I
took a horsecar to the address I’d been given for Dora Clemens’s boardinghouse. Regrettably, all Dora’s landlady would say was that her tenant—who shared an attic room with another girl who was also “in service”—left the house around eight o’clock the morning of her death, which seemed strange since the girl was usually gone by six.
“Don’t know no more about it than that,” she said grumpily. “Except now I gotta find me a new tenant, and that ain’t easy these days.”
She was about to close the door in my face when a girl of about eighteen came up the stairs.
“This here’s Chloe Goodhall,” the landlady said ungraciously. “The girl what roomed with Dora. You can ask her yer questions.”
A plump girl with fair hair and a pasty complexion, Chloe looked weary from her day’s labors but kindly invited me upstairs.
“I still can’t believe what happened to Dora, miss,” she said when we reached the narrow attic room she’d shared with the
kitchen maid. “And just when things was beginnin’ to look so good fer her and all.”
“In what way were they looking good, Chloe?” I asked, taking a seat on one of two single beds set to either side of a sloping ceiling.
“Dora never came right out and said. But she seemed real excited that mornin’. You know, the morning she …”
“I understand, Chloe,” I said gently. “Exactly what did she tell you?”
“Said she was goin’ to work late ’cause she had to see someone first. Someone who was gonna give her a lot of money.”
I stared at the girl. So, Samuel and I were right in our suspicions! Dora must have seen the person who poisoned the accountant. Who else could she have demanded money from that morning? Had she been foolish enough to threaten blackmail, I wondered, or had the killer offered it to her in exchange for her silence? Silence that needed to last no longer than it took for the poison to take effect.
“Chloe, did Dora mention who this person was?”
“No, miss, just gave me a little wink, like she couldn’t say no more. She looked so happy.” Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “Don’t seem fair, does it?”
“No, Chloe. Sometimes life doesn’t seem the least bit fair.”
I
returned to Sansone Street to find Eddie still watching the secondhand shop. Few people had entered the store, he reported unhappily, and no one resembling Bert or Killy had come out. I told him it was probably expecting too much to hope the fugitives would show themselves so soon, and I asked the lad to drive me to the city jail.
“I don’t expect to be long,” I told him as I went inside the damp, dreary building I had grown to hate. A jailer escorted me to
Chin’s cells, where I found the cook to be his usual disagreeable self.
“I no put in for those,” he said dismissively when I read him the list of kitchen requisitions made in his name. “What I do with all those pots and pans? Have plenty.”
“Could someone else have ordered them for you?”
He scoffed at this suggestion. “Who do that? No one stupid enough to order me stuff like that.”
Abruptly, I changed the subject, trying to catch him off guard. “What about the cookie tin you kept in a kitchen cupboard?”
Chin’s face reddened. “What cookie tin? Why you ask stupid question? I no have cookie tin.”
“I think you do, Mr. Chin. I believe that’s where you kept the money you held back from your weekly kitchen allowance. The money you used for gambling.”
He started to deny the accusation, then shrugged. “So what? Only few dollar. No big deal.”
“It wasn’t your money,” I pointed out. “It was given to you to run the kitchen.”
His only response to this was another shrug and a refusal to discuss the matter any further.
Why, I asked myself as I left the jail and once again climbed into Eddie’s cab, did my first venture inside a courtroom have to be in defense of such a fractious client?
This time I had Eddie drive me to the law firm. There, I paid the lad for his services, requesting him to keep an occasional watch on the secondhand shop and to drive past Killy’s home on California Street whenever possible. There was always the chance the men might return to the house, if only to pick up something they’d forgotten.
“I’m the man fer the job, miss,” Eddie said, and with a wide grin, he clicked his horse into afternoon traffic.
As I entered the clerk’s anteroom, I noticed Robert gesturing to me from his glass cubicle. Not wanting to spend any more time than necessary under Hubert Perkins’s rude scrutiny, I motioned the Scot to join me in my office.
“Where have you been?” he asked the moment the door was shut. “Shepard’s been in an uproar all day, ranting and raving that you’re going to singlehandedly destroy his firm. I can’t decide if he’s more upset that you’re actually trying a case in court, that you’re representing a Chinaman or that the story will make every newspaper in town.”
“Let’s face it, Robert: he’d find fault with anyone I chose to represent.” Wearily, I sat behind my desk. “Actually, I’ve been working on the case all morning.”
“Did you find out anything useful?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. Keeping it brief, I described the discrepancies I’d found in Arlen’s account books, as well as my conversation with Kin Tsau in the laundry room. I finished by recounting Dora’s comment to her roommate, Chloe, the morning of her death, that someone was going to give her a great deal of money.
“I think she saw who poisoned Arlen and tried to profit by it. Poor, foolish girl. When she threatened blackmail, the killer used the same poison on her he’d used on Arien.”
“Hmm,” he said, noncommittally. “Where do you find these baneberries, anyway?”
“According to the books I’ve consulted, they grow all over Oregon and California, especially in the forests along the coast.”
“So, what you’re saying is that anyone could obtain them.” He shook his head. “That leaves a pretty open field.”
“Yes and no. While it’s true all three poisons—and I’m including the foxglove, or digitalis, used on Mrs. Godfrey, the jimsonweed
that killed Halsey, as well as the baneberry given to Arlen and the maid—grow wild, the killer had to know what he was looking for in order to pick the right plant. Then, of course, he’d have to know how to use it.”
“Sarah, Chin hasn’t been accused of killing Mrs. Godfrey and Halsey,” Robert said in a tone one might use on an obtuse child. “You have enough to do absolving your client of Arlen’s and Dora Clemens’s deaths without taking on issues that have nothing to do with his case.”
