“Delphine didn’t tell me what he said. Something rather frightful, I gathered. He demanded she return some jewelry he’d given her.”
“And did she?” asked Garnick.
“I don’t know.”
A rejected suitor with a bone to pick shot to the top of Quinn’s witness list. “Did Delphine ever say why she didn’t disclose his name?”
“It was at his behest. Something about his work.”
Quinn wondered if she had inadvertently stumbled into another Pinkerton plot replete with false names and nefarious purposes. She salted away this steamy tidbit to mull at a later time. “Did Delphine know about Burk’s informal relationship with Elfie Jackson?”
“The woman attached herself to him. Like a leech, that’s what Delphine called her. The leech showed up in Rock Island penniless, a runaway from some little prairie town, all rags and fleas. Burk tried to help her, protect her from the kinds of sordid things that happen to her sort, but she willfully misconstrued his kindness.”
“Too big-hearted for his own good,” observed Garnick drily.
“Precisely,” declared Josabeth, the gibe going over her head.
Quinn brushed aside the need for tact. “Mr. Bayer’s kindness continued after he relocated to Chicago. He and Elfie shared lodgings, did they not?”
“Certainly not. Mr. Weyerhaeuser maintained an office for his purchasing agent. Burk made that his quarters. Out of the goodness of his heart, he paid for a room for her. No one could possibly hold him responsible for what she did, although the poor man blames himself. He’s desolated by Delphine’s death.”
Quinn tried to reconcile the competing versions of Bayer – the callous one who treated Elfie so cruelly, and the bighearted one who rescued her from a life of shame. Whichever version was true, he had endeared himself to Delphine and, from the way Josabeth talked, she was smitten as well. There was no chance she’d say anything less than complimentary about “Burk” and Quinn took a different line. “You mentioned insurance. Do you know which company insured the Kadinger home?”
“My father said it’s the Illinois Casualty, the same as he uses. He says they’ll probably investigate, but they’re bound to pay because it wasn’t the insured’s fault.”
The banging of the doorknocker brought Josabeth abruptly to her feet, cheeks flushed. “Oh!”
It didn’t take a clairvoyant to see that this was the caller she’d been expecting. The considerate thing would be to thank her for her hospitality and leave, but Quinn had a premonition that she was about to meet Burk Bayer. She rushed to forestall Josabeth from bidding them a swift adieu. “We don’t wish to impose upon you and your guest, Miss Allbright, but we have a few more questions of a most urgent nature.”
She appeared flustered, but before she had time to respond the maid ushered a tall, lithe man into the room. “Mr. Bayer,” she announced. Without waiting to be asked, she picked up the empty lemonade pitcher and whisked it back to the kitchen to be refilled.
There was no denying Bayer was nice to look at. His auburn hair, combed back from his forehead, luxuriated rakishly behind his ears but didn’t touch his perfect white shirt collar. Smooth-faced, straight-nosed, and attired in a smartly tailored tan frock coat, he cut a debonair figure. Josabeth held out her hand. He grasped it warmly. “Miss Allbright, how kind you are to invite me.”
She blushed. “I’m so pleased you could come, Mr. Bayer. May I introduce Mrs. Paschal and Mr. Garnick? They are…detectives.”
Quinn and Garnick both stood and Bayer’s eyes flickered over them as if taking their measure. As if calculating the value of a load of logs, thought Quinn.
“Has Miss Allbright done something that warrants investigation?” he asked with an arch smile and shook their hands.
Garnick chuckled. “That’s a good one. But no, sir, as we told the lady, we’re here on behalf of Miss Elfie Jackson. Her lawyer’s working on a theory of reasonable doubt, which is another way of saying it could’ve been somebody else burned your father-in-law’s house. I hope that doesn’t upset you.”
“No. No, it doesn’t upset me. It surprises me only that she has an attorney. However could she pay?”
“A group of women who care about justice,” said Quinn.
“That is welcome news indeed. I pray you discover it was someone other than Elfie, detectives, so that I may stop tormenting myself with ifs. If I’d never opened my door to her, if I’d never told her where I was going when I left Rock Island, if I’d been in the house that night. I will do whatever I can to help you with your investigation.” He smiled at Josabeth and she visibly relaxed.
