The Coroner shuffled through his own stack, then raised his head to look around the room. Georg noticed Thaddeus Milo was not there. He didn’t know what to make of that. There were a few others he didn’t recognize.
“Inquiry in the death of Alexander Penworthy,” Magruder announced. “Deceased tenth of July this year. The Coroner’s autopsy was completed. Death was caused by incision to the major cardiac aorta. Does the District Attorney have additional evidence?”
The D.A. got ponderously to his feet. He was distinguished by the mass of his beard. He spoke with a rasping voice, hoarse. “Yes sir. I introduce as evidence this weapon.” From a black bag he drew forth a dagger and held it aloft.
“This instrument was the cause of death. It is made of sterling silver with a sculpted jade handle. It appears to have been manufactured in China or by a Chinese artisan. I move that the Coroner bring a verdict of death by homicide.” He put the knife down on his table.
“So moved. Anything else, Mr. Paul?”
Georg remembered the D.A.’s name was Hiram Paul. His accent marked him as from somewhere in the South.
“Yes sir. I have witnesses. I first call Mr. Daniel Jones to the stand. Mr. Jones?”
A gangly youth arose from the audience and stumbled forward. Georg thought he looked vaguely familiar. Too skinny, as if he didn’t enjoy eating, his face a mass of freckles. The D.A. swore him in with an old Bible.
“State your name, please.”
Danny Jones, sir. Danny Ferguson Jones.”
“And were you present on the streetcar at the time Mr. Penworthy was killed?”
“Yes sir, I guess so. I was about to get off when I heard somebody say a man was dead. I didn’t see it happen, though.”
Mr. Paul, the D.A., turned to address the Coroner. “We placed notices to ask any passengers to come forward. Mr. Jones is the only one who did, so far.” He turned back to Danny. “Do you recognize any other persons in this room who were on the car?”
“Yes sir.” He raised a finger to point, first at Genevieve, then at Georg. “Him and her.”
“That will be all, then, Daniel. Thank you for speaking up. Any questions?” He looked at Timmons.
“No questions.”
Daniel stepped down and Paul called Genevieve forward and swore her in.”
“Now, Mrs. Sutliff, you were the person who discovered that Mr. Penworthy was deceased. Is that right?”
“Yes. I could tell he had been dead for a few minutes.”
“And how could you tell that? Do you have medical training?” Paul’s brow rose in a skeptical arch.
“I have some. I worked as a nurse during the War.” She meant, of course, the Civil War, ten years ago. Georg’s eyes widened. He was learning more and more about Genevieve.
“You were a nurse?” Paul looked puzzled. “I thought you ran a printing service.”
“I do now. After the War I didn’t want to look at more blood. I served with the Union Army. I was at Gettysburg. Later I worked with the Sanitary Service in Washington. I often assisted in autopsies as well as surgery.”
“I see.” Paul cleared his throat and glanced around. For a moment he seemed to have lost track. “Well, then. When you noticed Mr. Penworthy was not conscious what did you do?”
“I checked his pulse and respiration. He had none. His skin had not yet begun to cool. There was a small amount of blood, but I believe most bleeding was internal. I did not at first notice the knife handle, it was so small.”
“I see. Had you ever had any previous contact with Mr. Penworthy?”
“No sir. I did print some stationery for him, but he did not himself come to my shop.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Sutliff. You may step down.”
Timmons again had no questions. Now Hiram Paul called Georg Vintner. Georg turned to his attorney. “Do I have to answer?” Timmons spoke in a low voice. “This isn’t a trial. You don’t have a right to object. Better answer.”
Georg shrugged and took the stand.
“Mr. Vintner, are you a member of the Workingman’s Party?”
Georg sighed. “The cops already asked me that. No I’m not. I’m in the Transit Union.”
“Do you know Mr. Denis Kearney?”
“No sir. I don’t.”
“Tell us what happened when Mr. Penworthy was killed.”
