Nate started to say something, clearly thought better of it, and instead he took her hand in both of his and shook it firmly, looking straight into her eyes, and said, “I trust that you will keep yourself well. Until tonight then.”
Annie watched Nate consult briefly with Wong about something, and then the two of them ascended the stairs where Wong was evidently going to let him out the front door. Annie found that she was holding her right hand to her cheek, as if to preserve the coil of warmth Nate had deposited there.
Chapter Thirty-six
Thursday, late afternoon, August 16, 1879
Usually Nate found the swaying rhythm of a railroad car soporific, and he had hoped to nap during the little more than an hour it took to get to Redwood City from San Francisco. This afternoon the train seemed to be having the opposite effect. Each click, click of the wheels on the rails ratcheted his nerves tighter. He'd not gotten much sleep last night. He had stayed up late, going over the company books of Voss and Samuels once more, looking for something that might support his gut feeling that Samuels had something to do with the murders. After talking with Annie this afternoon, he was feeling more optimistic about at least finding some evidence that might convince the police they had the wrong man. While he was having trouble picturing the lady’s maid, Cartier, as the mastermind of a double murder, Samuels he wasn't so sure about.
However, it was entirely possible that Samuels was indeed executing a new business strategy, and that he'd been doing it with Matthew's blessing. It would be very difficult to prove otherwise. Nate needed definitive proof one way or the other about Cartier or Samuels or needed to find some hint that there was another person outside the household involved so that he could weaken the case against Jeremy and get Annie to leave the Voss household for good.
Nate stared idly out at the passing countryside, thinking about Annie. Christ, she was infuriating. But smart. She argued like a man, never let up. It seemed to Nate that they'd been arguing constantly since the trip to the Cliff House. She could make him so mad. But then she'd say something funny, or smile that sweet sad smile, and the anger would just sort of slide away. She had this habit of tugging at his coat front when she was excited. Her hands were so small. He didn't know where he stood with her. Did she see him as just a friend, or something more? If that idiot dog hadn't barked last night, he knew he would have kissed her. She probably would have slapped him, and he'd have deserved it.
But the dog had barked, and then she'd gotten angry again and stood there, voice shaking, telling him that she believed that women were the same as men. Did she really expect him to accept that? But he did have to admire her integrity. He couldn't fault her there. Not many women, or men for that matter, could look honestly at the facts and accept responsibility. But it made her a damned awkward companion.
Shifting in his seat, Nate tapped impatiently against the window of the railroad car. Well, when he got back from Redwood City tonight, no matter what he'd found, he'd force her to leave the Voss house. If necessary he'd get the Steins and Mrs. O'Rourke to back him up. If Annie got angry with him, so be it. He had responsibilities as well. And whether she liked it or not, her safety was one of them. When the whole mess was over, she could go her own way if she wanted. That would probably be better for both of them, anyway. It was absurd even to think of developing a friendship with a woman, and he was in no financial position to think of anything else.
Nate's thoughts were interrupted by the hissing of the brakes as the train slid into the Redwood City station. Detective Jackson had given him a copy from the police report on Samuels' supposed whereabouts for the time of Matthew Voss's death. It was pretty straightforward, and now all Nate had to do was confirm that everything Samuels had said was true. Samuels said he had come to Redwood City on the morning train, Saturday, the day Voss was killed. According to the police report, he stayed at Baker's Hotel, did business, missed the five-thirty train back to San Francisco. He said he then telegraphed Matthew at their place of business, cancelling on dinner, and let him know he'd meet with him in the morning when he got back. Samuels had returned Sunday morning by train, even having the stub confirming this to give to the police when they asked him for it.
As soon as Nate got off the train, he went straight to Baker's Hotel. The owner, Fred Popper, was standing behind the desk in the hotel lobby, and he was delighted to be of service to Nate. Popper, a skinny bean-pole of a man, twirled his mustache and twinkled his eyes merrily when Nate asked him if he could confirm that Malcolm Samuels had been at the Hotel on Saturday, August fourth, and that he didn't leave until the next morning.