Mag returned with a fresh pitcher of lemonade and a glass for Bayer. “Shall I serve now, Miss Allbright?”
“Yes! Good heavens. Let’s all sit. Please take the chair beside me, Mr. Bayer.”
They made themselves comfortable. Mag poured fresh lemonade all around and repaired to the kitchen. While Josabeth plied Bayer with cakes and sympathetic chitchat, Quinn sipped her drink and mused on his seemingly open, accommodating attitude. Perhaps she had judged him unfairly. In any case, his conduct toward Elfie, whether caring or cruel, did not excuse Elfie if she’d set the fire.
Garnick drained his lemonade and waded into the conversation. “We’d be grateful for any help you can give us with our investigation, Mr. Bayer. As I understand it, you work for Mr. Fred Weyerhaeuser.”
“I did until a few weeks ago. Following my marriage, I left Weyerhaeuser’s employ and entered my father-in-law’s business. It’s not a direct competitor of Weyerhaeuser so there were no hard feelings.”
“Do you know anyone who might’ve held a grudge against Mr. Kadinger? Any workers or customers riled up enough to want to do him dirty?”
“No one I’ve heard of. I’m just now beginning to go over his business records with his clerk.”
Quinn said, “We were told there were two legal claims made against him. One by a saw filer named Murphy and the other by a builder, Mosley.”
“Those were small claims, settled out of court with no hard feelings.”
“What about yourself, sir?” Garnick sounded pained at having to ask. “Any enemies or disgruntled lady friends other than Miss Jackson?”
“No. And while I befriended Elfie Jackson, or tried to, she was never my lady.”
Quinn marked the vicarious indignation on Josabeth’s face and refrained from any suggestion of an improper relationship. “Was your wife Mr. Kadinger’s sole heir?”
“Yes.”
“And you are hers?”
“By law Delphine had no will, but as she was her father’s only heir, so now am I.”
“Your short marriage has made you a very rich man,” she said, avoiding Josabeth’s eyes.
“Perhaps.” His voice went hoarse. “But lonely. And profoundly sad.”
Josabeth bestowed upon him a moist, adoring gaze. “It’s simply beyond the pale that Delphine’s brother is being such a lout. He makes the situation so much more painful for you.”
Quinn was perplexed. “Delphine had a brother?”
“Verner is something of a black sheep,” said Bayer. “He and his father didn’t get along and Mr. Kadinger sent him to Germany to learn steelmaking from his cousins. He found working in the mill beneath him. He returned to Chicago a few months ago, demanding a position in his father’s office. Instead, Rolf offered to start him out as a stevedore loading and unloading ships. Verner became enraged. There was a salvo of harsh words and they parted on bad terms.”
“And Verner doesn’t benefit from his father’s estate?” asked Garnick.
“After they fought, Rolf had his lawyer draw up a new will the next day.”
“Leaving you the caboodle?”
“Leaving my wife the caboodle, although that may ultimately amount to a pittance. Rolf invested heavily in water-loan bonds and Miss Allbright’s father informs me the city is on the point of default. I’ll be lucky to recoup pennies on the dollar.”
Those pennies
added to the assets of Kadinger Lumber and the insurance on the Kadinger home would probably see him through to his next opportunity, thought Quinn.
“It’s of course more money than I’d have made in three or four years working for Weyerhaeuser, even with bonuses, but at such a cost.” He gave a melancholy sigh. “To think it came to me through the intentional malice of a woman I helped and trusted. I had worried Rolf might start a fire by accident. After feuding with Verner, the old gentleman began adding a quaff of whiskey to his nightly routine. Actually, he was tippling pretty heavily.”
“Did he leave nothing at all to his son?” asked Quinn.
“The only thing he left Verner was a spittoon.”
Garnick whistled. “If I don’t mistake his meaning, that’s a right nasty insult.”
“Rolf used snuff. Verner called him a filthy snuff eater and a lot worse. Delphine tried to persuade her brother to apologize and make peace, but he turned on her.”
