Not Quite Dead (23 page)

O
THER THAN ON
the open sea and in the Sahara desert, only in America is a man truly sovereign and self-determining—if only because here it is uniquely possible for him to disappear without a trace, and to transform into somebody else, without leaving the country.

Without alerting a soul—partner, enemy, creditor, police, mistress, wife—a man may leave his house on Monday, catch an omnibus to his bank, withdraw all his money, travel five hundred miles, and literally be somebody else by the beginning of next week, with a new partner, a new mistress, a new set of creditors, and no one to call him to task.

Liberty takes many forms, some more savory than others.

Every man has a dream, and mine was simple, if somewhat farfetched: as Mr. and Mrs. Henri Le Rennet, Elmira Royster and I would travel to Philadelphia via Baltimore, locate Eddie, and one way or another end the threat to my life and reputation.

But what then? Return to Washington College Hospital, and a life I found so devoid of interest that I contemplated ending it, on a daily basis? Would Elmira Royster return to her shell of a house and her tactical engagement to await the demise of her staff, and her fiancé, and herself? How much better if she and I were to simply continue together to San Francisco, as Henri Le Rennet and his wife Elmira, and begin anew, leaving Eddie Poe behind, and ourselves as well!

I imagined inventing a suitable French ancestry for Mr. Le Rennet, and purchasing certificates to prove it. I might join the church of my wife’s choice. I might set up a private practice, patching people up, treating their aches and pains, delivering their babies. For the first time since my birth I might be, dare I even pronounce the word,
content
.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

City Hall, Independence Square, Philadelphia

C
ouncilman Wendel Grisse, not for the first time, was deeply troubled over the presence of Shadduck in his office and his city. Was it possible that he had brought a snake into the house to control the vermin, only to see it turn on the family?

Many times he reviewed his actions of the past year, and was unable to find his mistake. For what did he deserve this troublemaking?

The need for professional policemen had become urgent after the disturbances of forty-four, when the only officer on duty was the sheriff, with no budget to pay or arm a
posse comitatus
. Then the militia refused to step in over a dispute with the city over reimbursements. By the time a force of firemen had been cobbled together (led by Mayor Swift, in a frightful display of grandstanding), the rioting had gone to anarchy and madness—churches and businesses were burnt and many were killed and injured.

What a terrible humiliation for the county, to think that Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, could not impose the most rudimentary law and order!

More humiliation for the county followed, when the state assembly passed an act requiring the city and surrounding townships to hire a force of one policeman for every hundred and fifty taxpayers. The law went so far as to specify that the force be “able-bodied,” indicating that the senior government regarded local officeholders as idle buffoons who could not be trusted.

Seeing the spree of patronage hiring to come, and the resulting opportunity for political advancement, Wendel Grisse, a German immigrant and a pillar of the Pennsylvania
Deutsch
, ran for office on a platform of law and order and a clampdown on criminal wrongdoing. In this he secured support from the militia, who then delivered sufficient votes to secure victory—literally so in some polls, where voters for Grisse arrived in covered wagons.

Grisse’s first action as a spokesman for law and order was to convince Mayor Swift that, since riots seldom confine themselves to one township, an officer must be brought on staff to oversee and coordinate the effort. As well, on the principle that a politician’s duty is to dance with the suitor who brought him to the ball, Grisse proposed that a militiaman be appointed to the position and that he should report,
naturlich
, to himself.

As a militiaman and a war veteran, as well as having contributed to Grisse’s campaign, Shadduck suited the position as though it had been tailored to his measurements. And for the first few months the appointment seemed inspired, as Shadduck buckled into his new task with an energy and competence seldom seen in municipal politics.

