by S A Falconi
“Well, his wife of course, Anabeth Bucke. Matter of fact, they’ve got a home just outside of Blackhawk.”
Donaghue glanced back at Kraus again.
Kraus shrugged and said, “Maybe she can identify the girl.”
Donaghue nodded and turned back to address Mr. Wilmont. “Do the Bucke’s have any children, a young woman perhaps?”
Mr. Wilmont shook his head. “Mrs. Bucke, to Mr. Bucke’s dismay, is as sterile as a mule. If they have children, they sure as hell didn’t come from her.”
Donaghue asked, “Mr. Wilmont, would you mind stepping onto the train with me for a moment?” As Wilmont ascended the steps, Donaghue called to the crowd, “That is all for now. Thank you for your assistance.”
Donaghue shook Wilmont’s hand as he introduced Kraus. “This is my associate, Dr. Pennleton.”
Wilmont extended his hand to Kraus. “Pleasure to meet you, Doctor.” As Wilmont shook Kraus’ hand, he noticed the brakeman sitting in the corner of the train car with his vomit-filled cap resting in his lap. “Is he alright?”
Donaghue closed the door to the train car, responding, “He’s fine. Just ill from the ride.”
“How may I be of assistance, Detective Armstrong?”
“Well, Mr. Wilmont…”
“Please,” Wilmont interrupted, “call me Leroy.”
Donaghue ignored the request for pleasantries though, continuing, “Mr. Wilmont, it seems that you at least have some familiarity with the Bucke family, is that accurate?”
“Well sure. That is, my father and Mr. Bucke are associates – rather competitors. Friendly foes I would say.” Wilmont grinned from the witticism.
“Regardless, you know both Mr. and Mrs. Bucke on what seems to be a relatively personal level, yes?”
“That’s correct, Detective.”
“I wonder,” Donaghue inquired, “if such a relation has granted you knowledge of their associates? Employees? Perhaps acquaintances of Mr. Bucke or Mrs. Bucke?”
Wilmont smiled broadly, adding, “Mrs. Bucke is not the type to have acquaintances.”
Kraus interjected, “What do you mean?”
“Well,” Wilmont answered, “I’ll put it this way. My mother says that Anabeth Bucke is as aloof as a wolf.”
“By nature or demand?” Kraus added.
Wilmont’s brow furrowed curiously. “I’m not sure what you mean, Doctor. Demand?”
“What I mean,” Kraus replied, “is Mrs. Bucke socially cautious because she wants to be or because Mr. Bucke requires her to be?”
“Excuse me, Doctor, but what difference does that make?”
“A great deal, Mr. Wilmont. I assure you.”
Wilmont shrugged. “I don’t know… I guess both? Say – not that it’s much of my business, but what’s a detective doing with a doctor anyways?”
“You’re right,” Donaghue interjected, “it isn’t any of your business. But since you asked, he’s a forensic pathologist.”
“Oh …” Wilmont uttered, his expression twisting with mild confusion. “What’s that?”
Just as Kraus was about to answer, Donaghue interrupted, “As I was saying, Mr. Wilmont, you would have knowledge of the Bucke family’s associates and acquaintances correct? At least, facial recognition?”
“Yes, I suppose I would.”
“Good,” Donaghue replied. “Would you mind following me?”
Donaghue proceeded down the length of the train car with the young man in his wake. When Donaghue entered the bedroom, the brutality of the scene overpowered him, stopping him in the middle of the doorway.
“Everything alright, Detective?” Wilmont inquired.
Donaghue gulped and nodded. “Fine. Wait a moment though.”
Donaghue reentered and removed a linen sheet from the bed. He unfurled the cloth at the young woman’s feet and slowly covered her body leaving only her face visible.
“Okay, Mr. Wilmont.”
The young man entered and his gleeful air was eviscerated by the scene.
“My God,” he whispered, his head swaying to and fro with shock and disbelief. “What happened to her?”
Donaghue answered tersely, “Her throat was slashed, Mr. Wilmont. She bled to death. Now, have you seen this woman before.”