“And now he’s turned on poor Mr. Bayer,” said Josabeth.
“Miss Allbright is referring to Verner’s stated intention to contest his father’s will. I offered him a liberal remittance, but he turned up his nose. I guess there’s no way to placate such a hoard of hard feelings.”
Hard feelings seemed to be a recurring theme with Bayer, noted Quinn, and Elfie wasn’t the only one who harbored them. “Have you no suspicion at all that it was Verner who set the fire?”
“It’s a ghoulish thought, but…I really don’t know.” He stared into his lemonade and appeared to ruminate. “A prodigal son may be welcomed home, but only if he asks for forgiveness and shows a trace of humility. Rolf Kadinger wasn’t willing to slaughter the fatted calf and shower Verner with money unless he bowed to his authority. Verner said he’d sooner see the old scoundrel in hell. He might still have apologized and been welcomed back into the family, but he couldn’t contain his rage and resentment.”
“I gather he didn’t attend your wedding?” continued Quinn.
“No.”
She said, “We were told a small fire disrupted your party at the Tremont. Did you ever learn how it started?”
“No. I’m sure you were also told that Elfie had been barred from entering the hotel.”
“Do you think Verner could’ve set the fire to spite his father?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Any idea where Verner might be found?” asked Garnick.
“The letter he wrote Mr. Kadinger’s lawyer bore the return address of a gentleman’s rooming house on Pine. Somewhere near Farwell Hall, I believe.”
“There was also a housemaid,” said Garnick. “We’d like to talk to her if you know where she hied off to.”
In her excitement over the discovery of Delphine’s angry former suitor and resentful brother, Quinn had almost forgotten about Rhetta Slayne.
A cloud scudded across Bayer’s face. “Poor Rhetta. She came to me last week weeping. She blames herself for not being able to find Delphine in the smoke. Of course it was a miracle she escaped with her own life. I gave her a character reference and suggested she inquire at the Walker Ellis house. I don’t know if she did.”
“Oh, Mr. Bayer.” Tears welled in Josabeth’s eyes. “You are such a generous soul to worry about others when you are in such pain.”
Quinn felt a perverse urge to stick a pin in Josabeth to bring her to her senses, but she was clearly enthralled, just as Delphine had been. “Where is Rhetta now?”
“I wish I knew. When construction is completed on my new home, I’d be happy to employ her.”
Quinn set her empty glass on the occasional table next to her chair and stood. “Mr. Garnick and I have detained you long enough. You have been most helpful.”
They all rose and shook hands again.
Garnick gave Bayer an extra few pumps. “One widower to another, sir, I know what you’re going through. Time heals is an old saw, more hopeful maybe than seems thinkable to you right now, but memories fade. I reckon you’ll outlast your grief.”
“Is that how it was for you, Mr. Garnick?”
“More or less. One last question if you don’t mind.”
“Yes?”
“Where were you on the night of the fire?”
That fazed him. His pupils became pinpoints and his lips compressed in a thin line. “That morning I took the train to Rock Island to meet with a lumber trader. Mr. Harrell Paulson of Second Street if you care to verify. I lodged at a tavern on Third Street. I don’t recall the name. No one knew where to send a wire. I didn’t find out what had happened until my return two days later.”
“Not being there to save her, nor even to say goodbye.” Garnick’s voice was warm with fellow feeling. “That’s a hard thing to live with.”
“It’s an agony. The police said she was burned beyond recognition.”
“Then I reckon it’s a mercy you never saw her. Well, thank you for your hospitality, Miss Allbright, and condolences to you, sir, for your loss.”
Quinn said, “Rest assured, Mr. Bayer, we’ll do everything in our power to get to the truth and relieve you of your torment.”
From the combustible look he flashed, he understood her innuendo perfectly.
Chapter 8
Lightning split the sky in long jagged shafts and thunder rolled like caissons. Quinn felt the reverberations in her bones. The carriage rocked and pitched in the gusting wind and hailstones pelted the wooden awning.
“Be careful what you wish for, Garnick,” she called, but the roar of the storm drowned out her voice.
