Robert Walker - Shadows in the White City

“Indigestion…just indigestion,” Ransom replied.

“And in the meantime, we wait until the monster strikes again?” complained Griffin.

“In the meantime, we have to rely on our instincts,” countered Ransom. “And my instincts are still screaming that Waldo Denton kills people for the fun of it.”

“Intuition is often all we have left in the last analysis,” agreed Philo. “My own tells me that Denton shrewdly doctored the second photograph, making a comparison of the two handprints impossible.”

“All the while you were whoring, he was doctoring the photo under your nose.” Ransom gritted his teeth and glared.

“In fact, I, ahhh …taught him too well every process I know.”

“Sounds like a willing learner, heh?” asked Griff, blinking.

“Crafty, cunning little prick is what he is.” Ransom smothered a cough.

“After all, he was my apprentice.” Philo looked sheepishly at the other two. “Well…think of it. He cops to the first bloody print due to mere clumsiness at the crime scene. Then he exposes the second in development just a bit too soon.”

“Leaving us with nothing, and Fenger testifying on his behalf instead of ours.”

“Galls me to think he himself took the second handprint photo with my Night Hawk, complained Philo. Used my materials and my studio, all while I sat behind bars, arrested as the Phantom! Me!”

Ransom held back a laugh. “As absurd as that Chinaman singing our national anthem at the fair in Chinese.”

“Did you hear about that?” Griff’s words dripped with disapproval.

But Ransom returned to the subject of Denton. “Then the weasel doctored the second one to make it inconclusive as evidence. So why can’t we get him on evidence tampering?”

“Ransom, it can only be proven a bad job of processing. Even Christian Fenger couldn’t testify that it was doctored and not simply fouled up.”

“Fenger should’ve lied then; should’ve made it fit.”

The other two remained silent, unsure what to say to make Alastair feel better. Philo finally muttered, “It’ll be a great ally some day- science -if you beefy-headed coppers’ll ever open your eyes to it. And maybe learn to prize it and to protect scientific evidence.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Griffin’s defenses had gone up.

“If you had a processing center kept under lock and key, for instance, Denton could not’ve handled that photo alone. There’d’ve been channels, proper procedures, all of it.”

Ransom only grinned at his friend, while Griff firmly replied, “Now hold on, Inspector Ransom’s the one got the CPD to go full force into fingerprint collections.”

“And still no headway in that area! Dragging their feet. They don’t trust it…don’t trust anything new or scientific. You law enforcement types are the worst for it.”

Dr. James Phineas Tewes stepped from nowhere it seemed, and said, “I suggest we have some ale and talk about it at length, sirs, at the nearest establishment for libations.”

“Coffee perhaps,” replied Griffin. “I think Inspector Ransom needs coffee or tea more so than alcohol.”

Philo quickly put in, “Fact is, Griffin and I were just saying that Ransom here could use your cure, sir. I understand it worked well for him once before.”

“That can certainly be arranged. My residence is only a few blocks away. Shall we, Inspector Ransom? I know my sister would be pleased beyond measure to see you again at our home.”

“Did I ask for a committee meeting out here? Is everyone following me?” Ransom looked on the verge of collapse.

“You fellows are quite welcome to join us, of course,” said Tewes, ignoring Alastair’s complaint.

“Perhaps another time,” said Philo. “I’ve much work awaiting.” He secretly punched at Griffin’s side. Griffin got the message that he needed an exit line.

“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.