Chapter 1
A Disruptive Breakfast at Jillian’s
Jonathan Abercrombie III picked up his copy of the Baltimore Sun from the white marble stoop, shook off the raindrops and went inside to for breakfast with his sister, Jillian, and her ladies’companion, Maggie McCabe. He sat down and looked at the front page. “Pigtown Family Murdered,” read the headline.
Seated at the table, Jillian’s eyes drooped. She looked half asleep. Worry shot through Jack for a moment. What’s the matter with her? Maggie McCabe wasn’t at her usual place, either. “Jill! Wake, up!” Jack touched her shoulder and her eyes opened wider. Then she sat upright and gave him a slow smile. Jack let out a sigh of relief. “Where’s Maggie?’
“Down in the kitchen,” Jill yawned. “It’s cook’s day off.”
Jack took a more careful look at her face and hoped his sister wasn’t having one of her bad spells. She didn’t quite look right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong. He did know favored each other. They shared the same wide brow and high cheekbones, but her hair was more tawny than his dark brown. Her eyes were lighter, too, a hazel that sometimes looked almost gold, while Jack eyes were darker and his hair straight. His chin was square, but Jill’s came to a point, giving her face more of a heart shape. Looking again, Jack hoped his face he never looked as Jill’s did now, unalert, empty, as if no one were home behind her eyes.
“Maggie’s cooking? Great,” Jack said, though without much of a smile. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. “Maybe we’ll get some have real scones.”
Jill shrugged. Her wavy hair fell loose over the shoulders of her ruffled silk wrapper, the one with the roses. She looked fresh and pretty — normal. But she still wasn’t quite herself. Jack had shaved, dressed and was and ready to leave for his office as soon as he finished breakfast, but now he wondered if he should stay home. Where the hell was Maggie? He gave Jill a pat on the shoulder and a closer look. She still had sleep in her eyes and her skin looked grainy. But she didn’t seem dangerously disoriented. Yet.
“You have a bad night?” Sometimes she had nightmares.
“No.” Jill yawned again. “Just got to bed late. I went to the theater....” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and opened them wider. “I wanted to see Desmond’s play again.”
Probably just tired. Jack tried to relax and reached for his paper. He couldn’t understand what her rush was. The play had been a hit and would probably run until the holidays. He raised a questioning brow.
Jill went on, “It always makes for a long evening. If I go early, I’m safe enough with the curtains drawn in my private box. But unless someone is with me, I have to wait until everyone else leaves. And I get home so late, but it was the last performance of Doll’s House and Desmond is so good in it.”
“Why didn’t you ask me? I would’ve have gone with you.” Jack frowned.
“I have to learn to be independent sometime, Jack.” Jill lifted her chin. “Besides, I thought you and Desmond might have late plans ... closing night and all. You two aren’t growing less fond of each other, are you?” She shot him a worried look.
“Never,” Jack reassured her.
Baltimore’s leading actress, Genevievre Desmond, was the love of Jon’s life. The moment they first met, he’d fallen hard. Their engagement had been announced more than a year ago, but he realized they hadn’t seriously discussed any wedding plans in quite awhile. Des was working and busy and happy with the play. If Desmond was happy then everything was fine with Jon. Sometimes he suspected the only reason his sister had built that theater, after the fire, was to give Desmond a stage of her own to play on.“Sure you’re okay?”
“I’m, fine.” Jill closed her eyes.
“Great!” Jack sat down with his paper and turned his attention to the murder on the front page
Jill gave him a more alert look. “If everything’s so great, Jack. What’s holding up your wedding?”
“Nothing.”Jack frowned, then shook his head and pushed the worries from his mind.
Maggie McCabe sailed through the hall door and hurried toward the dumb waiter in the corner. “Are you two at it again? Just this once lass, why don’t you let the man be until after he’s eaten?”
Jill gave Maggie a more alert smile, but only said, “Morning.” Her voice still sounded sleepy.
“There’s fresh popovers..” Maggie set a tray on the buffet, quickly lit candles under the chaffing dishes, and handed Jill a well-wrapped basket of warm muffins. She went back for the coffee pot, took her seat, and crossed herself, all the while murmuring grace. Then she started handing around warmed plates of scrambled eggs and bacon.
