City of the Absent (25 page)

“OK…if Philander
told
you that Gabby was a worthless piece of human trash, and that I was a street slut, and that the
world'd be a better place with us gone, Vander, would you harm us?”

“I—I—I like Gabby…and I—I like you, too.”

“Thank you, Vander, but that isn't answering the question.”

“Mother, your tone.”

Jane persisted. “Would you kill
me
if Philander asked you to?”

A voice from behind them replied, “Vander will do whatever he's told, so long as it's me doing the tellin'!” The voice belonged to Philander, somehow here, somehow out of jail. Had he somehow escaped?

“We were just leaving,” said Jane.

“Pity that!” Philander advanced on them. “I so wanted your company, the both of you dear ladies.”

“Don't you come near us!” shouted Gabby, startled, shaking.

Philander shouted, “Grab her, Vander!” as he took hold of Jane. “Tie them up until we can decide how to take care of this matter!”

Vander hesitated to grab hold of Gabby, saying, “But they've been real nice to me. Brought me soup and bread, they did!”

Jane kicked out at Philander in an attempt to free herself, and at once Gabby picked up a lamp and hit Philander square on the head.

At this point, an agitated Vander grabbed up Gabby. Both women were screaming until Philander knocked Jane senseless and Vander cupped his hand over Gabby's mouth—his hand so large that it covered her nostrils as well, choking off her air until she fell faint.

Alastair Ransom hadn't any idea of the whereabouts
of Jane or Gabby as he repeatedly rang their annoying doorbell, its light, airy tinkle certainly not enough to be heard at the back of the house and perhaps not from the clinic run by the infamous Dr. Tewes either. Why weren't they answering his insistent ringing?

Then he wondered if the bell mightn't be malfunctioning. He had awful luck with mechanical devices. Suspecting this might be the case, using his cane, Ransom instead began pounding on the door, rattling the windows. “That oughta get some attention.” He rapped again.

Anyone seeing him at the door might make him out a bear that'd strayed in from the surrounding countryside, somehow confused and running amok in the city. Reverend Jabes from two doors down at the Episcopal church thought so when he stuck his head out the parsonage window and shouted, “What is that ungodly noise?”

Ransom stepped around to face the minister, giving the man a slight nod and a wave of his silver wolf's head cane. “In need of Dr. Tewes down at the station house again,” he lied to the minister.

“Don't know where the doctor's got off to!” Jabes shouted
back, making Ransom wonder if the man might be deaf, the way he shouted at everyone and everything. He had heard of the man's sermons. In fact, the man's preachings were legend in the neighborhood as the most zealous ever pounded out at a pulpit.

To the usual, run-of-the mill good Christian, Jabes had earned a reputation as one who lived up to his name far too much—jabbing at people with his tongue. The minister lashed out at sin and sinners, of whom there were many; in fact, Jabes found them at every turn, and his multiple-hour single sermons had earned him the nickname of Jabberwocky Jabes.

“What of Dr. Tewes's womenfolk? Why isn't someone home?” Alastair dared ask.

“At least
they
come to church on occasion!” he retorted. “Can't say the same of Dr. Tewes. He seems to have an aversion for the Lord's word and house—not unlike
yourself
, Inspector.”

“A cop in a city like ours, Mr. Jabes, he doesn't have much time for niceties like—”

“Niceties, is it? Is that what you call answering to the Lord?”

“Well no, I didn't mean to say—”

“Yet you find time for drinking and brawls and womanizing and gambling, I understand.”

“As I said, a cop in Chicago leads a full life, sir.” Ransom inwardly smiled at his own remark. “So you have no notion where the ladies may've got off to?”

“I did see them take a coach.”

“The two of 'em?”

“Southbound is all I know.”

“Did they happen to say anything at all?”

“Said they'd try to make my sermon Sunday.”

“Oh, I see. Anything else?”

“I recall nothing further.”

“Hmmm…”
Alastair imagined they'd gone shopping, either at the market or one of the huge department stores on State Street.

“Except…” muttered Jabes.

“Except? Yes, except what?”

“It was somewhat garbled. The younger one asked if they shouldn't call you, sir, before embarking.”

“Call me?”
Not to advise them on shopping,
he thought. “Nothing of their destination?”

“Sorry…no, but their hands were full with food. I suspect they were going to visit some shut-in perhaps.”

“Thanks all the same.”

The thin-faced, beak-nosed, goggle-eyed minister in spectacles replied, “Do come by Sunday, and let's work on reclaiming and restoring your good soul, Inspector, to God and Christ and the Holy Ghost.”

