“Aye, sir. Er, all except them quillon things. I’m afraid I never noticed. As to the chunks of flesh—yeah, both men were missin’ a bit. McElhenny said to keep that part just between us—he said heads would roll if people heard of desecration of a corpse and that the heads were likely to be ours. So it was just me, Donahue, and McElhenny.” He paused, then added, “And I ’spose Doc Feehan.”
Law swallowed, and Jasper knew they were thinking the same thing. “I guess that narrows things d-down a bit.”
“You don’t think—”
“That it was one of you f-four?” Jasper smiled faintly. “You’ve g-got an excellent alibi, D-Detective.”
Law gave a sickly laugh.
“I d-daresay more people learned of the m-mutilation than you think. Still, it seems w-we are either looking for the same k-killer or somebody with some connection to those two murders. Or another Shakespeare enthusiast.”
“I’m sorry, sir?”
“The pound of flesh which I d-demand of him is deerely bought, ’tis mine, and I will have it. It is Sh-Shylock’s famous line from The M-Merchant of Venice. Tell me, Detective, what did you m-make of that missing flesh?”
“I didn’t know what to make of it—and I didn’t connect it to no Shakespeare pound of flesh.”
“You say Feehan did D-Dunbarton’s postmortem—somebody else did Mr. Sealy’s?”
“Er, well, sir, that’s a problem. We didn’t get one for Sealy.” Jasper frowned, and the other man nodded. “I know, I know—it’s right shoddy policin’. Somebody—probably his family—bribed one of the coroner’s doctors to write up a certificate. The undertaker took the cert to the city inspector’s office for a burial permit. The inspector shoulda refused the permit, but money likely changed hands.” Law shook his head with disgust. “So when Dunbarton died, I went with the body myself, but there wasn’t nobody except Feehan to do the job. I thought he did all right, but then I don’t have medical know-how. Feehan said Dunbarton died from the stab wounds rather than strangulation.”
Jasper took out the handkerchief he’d preserved from yesterday and opened it for Law to look at the fibers. “I took that from Janssen’s neck.”
“It looks like hemp—same thing that was used on the other two. The paper said Janssen was found in an alley between Broadway and Mercer—near Solange’s?” Law asked.
“Yes.”
“Sealy and Dunbarton were found near a different brothel, Molly O’Reilly’s. Not exactly behind it, but close enough. Donovan Street, where their bodies were found, is a place no sane man would venture into at night—dark, cramped, with some of the worst buildings in the city. Folks call it Murderer’s Alley. Lots o’ people live above and below street level on that alley, but you’d think every one of them was blind and deaf. If you were wantin’ to commit murder, a person couldn’t pick a better place.”
“I don’t b-believe Dunbarton was k-killed in M-Murderer’s Alley.”
“I beg pardon, sir?”
“I talked to a m-man yesterday who said he saw Dunbarton’s body not l-long after he was murdered—before the b-body was moved to Murderer’s Alley.”
Law’s battered face was a mask of disbelief. “Moved? From where?”
“About th-thirty feet from where J-Janssen was murdered.”
“Are you sayin’ somebody took the body all the way down to the Points?”
“According to this m-man.”
“Who told you this?”
“A rag p-picker showed me the p-place. I d-don’t believe he has any reason to lie. Besides, there is evidence of a g-great deal of b-blood on the cobbles.”
“How do you know this rag picker ain’t the killer?”
“Mr. Hart certainly seems to have h-had opportunity—”
“Jemmy Hart?” Law asked.
“You know him?”
“Aye, he’s been a picker since I was a lad. Old Jemmy ain’t the killin’ sort. I can’t see why he’d lie about such a thing either.” Law sat back in his seat hard enough to rock the carriage. “You’ve been here less than one day and found this out.”
“I assure you, that w-was a m-matter of luck.” Jasper considered passing along Hart’s bizarre claim that the body had been held for an entire day before it was discovered but decided to leave it be. After all, he wasn’t sure whether Hart had the best memory for dates. He could check the postmortem for Dunbarton before bringing anything up. However, he felt duty bound to mention what Hart had said about the coppers. “I have reason to b-believe that p-police officers were the ones who m-moved the body.”
