Death at Tammany Hall (21 page)

C
HAPTER
26

 

T
uesday at noon, Pamela received Prescott's heartening reply to her message telling of Howard Chapman's promise to return to New York. Larry White had reported the news to the district attorney and had suggested that he begin preparations for a grand jury. Involved in delicate pension negotiations, Inspector Williams was allowing Larry to proceed forward, step by step. He had gathered too much evidence against Judge Fawcett and Big Tim to be arbitrarily stopped.

During the past two days, Chapman had been training his replacement at the Ramona. After each day's work, he had joined Pamela and Mary for supper in the Nadeau's fine dining room. At the table tonight, Pamela became aware of Chapman's gradual transformation since moving into the hotel on Sunday. Smartly dressed in coat and tie and his beard trimmed, he now looked like he belonged in this first-class hotel.

“Mr. Chapman, would you please tell me the time?” Pamela had noticed a gold chain hanging from his vest.

He drew a gold watch from his pocket and opened the lid. His eyes dwelled for a moment on the inscription inside, and then he read the dial. “It's five past seven o'clock, Mrs. Thompson.” Without being asked, he handed the watch and chain to Pamela. “You've heard of this watch from Ellen, I assume. It's the memento of our first year together.”

“Yes,” Pamela remarked. “I understand what it meant to you and to her then. What is its later story?”

“It has shared my fate.” Chapman explained that he had pawned the watch at the nadir of his descent into alcoholic oblivion. In his recovery he had gradually bought it back. “Today, I made the final payment and could wear it to supper.”

Pamela showed the watch to Mary, then handed it back to Chapman. “I'm happy for you, Howard, and pleased that you have shared the story with us. In due time, I hope you will share it with Ellen as well.”

In the conversation that followed, Pamela discovered that Chapman was proficient at chess. He had also earlier remarked that Mary was a charming, intelligent young woman. So now Pamela suggested that he give lessons to Mary. She seemed eager to learn.

“I'd be delighted.” He gazed at Mary. “You have a sharp mind and should quickly catch on to the game.”

Mary blushed, embarrassed by the compliment, but her eyes sparkled with delight.

After the meal, Pamela left her together with Chapman at a chessboard in a ground-floor parlor while she went on to the Pinkerton office. For the past two days, she had spoken only briefly to Gagnon. He was in the office with his assistant, Mr. Ortiz, a Spanish-speaking man, rather shy in English. Still, Pamela had come to respect him.

“Ortiz has just returned from shadowing Dan Kelly,” said Gagnon to Pamela. “I've summarized his report. Here, you may read it for yourself.”

 

Pamela wondered aloud, “Will Kelly still try to eliminate Chapman here in Los Angeles or wait until he finds more resources back in New York?”

“He appears very eager to do something soon,” Ortiz replied. “I'd say, prepare for the worst.”

Gagnon looked anxiously at Pamela. “Ma'am, you may have to protect young Mary and Mr. Chapman. I'm told that Kelly is quick and sure with a knife. Can you fire a pistol?” His tone was doubtful.

“Yes,” she replied. “My partner in Prescott's firm, Harry Miller, a former NYPD detective, has trained me to use a pistol. I would shoot if I had to. I anticipated that this trip could become dangerous, so I've brought along a double-barrel derringer, as well as a blackjack. A confrontation between Kelly and me could easily turn deadly.”

“From his side more than from yours, I presume?”

“That's true,” she replied. “Several weeks ago, when he threatened me, I tipped a tea table over on him and knocked him senseless with the blackjack.”

Gagnon nodded. “He surely hates you for that.” He turned to Ortiz. “Watch him as closely as you can. He'll soon act.”

 

Early the following morning, Pamela went with Gagnon to a private firing range. Overnight he had grown anxious about the strength of her nerves and her ability to handle a gun. To reassure him she had agreed to this exercise. For her own peace of mind she had brought Mary along to see how she would react to a gunshot and to the sense of danger that it could arouse. She might faint or panic. That would be a problem in a violent confrontation.

The range was in a sandy depression on wasteland outside the city. Gagnon set up a target, a crude wooden life-size figure of a man. Pamela fired several shots at various distances. The derringer was reasonably accurate at about a dozen feet. But the low-powered bullet barely penetrated the board.

Gagnon shook his head. “If Kelly were to charge you with his knife, your derringer probably couldn't stop him. You need a standard pistol. Have you ever fired this one?” He pulled a Colt .44 revolver from his bag.

She nodded. “I'll show you.” She loaded the pistol and fired several shots, again hitting the target at various distances. Gagnon said he was satisfied and gave her a small box of ammunition. “Keep the pistol. You may need it.”

Throughout this exercise, Mary had stood aside, watching intently. As they were about to leave the range, Pamela asked the young woman if she wished to practice shooting. “This could be part of your education.”

Mary calmly replied, “I'll try. A woman should know how to defend herself and others.” Without flinching, she fired several shots at close range with the derringer and the revolver and hit the target.

Gagnon congratulated the women. “Now let's hope that Kelly won't test you for real.”

 

When Pamela and Mary returned to the Nadeau, a message was waiting for them at the reception desk. Pamela read it to Mary. “Mr. and Mrs. Carroll are inviting us to a day trip with them on Thursday. We would leave after breakfast by train, visit the Pasadena Museum of Science and the adjacent Mission San Gabriel, and be home before dark.”

“That would be lovely,” exclaimed Mary.