“'Fraid, sir, they'll all have to get in line.”

“In line? You mean as in to
stand
a lineup?”

Ransom glared at the minister. “News travels fast.”

“Especially among the clergy.”

“O'Bannion's spreading lies, Mr. Jabes.”

“He holds you responsible for the unfortunate affair with Father Jurgen.”

“I tell you, I had nothing to do with it.” Not entirely true, as he'd brought the weapon.

“True or not, your reputation comes back to haunt you, and being what it is, cultivated as it has been, people will quite willingly give this news a nod.”

“I'm aware of that.”
Painfully so
, he thought.

“Certainly few will dispute it, but if you make your confession to me, I will hold it in confidence or counter O'Bannion's opinion, depending on your wish, Inspector.”

“I'll take it under advisement, sir.”

With that, Ransom rushed off, wondering how many citizens of the town had it on bad authority that he'd laid Jurgen low with those horse pinchers. Obviously, Father O'Bannion was busily spreading the word, setting public opinion clearly against him.

Unsure how to locate Jane Francis, Ransom was scanning Belmont Street for any approaching cabs when he saw Samuel and Bosch, both his snitches, coming toward him, waving him down.

The three found a nook near a livery stable and in shadow began to talk. “Samuel, I thought you'd vacated the city, poof! Gone.”

“No sir, just lying low.”

“With something that belongs to me.”

“Sorry, sir. Yes, I took the file, but only so's to keep it from falling into the wrong hands.”

“What hands?”

“Some men came after Hake and the file. I ran.”

Likely Bill Pinkerton,
Ransom thought. The private detective had caught on to his dealings with Frederick Hake. “Learning from Bosch here, are you?”

“He's a fast leaner,” said Bosch, smiling like a doting teacher over a prized pupil.

“You two planning extortion? To blackmail me?”

“Now that's an awful thing to suspect of the boy and me,” replied Bosch.

“Tell me, then, what's got you two working in consort?” asked Ransom. “Gotta be that Pinkerton file.”

Bosch's features pinched into a huge question mark, while Sam made not a sound.

“Inspector,” began Henry Bosch, “we're here to inform you that Miss Jane's been seeking information about the fellow you arrested earlier today, that Rolsky fellow, and his brother.”

“What're you talking about?”

Sam blurted out, “Miss Jane's been seeking help in locating that pair of strange fellas who might be body snatchers.”

“Ghouls, they are!” Bosch added. “Go ahead and say it, Sam. The word won't turn you into no pumpkin.” Bosch laughed until the laugh turned into a coughing fit.

Ransom grabbed the wizened Bosch by both shoulders, stilling him. “Damn you, Bosch, why didn't you tell me about Jane's getting so involved!”

“I didn't for the longest time know what she suspected of the two! Or why she wanted information on 'em. I just did me job and got paid. Since when do I ask questions of a client?”

“I ought to flay your skin off, old man!”

“But why?”

“For not coming to me with this sooner!”

“Do so, then. Beat me into tomorrow if it'll please you. J-Just don't, you know, go for my privates.”

“Not you, too? And Sam, do you believe I'm guilty of castrating Father Jurgen?”

Sam bit his lower lip. “You was pretty mad, sir.”

“Damn it, I didn't do it.”

“The news has everyone fearful tenfold of you, son,” said Bosch. “Your reputation is intact. True or not, it's good for the bear.”

Ransom gritted his teeth while his thoughts ran amok.
If everyone believes that I attacked Jurgen with the pinchers
,
then what are Gabby and Jane thinking about now?
“Never mind about my reputation, Bosch! What information about the Rolskys did you supply Jane Francis?”

“Just their names and address is all, and she pays a damn sight better'n you, and I need the—”

“What address, fool! Spit it out!”

“I writ it down but I give it to her. And my memory isn't so good these days, but I recall the name Rolsky, two brothers, and the address was something like 1400 Atgeld.”

Ransom's jaw was set so hard now it hurt. “These men are dangerous scoundrels, Bosch.”

“They're a strange pair,” said Samuel. “I had a run-in with 'em once.”

“You did?”

“The big one seems harmless as a child, friendly even, but his brother, he's cold and mean. Said he'd as soon kill a man as share bread with 'im.”

“You heard him say this?”

“I did,” replied Sam.

“Gabby and Jane went to the address on Atgeld?” Alastair asked.

“They're likely there now, yes,” replied Bosch.

