No Comfort for the Lost (6 page)

Celia returned to the examination room and folded the thin blanket that covered the bench. While she tidied the space, she considered how Li Sha must have felt while working at the shop of a woman who didn’t like her. Or worse, might have hated her. She must have been miserable. And who could Li Sha have asked for money? The list of possible people was not long, although there could be friends Celia was unaware of. The list had to include Hubert Lange, despite his daughter’s feelings about Li Sha. Celia was certain, though, that Mr. Lange would have mentioned if Li Sha had asked him for money.

Wouldn’t he?

She was still standing in the middle of the room, blanket clutched to her chest, when Addie shouldered open the connecting door that led to the kitchen, a tray of tea and biscuits—or cookies, as the Americans called them—in her hands. Her wonderful shortbread, which she always baked to lift Celia’s spirits.

“And what did that Dora Schneider have to say about Li Sha?” her housekeeper asked.

“Were you listening at the door?”

Addie didn’t even bother to look guilty. “This isna our concern, ma’am. Asking questions and whatnot. We should leave such matters to the police. That is what they’re paid to do.”

“But I’ve learned that on the night Li Sha was killed, she went to ask someone for money to leave the city. That’s very important information.”

“You know what my father would say about all this, ma’am. Of little meddling comes great care.”

“Sometimes a little meddling is called for, Addie.”

One eyebrow arched. “Nae to my mind.”

With that, Addie snatched the blanket from Celia’s arms and marched back to the kitchen, head held high.

“I don’t know what he thought he saw, but it wasn’t like that at all!” Wagner shouted, looking at Nick, then Taylor, and back again.

Nick leaned against the wall of the detectives’ office, the wind from the open window at his back ruffling his hair, and folded his arms. “Then what was it like, Mr. Wagner? The dockworker is pretty sure you were trying to sink that Chinese girl’s body, not drag it onto the pier.”

Seated next to Wagner, Taylor jotted in his notebook, his pencil scratching against the paper.

Wagner glared at him. “What’re you writing? You writing I did it?”

“Just taking notes, Mr. Wagner.” Taylor licked the tip of his pencil and flipped to a new page. “Just taking notes.”

The veins in Wagner’s thick neck bulged. “I was not trying to sink her body, Detective Greaves. I was on my knees trying to grab her dress, and it was stuck. I lost my balance and nearly fell into the bay myself. You could’ve been fishing me outta there, too.”

Taylor glanced up, looking for direction on how to proceed. Wagner’s story seemed reasonable. It could’ve happened that way, and the dockworker who’d noticed him with the girl’s body could’ve gotten the wrong idea. Witnesses weren’t always reliable, and memories could change to fit what you wanted to see.

“My wife told you I was with her all night,” said Wagner. “Right? And I bet you could ask my neighbors if they saw me, too. That woman who lives across the way is pretty nosy. She’d tell you I was at home that night, and I didn’t leave early for work, either.”

Taylor raised his eyebrows and Nick nodded. Another person to confirm that Wagner hadn’t killed Li Sha. A suspect to take off the list.

“Have Mullahey show Mr. Wagner out, Taylor,” said Nick. “But don’t go too far away, Wagner. We might need to talk to you again.”

“And I’ll just keep saying what I’ve said all along—I didn’t know her and I didn’t kill her.”

“Good day, Mr. Wagner.”

Nick turned and stared out the window where a gust of wind swirled dust across the street. For a city built on sand, it was a common occurrence.

Chairs scraped back and the door opened, Taylor shouting to Mullahey to get Wagner out of there.

The door closed again, and Nick glanced over his shoulder at his assistant. “I think we can write that one off, Taylor.”

Taylor frowned and dropped into the chair he’d just vacated. “I’ll check with his nosy neighbor, but it looks like you’re right, sir. Mr. Greaves. Sir.”

Nick stalked across the office. It was only fifteen feet by fifteen feet, so it didn’t take long to reach the tall oak filing cabinet against the far side. At Briggs’ desk, he grabbed a doughnut from a plate of them that the other detective had left behind.

“Tell me you’ve learned something useful about Tom Davies,” he said, setting the doughnut back down; he didn’t have an appetite after all.

“Tom Davies was at Mitchell’s saloon on Monday evening like he said. The saloonkeeper remembers him. Guess he’s there often enough for the fellow to recollect Davies. And that night he was in a mighty sour mood, according to Mitchell. But he wasn’t there for long. Left after about an hour or so. If he went anyplace other than home afterward, I haven’t been able to find out.”

Davies had had time, then, to meet Li Sha that night. Could’ve killed her, dumped her body, and gone back to his room near Tar Flat with nobody the wiser. But if Li Sha was angry with him, would she have agreed to see him?

