Chapter Four

Scarlett fidgeted the entire time she sat beside me in the cab, her hands fiddling with the buttons of her gloves, or adjusting the lace veil that obscured her face. Her knees bounced, and more than once she begged my pardon for elbowing me in the ribs. The third time, I caught eyes with Lestrade, and he smiled weakly and shrugged in sympathy to my plight.

“Here! Stop the cab!” Scarlett exclaimed, causing me to jump in surprise.

The driver had only just started to slow his horse when Scarlett flung open the door, and leapt to the sidewalk

“What are you doing?” I said, bracing myself as the cabbie pulled harder on the reigns, and swore, causing the cab to jerk to a halt. It was useless, as Scarlett was already half way down the dark alley.  She turned to call over her shoulder, but did not slow her stride.

“Continue on! I shall meet you.”

After much grumbling and an apology from Pastor Lestrade, the cabbie clucked his horse into motion, and we were on our way once more.

“Is she always like this?” I asked Lestrade.

“Yes” he said, without hesitation, and with more than a little frustration. With his next breath and a rueful smirk, he said “I know she seems crazy as an outhouse rat, but she has been a huge help to my community.”

“You say that as if she were not a part of it.”

“She isn’t.  No more than you are.”

The Pastor must have read the confusion on my face, and continued.

“Last month, I was introducing a new family around town. They had just arrived from way down South, coming up from Louisiana. When the children saw Miss Holmes walking down the street, they ran and hid. They thought she was a white lady.”

“But why should that make them run?” 

There was something very sad in Lestrade’s gentle smile. “Ma’am, for lots of the children in my community, the last time they saw a white woman coming down their street, someone they love disappeared.”

I felt a pang of guilt, and I admit, some mild irritation. “I can’t believe this is still an issue.  I mean, the Benevolence Society has made great efforts to help freedmen…”

“When it’s convenient.  Especially if there is an audience.” The Pastor said, again with a gentleness in his voice that did not completely blunt the sting of the accusation. 

I said nothing. He was right. Even then, as naive as I still was, I knew that much of the work the Benevolence Society had been doing for the freedmen of Lucky Town was more for positive publicity than the general welfare of the community. It did not pass even my nascent powers of observation that we seemed to have a food drive or fundraising event after an egregious arrest, or a poorly executed investigation, that cost someone in the Pastor’s congregation. 

We were trying, though.  Did that not count for something?  Perhaps not, if someone like Scarlett would be feared on her own street corner, by her own people. Her people. Was she not also my people? How could the world change when even in my own mind, without conscious intention, I sorted people by color? I still clung to hope, though. I had seen so much death and destruction during the war. It had to be worth it.  We had to make it worth it.  We were. Or, we would. Wouldn’t we?

Perhaps the Pastor had sensed the direction of my thoughts. “Scarlett once said to me, there is no where she can’t go, but nowhere that she belongs.”

The cab slowed, and stopped with a gentle lurch. The good pastor opened the door and got out, and turned to offer me his hand in assistance.

“Let’s see what she’s gotten us into.”

The brothel was located on the edge of Uptown and Lucky Town, in an area that Leo had insisted that I avoid for my own safety. The building was not old -- nothing in Lucky Town was old, except the Church -- but it was showing signs of neglect. One of the windows on the second floor was shattered, and there were broken liquor bottles on the front stoop.

“Perhaps what it lacks in charm it makes up for in good lighting.” I said.

“People here don’t want good lighting.” The Pastor replied.

As we approached the front door it opened, and two young policemen emerged.  I didn’t recognize them, which wasn’t all that surprising. Since Leo had started working the night shift, my visits to his station had dropped off. The force had grown considerably, trying to keep pace with the city’s booming population. These looked to be fresh recruits, unaccustomed to the hours, as they wore their fatigue on their faces in the form of red eyes and scowls. 

One of them, freckled with a bit of an Irish lilt, called out to us. “Is this boy bothering you, Miss?”

I felt more than saw the transformation of Pastor Lestrade from my tall, smiling friend to a stooped figure of submission, pulling his hat from his head and holding it before him, his hands fingering the brim, a nervous gesture. My face flushed hot with anger, and I drew myself up to my full height, and summoned my most haughty Benevolence Society voice.

“This is Pastor Lestrade of the First Congregational Church in Lucky Town.”

Officer Freckles did not stop scowling, but he transferred his glare to me.

“I am Dr. Joanna Watson.” I said.  They stared at me blankly.  I didn’t bother to conceal the annoyance from my voice as I clarified “Mrs. Leo Watson.”