Early on, however, Councilman Grisse sensed trouble. With the ink hardly dry on his covenant with Philadelphia County, already the inspector had begun to burrow his way into the structure of government, on his own. Then came the announcement that Shadduck was to advise Commissioner Clark, whose respect for military men was out of all proportion. Grisse was not consulted on this, and was not made party to whatever passed between them. Then came another unpleasant surprise, when Mayor Swift announced the forming of new riot control measures under Inspector Shadduck—again, with no consulting of himself, Wendel Grisse, the councilman who fought and won the last election on the issue of law and order!

The commissioner later paid for his snub when a scandal erupted in the press involving brothels, and that fixed his flint for sure. Yet Shadduck could not so easily be brought to heel, having no scandals outstanding and, to Grisse’s discomfiture, having contributed to the mayor’s campaign as well as his own.

It was by now clear that Grisse’s patronage appointee meant to ignore the normal duties of fealty and obedience, and had set off on his own. To the councilman it was a vicious stabbing in the back; worst of all, to retain any credit as the law-and-order representative, Grisse was in the excruciating position of having to appear supportive!

Still, the two remained on outwardly friendly terms. Grisse prided himself on his ability to keep things always friendly, even with treachery afoot.

But the danger the inspector presented was not over. This past August, Shadduck took another step on the road to—what? What
was he after? This is what haunted Grisse while lying awake at night in the absence of sleeping …

In quelling a riot in Moyamensing, Shadduck saw fit to deputize the Bleeders, a gang from Schuylkill, to pacify the mob—which they did in short order. In fact, it was said that several members so took to the work that they became coppers themselves. Imagine— wrongdoers in the police force! And for this Shadduck received commendation in the
Public Ledger
!

But most unsettling was his collection of informants from the lower classes. The inspector had cited their use in the city of Boston, cleverly omitting to mention that informants were paid money for their information. (Grisse and the rest of council had assumed that they had it beaten out of them.)

Unknown to council (willfully so in most cases), law enforcers had previously been paying informants out of their own pockets; however, by bringing the use of informants into the open, as part of the business of riot control, such payments now came under the city budget. Imagine, were it known that the city paid spies to tattle on its citizens! For sure there would be no incumbent Grisse this time next year, were such a thing made public.

Nor did council anticipate the alarming powers it gave the inspector himself, to have informants at his beck and call. How many informants did he keep? Nobody knew. What information did he possess, and about whom? Nobody knew.

It was known for sure that Shadduck kept files in military fashion. Where did he keep them? Did a file exist on Wendel Grisse? Could something be brought forward to ruin him, should he make trouble for Shadduck?

In his own self-defense, Grisse had had no choice but to secure informants of his own—paid from his own purse—and worse shame, they found nothing. Shadduck had no gambling habits, consorted with no loose women, kept the schedule of a train, and drank nothing stronger than beer.

When the position of inspector was first created, his purpose was to restore law and order. This was taken to mean bringing the Irish and the Negroes under control. However, though the Topham murder involved neither Irish nor Negroes, the inspector had taken charge by default—there being no other officer whose job it was to
inspect anything. Now his inquiries had taken him into areas of Philadelphia life that were never intended to be any of his business.

Having brought the Negroes and Irish under a semblance of control, in Grisse’s view, Shadduck’s proper course was to stand steadfast and to ensure order, so that Philadelphia might return to its former glory as the model of American civilization, the most orderly city in the republic, with the finest water system in the world.

The councilman could foresee a day when the inspector’s prying eye would turn on respectable white people. For the first time it occurred to him that riots might not be the beginning and end of criminal activity, that other wrongdoing might be afoot; and that he might not want to know.

C
OUNCILMAN GRISSE LOOKED
down at the report on the table in front of him, written in the most atrocious hand imaginable, illegible to any civilized man—let alone one like himself, for whom English was his second language. Besides, in normal society, gentlemen communicated by speaking, and then they shook hands; they did not submit a “report.”

What did Shadduck intend to do with this report? Did he plan to table it before the council? Was it a trap of some kind—was Shad-duck making a paper noose for Wendel Grisse’s neck?

