The Fall Of White City (Gilded Age Mysteries Book 1) (3 page)

Evangeline quickened her pace, hoping that Mrs. O’Malley wouldn’t be able to keep up with her. The consequence was that the landlady transferred her attentions to Freddie, who had been lagging behind. She bombarded him with questions about who he was, and what he did for a living, and whether he and the lady were engaged. Although Freddie’s eyes implored his friend for assistance, Evangeline used the opportunity to walk ahead of the group and talk to the daughter.

Matching her pace to Patsy’s, she struck out in the direction of the cemetery gate. “I’m truly sorry,” she began.

Patsy’s shyness reasserted itself, and the girl looked down at the ground. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Well, that title is formal enough to make me feel like a dowager of seventy.” Evangeline smiled. “My friends call me
Engie
.”

“Oh, I could never do that.” The girl shook her head vehemently. “You’re a lady. You’re one of the gentry...”

Evangeline’s reply was tongue-in-cheek. “I have it on good authority that America is a democracy, albeit a limited one since women don’t have the vote yet. Nevertheless, that means the country doesn’t have either a king or an aristocracy.”

Patsy was silent, confused about what was expected of her. Evangeline clarified the issue. “Well, if you won’t call me by my first name, then you may call me Miss
Engie
. That’s close enough to being respectful to ease your conscience, isn’t it?”

The girl brightened. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. I can call you that.”

Evangeline paused, at a loss for what to say next. She had deliberately avoided any reference to the events preceding the funeral. She told herself it was to spare everyone’s feelings, glossing over the fact that it spared her own as well.

“So your mother says you and Elsa were great friends.”

Patsy looked sad at the memory. “Very great friends, miss. We shared a room. Our house didn’t have enough bedrooms for everyone, so I stayed upstairs with Elsa. Franz had the room across from us.”

It occurred to Evangeline that Patsy might be the source of valuable information that could lead to Elsa’s killer. She began gently so as not to alarm the girl.

“Patsy, I’d like to talk to you some more about Elsa.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide with alarm. “I don’t dare, miss! Ma already told us that Elsa brought shame on our house and that the less we all said about her the better!”

“Well, I don’t think there’s any need to distress your mama with this matter.” Evangeline’s tone was serene as she accented the second syllable in “mama.”

“I... I guess I don’t understand.”

Evangeline linked her arm through Patsy’s in a conspiratorial fashion. “We don’t have to tell her, do we?”

Patsy blinked as the idea began to sink in. “But, how’s that possible? Ma keeps a close watch on me.”

Evangeline paused to consider the dilemma. “Saturday is a half-day for factory workers, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes. That’s so. We quit at noon.”

“Very good. Then I shall meet you at your factory gates this Saturday at noon.”

“It’s the Van
Ryn
Garment Factory on South Ashland,” the girl offered doubtfully.

“Never fear, I’ll find it.”

“But what about ma? What’ll I tell her when I don’t come home right away?” The girl glanced over her shoulder nervously. Her mother was still deep in conversation with Freddie, leaning on his arm for support. The poor fellow looked as if he were locked in the embrace of a python.

“I’m sure your factory always needs willing souls to work overtime on Saturdays, doesn’t it?”

Evangeline paused, allowing Patsy to digest that stratagem for a moment. “Trust me, child. I’ll arrange matters so that no harm will come to you.”

Evangeline gave the girl’s arm a gentle squeeze. “I should be very grateful for your help.” They had nearly reached the exit to the cemetery.

Patsy smiled timidly. “I’d like to talk about Elsa some more. It would help. She was the only one who listened to me, and I miss her.”

“Yes, she was a very kind person.” Evangeline scowled as a new thought struck her. “I always thought she and Franz were just alike. I don’t understand why he isn’t here!”

Patsy came to a dead stop, as if her feet had taken root. “But... Miss
Engie
. Didn’t they tell you?”

Evangeline regarded her young companion with puzzlement. “Tell me what, my dear?”