At that, the men visibly relaxed from their heightened alert to one of mere suspicion.

The other officer, who was considerably shorter than Officer Freckles with a bit of a belly straining the buttons of his uniform, asked “Sergeant Leo Watson?  From the Lower Uptown Precinct?”

“Yes, that’s my husband.” I said through my teeth.

“Right, I know him.  Good fellow.  Where is he?  What brings his wife to a murder scene? And with…” Officer Belly’s voice trailed off, and his eyes widened with surprise at something behind me.  I turned to follow his gaze, and my own jaw dropped as I saw a short, grey-suited man wave his cane at us, as he approached the front stoop of the brothel. His eyebrows and mustache were coarse and bristly. He reminded me of the Benevolence Society chairwoman’s yappy terrier that always bit at my ankles whenever I attended a meeting at her home.

“She and the pastor are here to assist me,” said the man, as he adjusted his monocle.  He was pompous with a hint of a British accent.

“Who are you?” Officer Belly asked. I saw his hand shift to his club, and Officer Freckles did the same, as their police instincts kicked in again.

“Doctor Havisham from the University.  Here to inspect the body.  Doctor Watson is here to assist me in assessing the corpse, what?” He said. It was the “what” at the end that gave her away to me. During our years together, I would always spot Scarlett’s disguises by her character’s theatrical flourishes, like this Doctor’s verbal tick. Scarlett’s subtlety was often undone by her inability to resist the dramatic.

“Doctor?  Her?” My annoyance at Officer Belly’s skeptical tone helped me recover and stay in character.

“Not officially.” I said curtly.

“What for, doc?” Officer Freckles cut in, impatient no doubt for this conversation, and his shift, to be over. “He’s already dead. Don’t think you’ll be able to do much for him.”

“Precisely my interest in him, lad. My students usually only get the specimens when they are already ripe with rot, or pickled in formaldehyde. A nice fresh body would be a pleasant change of pace for them, what?” Holmes rocked back and forth on her heels, as though excited at the prospect.

Officer Freckles raised an eyebrow, still suspicious. “I dunno.”

“We aren’t supposed to let anyone in, ‘cept the coroner.” Officer Belly reminded Officer Freckles.

Perhaps it was my annoyance at being dismissed as a doctor that gave me the courage to improvise. Or perhaps it was just the first time I allowed ‘the thrill of the hunt’ as Scarlett called it to affect my judgement. 

“Detective Gates is already done with the body, and he’s got his man.  What harm can it do to let the good doctor have a look?  It’s for science.”

“And ten dollars.” Holmes said slowly, with a smile and a wink at the officers.  “That’s the going rate for fresh bodies at the university.”

The cops' tired eyes sparked to life at the mention of the money.

“Ten dollars?” Officer Freckles exclaimed.

“Each.” Holmes confirmed.”Provided the body is in acceptable condition, of course.”

The officers shared a long look, and I could easily imagine what they were thinking.  Ten dollars was a full week’s pay, and all they had to do was step aside and let us in. The temptation was strong, but they were still suspicious.

Officer Belly pointed to Pastor Lestrade. “What’s your business here, Pastor? You ain’t looking for dead bodies for science.”

I saw Pastor Lestrade’s face go a bit more ashen. Lying did not come as easily to the poor preacher.  No doubt Scarlett knew this, for she jumped in before he could make a sound.

“We may be men” she began in her British man-voice, turning to me briefly to add “and women” with a wink only I saw, “of science, but we are not so proud that we can’t give the Almighty his due. A prayer over a specimen makes my conscience rest a little easier, what?”

I saw Pastor Lestrade fidget uncomfortably under Officer Freckles’ scrutinizing gaze.

“I assure you, my husband will vouch for the good doctor, and Pastor Lestrade.” I said, thinking that Leo was going to be apoplectic when I told him.

That seemed to do it for Officer Freckles, as he relaxed his hand, which had never strayed far from the club at his belt. He was disappointed as he said “The coroner is already on his way, though, to take the body to the morgue. Can’t call him off now.”

Holmes smiled. Under her fake whiskers, she radiated triumph, and pulled from an inside pocket of her coat a stack of fresh $10 bills, fanning them before the officers, who followed the movement of the money as a cobra might dance to a snake charmer’s flute.

“The University will adequately compensate him for his trouble. You all will get your due, have no doubt. Provided the body is suitable. It will only take a moment for the assessment.”

