The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (47 page)

EPILOGUE

I
T WAS ONE OF THOSE
resplendent January days in Minnesota when the sun shimmered in a golden glow against an azure blue sky, flooding the world with light intensified a thousand-fold by the drifts of white snow. The biting cold and glorious sunshine combined to lift Harmon Queen’s mood, but nothing could lift it higher than having Karoline Ulland’s arm in his.

They strolled through Loring Park and around the lake, enjoying the sun on their faces and each other’s company. A group of bundled-up children threw handfuls of hard, powdery snow chunks at each other, and sent one ricocheting across their path, breaking at Karoline’s feet. Queen roared and bounded through the snow after them, leaving them scampering and screaming in delight.

“You’re a big bad man, Harm, scaring little children like that.” She chided him with gaiety in her voice. “You’ll injure your knee again with your antics.”

“And get put on a desk duty like Krumweide? Not for me, thank you.”

They continued their promenade under the naked gray trees, past a statue of a man with long hair and a charismatic smile, holding a violin in position and a bow poised for a melody.

“That’s Ole Bull, Harmon. He’s beloved by all Norwegians, both in Norway and America. I was here four years ago when the statue was unveiled. My brother helped organize the event from Dania Hall.”

“I was here as well,” Queen said. “But looking for pick-pockets.”

“He was the greatest Norwegian violinist who ever lived. Did you know he started a community in Pennsylvania called New Norway? It failed, however.”

“Tom Cahill told me Nininger had the same story,” said Queen. “Gottschalk, the man who kidnapped the boys I told you about, was the son of a musician.”

“How is Mr. Cahill, now that you mention him, and the young brothers?” Karoline asked.

It had been weeks since everything had happened, but Queen hadn’t had much time to digest it personally, as there had been much to do. He’d taken time to arrange for Dix Anderson’s body to be transported to Bemidji, where he’d heard that the sheriff would be buried next to his wife. Sheriff Roy had telegraphed him with a reminder that there was another plot in the cemetery already bought and paid for next to theirs. As telegrams cost green, it was left to Queen to infer what that meant.

He took Karoline’s mittened hand with his glove and squeezed it tight.

“Ollie and Petey are living with their mother. I had a talk with her, and told her to find me if she was ever swamped for money. As for Cahill, he cashed in his chips and quit. Colonel Ames tried to talk him into staying, but he wanted to squaddle back to New Ulm to help his father on the farm. I think he’s had enough of Minneapolis.”

“He saved your life.”

“He did.”

“How could you let him go? You always talk about how few people you can trust in your position.”

“He’s his own man. I can’t stop him if he’s set his mind to it. He’s got a head for figuring things out.”

“I hope so. I worry about you, and the mysterious people you associate with. With the exception of that obnoxious Detective Norbeck, who disturbs me greatly, I’ve yet to meet any of your police department friends.”

“I worry a little, too. My reputation has always been rank.”

“You’ve promised to cut back on your drinking. You’ve admitted that it was the culprit for much of the nastiness written about you in the papers.”

“And I have. I need to be clearer from now on. Colonel Ames was grateful that I was able to save Tom from a terrible end, so grateful in fact that he gave me something.”

Karoline turned to him, breath drawn in. “What?”

Queen pulled out a badge from his coat. The gold plating caught the sun and glistened as he let her look at it. “I’m Chief Detective, now, Karoline.”

She looked at it with admiring eyes and gave him a big hug. “This will include a larger salary, I assume?”

“Of course. Not only is it a promotion for me, but also my bank account. Why do you ask?” he laughed.

“You know why. I’ve set my cap for you. I expect that you plan on courting me properly, Mr. Queen. One day we’ll need a home together.”

“And a closet-full of new dresses as well?”

“Shame on you, Harm.” She hit his arm hard. “I’m not one to put on frills.”

“And what of my sister? What shall she do, living all alone?”

“And what of my brother? Perhaps we need to push those two together!”

“It’s a future to think about, Karoline. There is something I have to do first, though. It might take me away for a while.”

“Yes, you’ve told me before, Harmon.”

“Dix Anderson was the last family she had. There is no one else.”

“Except you.”

“Yes.”

“But she doesn’t even know who you are. And you expect to swoop in and scoop her up and take her away?”

He took Karoline’s hand and squeezed it. Despite her protestations, he knew she understood. She was the one with the selfless heart.

“I expect to find her and get her out of whatever situation she’s found herself in.”

She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I agree with you. She needs someone strong and noble to rescue her, and there is no one better for it than you. That is why I love you, Harmon Queen.”

