Absence of Mercy

by S. M. Goodwin

  Jasper noticed two identical-looking men sidling out of the bar just as two other men came in.

  “The Lowery brothers are the two who just oozed out the door,” Law said, following Jasper’s gaze. “They’re snitches.”

  “Do you want to st-stop them?”

  “Nah, you’ll never meet a bigger pair of liars. We’d get better information out of that rat.” He squinted at the two men who’d just entered.

  “Do you r-recognize them?”

  “The one with the brown hat used to be a copper. The other one, I don’t know.”

  “What do you two want?” the barkeep said, his beady gaze on the brown-wrapped packet sitting on the bar.

  Jasper slid a coin across the pitted wood. “Information about a m-man said to d-drink here.”

  “I don’t sell information about my customers.” He spoke loudly, halfheartedly rubbing the sticky bar with a truly filthy rag. “All I sell here is drink.” He leaned close, as if studying a stubborn stain, and whispered, “Meet me in the alley.” He stood up and in a louder voice said, “So either order or get the hell out.”

  “Think we should report them to the New York City Board of Health?” Law asked as they entered the alley, which looked cleaner than the pub.

  “J-Judging by the size of that r-r-rat, I was thinking we should report them for keeping unauthorized c-cattle.”

  Law chuckled. “What do you reckon the chances are that he’ll come out here?”

  Jasper spun his stick in a lazy circle. “I’m expecting the t-two gentlemen who came in when the brothers left—they never t-t-took their eyes off us.”

  “Aye,” Law agreed. “And they looked far too clean to be drinkin’ in a dump like—”

  “Oi!” The two men from the bar came around the corner, another three trailing behind them.

  “G-Good evening,” Jasper said pleasantly.

  “Not for you, it ain’t,” one of the two leaders said, making the others laugh.

  “The one on the right has a knife in his boot,” Law whispered.

  “Ah, then I’ll t-take the one on the r-right,” Jasper said, not bothering to lower his voice.

  “The hell you will,” the knife bearer—apparently the spokesman—said.

  “Have you c-come to give us information?”

  “Naw, we come to take that offa ya.”

  “This?” Jasper held up the package, which was beginning to look a little rough around the edges.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Is that all?” Jasper asked.

  “Naw, it ain’t all. You need to m-m-mind yer own f-f-feckin’ business.” Again his cronies roared.

  Beside him Law said, “Oh no.”

  Jasper had to laugh. “How w-w-well you know me already, Detective.”

  “Can’t say as I blame you, sir,” Law said. To the five men, he said, “We’re coppers; you might want to rethink things.”

  “Coppers, aye? So where’s your badges?” one of the men behind called out, emboldened by their leader.

  Law reached inside his long sack coat and pulled out the truncheon he kept in a holder at his belt. “Here’s my badge.” He lifted the distinctive stick that was assigned to every New York City policeman.

  “Give us the package,” the nearest thug said. “And quit pokin’ about.”

  “P-Poking in what?” Jasper asked.

  The knifeman stepped closer. “If you know what’s—”

  Jasper was holding the cane in his left hand, so he executed a latéral croisé. The thin stick made the air whistle as he swung it in a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc, striking the man’s knife arm in the elbow.

  He shrieked, grasping his elbow.

  Jasper tossed the stick to his right hand and swung the cane point in a latéral extérieur a bas, which hit the second man in the side of the knee, causing him to leap up and yowl, holding his damaged knee.

  While he was busy hopping about, Jasper finished off the first man with a coup de pied bas, a low, direct kick to the shin with the heel of his boot.

  The three men in the back turned and ran.

  Law glared at him, his expression one of profound annoyance. “Maybe next time I could have a bit of warning, sir.”

  Jasper grinned, his elevated heart rate invigorating. “It seemed a b-better idea than a p-p-protracted exchange of insults and b-boasts.”

  Law crouched and pulled the knife from the dazed man’s boot.

  The hopper was still leaning against the wall, his expression a mix of pain and rage. “You’ve made a big mistake.”

  “Who sent you?” Jasper asked, spinning his cane.

  The man turned to Law. “He don’t know any better, but you should.”

