Shadows in the White City (33 page)

A half-hearted cheer filled the underground passageway, but no one was ready yet to party, not with Ransom lying at their feet so near death.

“It'll have to be sorted out,” said Dr. Christian Fenger who'd come behind the others, pushing cops out of his way, his medical bag in hand. From it, he snatched out surgical scissors and cut away at Ransom's clothing, searching for the worst of the wounds. “He's been stabbed multiple times, but I see no bullet wounds.”

Fenger next ripped away at his pants-legs and found several wounds to the big man's legs, but none life-threatening in and of itself. He ripped away at his shirt and located a nasty wound to the left kidney area that would require surgery on his back, and another wound to his right side, not quite so deep. Fenger turned all attention to the worst of the knife wounds, the one to his shoulder, just above the heart.

He noted that Alastair's forehead and cheek had also sustained slashes and abrasions.

Jane had dropped to her knees on the other side of Ransom, while Gabby kneeled alongside Fenger, each wanting to help. They shared items out of Fenger's bag, tying off tourniquets, wrapping his lesser wounds as Fenger concentrated on the major problem.

“He's been stabbed at least seven, eight times, and he's got several cuts to the face,” Jane informed Behan, who, hovering close, whispered that the lads wanted to know the prognosis.

“Will he live?” Behan persisted.

“If we can staunch this wound to the shoulder,” Fenger assured him.

“And if we can keep out infection,” added Jane. “The water's crawling with infectious disease organisms, no doubt.” She realized she sounded like a doctor.

Behan looked into her eyes, silently pleading.

“I believe he's going to be all right,” she tried to assure Behan. “None of this is your fault, Inspector.”

“He's so still,” said a tearful Gabby.

Jane added, “I've never seen him so white, not even when he was shot.”

“He's lost a lot of blood,” said Fenger. “Gone into shock, I'm afraid.”

“Need to get him to a warm place.”

Agitated, Fenger agreed. “A clean, well-lit, warm place, yes—my surgery.”

A flash of light, repeated by another and another announced that Philo Keane had arrived. Philo somehow kept shooting even as he feared for Ransom's life.

Finished with their mending, Dr. Fenger and Jane began shouting for the men standing about to carry Alastair out.

“There's a waiting ambulance,” said Fenger.

“No, please, use the police wagon,” countered Philo, raising a few eyebrows, including Christian Fenger's.

“Why not use the medical wagon?” he asked.

“The last time Alastair was hurt, all he talked about afterward was fearing that he would die in the back of that meat wagon of yours, Christian.”

Jane jumped in. “Philo's right, Christian. You really have to do something about it.”

Fenger looked hurt but said nothing.

“It's more hearse than ambulance,” Jane added, “and I inspected it and found it a hotbed of disease organisms!”

“Not to mention the stench,” finished Philo Keane.

“We're not funded for anything better at the moment.”

“Regardless, he goes in the police wagon.”

“I suppose you two are the closest thing to kin he has, so whatever your wish, Mr. Keane, Dr. Francis.”

This was enough for the cops who took Fenger at his word—that it would be Ransom's last wish to be kept out of the hands of Shanks and Gwinn. Six men lifted Ransom as they might a coffin, and this procession moved toward the entry point like so many pallbearers.

Christian pointed out that Ransom's cane lay nearby. The wolf's-head was stained red-ochre with blood. “His attackers felt the sting of his blow, and from the number of wounds all over his body, I'd say there were more than these two maniacs coming at him with knives.”

Jane tried to imagine the life-and-death struggle down here. “He's got wounds to his legs that, if standing, he'd have taken from midgets or children.”

“Compared to Logan, Ransom did damn well,” said Gabby, turning heads. “I counted twenty-seven stab wounds on Logan's body before I gave up.”

This silenced them as Jane lifted Ransom's cane and held firm to the walking stick. “Suppose Christian that you and Alastair were right—that there was an entire family of these cannibals down here?”

Fenger replied, “And so how many little monsters with ice picks and knives have escaped?”

“And what ages are the ones who got away?” Jane wondered aloud.