Patsy showed signs of increasing agitation. “I’m sorry. Ma thought you knew. We all thought you knew.”

“Knew what, Patsy?”

“The police came yesterday night. They took Franz away. They say he killed Elsa.”

A blast of wind sent a chill through Evangeline’s bones. She began to shiver. “But that’s impossible!”

 
The two were standing just inside the cemetery gates. The rest of the group caught up at that moment and, after another round of handshakes and lamentations, went their separate ways.

As Evangeline and Freddie walked back toward the streetcar line, the fog around them seemed to swirl into the core of Evangeline’s brain. She could still hear Patsy’s last words, and they drowned out the street sounds, the voices, the horses’ hooves. She barely heard Freddie when he said through gritted teeth, “I’m placing you on notice. The next funeral we attend together will be yours.”

Chapter 3—Anarchy’s Red Hand

The morning following the funeral, Evangeline found herself in an unusual place—staring through the bars of a cell in Chicago City Jail. She stood back as a guard unlocked the door and let her step inside. The room was narrow and deep with a double row of cots lining the wall to her right. Only one prisoner occupied the cell: a man in his early twenties with a blond beard that seemed somehow too long and flowing for someone his age. He sat leaning over the edge of the lower
cot
, clasping his hands and unclasping them, mutely expressing the contradictions battling in his brain. He didn’t look up until Evangeline stood directly before him.

Uttering a cry of surprise, he leaped up when he saw her. “
Fräulein! Mein Gott!
What are you doing here? How is it you came to hear about this?”

Looking him full in the face gave Evangeline a shock. Franz and Elsa Bauer were twins. Elsa had been no more than medium height. She would have been described as delicate, in form and in face. To see the girl’s features and mannerisms, the same green eyes and flax-colored hair in a masculine form, was disturbing. To now link those same features to such unfortunate events—the sister dead and the brother in prison—only increased the uneasiness of the encounter for her. She finally composed herself enough to reply, “Half the city heard about this before I did, Franz.”

“And aren’t you afraid to be locked in a cell with a dangerous criminal like me!”

“Is that what you are? I would never have thought it possible when you were taking English classes from me at the settlement. Never would have thought it from the way Elsa talked about you with such pride—her brother, the writer on the German newspaper the
Sozialistische Tageszeitung
.
She always said her brother was going to be known as a great writer someday.”

“Her brother is going to be hanged for murdering her, and there is no one in this city who will doubt that he did it!”

“You are hasty in your judgment, my friend. Perhaps there is one person in this city who is disposed to keep an open mind.”

Franz Bauer looked closely into Evangeline’s eyes. “You are willing to listen to the truth?”

She half-smiled. “Why else would I have bothered to come here? As you already know, I rarely take other people’s opinions as gospel. I prefer to see for myself.”

“Yes, yes, you are
Fräulein Klarheit
still. You want to get to the truth of things.” Franz used the nickname he had given Evangeline when taking his first English class from her years before—a German variation of her surname.

She settled herself unceremoniously on the cot and looked up at Franz. Her face was expressionless, detached. “Please begin.”

He paced toward the opposite end of the narrow cell, his hands now clasped behind his back, head bent once again in concentration. He turned and seemed on the point of speaking several times, but the memories flooding his consciousness overwhelmed him. He sighed and muttered to himself and cursed and paced until Evangeline walked over to where he stood and put her hand on his shoulder.

“Franz!” She shook him. “This does no one any good! Please try to calm yourself.”

He threw his head back and took a deep breath. Evangeline could see that his eyes were red from suppressed tears. “You are right,
Fräulein
, I must try. Even though I believe it is useless, I must try to act as if this nightmare will end, and I will somehow wake up from it.” He walked her back to the cot and seated her. Still standing and occasionally pacing fretfully, he began.

“I was foolish to think I could prevent anything. I should have known on the night she was killed. Perhaps there is such a thing as fate—
schicksal
—after all.”

