Shadows in the White City (5 page)

“I…I too have a lot of paperwork back at the office.”

“No, Griff, stay on Denton for me. Will you do that, Griff?” asked Ransom.

“I will, Ransom. You may rely on it.”

“He is our man, so don't take your eyes off the monster.”

“Aye, Inspector, I will not.”

“I always knew you were a good lad, Griff.” Ransom sounded drunk, fatigue slurring his words.

Tewes led a still weak Ransom off toward her and Gabby's home. Alastair asked, “Has Denton come around to the house? Have you seen him skulking about for glimpses of Gabrielle?”

“No, there's been no such trouble out of the young man, and while Waldo has pursued Gabby, she's utterly rejected his advances.”

Philo turned from watching Tewes and Ransom walk off into a growing mist in the park, actually a low-hanging fog moving steadily in from the lake with unseasonably cool weather. In fact, a fog was beginning to envelope the entire city. In the gloom, he tried to get Griffin to come away with him, that Waldo Denton did not deserve the attention of a stakeout.

“Perhaps, but suppose it should turn out Ransom is right about Denton? What then?”

“Are you mad? You're going to stand round in this mucky weather on some off chance that Denton will show himself a murderer?”

Raindrops began falling. “I will do it for Ransom, yes. A promise is, after all—”

“A promise, yes, I know all that rubbish.”

“You, sir, you need to spend less time in Bohemian taverns and more time deciding precisely what you do believe in.”

“Hmmm…and I was about to suggest that you go home to your wife and kiddies, and allow me to stand guard over this criminal suspect.”

“No…this calls for a badge. Go home, Mr. Keane.”

“Do you imagine if it is Denton, and if he never kills again…do you imagine he will have gotten away with murder?”

“Neither Rance nor I will let that happen, not if it takes the rest of our careers.”

“If it is Denton at all.”

“Yes, well, why don't you have a close look at that Night Hawk shot that you suspect he doctored. That could go a long way to prove his guilt.”

“Good idea. I will.”

“A search of Denton's house turned up nothing in the way of additional stolen goods from the victims, like the ring found in your possession. Tell me, did Polly Pete give the ring to you as some sort of payment? You said so the night you were questioned.”

“The night I was questioned, I would've said anything to be left in peace, man!”

“Yes…well that is the way of interrogation, sir.”

“So I've learned.”

“Good night, sir.”

“Then I take it, you will keep vigil on Denton until he retires to whatever hole he sleeps?”

“A ramshackle place down on Halsted among the rows of shantytown there.”

“Where he keeps a chicken coup atop the roof.”

“Correct. I understand he is no longer in your employ.”

“Damn straight, right-o,” replied Philo. “And that scoundrel has yet to return my camera!”

“I could arrest him if you choose to swear out a warrant for theft.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Do it! It would get me into his private quarters, where I know I'll find items torn from his victims.”

“First thing tomorrow.” Philo Keane slowly, reluctantly walked off, going in a direction that would cause no curiosity from the cabbies or Denton. He curiously looked back at young Griffin Drimmer, and a twinge of eerieness came over him as Griff disappeared ghost-fashion on fog. Alastair had once himself suspected Griffin of the crimes, later
confiding how foolish it'd been, but if it were not Denton, then who better to plant evidence than another copper?

From his vantage point, obscured now in a blanket of fog, Griffin watched the strange Philo Keane amble off, and when Philo had disappeared into the encroaching night, the young inspector felt a chill loneliness pass through him as if a spectral creature of dream walked over his grave. He took out a photo of his Lucinda, and next a photo of himself, Lucinda, and the children—all of whom he'd secretly moved to Portage, Indiana—far from harm's way, until the Phantom of the Fair should unequivocally be either jailed or killed.

The following morning at the Tewes residence

Everyone in Chicago was awakened by the shrill bells of emergency fire equipment and police wagons careening down the streets, going away from the city proper toward the fairgrounds of White City. The noise awakened Ransom, who was equally startled to find that he lay in his underwear alongside Jane Francis. He recalled nothing of the night before, except that he'd fallen asleep under her caressing fingers. He feared the worst with respect to their relationship. He feared he'd fallen asleep while in her embrace.