PHOTOGRAPH CREDITS

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HAPTER
1—Abandoned house, Minneapolis, 1890s, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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2—Nicollet Avenue looking north from Fifth Street, Minneapolis, circa 1895, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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3—Minneapolis Police Officers, early 1900s, Hennepin History Museum

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4—Central Police Station, Minneapolis, circa 1901, Minnesota Historical Society

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5—Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul Railroad Station (Milwaukee Depot), Minneapolis, circa 1901, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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6—The Bohemian Flats, Minneapolis, circa 1901, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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7—Newsboys Parade, Minneapolis, circa 1900, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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8—City Hall, Minneapolis, circa 1901, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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9—Stone Arch Bridge, Minneapolis, circa 1901, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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10—Union City Mission, Minneapolis, circa 1901, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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11—Bismark Bar, Minneapolis, circa 1902, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

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12—Class of 1901 and 1902, Swedish Hospital School of Nursing, Minnesota Historical Society

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13—Chicago Great Western passenger train pulling out from Minneapolis railroad station, circa 1900, Minnesota Historical Society

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14—Saint Paul streetcar, circa 1900, Minnesota Streetcar Museum

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15—Ignatius Donnelly’s home, Nininger, circa 1900, Dakota County Historical Society

E
PILOGUE
—Ole Bull Statue, Loring Park, circa 1900, Hennepin County Library—Special Collections

NOTES AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My purpose in writing this book was to bring to life the vibrant backdrop of Minneapolis at the turn of the 20th Century, and weave in characters both real and imagined. It was a book I had envisioned for many years, starting back to the mid 90s when I gave historic crime tours of the Twin Cities and first learned of the Mill City’s seedy past.

Harm Queen is loosely based on real-life Minneapolis police detective Norman W. King. When I first discovered this historic, hard-boiled cop, I was floored by his larger-than-life personality. From the 1880s and on he was a regular and popular subject of the local rags. Newspapers would alternately congratulate King on his sleuthing abilities and condemn him for his drunken, irresponsible behavior. My detective’s personality is similar, however I’ve allowed him to operate outside of the confines of marriage, and engage in some fictional casework.

Both Alonzo “Doc” Ames and Col. Fred Ames were real men, both eager to capitalize on Doc’s profitable return to City Hall. Controversy surrounded Doc Ames wherever he went. He was absolutely beloved in the city by the less fortunate; freely giving time and medical service to whoever required them. He was also egotistical to an extreme, and bathed in the adoration of his followers. Colonel Ames served in the Spanish American War and suffered bad press from what many suggested was real or feigned illness at the moment his command became most needed. When Doc Ames’s mental prowess began its decline in his final term as mayor, his brother Fred began calling the shots behind the scenes with cold calculation.

The Big Mitt game was very real, and documented in stunning detail through various court trials as the administration came crashing down in 1902. True too, was the mass firing of half of Minneapolis’s police force in favor of more “flexible” officers, many of whom did have very unsavory backgrounds. I would encourage anyone interested in finding out what happened before my series ends, to start with Lincoln Steffens’s famous expose, called “The Shame of Minneapolis.” It appeared in
McClure’s Magazine
in 1903 and summarized the rise and fall of Doc and his cronies for a national audience.

Many of the historical figures I touched upon briefly will play larger roles in upcoming books. Fred Connor, Doc Ames’s personal bodyguard, was one of the few African-American police officers on the force in Minneapolis, and highly respected for his abilities. Coffee John Fitchette owned the most famous seafood restaurant in Minneapolis and plays an important position in the corruption to come, along with Doc’s medical office assistant, Irwin Gardner, and his loyal secretary Tom Brown. Billy Edwards was also real, and continues in his role as steerer for the big mitt games. Even Freddy Bonge, the enthusiastic newspaper reporter, found himself in hot water as the Ames administration came tumbling down and will do so again in further stories. And then there was Chris Norbeck, as odd in real life as he is in the novel. He’ll play a pivotal role in things to come.

I’ve always been fascinated by the notorious killing of Kitty Ging by Harry Hayward. It remains one of the most famous, publicized murders in Minnesota history. While Harry’s brother Adry was indeed part of the foul plan, he never shacked up on the Bohemian Flats levee with a cadre of prostitutes, as I have fictionalized. The historic figure of Ignatius Donnelly was as eccentric and extraordinary as I tried to portray. His house stood lonely in the abandoned, ruined town of Nininger for years after his passing on New Years Day, 1901.

Tom Cahill, Emil Dander, Jack Peach, Jiggs Kilbane, Milwaukee Jim, Gottschalk, Peder and Karoline Ulland, Edna Pease and Trilly Flick are all fictional, and the murder of Maisy Anderson was my own invention. As for Dix Anderson, he is a melding of two men. The first was a deputy sheriff named Andrew Johnson, who among his many escapades took a bullet while shooting it out with a couple of yeggmen on a railroad bridge near Bemidji in 1909. The other man is my grandfather Dix Coffin, who will turn 100 in March of 2014 as I am writing this. He wore no flamboyant clothing and carried no six shooters on his hips, but he is as fair and just and moral a man as I’ve ever met in my life. Sheriff Johnson, later on in life, would perform my grandfather’s wedding to my grandmother Arvilla Halverson.