Robert Walker - Shadows in the White City

“It’ll have to be sorted out,” said Dr. Christian Fenger who’d come behind the others, pushing cops out of his way, his medical bag in hand. From it, he snatched out surgical scissors and cut away at Ransom’s clothing, searching for the worst of the wounds. “He’s been stabbed multiple times, but I see no bullet wounds.”

Fenger next ripped away at his pants-legs and found several wounds to the big man’s legs, but none life-threatening in and of itself. He ripped away at his shirt and located a nasty wound to the left kidney area that would require surgery on his back, and another wound to his right side, not quite so deep. Fenger turned all attention to the worst of the knife wounds, the one to his shoulder, just above the heart.

He noted that Alastair’s forehead and cheek had also sustained slashes and abrasions.

Jane had dropped to her knees on the other side of Ransom, while Gabby kneeled alongside Fenger, each wanting to help. They shared items out of Fenger’s bag, tying off tourniquets, wrapping his lesser wounds as Fenger concentrated on the major problem.

“He’s been stabbed at least seven, eight times, and he’s got several cuts to the face,” Jane informed Behan, who, hovering close, whispered that the lads wanted to know the prognosis.

“Will he live?” Behan persisted.

“If we can staunch this wound to the shoulder,” Fenger assured him.

“And if we can keep out infection,” added Jane. “The water’s crawling with infectious disease organisms, no doubt.” She realized she sounded like a doctor.

Behan looked into her eyes, silently pleading.

“I believe he’s going to be all right,” she tried to assure Behan. “None of this is your fault, Inspector.”

“He’s so still,” said a tearful Gabby.

Jane added, “I’ve never seen him so white, not even when he was shot.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” said Fenger. “Gone into shock, I’m afraid.”

“Need to get him to a warm place.”

Agitated, Fenger agreed. “A clean, well-lit, warm place, yes-my surgery.”

A flash of light, repeated by another and another announced that Philo Keane had arrived. Philo somehow kept shooting even as he feared for Ransom’s life.

Finished with their mending, Dr. Fenger and Jane began shouting for the men standing about to carry Alastair out.

“There’s a waiting ambulance,” said Fenger.

“No, please, use the police wagon,” countered Philo, raising a few eyebrows, including Christian Fenger’s.

“Why not use the medical wagon?” he asked.

“The last time Alastair was hurt, all he talked about afterward was fearing that he would die in the back of that meat wagon of yours, Christian.”

Jane jumped in. “Philo’s right, Christian. You really have to do something about it.”

Fenger looked hurt but said nothing.

“It’s more hearse than ambulance,” Jane added, “and I inspected it and found it a hotbed of disease organisms!”

“Not to mention the stench,” finished Philo Keane.

“We’re not funded for anything better at the moment.”

“Regardless, he goes in the police wagon.”

“I suppose you two are the closest thing to kin he has, so whatever your wish, Mr. Keane, Dr. Francis.”

This was enough for the cops who took Fenger at his word-that it would be Ransom’s last wish to be kept out of the hands of Shanks and Gwinn. Six men lifted Ransom as they might a coffin, and this procession moved toward the entry point like so many pallbearers.

Christian pointed out that Ransom’s cane lay nearby. The wolf’s-head was stained red-ochre with blood. “His attackers felt the sting of his blow, and from the number of wounds all over his body, I’d say there were more than these two maniacs coming at him with knives.”

Jane tried to imagine the life-and-death struggle down here. “He’s got wounds to his legs that, if standing, he’d have taken from midgets or children.”

“Compared to Logan, Ransom did damn well,” said Gabby, turning heads. “I counted twenty-seven stab wounds on Logan’s body before I gave up.”

This silenced them as Jane lifted Ransom’s cane and held firm to the walking stick. “Suppose Christian that you and Alastair were right-that there was an entire family of these cannibals down here?”

Fenger replied, “And so how many little monsters with ice picks and knives have escaped?”

“And what ages are the ones who got away?” Jane wondered aloud.

“Right now, we’ve got to get this man to my surgery and immediately.”

“I think we’ve stopped the worst of the blood flow,” she replied.

Gabby added, “He’s strong. He’ll pull through like before. Won’t he?”

“Keep to your prayers, ladies,” replied Fenger. “He’s damn near bled to death.”

Ransom made a good recovery, but a painful one. Fenger, fearing he’d become a morphine addict, controlled it personally, and on seeing Dr. McKinnette go near Ransom, he ran the man off with a proviso to the nurses at Cook County that no other physician be allowed near Ransom, especially Dr. Tewes and Dr. McKinnette. He made it clear that should it happen, people would lose their jobs.

However, he did allow personal friends visiting hours with his patient, so Jane Francis and Gabby were camped out at his bedside for days during his recovery. When he came back to himself, Gabby had gone home, but Jane had remained, and she now said to him, “This is getting to be an annoying habit with you.”

After drinking a pitcher of water, Alastair asked, “What of Behan? Afraid I know Logan’s fate. When I saw that pack of animals feeding on Jedidiah, I attacked.”

“Ken’s a hero-first to find you. Saved you from drowning in two feet of water and rising.”

“Fool-they’d’ve given ’im a citation had he let me die!”

“As a matter of fact, you’re both up for a citation-you for putting an end to Leather Apron and his gang, and Behan for bravery.”

“Not all are caught, though, and it was no gang, but a family, the parents teaching their young’uns to be man-eaters.”

“Yes, we few know the truth, but newspapers have it only as a gang. A bit less disturbing euphemism for the truth.”

“Perhaps that’s for the better.”

“Better for whom?” she challenged.

“The merchants, the developers, the financiers, and politicians.”

She sighed. “The public in general.”

“Yes, what does it serve the public to know that in Chicago homeless are driven to cannibalism to survive?”

“A case of excessive aberrant, abhorrent behavior, and not an epidemic. Look, you’ve evidence the father was Bloody Mary’s son. He came here, used her. Chicago did not spawn him. In fact, Gabby’s learned he was born in London.”

“Aye, home of the original Leather Apron.”

“It came across the Atlantic along with disease and other vermin.”

“It’s him, all right. We’ll have to post a letter to Inspector Heise, Scotland Yard.”

“Look, you brought down the father and mother, Alastair. It’s ended now. Those escaped children can’t last long without their parents.”

“Are they scouring the city for those three kids?”

“They are and in time, I’m sure, they’ll be found as well.”

“And the infant? What of the babe?”

“We may never know. Perhaps when the children are found, we can find out.”

“Then what? What’ll the grand state of Illinois, the County of Cook, and the City of Chicago do with those killer kids when they surface?”

“I can’t say. Place them in an institution, I suspect. Work with them. They’re feral children.”

“Feral is the word, indeed. They have it in their heads now that the best meat is other kids-human flesh. That’ll never change.”