“Again? You already know that. There was a riot happening. I had to stop my car. There was a lot of shouting and confusion, people in a rush to get out. Stumbling over each other. I didn’t want to leave until all passengers were safe. The only ones left on board were myself, Penworthy, and Gen― Mrs. Sutliff. When the riot was over I got back to the barn and reported a death. That’s all.”
Paul turned back to the Coroner. “Mr. Magruder, this witness was to the best of our knowledge the last man to see Mr. Penworthy alive. Mr. Penworthy is known to have been a bitter enemy of Denis Kearney. We have reason to believe Kearney is somehow connected to this killing. The use of a Chinese dagger was undoubtedly an effort to distract, to somehow pin the killing on the Chinese.
“The best person to throw more light on these circumstances is Mr. Vintner here, who claims he knows nothing. The County therefore moves that Mr. Georg Vintner be held as a material witness pending further evidence.”
Magruder looked at Timmons, who merely shrugged. Georg wondered how to get a better lawyer.
Magruder said, “So ordered. This inquest finds homicide to be the cause of death in the case of Alexander Penworthy. Bailiff, you can take Mr. Vintner.”
10
Jail
Once again Georg found himself getting comfortable in the San Francisco jail. Back when he had been a drunken sailor he had sometimes found himself in worse places. If you didn’t mind the stink, this facility was all right. Lunch today was tomato soup with stale bread. He let the bread soak up soup before eating. The jail was about filled with what people were calling the hoodlum element, men hauled in from the riots. Georg knew most of them would be back on the streets in a day or two. Despite the crowd his jailer put him in an empty cell, which he had to himself until later that evening.
That’s when Clyde Sneale showed up. The jailer opened the cell door and shoved the man inside without a word. He was a small man in his forties with a waxed handlebar and wearing a good suit with tails. A sort of fading elegance. Not the kind Georg would think involved in a riot. He gave Georg a quick bow.
“Good evening, sir. I am Clyde W. Sneale. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
Georg, sprawled on his bunk, didn’t bother to rise. “Georg Vintner.” He yawned.
Somewhere a guard yelled, “Keep it quiet in there! Pipe down!” Georg couldn’t tell who he was yelling at.
Sneale waved a hand. “Disgraceful, isn’t it? These low class hoodlums infesting our fine jail. They have no respect for others. Makes me want to weep. If I’m not too forward, may I ask what brings you here?”
Georg said, “I’m not a criminal. They’re holding me as a witness.”
Sneale grinned. “That means they haven’t got much on you yet. They’ll charge you when they think they do. Do you have a lawyer?”
“Yes, but I don’t trust him.”
“Wise man. Never trust a lawyer. As for myself, I don’t mind admitting I’m a criminal. In fact, a pretty good one. I specialize in picking pockets and snatching purses. Most of the time my marks don’t even notice, till they get home and find something missing.
“Sadly, today I gave in to weakness and chose to indulge in some minor looting. Just a little sterling silver from a broken shop front. With all that’s going on I thought I would not be noticed. I was mistaken. I shan’t make that mistake again.”
“There’s more rioting going on today, then? I have not been out.”
“Oh, yes. It’s winding down some, but there are still many of Kearney’s boys about. Not that Kearney will admit any responsibility, of course. Say, if you’re looking for a better lawyer, I could provide a couple
names …”
“Thanks, but not just yet. I couldn’t afford it.”
“Hm. Let me know if you change your mind. What was it you witnessed, if you don’t mind my curiosity?”
“Don’t mind.” Briefly he described the fate of Alexander Penworthy and his own involvement.
Sneale, seated on the other bunk, paid rapt attention. “Fascinating. Of course I read about that in the papers. I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone involved.”
“I wasn’t involved, I was just there.” It occurred to Georg that Sneale might be what they called a snitch, someone placed in his cell to pretend to be friendly and try to pump him for admission of guilt. He didn’t much care. At least the fellow was someone to talk to.
