City of the Absent (15 page)

Did Pinkerton simply feel guilty in losing a valued partner in the business of the hunt, his operative, as he had lost his partner Griffin Drimmer sometime back? And if so, was it based on Pinkerton's not backing her a hundred percent in her clandestine endeavor to uncover this man Insbruckton? Or was there more to Pinkerton's guilt? As there had been more to Philo's and his own guilt in the death of Chesley Mandor and Polly Pete at the hands of the Phantom last spring? Murdered in large part to cripple him, Ransom knew. Could there be a similar situation at heart in Nell's murder? Had someone done her in to hurt William Pinkerton, knowing of his fondness for Nell? To bring the man in line? To terrify him and control him?

Blackmail by murder?

All these thoughts bulleted through Ransom's head as he again shook Pinkerton's hand and made for the door. He could not put such devilish acts past Chief Kohler; the man was without remorse, knew nothing of regret, and had no association with pity, yet his mother's name must be
Guile
—a cunning, deceitful, treacherous man born of Guile, who had particular skill in plunging the tender hooks into a man—even a man of William Pinkerton's stature, or perhaps because of his social rank and standing. That was Nathan Kohler. The man had perfected his cleverness to a magician's trick, and Ransom had seen him, on occasion, take a dislike to an officer under his command and reduce the poor fellow to a quivering mass of nerves.

While Pinkerton outwardly did not appear a quivering fish on a hook, the moment Ransom closed the private eye's door, he decided that fat William had somehow become pinned butterfly fashion on Nathan's wall. He had to know, what Kohler used for leverage against the detective.

In the meantime, he'd go in search of a certain Dr. White Insbruckton.

Before going to see Dr. White Insbruckton,
Ransom paid a visit to Frederick Hake, Nell's partner, who had stood out as absent in all this affair. It took Ransom all of two sentences to determine that Hake was no friend of Nell's or the agency, as he'd been fired for not being at her back that night. Disgruntled and upset, all the man had to offer were a fistful of insults for all involved. “Curb your tongue and tone it down, sir, or I'll have you run in for public indecency,” Ransom told him.

“Public indecency? You? I've seen the file they have on you over at the agency! Ha! You arrest me for pub—”

Ransom handcuffed the man to the steam pipe in his apartment. “I'll leave you here to burn if you fail to answer me straight.”

“All right…all right! What's it you wanna know about Nell and Pinkerton and her little pet project?”

“I know all about that! Damn you, man! What's this about a file Pinkerton has on me?”

“Pinkerton's got a file on everyone. It's no big secret.”

“Why is he gunning for me?”

“He's got a payroll to make, and bringing down a dirty
cop…well, let's just say that City Hall and your superiors'd love to see it.”

“Bastards. Are they tailing me routinely?”

“You're a hard man to tail.”

“How do you know?”

“I was put on your scent like a bird dog for days.”

“When?”

“When they feared you'd find a way to murder that Phantom of the Fair guy. Frankly, I didn't care for the duty.”

“And before the Phantom case? Anything?”

“No, they come to us after that lad you killed disappeared.”

“What evidence do you have, Hake, that I killed anybody while on duty?”

“None. We came up empty-bloody-handed.”

“Off duty, then?”

“Won't ya now unchain me and turn off the damn heat?”

The moment the man relaxed, he got a burn.

“Off duty!”

“None! Nothing, I tell you.”

“Yet they're running a dossier on me?”

“Your boss—”

“Kohler, yeah, I smelled the rat in this infestation.”

“He won't let up; he keeps coming back at Pinkerton, throwing more and more money at him. And you throw a little my way, and I'm your Pinkerton agent here out, Inspector.”

“What good can you do me, Hake? A man who couldn't back up his own partner?”

“How's this? I know the money Kohler is throwing at Pinkerton is coming from another source.”

“Really?”

“A sawbuck and I'll give you my thoughts on it, but damn it, man, pull me loose from here!”

“How do I trust a thing you say?”