  Law threw the knife down the alley, and the blade skittered along cobbles into the darkness. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “You know who I work for.”

  “And who would that be?”

  The other man’s mouth tightened.

  Law turned to Jasper. “Would you like to beat a name out of them, sir?”

  Jasper smiled and took a step forward.

  “Bill Finnegan!” the man yelled, staggering backward, tripping, and sprawling on his arse.

  “Do you know him, D-Detective?”

  “Another low-level thug,” Law said. “Finnegan don’t know shit, but he works for Devlin McCarty.”

  “McCarty will skin you alive, Law.”

  “What are we supposed to quit pokin’ in?” Law asked, seemingly unbothered by the threat.

  “He didn’t tell us,” the man said in a sulky tone more suited to a two-year-old than a thug-for-hire.

  Law turned to Jasper. “You wanna arrest these two for assaulting a police officer, sir?”

  “They didn’t d-do much assaulting. What’s your opinion?”

  “Naw, they’re little fish.” He gave the leader an insulting smile.

  “You’ve both just made the biggest mistakes of your lives!” the man yelled as they walked away. “It’s too bad you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  “Let’s head toward Water Street,” Law said once they’d left the alley, his voice distracted.

  “I c-can only assume Devlin McCarty is what you c-call a ward boss?”

  “Aye.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Aye.” Law sounded profoundly unhappy.

  “What’s your opinion?”

  “I don’t suppose you’d consider quittin’ the case?”

  Jasper smiled.

  “How about runnin’?”

  “You mean we’re in d-danger.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’ll mean trouble if we keep on this.”

  They trudged in silence, the noise from the street ahead drifting toward them.

  Law jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You think those two were following us since we left the Tombs?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “What do you reckon about Gamble?”

  “I have a b-bad f-feeling about Mr. Gamble.”

  “Those men wanted that packet.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Jasper nodded.

  “You figure Finch was killed for the papers?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now they—whoever they are—think you have the papers?”

  “Yes.”

  Law looked at the packet Jasper still held in his hands. “It doesn’t really matter what’s in there, does it?”

  “No.”

  “Jaysus. What do you think, sir?”

  Jasper laughed. “I think this is what a w-worm f-feels like on a hook.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Pale early-morning light filtered through the only window in Mrs. Haslem’s tiny parlor. “Do you r-realize how much t-trouble Peter could be in?” Jasper asked Louise Haslem, feeling like a bully when the small woman cringed.

  Mrs. Haslem was as slight and fragile looking as a bird. Like Peter, she was pretty, but her fine-boned face was nothing like her son’s more strikin
g features. Jasper suspected her frail appearance was deceptive; she’d reacted fiercely enough when he made the mistake of calling her son Mary.

  “His name is Peter. I gave birth to a son,” she told him, eyes blazing.

  But now she’d lost her fire.

  “Where is P-Peter?” Jasper repeated.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “Did he ever m-mention a man named Stephen F-Finch?”

  “No, sir.”

  “He was a customer of P-Peter’s—he never mentioned any c-customers?”

  “He knew I didn’t like what he did; he never dressed like that here. And he never mentioned no men’s names.” Mrs. Haslem’s skin was too dark for Jasper to see a blush, but he could certainly hear the woman’s shame.

  “When w-was the l-last time he visited?”

  “Last Wednesday.”

  So, not the night of Finch’s death, as Mary had claimed. Jasper could feel the weight of Law’s stare. “How d-did he seem?”

  “Happy. He’s always been happy.” She hesitated, then said, “Peter ain’t done nothin’ bad, has he?”

  “Not that w-we know of,” he temporized, “but evading police questioning is a c-crime in itself.”

  She nodded jerkily, her tears welling over.

  Well done, Jasper.

  Jasper wished he could sink through the plank floor of her humble parlor. “You needn’t c-c-cry.” He cut a glance at Law, who just shrugged and backed away. The big coward.

  “Please, take this.” He handed her a handkerchief.

  “Thank you.” Unlike the rest of her, Mrs. Haslem’s hands were not delicate. She had the swollen joints and thick fingers of a woman who’d spent her entire life working—hard.