The inspector sat across the desk from Grisse in an expectant position, head forward, rangy arms draped over his knees, raw wrists protruding from the sleeves of his absurd uniform, the picture of earnest sincerity, and it occurred to Grisse that he was expected to make a comment on what he had read.

Accordingly, the councilman formed a benign, thoughtful expression, stroking Shadduck’s “report” as though it were a cat. “It is interesting thing, this, sure.” Grisse said. “A shocking thing, no doubt. But, Inspector, I do not understand the writing.”

Shadduck tried not to show his displeasure, for Constable Smit’s writing was perfectly clear to him. Unlike the politician, who lives by word of mouth, the better part of an army officer’s life was spent reading orders and requisitions, put on paper by semi-illiterate aides. And the councilman had had the report in his hands for more than a week!

161

“Would it be the truth that you have not read the document, sir?”

“I have the jist of it,” replied Grisse, unnerved by the inspector’s tone.
“Also
, before taking this further I would wish to hear your thinking on the case.”

An officer who doesn’t read his reports
. Swallowing his exasperation, Shadduck cleared his throat, fidgeted with his hat, and undertook an explanation: “It comprehends—I mean that it
concerns
the Henry Topham murder, sir.”

“I can comprehend this, Inspector. I am not a dolt.”

“I mean to say, sir, that it concerns Mr. Topham’s business interests.

“He was a dealer in forged artwork and documents; you have made this accusation before.”

“I suspicion that Mr. Topham was the biggest toad in the puddle, sir. With the publishing business as cover, he was, when you get to the quick of it, a forger.”

This was most alarming to Grisse. Like everyone in the commonwealth he retained memories of the last such crisis, when the Bank of the United States went down in an ocean of bad paper. “What things were forged? Bank drafts? Stock certificates?”

“Could be all of that and more, sir. But in connection with the murder I have uncovered an unsavory side to the publishing business itself.”

“Indecency, do you think?” Grisse’s lips pursed together; with his elbows on the table before him, he reminded Shadduck of a praying mantis. “If that is so, the indecency must be stopped at once.”

“I mean piracy, sir.”

“Stealing books, do you mean to say?”

“Stealing writers, more like.”

“Somebody is kidnapping a writer? That is absurd.”

“Our nation has no treaty with England, sir, as you know. It seems British authors published here needn’t be paid. As far as I reckon, the race to pirate British books is the mainstay of the American book trade. Agents are planted in London publishing houses. Manuscripts and galley proofs are stolen and shipped to Philadelphia. Topham was not a publisher, sir. He was a thief.”

“With no laws broken, I think that is not a thief but a good businessman.”

“The American writers are not happy about it, sir. In order to compete, they must write their books for nothing.”

“It is the free market, sure, and we do not decide what Philadelphia reads.”

“I am suggesting a possible push to murder him, sir. And with powerful savagery.”

The councilman did not like this feeling of being led, one methodical step at a time, to a location not of his choosing. “Very well, you must be arresting all authors to be questioned on this matter.”

“That is an expensive proposition, sir, but I thank you kindly for your support.”

“Begging your pardons, Inspector, what is it that I am supporting?

“The investigation into Mr. Topham’s murder, sir.”

“I see
. Ja, naturlich,”
replied Grisse, confused, thinking,
If only it was the Irish to blame
. “I am hoping you are giving no credit to the speculations of the newspapers. All this haunting talk and the horror tales coming to life and the ghosts and some such.”

“No, sir. We will look into natural explanations first off.”

“It is unwholesome, this talk. It is morbid and not Christian, and must be stopped.”

“Best we disprove it then, sir. I have made a request to the Baltimore constabulary. Well produce Mr. Poe in his coffin if we have to.”

“Wery good, Inspector. I am most impressed. Continue please with your … reports.”

Shadduck nodded, stood, saluted smartly, and exited the room, leaving the councilman in a state of profound agitation. It appears that when a city creates a police force, wheels are set in motion. One thing can lead to another, with unpredictable results.