“I also went to the Clerks’ Relief Society looking for friends of his who might have more to say about Davies,” Taylor continued, “but they’ve never heard of him. And I still haven’t figured out where Li Sha was staying before she died.”

Dead ends. More dead ends. “Anything else?”

“Yep. When I was out in the station room, I saw that Mrs. Davies is here.”

Nick smiled, which raised Taylor’s eyebrows. “You don’t have to keep looking for where Li Sha was staying, Taylor. I suspect Mrs. Davies has found out for us.”

Taylor showed her in.

“I have come to admit I was mistaken, Mr. Greaves,” Celia Davies said, her pale eyes steady on his face.

Her accent was more distinct than before. Maybe that was what happened when Englishwomen admitted they were wrong.

“About my brother-in-law,” she added.

“Listen, I need to get out of here,” said Nick. “The stench is turning my stomach. Care to walk and tell me what you’ve learned?”

“Are we going anywhere in particular?”

“Anyplace that’s not here.”

Nick collected his hat from his desk and guided her out. From the doorway, Taylor watched their passage with an irritating smile.

“Taylor, what are you smirking at?” asked Captain Eagan, stepping through the barred door between the main room and the jail cells.

A bear of a man, he had heavy black sideburns that he kept meticulously trimmed and broad shoulders. His irises were so dark you couldn’t distinguish them from the pupils, which made him difficult to stare at. The few policemen in the station scrambled out of his path as he wended his way between desks.

“Uh, nothing, sir,” Taylor answered, and scuttled to his desk.

“Greaves, I was just coming to talk to you about that Chinese girl’s murder,” said Eagan.

“We can talk later, Captain. I have a witness to interview.”

Eagan scanned Mrs. Davies. “Make it quick. I don’t want you wasting time on this case. You’ve got better things to do.”

Eagan’s priorities never did include giving a damn about the Chinese.

Nick indicated to Mrs. Davies that she should use the alley door, and he stomped up the steps behind her.

“Your superior?” she asked. The sunshine was glaring, and she squinted as she looked at Nick. “He has quite the most magnificent black whiskers.”

“Yep, that’s him,” said Nick, striding toward Kearney. “But I wouldn’t call Eagan’s whiskers magnificent.”

“Perhaps extravagant is a better word,” she said as they wove through the lines of parked hacks and smaller, cheaper one-horse cabs that clogged the street in front of city hall. “Your captain bears a strong resemblance to a physician I knew at the army hospital in Philadelphia. A domineering man who refused to listen to anyone.”

“Especially you?”

She smiled ruefully. “Especially me. Although the sister I served under in Scutari, during the war in the Crimea, was even more intimidating than that doctor.”

“I can’t imagine you being intimidated by anybody, ma’am,” he said, guiding her out of the path of a Mexican cowboy who was clomping along the sidewalk, his sombrero flapping and his spurs jangling.

“When I was younger I could be intimidated. Absolutely. I was only seventeen when I went to the Crimea, and pretending to be much older. I was always afraid I’d be found out and sent home to England.” The smile faded. “Perhaps I should have been.”

He ushered her through a gate in the iron fence surrounding Portsmouth Square. The flag waved on a tall pole, and gravel walkways radiated from the center, where a marble fountain spit water. Across the way, a clutch of eastern tourists in their freshly purchased traveling outfits headed to Chinatown with a policeman as a guide.

“Explain to me about your brother-in-law,” he said as they strolled. The wind teased loose strands of her hair and carried the scent of lavender to him.

She told him what Dora Schneider knew about Li Sha and Tom Davies. That, in the days before she’d been killed, they’d fought about the baby and he had beaten her. That Li Sha had gone to Miss Schneider’s for refuge. Mrs. Davies also told him about the girl’s quest for money the night she’d died because she’d wanted to leave town.

When Mrs. Davies finished, she turned to stare at him, hoping for . . . hoping for what? That he would ignore the information she’d provided and somehow save Tom Davies?

“I’ll have to bring Tom in, Mrs. Davies,” he said.

“There could be another explanation,” she said. “The person she approached for money might be responsible. Or that person is, at the very least, the last to have seen her alive. He may know who killed her.”

“Could be,” Nick agreed.

“Furthermore, Li Sha didn’t come to me or Barbara, or Dora, not that Miss Schneider has much money to give to anyone. Which leaves a reduced number of individuals to inquire after.”

“Such as?”

She paused to think while the bell on a nearby church tolled the hour, followed by another church bell down the road. San Francisco didn’t lack for places of worship, which sprouted like weeds. Places for all the sinners who drank and gambled and whored in the Barbary and along the docks to turn back to God. As far as Nick could tell, the effort wasn’t working.

“Not Mr. Lange,” Mrs. Davies said. “He didn’t mention anything about Li Sha asking him for money when I spoke to him yesterday. By the way, Mr. Lange claims Tessie doesn’t know anyone in the Barbary.”