Accepting his, Jack recalled that Maggie had started work in their parents’ home as a scullery maid, fresh off the boat from Dublin. She had quickly been elevated to Jill’s personal companion when they realized the cheerful young girl was somehow able to calm their daughter’s bouts of hysteria. Jill’s sometime disorientation had frightened their parents and Maggie’s ability had been an untold blessing.
The friendship between the two had gotten even closer in the five intervening years. Jack recalled how Maggie had managed Jill through a murder, a broken engagement and an attempt on her life. In turn, Jill had comforted Maggie through blackmail, beatings, rape, and the birth of an illegitimate son. Maggie had named the boy for St. John. Traditional enough for any Irish Catholic lass. It was only after Grandmother Abercrombie had cut both her son, and grandson, out of her will and left everything she owned to Jillian, that people had begun take any interest in Maggie, or her little boy. Some began to suspect Jack might be the father. Later, when the three of them had moved into Gran’s mansion together, and Jillian had taken legal steps to adopt Maggie’s baby, most members of Baltimore Society no longer had a doubt in the world.
“Thank you for sharing, sister.” Jack helped himself to a hot popover from the basket Jill held and grinned at Maggie. When Jill only blinked, he smiled, and reached for the butter. At first Jack had thought the rumors about him were something of a joke. Only when he’d fallen for Desmond had he ever bothered to deny them. At least she had never doubted his innocence.
“Now then, what’s got you trembling, lass?” Maggie asked, taking the popovers from Jill’s hands and setting them down on the table. “Sure, you’re not upset with Mr. Jack for his teasing?”
“Don’t look at me—” Jack protested. He took a healthy bite of warm crusty popover and licked melted butter from the corner of his mouth. Heaven. “She’s not been quite herself all morning,” he said, with his mouth full.
The redhaired Irish girl nodded and examined Jillian’s pale face
“And I’m the one being picked on,” Jack continued. “Jill went out last night and got home late. Maybe she’s just tired, but she started it. Something about Desmond and me getting married right away. She ought to know the woman won’t marry me until she’s damned good and ready—”
“She’s the one who’s worried, Jack!” Jill’s face went even whiter and her strained voice broke into harsh sobs. “She’s the one — the one —?
“Jill—?” Oh shit, here it comes. “Jill!”
“They ought to be married now, Maggie!” Jillian’s eyes snapped with anger. Then she turned to Jack with hot tears streaming down her face. “It’s dangerous to wait,” she sobbed. “You — you could lose — lose everything.” Jillian’s sobbed so hard she could barely choke the senseless words out. “You two — ought to have married a — a long — time ago!”
Maggie ran around the table, knelt beside Jill, and wiped her tears away with a soft linen napkin. “Hush now. Sure, you’re okay. ’Tis certain sure he’d never ignore a warning from you. He knows you have the sight. Sure he wouldn’t dare to yell at you. Not when you’re trying to shield him from something bad.” Maggie snapped an impatient look at Jack. “You just go on ahead and tell us what’s got you so afeared. Mr Jack understands. We both know you’re only trying to protect us. See? There’s no need to upset yourself the now.”
“Of course, not.” Jack pitched in, trying to sound hearty. He gave his sister a reassuring smile. Then he took her trembling hand and held on, trying to give her some of his strength. “You’re okay ... relax now, we’re all just fine.” God, she’s freezing. “Nothing’s going to hurt us Jilly—”
“There, you see?” Maggie broke in. “Sure, you know how much Mr. Jack loves you. Almost as much as you dote on him.” Maggie finished wiping Jill’s tearful face, and gave her a swift hug. “Now we know the danger, sure they’ll be making up their wedding plans just like you asked. I’ll bet they’ll be getting married by Christmas. Imagine what a fine wedding it will be. Engraved invitations, candles in the church, I can almost hear the music now.”
“Maggie—” Jill choked and shook her head. “I’m— afraid. I’m awfully — afraid... There’s t-trouble coming. Nothing can stop it...” Jill looked from Maggie to her brother, and blinked back more tears. “We’ve got to try to stop it, but I can’t—” Jill took a ragged breath and was shaking all over. “B-bad trouble, Maggie. You know,I know— we know about the bad times. Who better? S-something horrible is going to happen. But I can’t tell what it is. With no way to stop it—” Jill turned from one to the other, frantic—as if she were searching for something she had lost. “It’s coming! Can’t we make it go away, Maggie?” Jill begged.
