The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) (12 page)

“But he didn’t want to come forward?”

“Not likely. He says if I tell the coppers, he’ll swear he didn’t see nothin’ at all.”

“Then why do you suppose he told you about it?”

“Because he had to tell somebody or he’d bust, that’s why! Men ‘re bigger gossips than women about some things, I can tell you that.” Sally giggled. “So anyways, this party was
carryin
’ luggage that night. He tells me he forgot to lock up one of the rooms here so he runs back up the stairs and doesn’t wait for the elevator. Just between you an’ me, I think the real reason he came back up here was that he’s got a bottle of gin stashed in the broom closet on this very floor. He
prob’ly
came back up for a nip is what I’m thinking. Anyway, as he comes round the corner, what do you think he sees?” Sally was clearly enjoying the suspense she was creating.

“What?” Evangeline felt breathless with anticipation.

“Why, there’s a man
standin
’ in the hallway outside this very room. But he didn’t just knock and go in. From what my party says, he looked to be worked up about
somethin
’. He just kept
walkin
’ up ‘n’ down the carpet in a brown study. The man in the hall didn’t see my party ‘cause he ducked back around the corner.”

“Did your friend get a good look at him? Did he describe him to you?”

“Well, he says the man was tall, maybe six feet or so, and that he was dressed expensive, like a
gen’lman
.”

“That’s rather vague.” Evangeline was disappointed at the lack of detail. “Anything else?”

Sally frowned in concentration. “Well, my party says the gent had his hat off, so it was easy to see he had dark hair, maybe black, maybe dark brown.”

Evangeline made one last attempt to connect Sidley to the murder. “Was he wearing glasses? A moustache or beard, perhaps?”

Sally shook her head. “No, I remember my party says the gent was shaved clean. He didn’t say nothin’ about glasses but I expect he would’ve if the gent was wearing some ‘cause that’s the kind of a thing anybody’d notice right off.”

Although the description hardly fit Sidley, an unknown man with distinguishing characteristics was beginning to emerge. “Do you think your friend would know this man if he ever saw him again?”

“
Prob’ly
. My party said he saw the man turn full around and walk the other direction, just
pacin
’ back ‘n’ forth in front of that room.”

“What else did your friend see him do?”

“Well, after he’d wore out the hall carpet for a bit, he finally stops an’ knocks. Never says nothin’ but just taps on the door—real light, like he don’t want nobody else on the floor to hear him. When the door opens, my party hears a lady’s voice from inside. ‘Come in,’ she says, ‘I’ve been expecting you.’ My party just hits the stairs after that. He figures what’s
goin
’ on in that room is none of his business anyhow.”

“Did he remember what time this happened?”

“He said it was around five ‘til ten. He remembers ‘cause he was due for his dinner break at ten and he wanted to finish up before he went.”

Evangeline, highly satisfied with the information she had received, reached in her purse and produced a silver dollar. “Sally, you’ve been a great deal of help to me. Here’s something for your trouble. It should be enough for the garters and a hat, too. Someday I may have to prevail on you to speak to your very observant friend, but don’t say anything to him about this in the meantime.”

“I won’t, miss. You can count on me.”

The two made their way back down to the lobby where Evangeline thanked Humphrey once more for his cooperation, handed him a tip, and departed.

As she began walking up
State Street
at a leisurely pace, a contented smile began to form. She entertained herself with visions of catching a killer.

Chapter 11—Memento Mori

On Friday morning, Evangeline climbed into her carriage for a trip to the shabby section of town where working people lived. She wanted to collect Elsa’s belongings and see if she could talk Mrs. O’Malley into sending Patsy to school, in return for a slight monetary incentive, of course.

The genteel mansions of
Astor Street
receded abruptly before the two-flats and tenements of the near west side. The very thought of her destination would have given the vapors to most of her society friends. The neighborhood surrounding Mast House, while not the poorest or most crime-ridden slum in the city, was scarcely a place where the well-to-do chose to be seen. In common parlance, the west side was known as the port of entry. Immigrants fresh off the boat came here and took whatever wretched accommodations they could find and whatever equally wretched work was offered. Once they had learned the language, found better jobs, and scrimped together enough money, they usually moved out. Considering that the
O’Malleys
had been in the city for some time, it was odd that they hadn’t tried to flee the area as well.

Evangeline was jolted out of her reverie when the carriage lurched to one side and then righted itself. She poked her head out of the window to see what the problem was. It appeared that the pavement in this part of town was badly in need of repair. There were gaping holes in the street where rain had flooded and washed away the cedar paving blocks. The carriage wheels churned through the stagnant water and unmentionable debris that had collected in the craters that remained. Evangeline quickly put a handkerchief to her nose and pulled her head inside the window. She noticed a woman standing in front of a six-flat building shaking out a dust mop. The woman gaped as the vehicle moved sedately past.

Farther down the block, Jack reined in the horse before a decrepit workingman’s cottage. He opened the door to hand Evangeline out.

“Do you want me to go in with you, Miss
Engie
?” He eyed the building suspiciously.