  “I can’t, Peter,” she whispered to herself, then looked up at Jasper, the words spilling out of her like water from a cracked jug. “I know what we been doin’ was dangerous, but we couldn’t just do nothin’!” She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed into the handkerchief, her slender shoulders shaking.

  Jasper and Law stared at each other. Law shrugged and jerked his chin toward the woman—as if Jasper somehow had a better way with her.

  He narrowed his eyes at the detective but said, “Er, what have you been d-doing, Mrs. Haslem?”

  She went to the small kitchen and riffled around in a cupboard. When she came back, she held a handful of paper.

  The New York Freemen’s Society for the Abolition of Slavery was printed across the top, the rest of the page taken up with news items and, Jasper saw, a notice for employment.

  “Who g-gave you these?”

  “Peter wouldn’t tell me—some gentleman where he worked paid him good to give them out—and it was helpin’ people, so—” She shrugged. “They needed to be changed all the time, since it wasn’t safe to have the same meetin’ places.”

  “Y-You mean because people would d-disrupt the speakers?”

  “Speakers?”

  “Yes—aren’t these for abolitionist meetings?”

  She glanced at Law and then back to Jasper and then seemed to make a decision. “It’s a way to help people get to Canada now that it ain’t safe here.” Her voice became stronger. “It ain’t safe here for any of our kind—escaped or free. They’ve been grabbin’ people off the street—not carin’ if a body has legal papers tucked away at home. I wanted Peter to go with me, but he never would.” Her eyes, which had become fierce again, clouded with worry. “But now I have to get out. They tole us we’ve only a month before we gotta leave.”

  “Leave where?”

  “Seneca Village. All of it’s gettin’ torn down.”

  Jasper looked at Law, who nodded. “They’re buildin’ the new park here—it starts at Fifty-Ninth. The city took all this land sometime back usin’ some law or other.”

  “They’ve been burnin’ houses, so we gotta move.” She gave Jasper an imploring look. “I should’ve made him go to Canada. What if something happened to him?”

  Jasper took a card from his case and handed it to her. “If you l-learn anything about P-Peter’s whereabouts, you c-come see me at the Astor House—no m-matter the time of day or night.”

  “I will, sir. I promise. I—” She hesitated.

  “Yes?” Jasper prodded.

  “You’re coppers—are you gonna—?”

  “No, ma’am. We’ll not turn you in,” Law said, looking sheepish at the anger in his voice.

  * * *

  Neither of them spoke as they walked back toward Seneca Village’s main street. Jasper noticed what he’d failed to see on the predawn carriage ride to Mrs. Haslem’s: a good three-quarters of the houses were empty, most of them stripped of doors, windows, and anything of value. He couldn’t help wondering where all the people who’d once lived there had gone.

  “So,” Law said after they settled into a hackney. “Finch was runnin’ escaped slaves to Canada and usin’ Haslem to do it.”

  “It c-certainly looks that way.”

  “Why would somebody kill him for that?”

  “Why was he t-talking to Baker?”

  Law heaved a sigh. “Yeah, I don’t know. There just seems to be more every time we talk to anyone.”

  Jasper met the detective’s eyes. “I think it’s t-time for you to tell me what h-happened with Miss Grady—and how you ended up in the T-Tombs.” Jasper could see the muscles flexing like steel beneath the bruised skin of the other man’s jaw.

  After a long moment, Law sighed and nodded. “I knew Caitlyn from the orphanage; we grew up at St. Pat’s. We stayed until we were thirteen, and then the sisters found us jobs. Caitlyn was pretty—real pretty—so she got a job uptown, workin’ in one of the big houses as a maid.” He cut Jasper a quick look. “And no, it wasn’t in Dunbarton or Sealy’s houses—just some other rich arsehole. Anyhow, the husband got Caitlyn pregnant and then gave her the sack. She tried to get rid of the babe herself and almost died. The sisters wouldn’t have no part of her because of the abortion. So she ended up at O’Reilly’s.”

  He grimaced. “This next part I learned from reading her confession—after she was dead. She claimed that she was with both men more than once and they shorted her money. She said when she went to get the money back from Sealy, he tried to touch her, and they scuffled. She hit him and he fell, and she took the chance to kill him. Said Dunbarton accused her of Sealy’s murder, so she killed him too.”