"Well, now, young feller, what's all this now? Some of those crooked San Francisco police wondering if they can pin old Matt Voss's death on his partner? Sorry to be disobliging. But Samuels was sure enough here and not in San Francisco when Voss died. Now I'm right sorry about Matt's death, particularly sad for his wife. Sweetest lady I ever met. But Matthew Voss could be a tight-fisted, stubborn old man, and, down the peninsula, we always felt that Samuels was the smart businessman of the two."
Nate mumbled something about how it might be hard to remember exactly when Samuels visited, if he visited that often, and Popper had laughed. "Maybe so, but you can bet when we heard the news of Voss's death, we all said to ourselves how lucky old Samuels was to be here with us, or for certain someone would be wondering if he'd have a hand in it. If Samuels was to be believed, those two seldom saw eye-to-eye. Anyway, I got proof for you if that's what you want."
At this point Popper pulled over the register and showed Nate the line where Samuels had signed in on August fourth and then signed out again on August fifth. "I remember he came in off the morning train, dropped by for breakfast, said he'd not be staying the night this time, since old Matt wanted him back for some important meeting. Samuels told me he thought his partner was getting senile, making a big mystery of everything. About eleven he left, I assume to make some calls. Then around three he came back, had some lunch and got tied up in a poker game. There's always one going on, most of the men who played with Samuels that afternoon are probably sitting in my dining room right this minute."
Nate interrupted. "Why did Samuels change his mind about going back to town? Was that unusual?"
Popper ran his hands through his thinning hair, slicking it back. "Well, it wasn't the first time he got involved in a game and forgot the time. Anyhow, I was bringing the boys some refreshment when Samuels pulled out his watch and swore a blue streak when he realized he'd missed the 5:30. That's the last train to San Francisco on Saturdays, you know. Anyway, he asked me to send a telegraph to Voss. Here, I'll show you."
At this point Popper went over to a cabinet and pulled out a large grey ledger, similar to the one for the hotel register. He rifled through the pages and turned the book around so Nate could see, pointing out an entry.
"See, I've got it all written down, date, time, address where it was sent, message itself. Just in case one goes astray or gets transmitted wrong, want to protect myself, you know. We're the only hotel around that has a telegraph operator on call 24 hours a day. I can tell you it's a great service to our guests."
Nate looked at the entry, which confirmed everything. This didn't really surprise Nate, since he had seen the notation in Matthew's own business diary of the cancelled and rescheduled meeting. But before he went in to interrogate the card players, he thought he'd better pin down the information about when Samuels had departed the hotel.
Nate gave the hotelkeeper a warm smile and said, "Thank you, Mr. Popper, you have been more than helpful. Could you just please tell me what you know of Samuels' movements after he finished his poker game and before he left for San Francisco the next morning?"
"Well, now, I'm not right sure. I know the card game broke up pretty soon after. Many of the men live outside of town and have to get home for supper. But I do know that he was in my dining room by seven the next morning. If I rightfully remember, he ate a sight more than usual. He's a ma
n who watches his weight, he does. Hard not to overdo it when you're on the road a good deal, I can tell you. He had steak and a large stack of flapjacks. I can recommend the food we serve at Baker's, if you’d like some supper. We got a damn fine cook."
Nate responded that he was hoping to get back on the early 8:30 train that made the trip to San Francisco on weeknights, but that he'd be sure to try the steak before he left. And he had to admit later that the steak at Bakers was good; it was just too bad he hadn't been able to eat in peace. He had asked Popper to send any of the men who'd played poker with Samuels over his way, and by the time he had eaten his dessert he'd had his back slapped by no fewer than six men, all of whom had very sharp memories of Samuels' last visit. It appears that Popper's hotel was the favorite gathering place for both the local businessmen and those from out of town. There had been only one suspicious circumstance in all their information.