After a minute or so of silence, Sneale said, “I knew Penworthy.”
Georg gave him a sharp look. “You knew Alexander? How so?”
“I did some work for him, now and then. I shan’t go into detail. Of course it was all confidential. He found me down at the Barbary Coast and said he heard I was looking for work. I did have some reputation among certain classes. Of course, I’m not spelling out what kind of work he meant. They were minor jobs, not too dangerous, and paid well. But I only worked for him four or five times.”
Georg considered that a moment. “Do you know what Denis Kearney had against Penworthy? Do you think he might have had him killed?”
Sneale had fished a small mirror from a pocket and was busy combing his hair. “As to the first, that’s easy. Kearney hates rich people as much as he hates Chinamen. But he’d like to be rich himself. Penworthy talked Kearney into investing money into what we call a parlor house. Meaning a high class whorehouse. I don’t know how Penworthy managed that. Kearney is a confidence man himself, he should have seen it coming. It turned out Penworthy hired some women from the crib houses to set up shop and decorate the place. They disappeared the day after Kearney looked the place over. He ended up buying an empty house that happened to be on the Condemned list.”
Sneale grinned and laughed. “I still find that funny, putting one over on Kearney like that.” His expression became more serious. “But as to your second question, sir, I can’t say that Kearney had him killed. He’s always kept his hands clean. They can’t even tap him for inciting to riot. He has henchmen do that, and they never give their right names. Hope that answers your question.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Down the corridor some prisoners were arguing. A guard shouted again and they toned it down.
Sneale loosened his tie and took off his coat. “Now, it’s been a long day. I’m for getting some sleep. Please don’t mind if I snore.” He folded his coat and laid it down for a pillow.
“You go right ahead. They’ll be putting out the lantern.” Georg closed his eyes. He did not have the Dream this night.
Next day before noon, a guard showed up at the cell door. He said, “Visitor.” He turned away and Genevieve Sutliff took his place.
Sneale rose from his bunk and gave a deep bow, which she ignored.
She said, “I came as soon as I could. I talked to your lawyer, Timmons. He’s useless. He just wants to show there’s no connection between you and Kearney. He doesn’t care if they convict you.”
“Should I be surprised? You need not have come. I can defend myself.”
“Maybe, maybe not. The city is still looking for someone to pin that crime on. You happen to be available. I’m thinking of hiring a Pinkerton man to investigate. They are costly, but you can owe me.”
He gripped the cell bars, leaning toward her. “Why are you getting involved? It’s none of your concern. You’re losing money just taking time off from your shop.”
At this she also raised her hands to grip the bars. One of her hands touched his. She looked into his eyes. For the first time he noticed the undertones of green in her pupils. She said, “If you can’t see why, you’re blind, Georg.” After a moment she turned away, then paused.
“I will come back as soon as I have some news. I’m going to speak to Alexander’s father.” Then she was gone.
Georg leaned against the bars for a minute or two, his brow against cold iron. Clyde Sneale cleared his throat. He said, “I stopped working for Penworthy when he tried to get me to do something I didn’t like. He somehow had the combination to his father’s safe. He wanted me to break in and take whatever was in it. He said it was more likely some cash and a lot of negotiable securities, stocks and bonds. He promised to let me have fifty per cent. He also wanted a certain special package he said was in there.
“Now, I’ll admit to having committed a burglary or two in my younger days, but nothing like that. I’m pretty sure that old man owns a gun. And a dog, for all I know. Besides, I didn’t trust Alexander. I would have had to believe those securities were worth whatever he said. That’s when I stopped working for him.”
“How long ago was that?”
Sneale shrugged. “Month and a half ago, maybe two. Why?”
“Just wondered.”
That was Saturday. Nothing much happened for the rest of the day except for other prisoners constantly quarreling. They nearly raised another riot when dinner was served, a thin stew with a few bits of nameless meat. On Sunday after lunch one of the guards approached and held a piece of paper through the bars.