“Having the sight is a terrible curse, that it is,” Maggie soothed. “But a warning is a good thing now, don’t you see? Sure we know something bad will happen, and so we’ll be more than ready for it when it does come. And you’ve already told us the cure, lass.” Maggie continued to soothe Jill, until her sobbing lessened. At last, she took a shattered breath and nodded.
“There now, dearie.” Maggie buttered a popover and put it on a saucer. “Just try and calm yourself a wee bit more — and then we’ll all have a nice bit of breakfast.... Sure, we’ll feel all the better for it. For you’ve given us the warning — and Mr. Jack has taken it to heart — so we ought to be okay for now...”
“That’s right, Jill,” Jack added. “Listen, I’ll just ask Desmond to marry me again tonight. Then by golly with any luck at all, I’ll drag her off to Elkton in cloud of dust. Maybe we can do the job before sunrise tomorrow.” He hoped mentioning the neighboring town, famous for having a registry office that was open twenty-four hours a day, would help relieve her fears.
“Just — try not to patronize me, Jack.” Jill warned in an almost-normal voice. “I’m serious about this.” She covered her face with trembling hands.
Maggie gave Jack a hard look. “Sure, we’re listening to you sweetheart, and we’ll do whatever you want.” When Jillian gave her another worried look Maggie went on. “Won’t we now, Mr. Jack?”
“I mean it, Jill. I would joyfully have married Desmond the first night we met and my feelings have only grown stronger. The wedding can’t be soon enough for me.” Jack smiled and took another popover. “Maybe I really can convince her to elope.”
Jill nodded, and relaxed a little more. She thanked her brother, then reached for the muffin and took a small bite. “I don’t know — this isn’t even Jack’s trouble. I- I can’t be sure of anything. But lots of people are stirred up — some have doubts and some have plans. Everything’s at cross-purposes. Some are good people who worry about mistakes. But some of them, Jack, some are downright evil.”
“Best to stay away from that kind,” Maggie urged.
“Who’s evil?” Jack asked.
“I’m don’t know. Anyway, there’s no way for us to keep it from happening. And whatever it is — when it does happen, it will be bad.” Jill’s voice cracked on the last word and she squared her shoulders and faced her brother, lifting her chin. “Now you being married will help. It’ll help keep Desmond be safe, too. So, do please try to get married as quick as you can, Jack ?”
“Don’t you worry, I’ll ask her again when we have supper tonight,” Jack promised. He picked up the newspaper and sighed with relief. As fast as the hysteria had started, it seemed to be dissipating. Jill seemed calmer. Thank god her spell, or warning, or whatever the hell it was, was passing off. He’d be able to go to work today, after all.
“And you can’t tell us what it is?” Jack asked.
Jill shook her head and bit her lip. Okay then, something bad was going to happen.
That was a self-fulfilling prophesy, to say the least. “Don’t worry, Jill. We’ll get through it together, you and me. Bad things happen every day. All we have to do is read the paper—”
Jill gasped and choked back a sob.
“Sure now, try to be calm and maybe eat a little more,” Maggie soothed, but Jill began to cry again. Jack nodded and lookede down at the front page.
The murder in Pigtown on the previous night had been a grisly one. A father had found his three children with their throats cut. Their mother was dead as well. Shot. And outside in the back yard, a neighbor lay sprawled on his face. Shot, too? Yes, he’d been shot, not stabbed. Jack felt thankful he was no longer a police detective. At least this disaster wouldn’t land on his desk with Commissioner Burke jumping up and down and screaming for answers. Burke had always singled Jack out to work society murders anyway. He probably wouldn’t have been assigned anything that happened in Pigtown, however grisly.
Tears choked Jill’s voice when she spoke again. “Jack—I know you don’t mean to do it...but please stop thinking about that, murder. Just — stop it! I know you don’t mean to. You’re curious, is all. But I just can’t — I can’t stand — seeing all those—dead children! T-They had no warning. None at all. The poor little things actually liked him when their mother first brought him home. And he started teaching them his terrible games. But—” Jill started rocking in her chair, tears running down her cheeks as she struggled to contain it.
“So that’s where it’s coming from!” Maggie jumped up and grabbed the paper from Jack’s hands, ripped it to shreds, and threw the pieces in the trash bin. “There now, lass. It’s gone!”