Law didn’t look as surprised as he should have. “Hart said he saw coppers from the Eighth?”
“He just saw policemen.”
Law cut Jasper a questioning look. “You reckon they were involved in the murder?”
“Hart m-made it sound as though they j-just encountered the body—after he’d stripped it of its v-valuables. Is m-moving bodies a lucrative b-business?”
Law grimaced. “Sometimes.”
“P-Paid by shopkeepers?”
“Aye.” Law didn’t look too eager to share.
“Tell me m-more about Sealy and D-Dunbarton.”
“Anythin’ in particular?”
“Whatever s-struck you.”
Law gave the question a bit of thought and then said, “Did you find somethin’ sticky on Janssen’s shoe?”
Jasper blinked. “S-Sticky?”
“Pine resin—both victims had it stuck to their shoes.”
“To be honest, I d-didn’t think to look. Is that a c-common occurrence in New York? Do you have p-pine resin on your shoe, Detective?”
Law’s split lip twitched up at the corner. “I can’t recall that ever happening. I didn’t think much of it when I noticed it on Sealy—really I only noticed ’cause I helped to lift him and got some on my hand. It’s a pain in the arse to get off. When the same thing happened with Dunbarton?” He shrugged. “I thought it was, well”—he stopped, his expression sheepish—“some sort of symbol, you know?”
“A killer’s c-alling c-card?” Now there was a sentence for a man who stammered.
“Sometimes gangs do it—leave signs. Although around here it’s usually animal parts and the like.”
“Did you f-f-find anything to suggest these were g-gang killings?”
“Nothin’. ’Course that don’t mean somebody didn’t pay thugs to kill both of ’em. Not that those men were the sort to hang about with Roach Guards or Dead Rabbits.”
Jasper had heard of both gangs. “Is g-garroting and mutilation a popular m-method of murder among g-gangs?”
“Naw, a brick to the head, a bullet, or a knife for that lot. Anyhow, we looked into places you’d find pine resin, thinkin’ that might give some clue where they’d been earlier, although I reckon, the way that shi—er, stuff—sticks to things, they could have stepped in it a week earlier.”
“D-Did the two men employ v-valets?”
“Er, I dunno, sir. Why?”
“No v-valet worth his salt would allow his m-master to go out with sticky shoes. S-So at least you could n-narrow down the time when each m-man encountered the r-resin.”
Law’s massive shoulders slumped. “Ah, I didn’t think of that, sir. You’ll be thinkin’ we were a real pair of meatheads.”
The unexpected word surprised a laugh out of him. “W-Well, it isn’t something a p-person would think unless they knew about p-personal servants. Tell me about the uses f-for resin.”
“It’s used for a lot of things: shipbuildin’, carriage manufacturin’, expensive furniture makin’, train cars, and on and on. ’Course we looked for businesses within walkin’ distance of Murderer’s Alley.” He scowled and left the obvious unstated.
“The idea is a g-good one. We must check places around Solange’s. Were the two m-men involved in the s-same business endeavors?”
“Their people weren’t forthcomin’, if you know what I mean.”
Jasper knew what he meant: the weal
thy would hardly be eager to lay out their financial records for a policeman.
“I scrounged up a little, but just things that were generally known. Dunbarton’s pa left him money—nobody knows exactly how the old man made it, ’cept it wasn’t no place legal. Dunbarton Junior wasn’t as sharp as his pa, and he apparently pissed most of it away. He had a job—president at Ohio Life Insurance and Trust. The gossip is that Dunbarton’s wife—Hesperis van Rensselaer—” He winced. “Who the hell would name a girl that?” He held up a hand before Jasper could answer. “You don’t need to say it, sir. I shouldn’t be one to talk about names.”
Jasper smiled, but he had to agree. Hesperis was less than flattering—Longfellow’s “The Wreck of the Hesperus” came to mind.