Officer Belly and Officer Freckles nodded to one another and stepped aside, as Holmes slowly peeled off a $10 bill for each of them. 

“Alright then, go on.” they said, trying to hide their smiles as they pocketed the cash, and we proceeded into the brothel.

Once we’d reached the first landing on our way up the dark staircase, Scarlett paused to remove the beard, mustache, and monocle from her face, and stashed them in a large pocket that had been sewn into the back of her coat.

“That’s better. So itchy.”

“I hate it when you do that.” Lestrade said, mopping away the flop sweat dripping down his brow with a handkerchief.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, Pastor, as do I.” Scarlett jested.

“Where did you get all that money?” I asked. I could hardly blame the officer’s for being captivated by the cash Scarlett had wielded. Leo and I could have done with an unexpected $10 boon ourselves. 

“Hudson was quite right, he’s got a nice system arranged for liquidating the fruits of my little investigations.”

“Leo is going to be furious with me.” I observed.

“Having second thoughts, my dear Watson?” Scarlett asked.

“On the contrary” I replied, affecting Scarlett’s faux British accent. “It’s rather thrilling, what?”

We both giggled like girls, and I saw Pastor Lestrade hide a smile before shaking his head at us.

All smiles disappeared when we entered the gloomy, sparsely furnished apartment. Maybe it was my admittedly overactive imagination, but since my days at the field hospital I always felt the presence of death as a physical manifestation. Even before we found the body, I felt the prickle at my spine, a closeness in the air, a quiet that was too profound and seemed itself a conscious, unwelcoming presence in the room.  

It did not take us long to find the body. It was sprawled before two armchairs arranged by the fire, the head upon the brick. The pool of cooling blood had reached a small overturned end table. As I stared, the automatic defense mechanisms that I had developed during the war snapped into place. Cool detachment spread over my mind, like a shade drawn over a window during a thunderstorm.

Beside me, Scarlett also got down to work.  “Now, let us see what Detective Gates is so determined to ignore”, she said, and from yet another pocket of her coat extracted a magnifying glass.  

Pastor Lestrade crossed himself, and found a spot against a wall to lean, as Scarlett began to examine the scene. She flitted like a hummingbird, darting from mantle to blood pool, to the brick that lay beside the body, before straightening up and, with an air of a professor about to give a lecture, gestured to the body with a delicate hand.

“Our victim is a gentleman of around sixty.  Given the style and condition of his clothes he was a former member of the Southern gentry.”

As soon as she said the words, I recognized the style and nodded.

“See how his coat is tight, and has been mended several times?  And his shoes?”

Scarlett was getting more excited now, her eyes glinted and speech quickened. She gestured at one of the man’s brightly polished shoes.

“See here, the excessive wear at the bottom?”

Indeed, there were spots on the bottom where the sole had worn so thin, I could have pushed through it with my finger with little effort. “Yet polished to a high shine.  He’s been working hard to keep up appearances.  And his nails…”

I looked at the man’s hands, and saw that his fingertips were pink and swollen, with hardly any nail at all.

“He’s chewed his fingernails to the numb.  This indicates more than habit, but extreme anxiety. He knew he was being hunted.”

“Hunted” I repeated, letting the weight of the word sink in.

Beside me, Pastor Lestrade let out a surprised squeak, before stammering, “I recognize him. He’s one of our benefactors, Mr. Pierce Drebber. After the fire last year, he made a generous donation to help us rebuild the sanctuary.  He struck me as a very godly, devout man.”

“Then what was he doing visiting a brothel in lower Lucky Town?” I asked.

“Not as unusual as you might expect.” Scarlett said. “The better question is, why would he be visiting this brothel in lower Lucky Town? If he was looking for mere physical pleasure, there are any number of discrete and exclusive options that even a man of diminished means would have had access to in lower Uptown.”

Scarlett paced up and down the small room, as though trying to stalk the elusive answer down.

“Watson, what did your husband say was the Police theory?”

“That Nathan brought Mister Drebber here on a fare. When the gentleman was alone, Nathan followed him up the stairs and attempted to rob him, and then smashed his head in to cover the tracks.”

“And how did Officer Watson come to discover the scene?”

“Leo heard someone shouting for help. When he arrived, he found Nathan with the brick in his hand, screaming.”

Holmes walked over to stand above the brick, looking down on it.

“And, in your professional opinion, does that theory hold?”