None of the men Nate talked to had seen Samuels between seven, Saturday evening, when the poker game broke up, and seven the next morning, when Samuels had come down to breakfast. Some of them remembered that Samuels had something planned for the evening, some vague memory of him hinting at a late night ahead of him, drinking with some old pal from the gold rush days. But nobody was very clear on it; they didn't know if it was somebody at the hotel, or even if the person was in town.
Nate didn't know what to do. On the surface, Samuels appeared to have been exactly where he was supposed to be, in Redwood City, twenty miles away from where Matthew was killed. Yet Nate hadn't found anybody who had actually seen him at the crucial times, since the police were putting the time of Matthew's death between at 11 p.m. and 3 a.m. There was a slight possibility he could have ridden back to San Francisco and been back in time for breakfast the next morning, but that would mean that somehow he had to get a horse. So the first thing to do was to see if he could rule out Samuels using any of the stables in town. The town wasn't all that big, it shouldn't take very long, and he still might be able to make the eight-thirty back to the city that night.
Nate began a round of visits to the local stables. After the second stable, which had been filled, as had the one before, with hostlers who were either drinking or poker playing buddies of Samuels, Nate was ready to give it up. Although nobody remembered seeing Samuels two weeks ago, everyone had a story to tell about him. If Nate had to hear one more off-color story or salacious joke that Samuels had told, he thought he'd get ill. Nate really had begun to dislike Samuels, but, to be fair, that wasn't proof that the man was a murderer.
Finally, with only twenty minutes to train departure, Nate hit pay dirt at the third stable. This one was near the edge of town, and what he learned there caused Nate for the first time to take the idea of Samuels as Voss’s murderer seriously. It was a small stable, only seven stalls, and the owner, Jasper Steckle, was not a good friend of Samuels. Actually, it turned out that Jasper was the Grand Knight of the local Sons of Temperance and, while he remembered Samuels as clearly as everybody else, his memory was due to both a general dislike of all hard-drinking businessmen and a more specific grievance against Samuels. Jasper Steckle said that Samuels had mistreated the horse he had rented Saturday before last, the night that Matthew Voss died, and that he, Jasper Steckle, planned on filing a suit for damages.
"Durned fool man said Jenny was lame when he took her out, but she weren't. She was lame when he brought her in, and winded like I never seen before. He'd whipped her too. She's a gentle one, no need to whip her. Man treats an animal like that ought to be horsewhipped himself. It's not the money I'm after. She'll be all right if I give her enough rest. But it's the principle."
Wait until Annie hears this, thought Nate. Here was a possible hole in Samuels' alibi. He had been out on horseback on Saturday night, and he had ridden hard. It would take six to eight hours to get to San Francisco and back by horse, but Samuels could have done it. According to Jasper, he'd rented the horse at seven-thirty that night and had not brought her back until six-thirty the next morning. Nearly twelve hours! Theoretically he could have been in San Francisco between ten at night and two the next morning, in time to commit a murder and still get back to Redwood City in time for breakfast.
Jasper continued, "He had some tall tale about riding over inland to a friend's ranch to visit. The Johnsons, they have a spread about an hour west of here. Then said when he got there he discovered they were down country for roundup and the ranch was empty. So he rode back after getting a few hours sleep in the barn. He looked like hell, but I don't think it was from sleeping in a barn; more'n likely he'd spent it with his head in a bottle, and that's why he'd mistreated Jenny."
Unless he'd spent it riding to San Francisco to murder his partner, thought Nate.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Friday morning, August 17, 1879
The old scarred kitchen table was covered with fourteen oil lamps, standing in neat rows as if soldiers on parade. Each base had been cleaned and refilled, with the silver burners polished to gleaming brightness, each wick had been trimmed or replaced and was standing at attention, and the glass chimneys had been thoroughly scrubbed with soda and water so that not a speck of soot marred their surfaces. Annie sat slumped in a chair looking at these neat rows. It had taken two hours of hard work to achieve this martial scene of perfection, and these were only the lamps from the first floor. She still had two more floors of lamps to clean, and, even if she put off cleaning the rest of the lamps in the house, she still had to return the lamps to their proper places before lunch. Which meant going up and down the back stairs fourteen times, since she could only carry one lamp at a time, filled as they were to the brim with oil.