“I'm sorry,” said Pamela, “but I must remain here, close to Chapman, because Kelly might attack him today or tomorrow. But I encourage you to go. Both places would offer excellent opportunities for study and sketching.”

Mary made a face. “I would enjoy the trip more if you came with me, but I understand why you need to stay. The Carrolls are decent, interesting people, and their invitation is a generous gesture. Please say yes for me.”

Back in their room, Pamela replied to the Carrolls and prepared a telegraph to Prescott, while Mary wrote in her journal. At midmorning, another message arrived, addressed to both women. This time Mary received it. “Herb Pratt is inviting us to lunch at Jerry Illich's restaurant on Main Street. He gives us a telephone number. Do you think we should accept?” Her voice was eager.

“Yes, I could safely spare an hour or two for lunch. I'll call Mr. Pratt now from the telephone downstairs.”

 

Pratt came with a carriage shortly before noon, smiling and relaxed. Mary beamed with anticipation. In contrast, Pamela struggled to appear delighted. Her anxiety about Chapman gnawed at her nerves. She had arranged with Gagnon's office to reach her at the restaurant if trouble erupted.

Under other circumstances, she would have thoroughly enjoyed the lunch. The restaurant's ambiance was Mediterranean—Jerry Illich came from Dalmatia on the Adriatic coast and had become an accomplished restaurateur. His chef's grilled salmon was fresh and delicious. Pratt and a lawyer friend royally entertained Mary with jokes and tales about fashionable gentlemen and ladies at distant tables. At two o'clock Pamela excused herself, after suggesting that Mary might benefit from visiting the city hall nearby. Pratt and his friend considered that an excellent idea and agreed to return her safely to the hotel.

Pamela was outside hailing a cab to the Nadeau Hotel when the weight of the pistol in her bag pushed her anxiety up to another level. She recalled that Chapman customarily carried a portfolio of money from the hotel to the bank at this time of day. An armed Ortiz would accompany him, so Pamela argued with herself that she really shouldn't worry. Nonetheless, Kelly would know that this was the moment when Chapman was most vulnerable.

When the cab pulled up to the sidewalk, Pamela said, “Take me to the Ramona Hotel quickly.”

 

As her cab entered Third Street, Pamela could see past a row of pawnshops, lunchrooms, and saloons, to the simple sign for the Ramona Hotel. She was about fifty feet away when Ortiz walked out the hotel door, glanced left and right, and beckoned Chapman, who stepped out, gripping his black portfolio. Suddenly, a woman in rags, sitting on the sidewalk, leaped to her feet, drew a club from her clothes, and struck Ortiz on the head. He crumbled onto the sidewalk.

In the same moment, another woman struck Chapman and dazed him, while a third woman seized his portfolio. The three villains hustled Chapman and the portfolio into a coach and drove away at high speed.

Pamela saw Kelly's hand in the incident—an abduction disguised as a robbery. She immediately ordered the cabdriver to follow the coach at a safe distance. “There's a reward for you if we help the police catch them.”

“I'll try, ma'am.” He pulled a large revolver from his coat. “It's handy, when you drive on Third Street. The manager of the Ramona is a good man. We have to help him. Are you fit for a fight?”

Pamela showed him her Colt .44 revolver.

“Good. You seem to know what you're doing, ma'am.”

On the outskirts of the city, the thieves turned off the highway onto a dirt road through an orchard.

“Can you figure out where they're going?” Pamela asked.

“I recognized them. They work at a storage shed a couple of hundred feet up the road. I'll drive into the orchard and hide the carriage and the horse among the trees. We'll try to take the thieves by surprise.”

As they started up the road, the driver put out his hand. “I'm Johnny Card, ma'am, a sergeant in the U.S. Army, retired.”

She shook his hand. “And I'm Pamela Thompson, private investigator.” She hitched up her skirt and thanked God that she was wearing sensible shoes.

 

Dusk was providing cover. Pamela and Johnny drew their pistols and sneaked quietly toward the shed.

Johnny whispered, “The shed is full of crates. The harvest will soon begin.” He scratched his head. “I can fathom these thieves pilfering fruit and stealing tools but not robbing a cheap hotel's morning receipts.”

“Someone paid them well to do it,” Pamela remarked. “He's Dan Kelly, a clever, dangerous man with a criminal past who thought up the scheme and trained these men. He may soon arrive to pay them off. We must act quickly.”

Pamela and Johnny walked around the shed, keeping in the shelter of the trees. The thieves had parked the coach near the door and tethered the horses at a watering trough. No one was outside the shed. With her ear to the door Pamela could hear raucous laughter. She stole a glance through a window. Three burly men were sitting around a rough plank table, drinking from wine bottles. Their female disguises were carelessly tossed aside. Chapman's black portfolio lay open on the table. Two men were counting the money into three piles on the table. The third man was twirling Chapman's watch on its chain. In a corner of the room Howard Chapman sat on an orange crate, bound and gagged.

Johnny also glanced through the window and then turned to Pamela. “Let's hope they don't have firearms.” He silently tried the door. It was unlocked. He nodded to Pamela, and they burst into the room. Pistols leveled, they ordered the men to lie face down on the floor. Pamela held the pistols while Johnny searched the men, removed their knives, then bound and gagged them and dragged them into a tool room. Pamela freed Chapman, patted him on the back, and handed him a loaded shotgun from a rack on the wall.