He rushed to the window and stared out.

“What is it, Rance?” she asked.

“I can't say, but whatever it is, it's big. Perhaps a fire's broke out at the fair. Best make a call. May I use your phone?”

“By all means, yes.”

He quickly dressed and coming out of the room, he found himself face-to-face with Gabby, whose eyes informed the inspector that he needn't concern himself over her sensibilities.

“What do you suppose the uproar is about?” Gabby asked.

“Dunno…maybe someone's hurt, maybe an accident at the fair with that blasted wheel in the sky. See to your mother, Gabrielle.”

Gabby did exactly that, going in to her mother. Behind him, he could hear their feminine whispers, no doubt about his being here and coming out of Jane's bedroom. He did hear Gabby jokingly say, “Mother, you must join the suffragettes! We need the scandalous among us so badly!”

He then heard Jane declare there was nothing scandalous about love.

This only served to set Gabby off further and the whisperings returned.

He grabbed up the phone and called into headquarters, getting a dispatcher named Llewyn on the line. The man stammered until Ransom yelled, “Settle down and just tell me what's happened at the fair, man!”

“Dead he is…hanging on the door like a ragdoll, they're saying.”

“Who? Who is killed?”

“His head near severed by the garrote.”

“The garrote!”

“Trussed up on the door like a pig—at the science and industry exhibit hall—hog-tied through the underarms was the way I got it.”

“Who damn you! Who is dead?”

“Your young assistant, Inspector.”

He went cold inside.

“Young Drimmer,” said Llewyn.

“Griff…but it can't be.”

“I'm sorry, Inspector.”

“But we left him in Lincoln Park only hours ago.”

“Yes, sir.”

“He was fine when I last saw him.”

“Sorry,” continued the mantra. “So sorry, sir.”

Behind him, the women wanted to know what'd happened.

 

News of a body hanging from the huge doors of the Science and Industry Pavilion spread fire fashion throughout the
city, and the further news that it was the murdered body of a police inspector fueled fear and nonstop speculation. It was obvious that the Phantom of the Fair was back with a vengeance, and that, as always, he loved taunting the police. Now he had killed one of their own in the same hideous fashion as with previous victims.

No doubt Griffin's body had been left on public display to rub it into the collective face of authorities, and in particular, Alastair Ransom. The Phantom had returned to his ugly modus operandi to the letter, the pattern of his work vengefully intact and identical.

Ransom had raced to the scene, and he'd gone to his knees on seeing Griffin in the same state as the earlier victims. No one had dared touch the body, not until Alastair arrived. Now that he was here, he shouted, “For God's sake, cut him down, and do it with a care to the head!”

Ransom recognized Griffin's shoes, his argyle socks, and a few other elements of his clothing. The head and face and torso had been cruelly torched. “Neither his wife nor children'll recognize him,” Ransom lamented to Philo, who'd just reached him. “It's as though this monster has it in for me personally.”

“My God…I left him alone out there,” muttered Philo. “He…Griff
insisted
I go. I should've insisted I stay.”

“Then I'd be burying both of you. This little fiend kills like…like some sort of preternatural badger. Had you been out in that fog, you'd now be hanging here lifeless, your body burned, your throat severed.”

“What'll you do now, Alastair?”

“Kill Denton my way, in my time.”

“I never heard that.”

“Good…keep it so.”

“When will you strike him down?”

“Look there, in the crowd over your left shoulder and tell me what you see?”

Philo glanced over his shoulder to find Waldo Denton amid the milling crowd with his hansom hack and horse. Philo saw
the slight little near imperceptible nod he threw in Ransom's direction, as if tossing down the gauntlet, as if Griff's death was just that—a taunt to further infuriate Ransom.

“Philo, I want you to plan a trip.”

“A trip?”

