”

  A great huzzah went up. Big Red took Henry firmly by the wrist,
and the latter pointed the way out of town. By now, the following pack numbered at least twenty men, more than a few stumbling with drink. I followed at a distance. I had no eagerness to associate myself with the rude mob, but at the same time I wanted to be there when the body was recovered. I might spot some detail that would help Archibald with his defense.

  After a half hour’s procession along a rutted carriage track, the still edge of a millpond came into view through a forest of bare tree trunks. It was the same area where the broken fencepost—the would-be murder weapon, although that story was now discredited by Henry’s confession—had been found. The pond was situated in a natural valley, where the dam constructed by Hickox two decades earlier had little trouble filling up a reservoir to provide steady power to the mill wheel. The mill had lost business over time to several operations closer to the center of town. Last year, a Supreme Court justice, who was moving to Springfield with the court, had purchased the property and announced that henceforth the wheel would not turn and the pond would serve as his fishing hole and place of repose.

  As we approached within one hundred yards of the pond, Henry Trailor suddenly raised his right arm, and the entire rabble came to an abrupt stop. “It was right …” He paused, staring into a particularly dense thicket of trees. “Right … there. Archibald tied Fisher to a tree trunk right in there.”

  The crowd charged into the wood in the direction Henry indicated. I followed behind them, silently cursing my bad leg, but before I could reach the place, excited calls were already echoing back, intermixed with the thwack of branches snapping.

  “I see it!”

  “Look at that branch!”

  “And that one over there!”

  “Look out!”

  “They must of strung ’em up from there!”

  “Ooof!”

  Big Red was in stride with me, and we came into a clearing where the crowd excitedly milled about in front of a stand of birch trees. A number of the men had climbed up to sit on or swing from lower branches of the trees, and several of the branches had snapped under their weight, sending the men tumbling down. It was a scrum of limbs, human and deciduous, and if evidence had existed that a murder had been committed here, it had just been obliterated.