Jack cursed himself for his carelessness. He’d long known his sister could read his mind, and should damn well have thought about that when he’d started to read about the blood-soaked crime scene. Poor Jill had seen it, too. Hell. She had been calming down and now — but he hadn’t meant to upset her. All he’d done was glance at the goddamn paper! Besides she’d been in tears even before he looked at the paper, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she? Oh, Christ! Jill doesn’t need this kind of grief.
“I’ll be all right, now,” Jill reached out to pat his arm, but dre back before she touched him. “Just give me a few minutes to suck it up, Jack — and then, I’ll be okay.”
At least this time they knew what had set her off. The worse part of these attacks was that you almost never knew what got her started. And it wasn’t actual madness. That was clear. Whatever bedeviled Jillian, Avery Brandon, had proved her sane in a court of law. After that finding, and with her kind of money, no one in Baltimore would ever dare to call her crazy again. But God, it was hard to watch her suffer.
Jack had once even hoped a closeness would develop between Jill and Avery Brandon. Not that anything could really come of it. How close could any man get to a woman who couldn’t bear to touch anyone? Oh, Maggie McCabe could touch her, but Jack knew if he touched her himself, the hysteria would never have passed so quickly.
“Jack,” Jillian said in a shivery voice. “Please, it’s not your fault, or Avery’s either. I think I’ll be okay now. Please, just — go on off to work and let it — pass.”
Jack met her eyes with a level look. “Have you seen anything of Avery lately?”
“Not really, no.” Jill held her cup out to Maggie for more coffee and then sat back down. “But he’ll be coming to dinner on Sunday to celebrate his victory. You should ask Desmond, too, if she’s free. We’ll make a party of it.” Jill smiled and took another popover.
“Victory?” Jon’s eyebrows shot up as he held out his own cup. “In the antitrust case? You know a verdict is still months off. And we don’t have a very good case.” Jack tried to smile at his sister. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening. Was it was possible the B&O stood in danger as well? The attorney for the railroad, who just happened to be their father, had advised them to wait until after the present case, brought against a single stockholder, was decided. For most of the past year, Avery had spent every spare minute on it. Jack tried to hide his disbelief.
“Miss Jill—? What victory?” Maggie’s worried eyes met her employer’s.
Jill closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she continued the conversation as if it had been perfectly normal breakfast talk on an ordinary morning. Jack caught his breath. A moment ago his sister had looked stark raving mad. Now, she seemed alert, smiling, and ready to share a bit of really interesting gossip.
“You see — Papá has found some witness that they’ve been looking for.” Jill munched on her popover then waved the remains around to emphasize what she was going to say. “I don’t know his name. But anyway it doesn’t matter, once the judge hears what the man has to say, it’ll all be over. ”
“What judge?” Jack asked.
“ The one on Avery’s case, Silly.” Jillian paused and drank more coffee. “I don’t know his name. Avery just calls him ‘the old bastard.’ But now he believes they’ll be able to get the whole thing thrown out of court. If it works, and Papá thinks it will work, then it’ll all be over. They wouldn’t dare bring a case against the B&O after this one fell flat.”
“Wait a minute. Did Papá really find the witness?” Jack took a long deep breath and tried not to look as suspicious as he felt. “Or did he just coach someone to swear to whatever he thinks needs to be said?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Jill gave him an astonished look. “I’ve had a few things on my mind, you know. It’s not as if I’ve talked to either of them.”
“Then how do you know all this stuff?”
“You know how. Look at what just happened.” Jill ducked her head and looked ashamed. “What does it matter how I know things, anyway? I just do....”
Jack gave her a disbelieving look.
“People get upset and the more upset they are — the easier I can hear their thoughts. Nobody has to tell me anything, Jack.”
“Because they’re upset?”
“Yes. Like just now, when you were thinking about the murders. And you were happy you weren’t a detective anymore — too bad you’ll be stuck with it in the end. Jack, people just think all the time. And if they’re upset enough — I can hear them.” Jill reached for another popover. “Oh, I’m suddenly so hungry.” She munched her popover and then said, “Sometimes, I don’t know where it’s coming from. Sometimes, I’m not sure who they are. Sometimes, two or three people are shouting at me, all at the same time. It gets very confusing, Jack. But I’ve been reading and studying and trying to learn to control it — I just can’t. You know,” she went on. “Avery’s just going to be delighted to get out of this... he’s been so tired of the whole damned thing. You know—” Jill took another bite. “—Avery doesn’t really trust Papá.”