“Message for Vintner.”
Georg took the note, noting the seal was broken. No doubt it had been read.
Georg,
I’m sorry there’s no time for a visit today. I have been to see Mr. Penworthy’s father. It seems he is interested in your case. He has promised to use his influence to have you released. This may take a few days. Please have courage. I will see you when I have more news.
G. Sutliff
Sneale read the note aloud to him. Georg was amused that she omitted her first name. Any coppers reading it might assume it came from a lawyer. He folded it and put it away. He guessed he was going to have to put up with present accommodations for awhile yet. He was getting impatient. He wanted to get out and clear his name. He wanted to get back to his streetcar. He missed Jim, his favorite horse. No doubt Jim missed Georg’s occasional apples.
Then on Monday before lunch a new guard showed up, one Georg hadn’t seen before. He wore sergeant’s stripes. He took a position in the middle of the corridor and raised his voice.
“ALL RIGHT, GENTS! NOW SHUT UP AND LISTEN!”
When all the muttering and complaining died down he spoke again in a more normal tone, as if he were addressing a room of school children.
“Now, the mayor says he’s getting tired of providing free room and board for you lot. He’s declared martial law and the army is out there patrolling, along with coppers and the Committee of Safety. There won’t be any more funny business. No fires, no breaking, no killing. Sandlot orators are out. No more inciting, at least for awhile.
“So the mayor’s decided to let you boys go. You can find your lunch someplace else. Now I’m opening the cells. You boys get out of here. If you show up again, you’re staying.”
With that he turned away, jangling keys. He went to the end of the corridor and began unlocking cells.
Sneale jumped to his feet and grabbed his coat. Quickly he turned it inside out and stuffed the tails into his pants. Now he looked like some indigent bum. “Get up and grab your coat!”
Georg said, “He doesn’t mean you and me …”
But Sneale made a shushing sign and motioned for Georg to get up. Georg got the idea and rose, rolling up his coat and tucking it under an arm. Both men bowed their heads and took on an attitude of humility.
The guard opened one cell after another. The prisoners within filed silently out, no doubt afraid he might change his mind. Then the guard reached Georg and Sneale’s cell. He inserted the key and turned the lock without more than a glance at them.
Georg and Sneale walked out with the others. When they reached the sidewalk they shook hands and parted company. “Good luck,” Sneale said. “And to you
as well,” Georg replied. The sunlight hurt his eyes. He took a deep breath of fresh salt air.
11
Hiding Out
Georg said, “I can’t stay here.”
Genevieve said nothing. She raised her teacup to her lips and gazed at him over the edge.
He went on. “It may take them a few hours to realize I’m gone. They’ll check my rooming house first. Then someone will remember you came to see me at the jail. They’ll come here.”
She put her cup down. “There’s no hurry. The police are understaffed. They’re still busy putting down rabble rousers and rioters. It’s not as if you’re that important to them. It might be days before they get around to you. They may not even bother.”
“I hope you’re right.” The odor of the chicken cooking in her oven made his mouth water. It smelled a lot better than jail food. “But I want to make sure I remain loose while I try to figure out who stabbed Alexander on my streetcar. I have enough money to last me awhile.”
“Who do you think might have done it?”
At that he frowned at the ceiling, thinking. “I have a good memory. I can remember the faces of every person who was on my car that day. There were three ladies including yourself, and eight men. Three of them I knew as regular passengers, though I don’t know their names. One of them killed Alexander. I need to find out why.”
Without conscious direction his hand went across the table to grip hers. He leaned forward. “It’s not just to clear my name, though that’s important. I won’t have this happen on my streetcar!”
She smiled. “I thought it was the company’s property.” Her hand squeezed his.
“Not while I’m the Driver!”
She pulled her hand away. He looked down at his own with surprise, as if not knowing where it had been. She said, “I think the chicken is ready.”
The Driver Page 5