The streetlights were buoys floating in a lake of darkness. Theirs was the only carriage on the street, or the only one she could see. The big horse plodded steadily on in spite of the hail and crashing thunder. She reminded herself to ask Garnick if Leonidas had been a warhorse. Both horse and driver must be soaked. Sheltered and mostly dry in the passenger seat, Quinn couldn’t help but feel guilty. They’d been bucked and buffeted for nearly an hour when they turned onto Clark Street and a fork of lightning lit up the huge marble building that housed City Hall.
“You get out here and run inside,” Garnick shouted over his shoulder. “It’s the side door off to your right. The jail’s in the basement. Chesterton should be there waiting for us. I’ll find a cover for Leonidas and join you in a few minutes.”
Quinn had passed the City Hall many times, but never gone inside. Some said it was haunted. Many men had been hanged from a scaffold erected at the top of a staircase somewhere in the eastern end of the building. If Elfie were to be convicted and sentenced to death, she would be hooded, noosed, and dropped from that same scaffold with the public and an avid cadre of newspaper reporters looking on. Quinn banished the thought and darted through the squall. The pea-sized hail peppered her bonnet and a raucous clanging added to the din. She glanced up and saw the bell in the cupola whipping wildly back and forth.
The door had been left unlocked, but when she pulled it open a blast of wind blew it back on its hinges and slammed it against the outside wall. She wrestled it shut and turned around to get her bearings. Ahead of her was a long, gloomy corridor like a tunnel in a catacomb. This was her first time inside a jail. Where was the police bureau? Where was Captain Chesterton? Where were the cells?
A strong smell of disinfectant stung her nose and throat. She took a minute to shake beads of hail off her hat and cape and calm her nerves. A slur of voices from somewhere deep in the catacomb started her moving. After a short march, a door on her right opened and two uniformed men entered the hall. They wore stern expressions and long-barreled sidearms.
The sterner of the two put up his hand. “Are you Mrs. Paschal?”
“Yes.”
“In there.” He jerked his thumb. “The captain’s fit to be tied. Where’s Garnick?”
“On his way.” She hadn’t expected to be showered with flower petals and applause, but she thought Chesterton and Garnick had an agreement. Did the police resent them for visiting the woman who’d stabb
ed their colleague?
She lifted her chin and stepped inside. Captain “Chez” Chesterton filled the small room, his legs spread wide, arms folded over his chest. A muscle in his jaw rippled as if a mouse were wriggling under the skin. “Where’s Garnick?”
“He’s on his way,” she repeated. “Has there been more trouble with Miss Jackson, Captain?”
“If that was all…thunder and tarnation!” He fixed her with a blameful stare. “Except for Garnick being a John Reb and too darn lucky at cards, I’d have put him down as a right guy. Sensible, feet on the ground. You must be some kind of Delilah to gull him into this private investigator nonsense.”
“I didn’t gull him into anything and it’s not nonsense. You wouldn’t belittle a Pinkerton investigator that way.”
“That’s because the Pinks stick to rousting bank robbers and guarding trains. They mostly keep their noses out of everyday murder.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Chez,” said Garnick, dribbling rain and hail on the floor. “The two guards I met outside told me you were in a bearish temper. What’s eating you?”
“Paschal and Garnick, detectives, that’s what’s eating me.” He took a card off his desk and waved it in front of their noses.
“Give me a squint.” Garnick took it out of his hand. “It’s ours, all right. You find a misspelled word?”
“What I found is a dead man. That card was in his pocket.”
“I surmise this ain’t a case of natural expiry?”
“None of your jokes, Garnick. The muggins was shot in the head. Twice for good measure.”
Quinn did a quick inventory of the people she’d given the card to. The young desk clerk at the Tremont, the obnoxious hotel manager, Annie Stafford’s bouncer who had passed the card on to Annie, Josabeth Allbright. Moses’ horns, had Josabeth passed it on to Burk Bayer? “Who is he?” she asked. “What’s the dead man’s name?”
“He had no wallet,” said Chesterton. “No cash, no papers. Nothing but your damn…I beg your pardon, ma’am, nothing but that calling card you’re holding in your hand, Garnick.”
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