“He might not want folks to know.”

“True.” She frowned. “I also learned from Dora that Tessie Lange and my brother-in-law were once involved romantically. At first, I presumed this meant that Li Sha wouldn’t ask Tessie for money. But now I suppose Li Sha could have reasoned that Tessie would happily supply funds in order to get her chief rival out of town.” She paused and gazed up at him. “But why kill Li Sha if she was already intending to leave?”

He liked the logical way she thought.

“Just because Li Sha currently wanted to leave town doesn’t mean that would be the situation forever,” he said. “After she had the baby, it was always possible she could change her mind and come back to be with Tom.”

“I see.”

“Any other folks she might’ve gone to?” Nick asked.

“She might have gone to the Chinese Mission. They don’t usually provide the girls with money, however,” she said, looking uncomfortable admitting that the missionaries didn’t trust what the Chinese women would do with it.

“When Taylor asked the reverend who runs the mission if Li Sha had stayed there recently, he claimed they hadn’t seen her for weeks.”

“So, if not them, Li Sha might have approached one of the Palmers. Perhaps Mr. Palmer.”

“Who?” he asked. “Mrs. Davies, if you really want to help, the best way is to tell me everything you know about her.”

“You have attempted to be rid of me on numerous occasions, Mr. Greaves,” she responded. “I regret I have not previously enumerated her every acquaintance.”

“All right, all right. Mr. Palmer.”

“You haven’t heard of him?”

“You’ve discovered a gap in my knowledge, Mrs. Davies.”

She resumed walking, the gravel crunching beneath her sensible boots. He fell into an easy pace at her side.

“Joseph Palmer is a very successful land speculator and developer. He provides funds for my clinic and many other benevolent organizations in the city. Li Sha met him once, along with his wife and daughter, at a charity event at the Chinese Mission,” she said. “Li Sha was well aware he supported my clinic, and Barbara and I spoke of him often in her presence. She might have believed his generosity would extend to providing her with money, if she asked.”

“Would he have?”

“It does not matter, because according to my cousin, Mr. Palmer was away from town Monday evening.”

“I’ll go talk to him anyhow. See what he has to say.”

Her steps slowed. “I should warn you that Joseph Palmer will not be happy for the police attention.”

“Is he friends with Captain Eagan or Police Chief Crowley?”

“Probably both men. Which is why I’m surprised you had not heard of Mr. Palmer before.”

“They don’t exactly invite me to their parties.” Rich and powerful men, as thick as thieves. Not that Eagan was rich. But if you were a businessman in this town, it didn’t hurt to have friends on the police force.

“And Tom?”

“I haven’t changed my mind about arresting him.”

“I truly hope I didn’t miss warning signs that Tom could be violent.” She closed her fingers tightly around the straps of her reticule. “Li Sha trusted him because of me. Because he is my husband’s brother. I need to believe I could not have prevented her murder. Because I fear if he is responsible, I could have.”

“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Davies.”

“Convince me that is true, Mr. Greaves.” Her gaze was unfaltering. Beneath a clear sky, her eyes were more blue than gray. “If you do nothing else, convince me that is true.”

• • •

A
ddie met Celia at the front door just as she arrived home. “Mrs. Palmer is here, ma’am. In the parlor.”

Proof hung on the hook in the vestibule—Elizabeth Palmer’s massive tartan-plaid burnous scarf, which she used as a morning wrap.

“Did she bring Emmeline?” asked Celia.

“No, the poor bairn must still be ailing,” said Addie, collecting Celia’s shawl. “Miss Barbara is with Mrs. Palmer. ’Tis odd how they’re behaving, though. Usually they’re friendly enough, but today they could be sitting on thorns in there.” Addie leaned closer and lowered her voice, even though the pocket door to the parlor was shut. “Nae that I can blame Miss Barbara one bit if she’s become uncomfortable with that woman.”

“Elizabeth is not so bad,” Celia said.

“You’d think different, ma’am, if you were in my shoes.”

Elizabeth Palmer made nearly everyone uncomfortable, especially servants. Celia had heard that in the past two years alone, the Palmers had engaged four separate housekeepers, a Chinese boy, and one maid of all work. The latest had left just last week, to be replaced by yet another young woman. Elizabeth expected the utmost out of everyone, and sometimes her standards were too high.

High standards that would extend to Celia’s dusty boots.

She dropped onto the chair by the door and fumbled with the bootlaces, and ended up tightening the knots rather than loosening them, hindered by the corset, which prevented her from bending down.

“What did the detective have to say?” Addie asked, crouching at Celia’s feet and undoing the laces for her.

“He intends to arrest Tom,” she answered, leaning back in the chair. “We should be thankful Patrick isn’t here. He would be livid.”

The Davies temper. She had never before imagined that it could be fierce enough to kill.