Wilmont cautiously inched his way towards the body. His eyes grew wider and his jaw drooped as he neared. It was the first time he’d ever seen a dead body, at least one in this state, this context. He’d seen the bodies of his deceased relatives, cured and decorated for visitation during funerals. But those bodies looked so peaceful and aged. This body, this young woman, couldn’t have been much older than him. And the agony that smothered her face – she wasn’t at peace at all. It was as if she were still alive enduring the most excruciating pain imaginable.
“Do you recognize her at all?” Donaghue asked.
The question snapped Wilmont out of his paralysis. “Huh?” he grumbled as his eyes flickered. “What?”
“Do you recognize her, Mr. Wilmont?”
Wilmont turned his head away. “No.”
“You hardly looked,” Donaghue commented. “I know it’s difficult, but if you can aid us in anyway it would be a terrific assistance.”
Wilmont sighed and returned his gaze to the young woman’s face. The tears were still fresh in her lifeless eyes. Her complexion had yet to turn that ghoulish grey. But not a single feature was familiar to him. Nothing made him recall a humdrum dinner party or a falsely-courteous business conference. He stared at her expression, churning his mind for a shred of recognition. Nothing came though.
“I’m sorry, Detective,” Wilmont muttered, shaking his head sullenly. “I don’t recognize her.”
“Hell,” Donaghue mumbled, contemplating the situation.
“Detective,” Kraus uttered from behind them. “Blackburn?”
How could he have forgotten? Blackburn was their only promising lead, even though Donaghue was becoming less certain of it. But perhaps Wilmont knew or had seen Walter Blackburn before?
“Does the name Walter Blackburn ring a bell?” Donaghue asked Wilmont.
Wilmont mulled the name over momentarily. It certainly sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place from where he’d heard it. Finally, he shook his head, answering, “Sorry, Detective, I can’t say I do.”
“Well,” Donaghue grumbled with a sigh, “can you at least tell us how to get to the Bucke residence?”
XI.
Around the time Donaghue’s and Kraus’ train was ascending Clear Creek Canyon, Detective Abernathe and a horde of beat officers were packed into the foyer of the police precinct. Abernathe, alongside Chapman, stood at the front just before the entrance. Chapman was poised and stoic, while Abernathe itched with anticipation and anxiety. This would be the second raid conducted under the East Side Ripper investigation, but Abernathe was certain that this raid would bare far greater fruit than the first.
Abernathe glanced at his pocket watch for the eighth time in ten minutes. Still two minutes before seven o’clock. Abernathe told Chapman the night before that they needed to conduct the raid as soon as they suspected Donaghue was the Ripper, but Chapman insisted that waiting until morning would be a better strategy. Besides, they didn’t even know Charles Kraus’ place of residence and wouldn’t know until the morning at least. Abernathe was eager to catch this bastard though. He still couldn’t believe that this whole time it was Donaghue. Right under their noses even. But they were so very near the end. Soon, the people of Denver could go about their lives without the fear of a butchering lunatic haunting their streets.
“Relax, Detective,” Chapman grumbled. “This isn’t our first raid after all.”
Abernathe snorted sardonically. “Our most important I’d say. This has been the biggest disaster this town has yet seen.”
“In a few hours,” Chapman retorted, “it’ll also be the greatest triumph for you and this department.”
Abernathe hardly considered three slaughtered, innocent wome
n a triumph, but then again, Billing was now attached firmly to Chapman’s hip, and whatever Billing wrote, people believed. If there ever was a swindler capable of bending this truth, it was T.G. Billing.
“How long before Billing publishes the story?” Abernathe whispered to Chapman.
“I told him to wait until I sent word that Donaghue and Kraus were in our custody. No sooner.”
“Good,” Abernathe replied with a smirk. “Catch those bastards with their trousers around their ankles.
Abernathe’s gaze returned to his watch. Seven o’clock sharp.