“They have no notion Philander—the more dangerous of the two—made bail already.”

“He's out?” asked Sam, eyes wide.

“How'd Rolsky get set free?” asked Bosch.

“Find out for me, Henry,” replied Alastair. “Who stood his bail.”

“It'll be anonymous.”

“Find out! Someone's got to know.”

Ransom wondered if the answer might not lead to Rolsky's boss, the one who held his chain. All he knew was what O'Malley had told him over the phone: “When I got back to the station house from 400 Atgeld with evidence that could nail the bastard for murder and ghoulish activities, I learned he made bail.”

Ransom had been flabbergasted and angry to learn of Rolsky having gone free. He'd asked O'Malley about the nature of the items he found in the apartment. Mike had itemized and logged in the evidence, now safely in lockup. It pointed to Philander as the man behind Dodge's disappearance and perhaps Nell Hartigan's murder. The level of involvement on the retarded brother's part remained in question. And now this awful turn of events—Ransom's two ladies gone to Rolsky's lair.

“You going to get over to 1400 Atgeld?” asked Bosch.

“Fool, it's the 400 block of Atgeld! I had O'Malley search the place. On a warrant, he found specimen jars, wrapping sheets stained with blood, a Persian rug, jewelry, and a box of cash.”

“Then why wasn't the man rearrested?”

“This has all occurred within the hour. I just learned the miscreant is roaming free.”

“Four hundred block's pretty near where I had a run-in with 'em, sir,” added Sam.

Ransom found a police call box, opened it with his key, and studied the dial. What should he press? Murder, rape, abduction? There was a button for each and for every sort of crime known to these streets. He opted for abducted as it was as close to “missing” as he could find. By pressing the abducted lever, and winding the phone, and getting the closest precinct, he was guaranteed a police wagon and some
two dozen uniformed men who'd answer to him. He and his army of twenty-four could fan out and cover every entry and exit where the Rolsky brothers might choose to crawl.

“You, Samuel!” Ransom called out. “You come with me! We've got some palavering to do.”

“What 'bout me, boss?” asked Bosch.

“This doesn't concern you any further, Henry. Besides, I need you to learn the identity of the man who posted Rolsky's bail.”

Bosch frowned and put out a hand for money. Ransom dropped two dollars into his palm. “There'll be more, but at the moment it's all I've got!” Then he snatched Sam, and together they rushed to find a cab. They'd meet the police wagon at the Atgeld address.

In the meantime, Alastair prayed that nothing bad had happened to Jane or Gabby or both.

 

On the cab ride to Atgeld, Ransom began explaining what he had not done to Father Jurgen, and he felt that his plea of innocence had been accepted by Samuel. Finally, someone who knew the details and facts as he knew them, and believed. He then suggested that another young person aboard the ship had done the actual operation after Alastair had left Jurgen in one piece. “Still, Sam, you're the only person in this city who can finger me for it, son, and so I'm at your mercy. So how much do you want for the file?”

“How much for the file?”

“The dossier that Hake dropped off at my house that night he rapped on the bedroom window.”

“I almost wasn't going to open the window, 'cause I thought him a desperate-looking fellow, but he made promises that he was your friend and that I was to give this file to you.”

“All right, so you took the file through the window.”

The boy swallowed hard. “Laid it across the bed, and a photo of you holding a dead man's head in your hands fell out.”

Ransom recalled the photo taken by Philo at the train station the past spring while he was investigating the third garroting murder in the Phantom of the Fair case. “Then you read the file?”

“I did and I'm sorry.”

“Sorry you did it, or sorry over what you learned about me?”

“Sorry I did it.”

“Well now you know the half-truths and lies my enemies are willing to tell to put me away at any cost.”

“I didn't understand it all. I don't read so good.”

“Do you think me a heartless murderer now, Sam?”

“They couldn't prove it by me.”

“What'd you do with the file?”

“Burned it, I did.”

“Burned it? Yet Bosch is trying to make a buck on it anyway?”

“He's an enterprising duffer.”

Ransom smiled at this.

“Burned it as lies, I did, and—and I scattered the ashes over your partner's grave.”

“My partner's grave? Griffin Drimmer?”

“May he rest in peace. The file said you got him killed.”

“Another lie…or rather, half-truth. If I'd had stayed with him that night, who knows.” Ransom thought of the grave site in Mount Carmel, the headstone he'd personally paid for, and he gave a thought to Drimmer's little family, the wife and children somewhere now back East near Boston—a civilized place, she'd called it between sobs as Ransom had held her close.