Evangeline stood on the curb contemplating the neighborhood. Several boys were playing stickball in the middle of the street. Most of them were about Patsy’s age or younger. While it was a wonder that all the children in the neighborhood hadn’t been put to work in factories, it was less than wonderful that none of them were in school either. At the moment, two of the boys were engaged in a screaming match that was likely to end in a scuffle. A terrier ran around them in a circle, offering his opinion by barking emphatically. The rest of the urchins diverted their attention from the prospect of the impending fistfight to the fine carriage with brass fittings and gleaming harness leather that had just driven into their domain.

Evangeline smiled wryly. “I think you’d better wait here, Jack. I’d like to find the carriage in the same spot, and in the same condition, when I come out.”

Jack chuckled and tipped the corner of his hat. “Right you are, Miss
Engie
. They’re a dangerous-looking lot, to be sure.”

Eyeing Jack’s height and girth, the diminutive desperados approached the carriage warily. Jack struck up a lazy conversation with the leader while Evangeline made for the O’Malley residence.

The cottage was constructed of red brick, though the brickwork sagged in places where the mortar had crumbled. A sparrow cheeped at Evangeline from a chink below the eaves. The building was two stories tall with a raised basement. Five warped stairs surmounted by a rusted railing led to the front door. As she climbed them, Evangeline noticed an open door below the sidewalk and opposite the basement door. It led to a water closet. Despite the lack of a convenient lavatory, the building was a sight better than many of the surrounding tenements which probably had no running water or plumbing. The
O’Malleys
must have been the most well-to-do family on the block since they had managed to put money down on their own ramshackle cottage and, according to Elsa, met the mortgage payments by taking in boarders.

She rapped decisively at the front door but could hear neither voices nor movement within. She knocked a second time and waited. After a few moments, she tried the door knob. It turned. The tiny foyer was dim after the bright outdoor light. She walked in and called, “Hello. Is anyone home?” Her voice echoed off the walls but met with no reply.

It was strange that no one was about. Elsa had told her Mrs. O’Malley rarely moved from a sitting position, preferring that the world should come to her if it had a mind to. How very annoying—a wasted trip. Evangeline debated what to do. She had never been the sort of person to allow good manners to stand in the way of common sense. Freddie had often used the vulgar expression “high-handed” to describe her approach. She resolved to gather whatever she could find of Elsa’s belongings rather than call a second time in as many days. She would deal with the matter of Patsy’s schooling another time.

A staircase leading to the upper floor was directly in front of her. Evangeline knew that Elsa’s room was in the attic because the girl had complained frequently of the summer heat in the stifling upstairs quarters she shared with Patsy. Evangeline ascended and found the stairs ended abruptly in the midst of a bedroom. The air was musty and close even on a chilly October day. From the masculine attire that hung on a wall peg, Evangeline assumed this had been Franz’s room. It was surprisingly neat considering the police had rifled through it so recently looking for blood-stained daggers. She attributed its current tidiness to Patsy. Evangeline advanced across the room in a straight line, because it was only safe to stand upright in the center. The steep pitch of the roof on either side would have required her to go about in a crouched position if she wanted to poke around in the corners. Not wishing to receive a nasty bump on the head in the process, she declined.

Instead, she opened a door at the far end of the room which led into the chamber that Elsa and Patsy shared. It was larger than the first but just as sparsely furnished, containing a double bed, a pine dresser, a cracked mirror, and a cedar chest pushed back against the rafters. There was very little place to store, much less hide, anything.

Patsy must have anticipated Evangeline’s visit because a box of clothing sat on the dresser. Evangeline immediately recognized the shirtwaist folded on top to be one Elsa had worn. She rummaged through the drawers and cedar chest, but all the remaining clothing appeared to belong to a child. Picking up the box, she made her way downstairs.

When she peeked out the front door, she saw that Jack had made friends with the dog and was telling his ragamuffin audience the best way to train a terrier to catch rats. They appeared to be much impressed with his extensive knowledge of the subject. Seeing he had matters well in hand, Evangeline decided to use this singular opportunity to examine the rest of the house unobserved. Perhaps she might stumble across something relevant to her investigation.

The first room off the foyer was a cramped parlor. Judging from its size, Evangeline doubted that the entire O’Malley clan could fit into the room all at the same time. The few sticks of furniture it contained were drawn close to the cast iron stove in one corner. A poker and several dry logs sat in a box next to it. Evangeline shivered slightly when she guessed that this was the single heat source for the house, other than the kitchen cook stove—hardly a sufficient protection against
Chicago
’s blustery winters.

A horsehair settee on one side of the stove was dwarfed by an armchair of royal proportions on the other side. When Evangeline noticed that the seat cushion had lost some of its stuffing and a metal coil was working its way through the material, she was fairly certain who the chair’s usual occupant was. The settee wasn’t robust enough to hold Mrs. O’Malley’s weight.

Evangeline was struck by the gloominess of the room even on a day when the sun shone brightly outdoors. It took her a few moments to comprehend that there was only one grimy window and that its lace curtains held enough soot and cobwebs to smother even the hardiest rays. Scant heat and less light, a disturbing contrast to her own warm, well-lit abode.

