Robert Walker - Shadows in the White City

No doubt remained in Alastair’s mind now; Kohler, in some Machiavellian manner, meant to enter into this agreement only to nab Alastair at the precise moment of ultimate vulnerability-and most likely to bring down Dr. Fenger in the bargain as well-in order to install new people around him in both the department and at County Morgue. Why Christian could not see this was beyond Alastair, but the doctor must be made to see. It dawned on Ransom that he must thank Muldoon some time for helping him clarify his feelings and instincts on this matter, but of course neither Muldoon-nor anyone-could know about the Chapman proposal or Christian Fenger’s part in it. Alastair wondered how he could counter whatever plot Kohler had in mind with his own and still keep Christian’s name out of it.

Life and chaos in Chicago had not changed noticeably since his return.

“Remember Haymarket, Nathan?” Ransom dropped into the seat the other side of Kohler’s desk. “If I am to agree to this deal you’ve struck with Chapman and Fenger, I want full access to all files on the riot at Haymarket turned over for my examination. Full disclosure.”

“That’s impossible, Alastair, and you know it.”

“Then we have no deal.” He stood to go, nothing to lose. At the door, he felt Kohler breathing down his neck and holding the door pinned against him.

“Wait.”

“We have nothing further to discuss. I have thought this over thoroughly, and it is all that will calm my mind about either situation.”

“Look…you are talking about sealed documents, locked away in places I have no access to. What in bloody hell do you expect to learn from digging up the dead past?”

“I won’t know that until I see it, now will I?”

“Are you sure, Ransom, there is nothing else I…we can offer you?”

“Nothing whatever.”

“Bastard.”

Ransom pulled the door open, readying to leave. “Give it some thought; sleep on it as I did. Perhaps tomorrow, you may see it differently. Have a talk with your newfound friend, the senator. Hell, Prosecutor Kehoe. He is in a position to get his hands on those files.”

“Hiram would lose his job as a result, along with all of us.”

“Does the corruption go that high up?”

“Damn it, man, leave it in the grave!”

“My scars are not yet in the grave.”

“They can be, Alastair,” Kohler said with a curled smile. “There’s an old proverb goes something like ‘the scars of his past will determine his future,’ but in your case, they may determine you have no future.”

This stopped Ransom, whose stern eyes met Kohler’s in a cold duel. “Is that a threat, Nathan?”

“Call it what you will. Chicago remains a dangerous place, and everyone knows you have more enemies than friends.”

“Send my request on, Nathan. Send it on, and we’ll talk about the future on the other side.”

Kohler’s tough features scrunched in consternation, attempting to mine the depths of Ransom’s words. But Inspector Ransom walked away from his dumbfounded chief and closed the door behind him.

Kohler gnashed his teeth and muttered to his empty office, “Stubborn bastard’s like a g’damn Jack Bull with his teeth sunk deep.”

Alastair found himself at his old wooden swivel desk chair and dropped into it with a heaviness that raised a resounding squeal. He sat for a moment, feeling extremely tired and as if every year of his life weighed heavy. He sat staring at the empty desk pushed against his own, Griffin’s desk. While others in the department pretended busy work, he sensed them watching him now. No one could miss the subdued anger spilling out of Chief Kohler’s office when Alastair had come down those steps.

Feeling like a bug here, Alastair located a pot of coffee kept on brew for Chicago’s finest on skeleton crew. The grand World’s Fair had siphoned off many a cop. Faithfuls were being asked to work double shifts, and why else hire on the first woman civilian in the department-Gabrielle Tewes?

Alastair was not about to give up his search for the truth surrounding what really happened that day at Haymarket, not for any avowed reason. The issue remained burning in his gut and in his heart; he couldn’t let got so easily as others. He had lost six fellow officers and friends that day to a bomb no one had taken credit for. Historians already called it a defining moment in Illinois and U.S. labor-relations history, but it was also a defining moment in exactly who Alastair Ransom was. Perhaps he was chasing ghosts, phantom information that did not exist, but by the same token, he could not let any chance to get at the records on the subject go by. Too many good men had died for this, one having pulled Ransom to safety before keeling over with a severed femoral artery.

The riot was a benchmark for the establishment of new laws governing the conduct of police officials, a turning point in public opinion regarding unionist workers and unions, plus it forged the first labor laws with teeth. As a result, Illinois led the rest of the nation in this politically charged arena. The cost in human life was too great to ignore and a statue in a hidden cove outside a small police district was not enough for Ransom.

When he’d returned to his desk, coffee in hand, Ransom began cleaning away flyers and papers and files, only to discover an anonymous note printed in large letters, reading,

REMEMBER HAYMARKET

He took in the room. It could have been the sergeant who looked up at him, or Logan, or Behan, or any number of others. In a sense, Ransom’s crusade to keep the memory of that day alive and fresh in every foot soldier’s mind was perhaps sinking in with some of the lads. Still the prevailing winds kept saying, let the dead bury the dead.

Just then, coming through a doorway that led into the archives of dead cases and documents, came Gabrielle Tewes, Jane’s daughter, her eyes wide, coming straight for Alastair. “I’m so glad I found you on duty and what a shock!”

“That I’m on duty?”

“Well, no…I’m referring to what I’ve uncovered.”

“Which is?”

“A series of similar Vanishings in London, not five years ago.”

“Really? Let me have a look.”

Gabby spread the materials out for his perusal. She’d marked specific items from various police gazettes and reports.

“I had no idea you’d planned to continue working here.”

“And why not?”

“I guess it was an assumption you would rush back to Northwestern and continue your studies in medicine there.”

“A safe cozy plan indeed, one Mother wants for me. But, no. I love working with Dr. Fenger at Rush on my medical studies and on cases with Dr. Fenger. He put me to researching this one.”

“You should share this with your mother.”

“I may…when she settles into the notion that I am my own person and not a copy of her.”

“I see.” He really did not wish to get between mother and daughter on the issue, although it had been Alastair who had first encouraged her to pursue working with Christian Fenger in police medicine.

“Look, I have a meeting to get to,” she informed him. “I’ll leave this with you so you can get on the trail of this monster.”

“A meeting?”

“Yes, a meeting.”

“The drum-and-fife corps of ladies?”

“We are suffrage advocates and only want simple justice.”

“You’ll become a fine spokesperson for the cause.”

“Well, I am terrible at marching, so perhaps I will brave the podium someday. For now, I am content to stand with my sisters in this noble cause.”

“I wish you all the best.”

“Persistence is the key according to our leaders. Do you know we are petitioning the president as we speak? Thousands and thousands have signed.”