“Dunbarton married Miss van Rensselaer about three years ago. She rescued him from dire financial straits, and he rescued her from spinsterhood.” Law frowned. “I saw her once, when I went to collect her written statement from her father. He didn’t want coppers anywhere near his daughter, but she shoved her way in anyhow. The woman is a plain little squab with a tongue like a razor.”
Jasper thought the description cruelly apt.
“She’s known for bein’ blunt, offendin’ people, and workin’ at her various charities.” He scratched his bruised jaw, winced, and dropped his hand. “I guess she’s rich enough to get away with it.”
“Is she related to S-Stephen v-van Rensselaer the Fourth?”
“Aye—her uncle—they’re all related to each other, no matter the surname. That sort stick to their own kind,” he added in some disgust.
Jasper didn’t tell the detective the same was true in England. Nor did he tell him that he’d received an invitation to a dinner being given by a van Resselaer—probably not Hesperis, as she was in mourning. Not to mention the fact that she seemed like the last woman on earth to host entertainments—unless said entertainment involved men like Jasper, a pillory, and public ridicule.
“The marriage was a business deal, by all accounts.” Law gave Jasper a quizzical look, as if to say the son of a duke probably knew all about bartering sons and daughters for empire-building unions.
Jasper could have told him he was more familiar with the evasion of such unions.
“Anyways,” Law continued, “his money problems seemed to go away.”
“Children?”
“No.”
“And Sealy?”
“Sealy made his money out in California in ’47—he was early to the ’rush—before statehood. The gossip is that he came to his claim in an underhanded way. He got outa minin’, moved back east, and built some factories that manufacture pots and pans. Sealy also married above himself. Well, at least socially,” Law amended, his democratic notions kicking in. “New York blue blood, Emmaline Visser. The Vissers are old patroon, but not so well-heeled as the van Rensselaers. I don’t think Sealy needed bailin’ out financially—mighta been the other way round, actually. Again, I’m just guessin’, since I wasn’t allowed to talk to either Mrs. Dunbarton or Mrs. Sealy.” When Jasper didn’t say anything, he added, “You don’t look surprised, sir.”
“I’m f-fully aware the wealthy insulate themselves from unpleasantries—particularly when it c-comes to protecting their females. But I’m s-s-surprised neither woman wanted to speak to you.” He was especially surprised that Mrs. Dunbarton hadn’t sought Law out. He smiled faintly. “Unless they didn’t want the k-k-killer to be found, of course.”
Law snorted. “As far as alibis go, both wives had good ones. Mrs. Dunbarton wasn’t in the state when her husband was murdered, and Sealy’s missus was in the middle of a charity dinner with hundreds of New York’s finest. It seems to me”—he cut Jasper an uncomfortable look—“not that I’m any expert, mind, but it seems to me the Dunbartons and Sealys each lived separate lives. The wives spent their time raisin’ money for poor women and orphans while their husbands were whorin’ it up. I reckon Mrs. Dunbarton and Mrs. Sealy didn’t have nothing to add to the investigation because they didn’t know their husbands.”
Jasper thought about the duke and duchess. They avoided each other like the plague, but they made it their business to know plenty about each other—plenty of bad things. Jasper suspected that was true for these couples as well—not that he’d gotten much from Mrs. Janssen the day before.
“If y-you weren’t allowed to speak to the w-wives, who did you s-speak to?”
“The women’s fathers—a little—but that wasn’t helpful, since neither man lived in the city. Neither of ’em seemed all that interested in findin’ the killer. All they cared about was protectin’ their daughters from us and avoidin’ newspapermen. Being found dead in such a nasty part of town didn’t look good for either man, and I think both families were afraid of where an investigation might lead.”
Jasper could certainly understand that.
The carriage had come to yet another standstill, and Jasper glanced out the window.
It was a stark contrast from the Astor House’s marble, crystal, and carpeted splendor to a street that was ankle-deep in filth. Shoeless children played, listless chickens scratched, and tiny ramshackle shops carried out their business. They would have made better time walking. Although that did not look like a pleasant endeavor, as the odor of human and animal sewage was strong, even inside the carriage.