“Right now, we've got to get this man to my surgery and immediately.”

“I think we've stopped the worst of the blood flow,” she replied.

Gabby added, “He's strong. He'll pull through like before. Won't he?”

“Keep to your prayers, ladies,” replied Fenger. “He's damn near bled to death.”

 

Ransom made a good recovery, but a painful one. Fenger, fearing he'd become a morphine addict, controlled it personally, and on seeing Dr. McKinnette go near Ransom, he ran the man off with a proviso to the nurses at Cook County that no other physician be allowed near Ransom, especially Dr. Tewes and Dr. McKinnette. He made it clear that should it happen, people would lose their jobs.

However, he did allow personal friends visiting hours with his patient, so Jane Francis and Gabby were camped out at his bedside for days during his recovery. When he came back to himself, Gabby had gone home, but Jane had remained, and she now said to him, “This is getting to be an annoying habit with you.”

After drinking a pitcher of water, Alastair asked, “What of Behan? Afraid I know Logan's fate. When I saw that pack of animals feeding on Jedidiah, I attacked.”

“Ken's a hero—first to find you. Saved you from drowning in two feet of water and rising.”

“Fool—they'd've given 'im a citation had he let me die!”

“As a matter of fact, you're both up for a citation—you for putting an end to Leather Apron and his gang, and Behan for bravery.”

“Not all are caught, though, and it was no gang, but a family, the parents teaching their young'uns to be man-eaters.”

“Yes, we few know the truth, but newspapers have it only as a gang. A bit less disturbing euphemism for the truth.”

“Perhaps that's for the better.”

“Better for whom?” she challenged.

“The merchants, the developers, the financiers, and politicians.”

She sighed. “The public in general.”

“Yes, what does it serve the public to know that in Chicago homeless are driven to cannibalism to survive?”

“A case of excessive aberrant, abhorrent behavior, and not an epidemic. Look, you've evidence the father was Bloody Mary's son. He came here, used her. Chicago did not spawn him. In fact, Gabby's learned he was born in London.”

“Aye, home of the original Leather Apron.”

“It came across the Atlantic along with disease and other vermin.”

“It's him, all right. We'll have to post a letter to Inspector Heise, Scotland Yard.”

“Look, you brought down the father and mother, Alastair. It's ended now. Those escaped children can't last long without their parents.”

“Are they scouring the city for those three kids?”

“They are and in time, I'm sure, they'll be found as well.”

“And the infant? What of the babe?”

“We may never know. Perhaps when the children are found, we can find out.”

“Then what? What'll the grand state of Illinois, the County of Cook, and the City of Chicago do with those killer kids when they surface?”

“I can't say. Place them in an institution, I suspect. Work with them. They're feral children.”

“Feral is the word, indeed. They have it in their heads now that the best meat is other kids—human flesh. That'll never change.”

“Your job now is to get plenty of rest, get your health back.”

“Those three, two boys and a girl, they were…Jane, they'd be better off today had I been able to finish 'em all.”

“Alastair, you did everything humanly possible.”

“I suppose…I suppose.” Ransom still felt weak. “My greatest fear is for the homeless.”

“The shelter children, yes, I know.”

“Every child in Chicago remains in danger from those hyenas out there, wherever they are.”

“Don't be naive, not you, Alastair. Our children have always been in danger from one kind of hyena or another, and after those murderous kids are caught, the homeless children will still be in danger from others.”

“What do you propose?”

“We start up a fund-raiser. If the suffragettes can raise funds for their cause, then, by God, we can raise money for this cause.”

“Whatever I can do, just tell me when and where.”

Just then young Audra stood in the doorway. The young girl was shaking with tears, overcome by grief. Jane went to her and held her close. She broke down and began confessing nonstop. “They made me do it. If I didn't, Zoroaster—their father—he said they'd slice me up and eat me! So I did it. I did it!”

Jane rushed to Audra and hugged her. Ransom flashed back to what he knew of the girl's involvement. She procured for Leather Apron. Was one of them, even if that hadn't been her in that tunnel the night he'd killed the parents.