I looked to the wound on Drebber’s head, and felt a thrill of hope for Nathan. “No! This wound couldn’t possibly be the cause of death. It’s a nasty gash, but not fatal. And this brick is too clean to be the murder weapon.”

“Well done, Watson. You have a knack. What more can you deduce?”

“Drebber may have had a simple heart attack, and hit his head on the mantle as he fell to the ground. Could this all be just a tragic accident?”

“Unlikely,” Scarlett said decisively. “Because what of the other man?”

I broke off my examination of Drebber’s head to stare in amazement at Scarlett. 

“Other man?”

“Yes, the other man, who shared a pipe” Scarlett stopped herself abruptly, and raised a finger “correction, smoked a pipe with tobacco from his own pouch, with our unfortunate Mister Drebber.” 

Scarlett crouched down on the floor below the right side of the mantle and collected a specimen from a small pile of dark ash I hadn’t seen before.  She then did the same, with another bit of ash from the floor at the left side of the mantle. She showed me the two samples, side by side.

“You see?  This ash was from our victim, but this ash is different. Either our victim filled his pipe with two distinct brands of tobacco, and smoked one on this side of the mantle, and the other on that side, or there was a third man in this room.”

“Astounding!” I exclaimed. “We must alert the police. He could be the killer.”

Scarlett laid a restraining hand on my forearm.

“Dear Watson, our police force is clever enough to have uncovered this. We come for answers but find more interesting questions. Why did the police dismiss this evidence, allowing it to be taken from the scene, wishing for it to disappear? Why ignore the presence of a second gentleman, unless they knew he was not the murderer, and what then happened to this man? Why rush to convict Nathan of the crime?”

Pastor Lestrade, who had been trying to stay clear of Scarlett’s manic pacing, joined us at the fireplace, with the air of a teacher redirecting an unruly class.

“Let’s not forget the most important question. How do we free Nathan?”

“We must answer all the questions to answer that last. Nathan has the benefit of truth on his side. He is no more guilty of this gentleman’s murder than you are, Pastor.” Scarlett declared.

“With God’s grace, we’ll go to the police, and if need be the mayor,” Pastor Lestrade said.

“I’ll leave the enlistment of God to you. Watson and I will rely on science.”

“We will? To do what?” I asked, surprised to now be included further in this caper.

“The only way to exonerate Nathan will be to find the true murderer.”

Before I could ask Scarlett how the devil she expected us to do that, we heard footsteps on the staircase in the hall. The three of us froze, and the footsteps fell silent.

“The coroner?” Lestrade whispered, his eyes wide.

“Perhaps its the officers at the door? Or another resident of the apartments?” I replied, also in a whisper.  My heart beat fast in my chest.

“I think not.” Scarlett said, her voice low and dark, and my heart seemed to stop altogether.

Without another sound, Scarlett sprinted toward the door of the apartment and wrenched it open, just as footsteps morphed into a running stampede down the staircase back toward the front doors of the apartment building.

“Stop!” I heard Scarlett yell, as Pastor Lestrade and I ran after her.  We almost crashed into her as she came back into the apartment.  She sidestepped us like a boxer darting away from a punch, and threw open the shades on the window facing the street.  We all saw the shadowy figure of a man for a split second, before he disappeared down an alley heading toward the Lucky Town docks.

“We can’t catch him.” Scarlett said. She turned to me and the Pastor. Gone was the detective’s curiosity, replaced with the dead-eyed cool of a captain on the battlefield. 

“Matters have just taken a more urgent turn. A hasty retreat is in order. Our killer has ventured back into the open, and been so bold as to attack police officers in order to gain access to this room again…” Scarlett’s voice slows as she puts the pieces of the puzzle together.  She draws out the stained handkerchief.”...the retrieve something he left behind. He now knows others know of his existence, which means he needs to accelerate his plans.”

“But Pierce Drebber is already dead.” Pastor Lestrade said, confused.

“Was that the second smoking man?” I asked, struggling to keep pace with Scarlett’s deductions.

Scarlett considered my question, and took a sniff of one of the tobacco ash samples she had collected.

“Possibly. This man who enjoys Lone Jack of Virginia tobacco is either a killer making careless mistakes, or someone else’s prey.”

“What do we do now?” I asked, starting to feel overwhelmed.

“We continue the game. Pastor, I need you to get me in to see our friend Nathan. Today.”

“What about me?” I asked. Now that I was in this far, there was no way I was not going to see this mystery to the end. Scarlett read this on my face, and smiled.

“I have a very special assignment for you, Mrs. Watson.”