“Perhaps go to Mackinaw City…maybe out to Mackinac Island.”

“Where the deuce is that?”

“Michigan, top of the Great Lakes.”

“Lovely there, I'm sure, but—”

“And I want you to escort Miss Gabrielle Tewes and her aunt there, to get them to a place of safety until I come for you or send a telegram. Is that understood?”

“But, Ransom.”

“No buts. Just do it. This maniac is killing everyone who means anything to me, and Philo, you are my closest friend, and as for the women—”

“All right…I'll do it. I've never cast myself a hero.”

“You will be if you take care of Jane and Gabby.”

“What about Dr. Tewes and Christian Fenger? Do you imagine either or both in danger?”

“I'll talk to them, but neither man is likely to do as I say. Still, I'll warn each off and away from this madness.”

“If Griff's body was transported in Denton's cab, there'll be blood in the coach. I could get photos.”

“Forget about it.”

“What? Why?”

“Denton's thorough.”

“He'd have cleaned up by now, you mean?”

“Even if the cushions were soaked in blood, it wouldn't be proof enough for the likes of Kehoe and Kohler!”

“They'll say he was carving up chickens in the coach, heh?”

“The dirty bastard'll be handled in Chicago fashion.”

Philo, a Canadian native, asked, “Chicago fashion by way of Galway? Belfast?”

“Waste no time and travel light as to stir no interest. Tell the women the same.”

“When will you do it, Ransom, and what form will it take?”

“The least you know, the better.”

“I suppose it's the only way now.”

“I see no other way to combat this evil. This creep's convinced a willing cadre of my enemies that I've faked evidence against him—including the weapon and even his own handprint.”

“Planted there by you, I've heard it said. As you've some unreasonable hatred of the poor boy. But, Rance, everyone in the city
will know
when they find Denton's body that
you
killed him.”

“There are ways to dispose of a body in a city this size, trust me. No one will ever find Denton's remains.”

He placed a hand on Alastair. “You will be careful?”

“As always, of course.”

“Griffin was not a big man by any means, but he had forty pounds on Denton and he was a trained investigator with fight in him.”

“Nothing saved him…I know.” He stared again at Griff's corpse. “That unholy bastard Denton must've come up out of the fog, took him from behind like all the others.”

“You should at least have the coach inspected for blood, Rance.”

“For all the bloody good it'd do! He'll explain it as some fare who called for Cook County emergency, someone whose hand perhaps had been cut in a bar fight. He's twisted each piece of evidence to Kohler's liking and Kehoe's excusing of it—even the photograph of his handprint at two crime scenes—direct lies.”

“Yes, the charming little fellow has convinced Kohler and Kehoe that handprints can be misread and flawed.”

“Corroborated by Dr. Fenger's findings—inconclusive.”

“A magic trick in the developing room,” said Philo.

“I am convinced there's only one path now.”

“Will you go down that path today?”

“No. Today I see to Griff's family, to his proper burial, to the scant policeman's fund his wife has coming, and in my private moments, I plot Denton's execution.”

“I can imagine any number of fine executions you've dreamed up.”

“Aye, but keep your voice down.”

“Will you burn him alive?” whispered Philo, eyes dilated.

“It would be fitting.”

“But first you'll wanna beat it from him as to
why
he's done this.”

“Officially, we say
learn what possible motive set all this in motion.
”

“Good luck, my friend, but beware the truth.”

Ransom reacted with a deep glare into Philo's eyes. “Waste no time putting distance between Chicago and the ladies. Off to Mackinaw, and tell no one your destination.”

“Promise.”

“And try…try to explain to Jane and Gabby for me, please.”

“No one is likely to applaud your actions, Ransom.”

“I want no applause, nor expect absolution afterward.”

“How long then until we might expect to hear from you?”

“As long as it takes. Look…look at him, sitting atop his cab now, moving off as if…so damn smug.”

“I suppose even if you could get the goods on him, it would take a long time to see justice done, and they'd likely give him a suite at Straight-jacket Academy.”