He raised his head and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, your attention.” The murmurs quickly ceased and Abernathe continued, “Good morning, gentlemen. We’re under the gun on this so I’ll be brief. As you know, we have a strong belief that the East Side Ripper is none other than former detective Peter Donaghue. This morning, we will be conducting tandem raids: one of the Hanbury House and one of a residence just a few blocks away from the brothel. The residence is leased by a Dr. Charles Kraus. Dr. Kraus is a known associate of Mr. Donaghue’s and therefore is also to be apprehended on sight. You all have been distributed into two companies of ten. Team Alpha will raid the Hanbury House as led by Chief Chapman. Team Bravo will raid Dr. Kraus’ residence as led by me. Chief, would you like to speak to your team’s tactical approach?”
“Sure,” Chapman grumbled. “Team Alpha, we will have three officers as well as me entering the front door. Four more will enter through the back door. One will be posted in the south alley, and the other two in the west alley. We will sweep every inch of the establishment, main floor first followed by the second floor. As you know, Ed Maclellan is still in custody, so we needn’t worry about him. I will caution you though, given the circumstances of the crimes, Donaghue must be regarded as extremely dangerous. Do not try to apprehend him alone and by all means, use whatever force is necessary. Understood?”
“Yes, Chief,” the officers answered in unison.
“Team Bravo,” Abernathe added, “the apartment building is quite cramped, however, there is only one entry point into Dr. Kraus’ unit. I want five men including me at the entrance and the remainder of you forming a perimeter: two in the alley, one along 18th Street, and two more on the northern flank of the building in case they flee through windows. Understood?”
“Yes, Detective.”
“Good. Gentlemen,” Abernathe declared triumphantly, “let’s take our city back.”
Abernathe and Chapman thrust the entry doors open and strode out onto the stoop. The vibrato of the beat officers’ boot steps behind them gave them the formidable sense of leading infantry troops into battle. Abernathe prayed that Donaghue was in the apartment. Now more than ever he wanted to slam his baton into the side of Donaghue’s head. As they strode down the walkway of 18th Street though, Abernathe couldn’t help but notice a paperboy on the street corner a block away. The boy was belting a headline, but the exact words were inaudible.
Abernathe glanced at Chapman and motioned to the boy. “I thought you said that ogre was waiting to print?”
“He is,” Chapman argued. “That’s probably the Chronicle or the Bugle talking about nonsense in the East.”
Abernathe continued to stare at the paper boy though. Although it was difficult to tell from such a distance, the boy seemed to look quite familiar to Abernathe. Of course, he’d probably just seen the boy in passing countless times before and never paid any mind to him. But something itched at Abernathe like the worst déjà vu.
Only when the boy was out of sight and the Hanbury House just a block away did Abernathe realize from where he knew the boy. It was the boy that Abernathe had scared to death the morning after the first victim was found. He was selling The East Side Herald.
“That son of a bitch,” Abernathe muttered under his breath. He didn’t need to see the newspaper to know that Billing, the plump leech he was, had sold out Chapman and the rest of the police department. Now time was of the essence, for the moment Donaghue and Kraus laid eyes on that paper, they’d slither into the woodpile never to be found again.
Abernathe was enraged though. He knew they shouldn’t have trusted Billing. To Chapman, Abernathe hissed, “He played us, Chief. Completely played us.”
Chapman retorted, “Relax, Detective. He did nothing of the sort.”
Abernathe shook his head with disgust and anger. How could a man become chief of a major police department and be a complete fool, Abernathe wondered? Abernathe had heard all the rumors about Chapman, the glorious stories of him as a heroic lawman. Save for the instance with Billing though, had Abernathe ever seen such heroic law enforcement from the chief? Hell no. All he saw was a weathered buffoon whose only concern was collecting a wage. Abernathe made no further comment as they neared the Hanbury House though. The raids would soon tell them everything they needed to know, and regardless of what that was, it’d be Abernathe’s responsibility to fix it. He couldn’t help but remember Chapman’s words a few days prior though… “As long as he’s not our problem, I could really care less.” What kind of lawman held such beliefs? Abernathe didn’t give a damn if Donaghue was halfway to India, he would search the four corners of the globe to hunt that bastard down. But Chapman? It was almost as if he wanted Donaghue to escape.