“Neither do I,” Jack shot back. For a long moment he sat still in his chair and felt completely flummoxed. Jill had never described how it happened before. No wonder she got hysterical, Then another thought crossed his mind. “Do you mean to say you can read Avery’s mind?”
“Well, sometimes... And anyway — there’s bound to be danger to all of us, now that Sonny’s father is out of jail. He just hates us, Jack. He really does. That man would like to see every one of us dead.”
Jack gasped.“Wait a minute! Are you talking about Sonny Buckland’s father?” Jack leapt to his feet. “But he’s in jail. He’s still got twenty years to serve. Buckland can’t possibly have anything to do with anything happening now—”
“Oh no, Jack. Mr. Buckland was let out of jail weeks ago. Don’t you remember? He was on the list! Well you must have read it. Just after the governor announced he wasn’t going to run again, he pardoned a whole lot of people,” Jill said, in a matter-of-fact voice. “Politicians are always doing that when they’re going out of office.”
Jack stood there with his mouth open. John Buckland —out of jail? The man who blamed Jillian for his son’s death? The man who had tried to have her killed? That certainly qualified as “something big.” No wonder his sister felt terrified.
Jill shrugged. “Well, it’s perfectly true.” She held out the empty cup in her hand and Maggie, who had been watching her closely, filled it with more coffee. “What d’you say to a blue pill and a bit more sleep after breakfast, Miss?”
Before she could answer, Jack leaned closer. “Today, we’ll get hold of those boxers—you remember the ones you had as footmen?”
Jill nodded.
“Avery will know where to reach them. I want them back on the job. And detectives outside as well. They can all spell one another, but I want protection both inside this house and out, night and day. I don’t want you, Sandy, or Maggie to go outside for anything, okay? And no one is to be let inside unless we know them well. Understand?”
“I do.” Jill smiled her prettiest smile. “Oh Jack! You sweet thing! You believe me!”
* * *
Burke’s work day begins
After he’d finished his telephone conversation with Johnny Abercrombie, Police Commissioner Harry “Bulldog” Burke called ahead and told his office to get hold of the Captain of the Pigtown precinct and bring him down to City Hall right away. Then he went into the blustery wind outside and caught the crack-of-dawn streetcar. Burke had received the call from Johnny Abercrombie at a truly indecent hour telling him the B&O wanted him to handle something “a little bit delicate” in the Pigtown murder case. As he rode toward downtown, the sun peeked through the clouds over Fort McHenry and turned the air to gold. The rain wouldn’t last. Burke took it as a sign. Oh, there might be intermittant showers, but the wind would break them up. October showers didn’t drench, the way April’s did. Until they crossed Pratt Street, Harry Burke was the only passenger in a chill and empty car. He took off his bowler, scratched his head and wished he’d taken time to comb his hair.
Some straw boss from the B&O had talked to Abercrombie in a panic after seeing the early edition of the Sun. “I went out for a copy,” Abercrombie had told him, sounding wide awake. “Did you see the report? If not, get hold of one. The poor man came home this morning to find his whole family murdered. Meantime, Kraftner’s been out in Illinois for the past three weeks with a gang of strike-breakers for the B&O. Their train got back around midnight late last night and they all went off to have a few drinks. I was with them myself until two or three o’clock. Then he goes home to find his children —”
“Are you sure he went straight home?” Bukre interrupted.
“Well he told us several times he wanted to go home, but they were all still at Patrick’s when I left around two. According to what’s in the paper, the cops arrived at his house a little after five o’clock. A neighbor had complained about screams coming from the house. They haven’t named any witnesses yet, but from what the paper said, it looks like they’re blaming poor Kraftner for the whole thing.
“Maybe they’re right,” Burke had grumbled. Any policeman knew that when wives were murdered, nine out of ten times, the husband did it.
“No!” Johnny insisted. “I’m damned sure Kraftner didn’t kill anybody.” The lawyer lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “I’m telling you, Burke, if he’s arrested for this his alibi testimony will put the B&O in a real bad light. Some people over there sure won’t like it.” Johnny took a deep breath and waited, while Burke connected all the dots.