Evangeline tried to bring him back to the point. “Facts, Franz, we must deal in facts if anything is to be done. What happened the night Elsa died that put you here?”

“
Ja, ja Fräulein, das ist sehr zutreffend
,
” he lapsed into German.

“
Sie müssen Englisch sprechen, Herr Bauer. Sie sind nicht in Deutschland jetzt
,
” Evangeline cautioned.

“If I was still in Germany, this would not have happened to me.”

“That is what we were speaking about, Franz. What did happen?”

He shook his head, as if to clear away the multitude of images crowding his brain and to select the one that mattered. “Elsa, she had been acting strange,
merkwürdig
, for many months before. First singing and humming to herself, laughing too easily—too happy. She would disappear in the evenings sometimes. When I would ask where she had been, she would just smile—a secret smile—
geheimnisvoll
. And so, I began to worry.

“I thought she must be seeing a man—someone she would not be proud to have me know about. One evening when she was out I searched through her room to see if I could find letters, anything. Instead, I found jewelry, a fine linen handkerchief—expensive things—things I knew she could never afford. I was afraid she was throwing herself away on some rich man who would afterward sweep her from him like so much trash swept into the gutter.”

Franz had worked himself up to quite a pitch by now. His face had become more feverish with each sentence. Evangeline was about to say something to quiet him. He seemed to guess her intention and waved his hand in irritation. “No, no,
Fräulein
. You must let me finish!”

She sat back down silently and waited.

He continued, “And then her happy moods became less and less. She sighed to herself when she thought no one was looking. When I would ask her what was wrong, she would shake her head and start to cry. I did not know what to do! Finally, I could stand this waiting and watching no longer. I decided to follow her and come face to face with this man, whoever he was.

“Last Saturday she left quietly in the evening. She did not think I was in the house when she let herself out. It must have been almost nine o’clock. When she left she was carrying a small valise. I thought she must be planning to stay away for the night. I followed her. She walked north for many blocks until she was near downtown and then she found a cab. I kept up on foot and saw the driver let her out by one of the fancy hotels on State Street—the one that is called the Templar House. I saw her go in by a side door.”

“You mean the Ladies’ Entrance?” Evangeline referred to the side entrance off of Monroe Street, where unaccompanied ladies could check in without being accosted by men in the front lobby.

“Yes, that was where she went. I walked up and down on the street. I wanted to wait until she was in her room, and I could catch her there with the man she came to meet. The more I walked, around and around the hotel, the angrier I came to be. How could she do this? How could she throw herself away like this? Who did this man think he was? Was he so rich that he could treat my sister like a... like a...
s
traßenmädchen!
”
Franz seemed to be reliving the rage of that moment. Evangeline saw his face twisted by fury. Again she felt the strange sensation of seeing Elsa’s face distorted into a grotesque mask. She would never have believed Franz capable of such violent emotion. But she had never seen him provoked by such a set of circumstances either.

He paced back and forth, scarcely aware of her presence as he resumed his story. “So after some time I decided to go in. I walked up to the desk clerk and demanded he should tell me what room my sister was in. He looked at me like I was vermin—
ungeziefer
. Something that had crawled across his lobby floor. He was so polite but with so much disgust. ‘I am very sorry, sir. We are not in the habit of disclosing information about our guests to unidentified strangers.’

“‘Strangers! I am no stranger!’ I was furious. He had such contempt for me. ‘I am her brother. Tell me where she is at once!’

“The desk clerk said ‘Sir, please lower your voice. There are ladies here. They do not wish to be disturbed by the likes of you!’ This made me more and more angry. I wanted most of all to smash his face in. Instead, I pounded on the desk with my fists and demanded again to see her. But the desk clerk then refused to speak to me at all. Instead he rang the bell and had the bellboys throw me out into the street. I tried to come back in, but each time they pushed me back out. Finally, they said they would call the police unless I left for good.