Off the parlor on the left was a small bedroom. It would barely have qualified as a closet in Evangeline’s boudoir. She guessed this was the room the two little boys occupied. She could see another bedroom beyond it. An archway at the back of the parlor led her into the kitchen.

As she turned her attention away from the cold-water sink stacked with dirty dishes, Evangeline realized that she wasn’t alone. A figure was seated at the table, or rather half-sprawled across it. Evangeline recognized the vague man she had met at the funeral. It was Mr. Patrick O’Malley who sat slumped over in his shirt sleeves, a three-day stubble on his chin, his left cheek resting on the table, and his hat still partially perched on his head. As she drew near him, Evangeline became aware of the stench of alcohol. She saw a gin bottle on the table close to his left hand while an empty glass was still clutched in his right.

He made no movement. Evangeline couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not. She tried to shake him gently by the shoulder.

“Mr. O’Malley?” She nudged him again. “Are you all right?”

He sat up with a snort. His hat went spinning to the floor. Jerking his arms up in surprise, he nearly clipped Evangeline on the ear. She leaped back out of range.

O’Malley turned toward her, startled and disoriented. His glazed eyes held a fearful expression.

“Who are you?” he quavered, groping protectively for the nearly empty bottle.

Evangeline stood perfectly still. She replied in a calm voice. “I’m Evangeline LeClair, Mr. O’Malley. So sorry to have startled you. We’ve met before.”

“What do you want? What are you doing sneaking up on a body like that?” He unsteadily poured the last of the gin into his glass.

She held forward the box of Elsa’s clothing. “I came to collect these. I assumed your wife would be here.”

“She’s gone to
Maxwell Street
with the boys.” He offered no details as to the reason for his wife’s errand. Furtively glancing at the bundle, he asked, “What’s that?”

Evangeline sighed and tried again. “It’s Elsa’s. I came by to collect her belongings.”

He seemed not to hear the entire sentence. His comprehension hung on one word. “Elsa?”

“Yes, Elsa. You remember. We met at her funeral.”

“Elsa.” He rubbed his hands across his face as if the gesture would clear his mental stupor. “Elsa,” he repeated, this time in bewilderment. “She’s gone, you know, all gone...” He began to croon her name as if it were a lullaby. “Elsa, pretty little Elsa. Poor little Elsa. Gone now. All gone.” His face contorted and he began to sob, slumping back over the table.

Evangeline was stunned by his response. The man she met at the funeral seemed incapable of any feeling at all, much less such a mawkishly sentimental display. For the second time in a week, Evangeline found herself at a loss to account for human behavior—first Franz’s violent outburst and now this!

“Mr. O’Malley, you must try to get a grip.” She disliked the idea of touching him again, but gently shook him by the shoulder. He shrank away from her touch.

“Go away! Leave me alone,” he muttered petulantly. “What does it matter now anyway. She didn’t love me.” He sat up and guzzled the last of the gin. Turning his bloodshot eyes to glance up at her, he added, “What did she need me for when she had some rich man buying her things? I wasn’t good enough!” He shook the bottle irritably when he realized it was empty.

“How do you know she received presents from a rich man?” Evangeline tried to sound only mildly interested but her heart was racing.

He chuckled as if pleased with some private joke. The sound was like a death rattle. “I know about everything. More than her brother knew. More than she ever wanted me to know. More than I’ll ever tell.” He sniffled and rubbed his shirt sleeve distractedly across his runny nose.

Evangeline probed further, trying to ignore her own feelings of disgust. “You were in love with her, weren’t you.”

The haunted expression in his eyes turned to a dull resentment. “Much good it did me! I wasn’t fine enough for her! But things are fixed now so she can’t love anybody anymore.” He smiled maliciously at the thought. “There’s a deal of comfort in that! If I can’t have her, nobody else can either!” He tried to chuckle again but the sound stuck in his throat and emerged instead as a series of fractured sobs. He rubbed his knuckles impatiently across his tear-streaked face.

Evangeline hesitated briefly before asking her next question.

“Did you kill her?”

The question knocked the breath out of him. He gasped in panic, “I... I... Get out!” Without warning, he threw the empty gin bottle. It came hurtling through the air, sailed past Evangeline’s ear and smashed against the wall behind her.

“Get out! Get out! Get
oooooouuuuut
!” O’Malley half rose from his chair, weaving unsteadily.

Evangeline prided herself on remaining cool in a crisis. She barely flinched at the sound of shattering glass as her eyes quickly scanned the room for a weapon to defend herself. She remembered the fire poker in the parlor. Surely she could reach it before he caught up with her. It took all her self-control, but she stood her ground long enough to take the measure of the man. She guessed that he was too much of a coward to attack.

He tried to stare her down, but his gaze slid away. The effort of his outburst had cost him. He sagged back into his chair. “Leave me alone,” he whined and sunk his head into his hands. “Stop bothering me. I don’t want to think about her anymore.”