“Bejeasus! They need to be able to deny the anti-strike action—”
“Damned right they do!” Johnny had shouted down the line. “You don’t think the B&O want him talking to the cops about how he couldn’t have been planning to kill anyone here in Baltimore because he was just coming back from a few weeks of ‘inciting to riot’ out there in Chicago? No? I don’t think so! Not to mention it was after one when the ‘midnight’ train finally got in. I was waiting at Patrick’s with their pay — all cash, nothing on record. The pub had agreed to stay open late for them. So he really might not have had time. It’ll depend on what they finally decide as to time of death — how long they’d been dead, when he actually got home — stuff like that. Telling the truth isn’t going to help him anyway.” Johnny cleared his throat. “The poor fish’ll need a lawyer. I can’t do it myself, because I’m representing the railroad. See if you can get my son to take it on?”
“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Burke had rubbed his jaw and figured he might get by without a shave.”
“Because he would probably do it for you, but he wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. Now listen, Harry. It’s gonna be real tricky if they actually charge him and it’ll be a nightmare if the damned thing goes to trial. We gotta handle it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll find the real killer.”
Later, on the empty streetcar, Harry Burke tried to think of some kind of ploy to use with the Pigtown captain, so he would leave Kraftner alone — but nothing came to mind. Otto Prousse, the Pigtown chief, was well known to the commissioner — as stubborn a man as god had ever given breath to. No matter what, Burke could think of only one way to handle it, and that was to take over the whole case and investigate himself. Prousse wouldn’t like that at all. The vain sonofabitch would want all the credit. But he’d never been overfond of work and might have to go along with it, since he was sure to have no real evidence yet. All of them would be trying to grab the credit and at the same time, pass along the problems into someone else’s hands. Mmm, he could use that.
Maybe he could put Prousse in charge, then if it fell through.... Burke swung off the street car at City Hall and hurried into his office. Otto Prousse ,Captain of the precinct in Pigtown, was already waiting inside. He paced the thick carpet, in front of a skinny, trembling, unshaven, man whose head hung over his handcuffed wrists. Sobs shook his body and his breathing was ragged.
“I can’t believe you weren’t here to meet me,” Prousse, a small man with a toothbrush-shaped moustache, demanded as Burke opened the door. “Commissioner, your behavior here this morning is an outrage. An absolute outrage! First you demand I bring my prisoner downtown instead of coming to me! Or were you not informed the crime happened in Pigtown? And now that I’ve solved the case for you, you have the outrageous gall to demand I drag the man all the way over here, so you can take all the credit for my hard work! I—”
“Have a seat Captain Prousse.” Burke took off his coat and hung up, then ignored Prousse, who was still talking.
“—tell you plainly, sir, your conduct is offensive! The very thought of how you’ll handke this makes me sick!” Prousse cleared his throat with a noise that sounded more than half like a gag.
“Good morning, Commissioner,” the mayor’s second-in-command, said from the doorway. “His Honor wants a full report on his desk by nine.”
“Sure,” Burke agreed, and shut the door.” Two detectives, the desk sergeant a couple of uniform cops, and a trio of news reporters were already milling around inside.
Commissioner Burke nodded and said to Prousse in measured tones. “Won’t you have a seat, Captain? Perhaps you’d like some coffee?” Without waiting for an answer from Prousse, Burke nodded to the uniform men. “Please bring us some coffee, and whatever you can find in back that’s edible. Sergeant Murphy, Thanks for keeping watch, but perhaps you should man the desk now. Gentlemen of the press—” Burke herded them toward the door. “You can scratch out anything that’s been said in here so far. If I didn’t hear it, it didn’t happen. All I know right now is what was in the Sun. But I’ll have a full statement for you by 9:30. That’ll be in plenty of time for the noon edition, right?” When they nodded and started to talk, he moved them on out the door. “ Now, if you’ll all please wait downstairs, I’ll have some coffee taken down to the press room for you.” He gave them his trademark smile, the one with the dimples, as he shut the door behind them.
Once they were gone, Burke turned his attention to the white, shaken man in handcuffs. “And you, sir? I expect you’ll be needing some coffee?”
Prousse’s face went white, and then red. “Commissioner Burke, this man is the killer! And you would offer him coffee?” Prousse gasped, then threw his hands up in the air and made a rude noise.