“Henry Bosch!”

“What's Bosch to do with it?”

“He'll vouch for me! He'll recommend me. We've talked about it.”

“Lying roach bastard.”

“What?”

“Bosch isn't in the habit of sharing funds with anyone, and you being on my payroll would only cut into his habit money.”

“Horses is how we hooked up! We're thick as…that is, we're going into business together. He's got respect for a retired Pinkerton agent.”

Ransom remained dubious. “I want to hear this money man's name, and if it is who I suspect, then we have us a deal, Mr. Hake.”

“Excellent, Inspector, excellent.”

“Say it; speak the name.”

Ransom meant to kick the man's teeth in if it were the wrong name, say Tewes or the deputy mayor, both of whom he trusted, or something equally ridiculous such as Philo Keane or Dr. Christian Fenger.

“The moneybags is Senator Chapman.”

It was the name he expected. “We're in business, Mr. Hake, and from here out, you are watching my back, but ever I should suspect you of pointing a gun to my back, you can count yourself among all those you've heard that I have sent to the deep.”

 

It stood to reason, Senator Chapman and Chief Kohler, both of whom Ransom knew to be murderers in their own right. Ransom had seen the results of Chapman's rage and vengeance in his stables out in Evanston, but he'd no way of proving it so long after the fact now, even though Jane had been with him at the time. However, it appeared that both Nathan and Chapman weren't sleeping nights, worrying that one day Alastair Ransom and Jane Francis Tewes would find a way to indict them on murder in the Leather Apron affair.

To this end the cold blooded pair had hired the “Eye that Never Sleeps” to watch over Ransom's every move. Fortunately, that eye had been the bumbling stick of a man, Fred
erick Hake, the cut of his jib so common that he could, with his guile, fit into any street, alleyway, or wharf scene and never be seen. Perhaps, one day, Hake now on his side, dangerous as that might be, Ransom thought he might well find a good use for him. God knows Nell had none the night she was butchered. Hake, unlike Bosch in so many ways, expressed no sorrow or regret whatsoever over Nell, and Ransom guessed him the sort of man who could feel little and perhaps naught at all. Such a fellow could be called on in a pinch to do the dirtiest of jobs, but could he be trusted to keep his mouth shut?

For now, Ransom told him, dig up all you can on a Dr. White Insbruckton and deliver it to me tonight at Moose Muldoon's, last seat at the rear.

“I know.” It was the creepiest
I know
Ransom had ever heard, realizing that this piece of human vomit had been at his back for some time now. “Told Nell we need to focus on you, not some fool notion about street vermin disappearing for cadavers.”

“What'd she say to that?”

“She fought tooth and nail with Pinkerton for his having taken on your case, but the money was good, very good.”

“I can imagine.” And Alastair did imagine. He made a mental list of all those in Chicago who'd like to see Inspector A. Ransom dragged into a courtroom, pronounced guilty of heinous crimes of murder, and sentenced to die.

 

Dr. W. Insbruckton proved a cagey fellow. He gave Ransom a full tour of his school and labs and operating theater. Something about the man gave Ransom an instant dislike, and while he could not put his finger on the cause of this extreme and immediate reaction to Dr. White Insbruckton, he felt it as strongly as a wall of exuding odors emanating from a public toilet that he had encountered at the Chicago World's Fair one night. Except that the overwhelming odor of urine was replaced by formaldehyde and certain tinctures that, even with his experience, Ransom could not place.

Insbruckton struck a calm and calculated pose. He'd instantly taken to Alastair, saying, “I am so pleased the distinguished local constable should visit us at Oaklawn Hospital, way out here. Always a comfort to know,” he added, “that an organized force of constables, such as yourself, sir, operate in the district, yes…yes, indeed. You must meet my assistant, Dr. Robert Weinberg, our orderlies, our students.”

Bullshit,
thought Ransom.