Law continued, “Since the wives had alibis, I turned to business associates. As the sayin’ goes, follow the money when you’re looking for mischief. I thought it made more sense than an angry whore attackin’ and killing two healthy men. I found out Dunbarton met Mayor Wood at City Hall the week before he was killed, and two weeks before that too.” Law’s face darkened slightly, and he said, “I learned that by sneakin’ a look at Dunbarton’s calendar when his secretary stepped out for a minute.” He gave Jasper a challenging look. “I know that’s probably not something you approve of, sir, but the man left it open on his desk. Sometimes that’s the only way a man like me can learn things. Besides, Dunbarton’s secretary was about the most uppity bastard I’d ever met. You’d have thought I’d committed murder just askin’ the usual questions and lookin’ around a bit. He reported me to McElhenny for being insubordinate.” He snorted. “How could I be insubordinate when I wasn’t his subordinate?”
Jasper smiled at his logic. “You m-must have told this t-to your captain—Dunbarton’s meeting with the mayor?”
“He just about came apart at the seams when I suggested lookin’ into those meetings. He said what he always said when somebody rich or powerful was involved: ‘Heads will roll, and they’ll be ours.’” Law sighed. “He pointed out—rightly so—that the mayor ain’t the only person with an office in the building. Hundreds of people work there. He also said that even if it was the mayor Dunbarton was goin’ to see, they were likely political meetin’s.”
Jasper realized the carriage had ground to a halt, but they’d been too busy talking to notice. Now they both looked out the window. A carter had lost one side of his wagon, strewing barrels of what looked to be ale all over the street. Children, dogs, and several adults danced in the beer puddles that had formed.
“I think we should g-get out and walk,” Jasper said.
“Aye, this looks like it will take a bit. Especially because of that—” Law gestured to a small collection of uniformed men on the side of the street. One of the men raised a baton just as another struck him in the midriff; within seconds, there was a full-fledged brawl as Metropolitan fought Municipal.
“G-Good Lord.”
Law shook his head in disgust. “It’s like the world went mad while I was inside.” He opened the door of the cab and then hopped out into the street, his boots squelching audibly in the mud.
Jasper glanced down at his shoes—his Trickers—which were clean enough to eat off. He sighed as he imagined Paisley’s expression when he brought them home encrusted with mud, shit, and worse.
CHAPTER 12
Hy navigated a steaming pile of animal manure as he
crossed White Street. Walking beside the son of a duke, he couldn’t help wondering what the other man thought as he looked around him. Strangely, Hy felt … embarrassed on behalf of his native city.
They paused to let a young, shoeless girl drive a gaggle of deafening, honking geese across the muck-filled street.
“You got places like this in England, sir?” Hy asked when he could bear it no longer.
Lightner kept walking, face forward, his lips curving into an odd smile—a smile that said he had an active inner life, one he didn’t often share. Hy supposed a crippling stammer might not lend itself to conversation.
“The entire East End of London c-comes to mind.”
“Bad, is it?”
“Bad enough.”
Why the knowledge that people half a world away were suffering from poverty made Hy feel better, he had no idea.
Something about seeing the area—one he’d seen every day as a policeman—with a stranger, and such a stranger as this, made him see with new eyes. He’d always noticed the filth, of course—you’d need to be blind not to, and even then your nose would let you know what was around you—but he’d never before noticed the grinding desperation. The Englishman nodded politely as he passed two women standing in the doorway of a bawdhouse. Both whores opened their shawls and flashed their naked tits, calling to him in wheedling voices, using words so vulgar Hy would never have thought to speak them in a woman’s presence. They were bone thin, with raw, scrofulous skin and fine red webbing on their noses and cheeks. He was no stranger to prostitutes—to poor ones, at that—but he couldn’t recall seeing any quite as grim.
If the bawds were skinny and unhealthy, the clusters of children on every corner gutted him. There was a deadness in their young eyes that was well beyond despair.
It all made him tired; it made him wish he’d taken the Englishman’s advice and just run off—far away from this city.
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