“Easy…easy, now, Audra!” Jane reassured her. “Whatever did you do that is so horrible?”

Ransom had eased from his bed, and Audra tried to pull away from Jane, fearful of Alastair, who asked, “Do you mean to say, Audra, that you led—lured—some of the children to Leather Apron?” It explained why most victims had not been in Aurdra's gang. She wouldn't willingly sacrifice her own, and Danielle's death may've been a warning to Audra to keep silent.

Audra fought to pull away, but Jane held her in a bear hug. She broke down completely, terrified of her fate, terri
fied of what Ransom might do to her—the man who had slain Zoroaster—and equally terrified of the three children of Zoroaster still at large.

“So this is how Anne Chapman, Alice Cadin, and even your friend Danny disappeared—by trusting you!” Ransom shouted. “Using their trust, your toothy smile and innocent looks.”

“I had no choice! They'd kill me if I didn't do it!”

“Hell, who wouldn't follow her into a warehouse or into a bloody drainpipe?”

“Easy on her, Alastair! She's a victim here, too!” shouted Jane. “Can you imagine the terror she has lived through and the guilt?”

“I suppose not,” replied Alastair, “since I'm not given to leading my friends to slaughter!”

“Bloody Mary made me do it! I didn't want to!” Audra's cries only increased.

Jane held her tight. “We're going to get you help, Audra. None of this was your fault. You're just a child, a frightened child.”

“Have they contacted you, the other three Aprons?” demanded Alastair.

“No, no!” she blurted out, and between sobs, she added, “I—I came to f-find Miss F-Francis f-for help!”

“I'm going to get you admitted for observation,” said Jane, “and we'll take one day at a time, Audra. All right? All right?”

“All right.” Audra wiped her tears with a hanky Jane handed her. “Thank you, Miss Francis.”

But as soon as Jane relaxed her hold on Audra, the child fled out and down the corridor, past people Jane shouted at to stop her. With the speed and agility of a sewer rat, Audra was out of the hospital in moments. Out front of the hospital, Jane gave chase, but it was no use. Audra had disappeared back into the streets. Jane scanned every direction.
Nothing
. She wondered if she'd ever see Audra again.

 

News of Audra's visit and her betrayal spread among all of Jane's closest friends. Gabby, of course, took the news the hardest, disbelieving. Alastair retold the story to Philo, Christian, and to the man who purportedly saved his life down in that black hole—Ken Behan—when he came to visit at the hospital. Soon everyone in officialdom knew to be on the lookout for this poor child, and in the meantime, Jane remained angry at Alastair for frightening the child off as he had. “You big…bear,” she'd spoken her last to him as she stormed away.

A few weeks later, Alastair had arrived home from the hospital, and an hour into a nap, someone rang his doorbell. He made his groggy way along on his cane to the door, and when he opened it, he found Philo Keane and Dr. Christian Fenger looking stern and grim on his doorstep.

“We have a matter to discuss,” said Christian, “you and I, Alastair, and I brought your best friend along to…well, frankly, to keep you from killing me.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Doctor. Come in, the both of you. I'll put on water to boil, and we'll find some tea.”

“That would be good.”

Philo shot Alastair a look that only puzzled him.

Once everyone was seated with a cup of tea, the three old friends stared from one to another, until Ransom said, “Well, what's this about?”

“The good news, Ransom, is that those three feral children, the ones who got away, will never again feed on human flesh.”

“Then they've been caught? Great! When…by whom?”

“Not caught—killled.”

“Killed? How? What happened? A manhunt uncovered them, and they came out swinging, heh?”

“Not exactly.”

“How did they die, then?”

“Kohler's involved.”

“Kohler? Damn the man. He's taking credit for it all, isn't he? No public release of this information.”

“Actually, no one else knows, and it's to stay that way.”

“Christian, will you stop talking in cryptic code and tell me what the hell you're driving at?”

“It began with that girl Audra's confessing in your room. Seems she tried confessional at a church, but all she got from the priest was raped—according to her.”