As Abernathe and Team Bravo crossed Hanbury Avenue, the members of Team Alpha proceeded to disperse to their positions. Abernathe and his team were halfway down the next block when they heard the door of the Hanbury House get kicked in followed by the thunderous roar of Chapman’s voice.
When Abernathe and Team Bravo reached the apartment building, the five officers assigned to the flanks dispersed to their necessary positions while the other five followed Abernathe around the corner and into the alley. Their footsteps echoed against the brick walls and several residents peered through the windows to see what the source of the commotion was. When they saw a horde of police officers, their curiosities got the best of them and their eyes became glued to the scene outside.
Abernathe stopped at Kraus’ entrance and drew his revolver. “Everyone ready?” he whispered over his shoulders.
Grunts and the clicking of revolver hammers was all the response Abernathe needed. In one smooth cycle, Abernathe swung his foot up and slammed the sole against the door.
“Police!” Abernathe barked as the door tore the jamb and flew open.
One by one the five officers filed into the building with revolvers poised to kill. Abernathe scurried in after them, his eyes scanning the premises frantically for any sign or scent of Donaghue. They filed through the narrow corridor, then entered the scant kitchen. On the stove top rested a small coffee pot. Abernathe rushed over and pressed the back of his hand against the pot. It was lukewarm at best. He picked the pot up and shook it. Maybe a quarter full. They were here early this morning, of that Abernathe was certain. Whether they were fleeing or not was the next thing to determine.
“Donaghue!” Abernathe called out. “Kraus!”
The empty apartment merely responded with silence though.
“Donaghue! Kraus!” Abernathe shouted, anger rapidly overwhelming him.
An officer answered from the parlor, “They’re not here, sir.”
Abernathe’s rage coursed through his veins as the realization settled. They weren’t here and they likely weren’t at the Hanbury House. If they weren’t in either place, then where would they be? With the rage getting the best of him, Abernathe slammed the coffee pot against the corner of the stove before throwing the dented vessel against the wall.
“I know they’re not here, damn it!” he barked. He skulked out of the kitchen as he ordered, “Search every inch of this place. Rip the floorboards up if you have to. But find me something I can use!”
Abernathe stormed out of the apartment as the officers began tearing the scant apartment to pieces. Abernathe’s mind was a whirlwind as he considered all the possibilities. Maybe he was wrong about the newspaper? Maybe it was just coincidence they
weren’t at the apartment? Abernathe glanced up at the building across the alley. In the windows, he saw the faces of the meddlesome neighbors.
“You!” Abernathe ordered, pointing to a face in one of the windows. “You see anyone leave this apartment this morning?”
The face disappeared from the window along with the faces in the other windows. Bystanders, Abernathe thought with disgust. They don’t see anything when you need them to, but when there’s nothing to see, they’re like adolescents at the peep show. But Abernathe wasn’t gonna let these onlookers get off the hook that easily. Someone had to have seen something.
Abernathe hurried up the alley and around the front of the building. Along the perimeter were the five other officers of Team Bravo, each man puffing on a cigarette as if they were enjoying a gorgeous Sunday morning.
“HEY!” Abernathe barked.
All five heads snapped in the direction of the call. When they realized it was Abernathe, their smoldering cigarette butts tumbled to the ground and the men jumped to unyielding attention.
“How ‘bout you do something useful?” Abernathe roared.
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
“Get in the buildings and find someone who saw something.”
The men scattered, their haste driven more by fear of Abernathe than desire to actually investigate.
Abernathe was seething by this point. As much as he wanted something to be discovered in the apartment building, he wanted to find out about Billing’s article that much more. He looked up 18th Street, hoping he would see Chapman and the others dragging Donaghue out by his shirt collar. He saw plenty of the bath girls lined up along the walkway, but no sign of the Ripper.
Abernathe hurried up the path to the Hanbury House. He could see there were twelve women total standing along the building’s exterior as he crossed Hanbury Avenue. Several officers questioned them, but it was clear the girls either knew nothing or didn’t care to disclose anything. As Abernathe approached the entrance of the brothel, Chapman burst through the threshold as he dragged a filthy miner out by the nape of his neck.