“There was no hope. I knew that I must wait until she came home herself before I could speak to her. I was too angry,
sehr gestört
. I did not think it would be wise to go home. So I walked... and walked. For hours, it seemed, I walked. When I finally came back to my right mind, I found myself downtown again. I was close to the
Sozialistische Tageszeitung
office so I went in and decided to stay there until I was calm. I could not think of facing Mrs. O’Malley—of her asking questions. It was bad enough that Elsa was gone. How could I explain where I had been or why?”

He paused for breath. His mood seemed to shift. The rage of a moment before was replaced by grief. His eyes began to fill with tears again. “And then in the papers the next day... ,” he trailed off.

“So you didn’t see her at all that night?” Evangeline tried to keep a steady
rein
over her own feelings.

“No, I never saw my Elsa alive again.” His rage diffused, he slumped against the back wall.

“Try to keep your mind on the facts, Franz,” Evangeline counseled as much to herself as to him. “It will help.”

“Yes, yes, facts. What are those... those facts? My sister is dead and I am accused of murdering her.”

“Tell me about how you came to be arrested.”

Franz sighed again as if a heavy weight had been placed on his chest. He walked forward toward the bars, leaning against them for support as he continued. “All that day I stayed at the
Tageszeitung
office trying to decide what to do. Do I go to the police to find out what happened? Do I ask them to release her body for burial? Do I go home? Do I go to
Fräulein
Jane or to you so that someone at Mast House knows?
Ich wüste nicht was ich tun sollte
. I still could not make myself think clearly. One of my friends on the paper, Otto
Schüler
, he told me to come home and stay with him until I was better. And so, I stayed there for two days more. I knew I had to go home sometime. I would have to... to make arrangements... for Elsa...

“Finally that evening, Tuesday evening, I went back home. When I came there, the police were waiting for me. They had turned my room inside out. Mrs. O’Malley was crying and asking why did I do it. There was no sense in anything. One of the
polizei
showed me a pocket knife and said he found it in the back of my dresser drawer.”

“What?” Evangeline was shocked.

“Yes, a knife.” Franz shook his head in disbelief. “I carry no weapons with me. The knife was not mine. How it came to be there I cannot say, but they insisted it belonged to me just the same.”

“Was there any blood on it?” Evangeline was almost afraid of the answer.

“Yes, there was something on the blade. It maybe was dried blood. Again, I cannot say how.”

A sense of doubt crept into Evangeline’s brain. For the first time in their conversation, she was uncertain. “Franz, you say that you don’t remember anything after you were thrown out of the hotel? That you were walking aimlessly?”

He turned to her in amazement and then the shock fueled more anger. “
Gott in Himmel, Fräulein, was sagen sie
?
What are you saying! That I killed my own sister,
meine liebe
Elsa
, and did not know it?” He beat his fists furiously against the bars.

Evangeline stood up and backed toward the opposite end of the cell, ready to call for help if necessary. “Franz, please,” she said in the steadiest voice she could muster. “You must be calm. I cannot help you if you go on like this.”

“Help me?
Bitte erklaren sie mir, Fräulein Klarheit
.
How will you help me?”

Evangeline felt herself momentarily overwhelmed by hopelessness. “I don’t know yet! I just don’t know. But there must be something, something that can be done.”

Franz threw his head back and laughed bitterly. “Even you do not believe me when I say the knife is not mine!”

His listener steadied her nerves and walked directly up to him. “Franz, look at me!” she commanded.

He obeyed.

“Tell me the truth as you know it. Did you kill your sister?”

Franz returned her gaze steadily. He took a deep breath, and answered in a surprisingly calm voice. “
Fräulein
LeClair, I did not kill my sister.”

Evangeline searched his face for a sign of hesitancy or deceit. She did not find it. At least in his own mind, he was telling the truth. Temporarily suppressing her own doubts, she tried to reassure him. “Then I believe you.”

At this Franz sighed. “You believe me and I am glad, but the judge and the jury, they will not also believe me.”