“I know how you feel about this, Robert, but I’m more than ever convinced all four murders were committed by the same person. My only chance of freeing Chin is to identify that person—which means I have to examine the crimes as a whole.”
Robert rolled his eyes but thankfully didn’t subject me to the same old wearisome arguments.
“All right, Sarah. But even supposing you’re right, I just don’t see how you’re going to find a person who had not only the motive but also the means and opportunity to kill all four victims. It’s impossible.”
“I prefer to look upon it as a challenge,” I replied, refusing to let him discourage me. “I’ll start at the beginning, working through each murder until I find someone who benefited from all four deaths. Now, who had reason to kill Caroline Godfrey?”
“Assuming she was murdered,” he said, then at my look, sighed heavily. “All right, all right, I’ll play your little game, for all the good it’s going to do you.” He appeared to give my question serious thought. “The most likely candidate, of course, is Caroline’s husband, especially if he found out about her affair with his brother. But why wouldn’t he have taken his revenge on Pierce as well? I know I would have.”
“I’m sure you would,” I said dryly. “Taking it a step further,
Leonard also had a motive for killing Halsey. If the so-called minister had succeeded in discrediting the new hospital, he and Pierce would have been left with an empty, unrented warehouse.”
“That seems a pretty weak excuse for murdering someone, even a man as irritating as Halsey.”
“On its own, yes. But don’t forget the ships they lost over the past two years, along with valuable cargo. Samuel said they were forced nearly out of business. How did they manage to survive their losses? Not only survive, but prosper!”
Robert looked at me incredulously. “Good Lord, woman, what are you suggesting? You think Leonard Godfrey used his wife’s position as head of the board to pilfer money from the new hospital?”
“I agree it’s hard to believe, but the fact remains that thirty thousand dollars is missing from the pledge dinner Caroline held the night of her death. Whoever took it must have had access to those funds. When Arlen discovered the money was missing, he had to be silenced. As did Dora when she attempted to blackmail Arlen’s murderer.”
Robert gave me a pointed look. “If you insist on placing Leonard Godfrey on your list of suspects, you’re going to have to include his brother, you know. After all, you only have Pierce’s word for how his relationship with Caroline ended. What if she was the one to break it off, not he? He doesn’t strike me as a man who’s accustomed to being rejected. Maybe he lost control and killed her.”
When I didn’t reply, he went on, “If it is Pierce, then Leonard’s motives for killing Halsey, Arlen and Dora apply equally to him.”
Much as I hated hearing this, I knew it was true. I had to remain objective, no matter how it affected me personally.
“You’re right, Robert,” I replied. “Both brothers must be considered.” Afraid my face might reveal more than I wished, I kept it
lowered as I continued down my list of possible suspects.” I suppose Margaret Barlow had a motive to kill Mrs. Godfrey, since she took over Caroline’s leadership of the new hospital. It did increase her status in San Francisco society.”
Robert added, “More important, it gave her unlimited access to hospital funds. The question is, did Margaret Barlow need the money?”
“That’s a good question. I asked Samuel to look into everyone’s finances. He learned that the Barlows lost money in the crash of ’seventy-nine.”
“Half of San Francisco lost money in that debacle,” said Robert, dismissing this as being of little importance.
“Yes, but not everybody spends as lavishly as the Barlows or is building an estate in Menlo Park. That sort of project must require an enormous outlay of cash. Because of Papa, I know approximately how much Judge Barlow makes sitting on the bench. It isn’t enough to support their extravagant lifestyle.”
“If what you say is true, then I grant you Mrs. Barlow had a motive. But what about opportunity? Didn’t you say she and the judge met with their architect in Menlo Park late that afternoon? Did anyone check this out, by the way?”
“Yes, one of George Lewis’s men did. According to him, the Barlows were with their architect until six o’clock that evening.”
“Which rules them out. Menlo Park’s a three-hour carriage drive from the city. There’s no way they could have returned to the hospital by eight o’clock that evening.”
“I know. But I’m still troubled by how they manage to live in such a grand style.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I’ve never met a woman with such a suspicious mind.” He raked broad fingers through his already disordered hair, making it stand on end. “Maybe they have an independent
income of some kind. There’s only so much Samuel can find out poring over old newspapers.”
“You’d be surprised at the information he can dig up,” I said, coming to my brother’s defense.
Robert shifted in his chair, recrossing his long legs. “What about this Prescott fellow? What do you know about him?”
“Very little. But I don’t see how he could be involved. He only arrived from back east a few weeks ago.”
“Yes, but he was at the Godfrey house the night Caroline died.”
“So were thirty other people, Robert. What possible reason could Prescott have for killing a woman he’d never met before?” I sighed. “Just to be on the safe side, though, I asked Samuel to check into his past. Prescott seems to have a fine reputation as a minister, dependable and popular with his congregations. The only thing that bothers me is that he’s changed parishes a dozen times over the past twenty-five years, which seems rather a lot. But since Samuel couldn’t find any suspicious reason for the frequent moves, we dropped the matter. Prescott is an unlikely suspect.”
Robert gave me a sardonic smile, which never failed to raise my hackles. “What?” I demanded.
“Come on, Sarah, be honest. That’s a pitiful list of suspects and you know it. Have you considered the possibility that you can’t find a likely scapegoat because the real murderer is already in custody? For once, use your mind instead of your imagination and examine the facts.”
He fiddled with his cravat, which was already askew, leaving it even more crooked. “Caroline Godfrey had an existing heart condition and it killed her. As for Halsey, maybe he ingested jimsonweed as part of some sort of a bizarre religious observance. Or one of his enemies finally decided they’d had enough of him. All I know is that when you keep trying to fit a square peg into a
round hole, at some point you have to admit it just doesn’t fit.”