But first she had to clean up herself. She held up her hands for inspection, and noted with little surprise that they were covered in greasy black splotches and that her fingernails were etched in black. Without thinking, she began to tuck in a stray curl of hair that had escaped and dangled over her right eye, when she snatched back the offending hand.
With a short laugh that threatened to disintegrate into a sob, Annie smoothed back her hair with both hands. What difference does it make? I’m sure that my face and hair are already polluted by now. I must look like a chimney sweep. What I wouldn’t give for a bath! Annie shifted forward to prop her head in those grimy hands, leaning her elbows on the table and causing her army of lamps to clink and rattle, as if preparing to march. If only they could march themselves right up the stairs to take up their duties throughout the house.
In this new position, Annie was forced to notice a sour smell that emanated from her skin and mingled with the sweeter smell of the oil. She had put on her last clean chemise and drawers yesterday, thinking that she would be going home last night. But she hadn’t gone home, despite her promise to Nate. Mrs. Voss had asked Annie as she cleared the dinner dishes if she would postpone her night out again, with the promise that she could have tonight off, and half of Saturday as well.
Annie had nodded yes, mentally defending herself to Nate. What else could I have said to Mrs. Voss? No, I can’t stay and help out, despite the fact that you have learned today that your son may be arrested for murdering your husband, despite the fact that you face a night alone in this house with no one but your sister-in-law, who hates you, and a lady’s maid who may be the actual killer?
She had sent another note with Wong, again informing Beatrice that she would be staying another night, again hoping that Nate would get the message as well. As a result, here she was, her fifth day as a servant, and she wasn’t sure that her black jersey waist and skirt would ever come clean of the accumulations of carbolic acid, bluing, coal dust, and kitchen grease. Before she had to serve lunch she would have to see if the under things she had washed in the morning were dry yet, and switch back to her black wool dress that she had hung out to air. But she didn’t think that anything but a bath would really remedy the way she smelled or felt. And a bath was a good eleven hours away, since she didn’t think she would be able to g
et away before nine tonight. Saints above, I hope I didn’t smell this way yesterday afternoon when Nate was sitting across from me. Or the night before on the garden bench! Annie shuddered.
She didn’t know how Wong kept looking so clean, given all the work he did. And, Cartier, it was hard to imagine her with dirty hands or soiled clothes, although she must have done some harder domestic work at some time. For the hundredth time Annie wondered about Cartier’s background. Did she come from a wealthy family fallen on hard times, which might explain her attitude of superiority. Where was Cartier anyway? The lady’s maid had unexpectedly volunteered to do the marketing, but she should have been back by now. Annie hoped some newspaper reporter hadn’t stopped her. This morning the presence of the patrolman that Nate had requested had the newsmen away from the front of the house. Or maybe they had simply lost interest. The Chronicle had been full of some awful carriage accident that had happened in Golden Gate Park.
Annie looked at the clock on the wall and realized with a start that Cartier had been gone for nearly three hours. With sudden elation, Annie realized the best explanation for Cartier’s extended absence would be that she had fled the house, perhaps the city. This was as good as an admission of guilt!
Energized by the thought that Cartier’s disappearance would shift the attention of the police away from Jeremy, Annie began the long process of returning the lamps to their allotted places throughout the first floor. As she did so, she tried to figure out the best way to alert the police. She decided that if Cartier still hadn’t returned by lunchtime that she would tell Mrs. Voss; she could express concern about Cartier’s safety and suggest the police should be notified. It would be even better if Nate stopped by, because she knew he would take Cartier’s disappearance seriously. She had been rather expecting that he would show up this morning, if only to find out why she hadn’t gone home as planned last night. She couldn’t help wonder what he had found out about Samuels. Whatever it was, it seemed irrelevant now, unless it turned out Samuels was Cartier’s mysterious gentleman friend.
Maids of Misfortune: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery Page 27