“The killer?” Burke looked astonished. “You don’t say?” Burke stared at the trembling, white-faced man huddled in the oak chair beside his desk. “Funny, he doesn’t look like a killer to me. He looks like a man in shock, a man who is devastated by grief.” Burke gave Prousse an offhand look, as if he were doing his best to sound reasonable. “Please, take a seat and be quiet, Captain.” Burke gestured to a chair across the room, then took his own seat behind the desk.
“Am I correct in assuming you are Mr. Kraftner?” Burke asked.
The tracks of tears were still visible on Kraftner’s unshaven face. He nodded, his bloodshot eyes rolling.
“Looks like he’s had a bad shock to me,” Burke told Prousse. “Sure , the man who could use a hot drink.”
“Shock?” Prousse sneered. “Seems to me we have a police commissioner who doesn’t know guilt on a man’s face when he sees it. I tell you, Fritz Kraftner killed them all!”
“And did you see him do it?” Burke challenged.
“No, but—”
“Do you have any witnesses, say, who saw him?
“Well — no...”
“Then sit down and shut up, Captain, while I try to get to the bottom of this.”
Burke assumed a patient attitude, smoothed his handlebar moustache, and tried to keep his anger in check. “After all, the man has lost his whole family tonight. You surely can’t expect him to make much sense after that. At least give the poor fellow time to recover his wits.”
“Wits? Well I’m here to tell you he’s a sneaking, cold-blooded murderer, and the most dangerous man in Pigtown. We got the whole story from the neighbors. The wife had been fooling around with a conductor from across the street. They’ve been making the two-backed beast whenever Kraftner was away and he’s been away a lot, lately. Your ‘grieving father’ here came home tonight, found them at it, and went berserk!”
“Did he, now? What makes you think jealousy over a wife would lead a man to murder his own children?”
“For god’s sake just listen. He’s—”
“No, sir. I want at least enough quiet in my office—”
“—a heartless, cold-blooded, monster, and—”
“—NOW, or I’ll have you wait in a holding cell—”
“ —I, personally, am the man who put him under arrest!”
“—until I’ve finished my questioning.” Burke signaled to one of the detectives and the man took Prousse by the arm and urged him back to the chair.
Burke hated to bring it up, but asked anyway, “Did anyone check to see if he has an alibi?”
“Alibi? I shouldn’t think so. The man’s guilty as sin!” Prousse’s face was a mottled burgundy. A moment later, he was on his feet and shouting again. “And I’m the man who made the arrest. I want it on the record. You hear me, Harry Burke? I want it on the record! I’ll not have you stealing the credit for my good work!”
“You want it on the record, do you?” Burke’s eyes flattened and his voice went soft. “Then I’ll make sure by heaven, your name will be down as the arresting officer. And when the poor fellow wakes up enough to sue the city for false arrest, it’ll be you who gets all the credit, right there and then. I’ll make certain I see to that, Captain Prousse.”
At that moment, two officers finally arrived with the a large tray of fresh coffee, and a half-full box of stale donuts. Burke asked one officer to go for a doctor, and sent the other out for fresh doughnuts
“When you go back, make more coffee and take some stuff down to the press room.” He handed back the donuts. “Throw these away, then send someone out for fresh doughnuts. Order plenty.”
“Now, why don’t we all just sit down and drink our coffee while we wait for the doctor?” Burke marched to his desk and started filling cups, and handing out coffee. “I just want to be sure this man is in his right mind before we start asking him any more questions.”
Prousse took a cup again, then put it down and paced back and forth before the desk.
“You do understand, Captain Prousse, that if it should be found that we questioned this man when he wasn’t mentally fit, even if he confessed, nothing he said could be used against him in court.”
“He did it, I tell you! He DID It!” Prousse shouted. “For god’s sake, how stupid can one man be?”
Burke winced. “Prousse, what makes you think the man is guilty when anyone with half an eye can see he’s half out of his mind with grief?”
“Well, Commissioner, for one thing, he confessed!” Prousse shouted.
Behind Prousse, Fritz Kraftner’s eyes closed, as his whole body went slack. He slumped sideways until the heavy, wooden chair crashed over onto the floor, with the handcuffed Kraftner out cold in a dead faint.