  Jasper gave a snort of disbelief. “And all th-this happened in M-Murderer’s Alley—twice?”

  Law nodded. “I know. Her confession was so full of holes it made a sieve look watertight. Everyone I talked to, all the other whores, said the two men were terrified of disease; they were well known for paying top dollar for girls, not twenty-four-year-old prostitutes. And nobody seemed to care that Caitlyn wasn’t even five feet tall and that one of Dunbarton’s legs weighed more than her. His postmortem showed he’d been drinkin’, so McElhenny claimed he was probably as drunk as a lor—” Law stopped. “Er, beggin’ your pardon, sir.”

  Jasper chuckled. “N-No begging necessary. D-Did she happen to mention why she g-garroted and stabbed and cut out his flesh?”

  “Her confession didn’t say a damned thing about the missing flesh.” He moved his jaw side to side, as if he was chewing over words, but then shrugged. “That’s when things really went sideways between me an’ McElhenny.”

  “Go back a bit. Why d-did McElhenny arrest her in the f-first place?”

  Law scowled. “It was the damned dress.”

  “Dress?”

  “Aye, one of Caitlyn’s, with blood all over it. Once McElhenny got his hands on that—”

  “T-Tell me about this dress.”

  Law chewed his lip hard enough to reopen the split. “I found it in her room.”

  “You f-found it?”

  “I’d been fuckin’ her, a’right?” Law squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were filled with shame. “I’d started seein’ her a few weeks after Sealy’s death. The trail was goi
n’ cold. Hell, it had been cold from the beginnin’. The mayor was ridin’ McElhenny, who’d been ridin’ me and Donahue. You know how it is: arrest somebody. Anybody. McElhenny finally hauled in an old drunk, beat the hell outa him, and charged him for Sealy’s murder.” His mouth twisted with disgust. “It was bloody embarrassing. Anyhow, me and Donahue went into O’Reilly’s to have a few. We had more than a few. Donahue went up with a girl, but I was still drinkin’. Suddenly Caitlyn was there, takin’ my hand and leadin’ me up to her room.” He gave a bitter laugh. “I was a fool.”

  Jasper waited.

  “Two days later, Dunbarton’s body was found. The mayor tore a strip off McElhenny’s hide, so he was twice as crazed as before. We tossed everyone out of the buildings in Murderer’s Alley: women, children, sick people, old people—he was determined that one of them was the killer.” Law snorted. “But one of the things about packin’ twenty bodies to a room—other than death and disease—was that each of ’em had at least ten witnesses. Things were bad; the mayor was on a rampage, and McElhenny was like a man possessed. I went to Caitlyn that night; I got drunk and stayed with her. I was dressin’ for work the next morning and looked in her dresser.” He scrubbed a hand over his bruised jaw. “Christ. I just wanted a towel to dry my face, and there was this wadded-up dress, which seemed odd, ’cause Caitlyn was tidy-like. There were reddish-brown stains all over it. When I asked her about it, she said it was a female issue and that it had happened a while ago. She said the laundry woman couldn’t get the stains out.” He cocked his head at Jasper. “I ain’t no fool—even though I’d been actin’ like one—an’ I thought there musta been a mighty lot of blood. She had an answer for that too. Said she’d tried to soak out the stain but just made it worse. I asked her about Sealy and Dunbarton—what she was doin’ those nights. She said she’d been out with her monthly curse when Sealy was killed and had no alibi, but she’d been with a salesman the night Dunbarton was killed. She didn’t know his name, just that he was from Tannersville and came to the city to sell dye.”

  Law stopped, his eyes distant, as if he was having some sort of inner struggle. After a long moment, he shrugged and said, “She wanted me to get rid of the dress, but—” He shook his head. “I couldn’t. She begged me to find the man she’d been with, said if McElhenny found out about the dress, they’d have her in the Tombs in a heartbeat. I knew she was right.” He gave a disbelieving snort. “If Dunbarton had been killed on Saturday night, she’d have had me for an alibi, but—”