“So good of you to take an interest in our struggling, young surgical school. Of course, we are extremely conscious of the need for law and order here, and sir, be assured if ever there is any way that Holyhoke Hospital of Oaklawn can repay your going out of your way for our benefit, rest assured, the rewards can be great.”

“I see you've familiarized yourself with our ways, here in Chicago,” said Ransom, not missing a beat at the man's clumsy suggestion of a bribe.

“Adapt or die, as they say; adaptation is the name of the game, isn't it, Constable?”

“Inspector…Inspector Ransom.”

“Of course, and you've come to ‘inspect' us.”

He pushed a rolled stack of bills into Ransom's hand. Alastair did not decline or balk, realizing he must go along to ingratiate himself with the good doctor, who now expected him to disappear.

“I'd like to see your morgue, sir. Where you keep the cadavers.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“It's like any other morgue.”

“You've taken to refrigeration compartments? How adequate is your space? Are you being careful that disease cannot be spread here? What precautions are you taking to safeguard the health of your students, not to mention staff and yourself, Doctor?”

“You really are an inspector, aren't you, sir?”

“That I am.”

He went for deeper pockets, bringing out his wallet.

“No, no more money…not now,” said Ransom. “Part of my report has to be on your facilities. It's necessary that I see everything.”

“Everything?”

“The kitchen sink, everything, yes.”

“You realize we've not been in business long.”

“I'm not interested in shutting you down, Doc. I shut you down, I get no more scratch, right?”

“Of course, of course.”

“Besides, I am not an unreasonable, unfeeling chap. I know I've got to give a thought to your lads.”

“Lads?”

“Your students, that is. All things considered, what I've seen so far has impressed me.”

“Really?”

“As have you, sir.”

“I see.”

“Now how's about a look at the morgue, and where do you keep the spare parts, you know, organs and such?”

“Ahhh
…this way.”

The doctor led him into the bowels of the labyrinthine brownstone that'd been converted into Oaklawn-Holyhoke Hospital and the Insbruckton Institute for the Advancement of Surgical Medicine on Holyhoke Street. Ransom could smell the decay long before they arrived at the morgue.

“You really ought to keep it cooler down here,” he calmly remarked while his mind screamed. Finally, he added, “A bit rancid, wouldn't you say, Doc?”

“We've had some problems with the refrigeration unit, but that's been repaired. How…how often do you intend on inspecting, Inspector?”

“Once, maybe twice a month. My family hasn't had a vacation in some time,” lied Ransom.

“I see.” Ransom thought he heard the man gulp.

Inside the morgue, Ransom looked at each face on each cadaver. All of them had been surgically worked over far too many times. Not one face was recognizable as a result; in fact, each looked as if made of caked mud, straw, and leather.
No eyes remained in the blackened pruney-looking faces that'd fallen in on themselves like spoilt fruit. Only empty eye sockets filled with the void of death looked back at Ransom. These corpses had not an inch of suppleness remaining of the skin and frame. If it were not for the skeletal centers, they would not be intact at all. Each felt to the touch like long dried tobacco leaves and as brittle as ancient parchment. Limbs were set in all manner of impossible poses, as time after time each cadaver had been used up by successive waves of surgical students.

“Have you not one or two fresh corpses to work with?”

“No one wants to donate his corpse to science. Getting raw material is our most difficult task.”

“The slaughterhouse doesn't lack for raw materials.”

“It's not the same, dissecting a sheep or a goat,” Insbruckton complained. “That's child's play.”

“Hmmm…yeah, seem to remember cutting up a chicken myself once to see what made it tick—when I was a kid, that is.”

“From what I hear of your reputation, sir, you've carved up a few men in your day, too.”

“Gossip, idle talk,” but he said it in such a tone that the doctor had to believe it or else. Ransom then erupted with, “Look, you must be in need here of fresher meat.” He put it on the table. “How much would you pay for say one or two bodies no one'll miss?”

“Can you do that? Do you have access?”

“We load bodies to Cook County every day and night,” Ransom replied. “I see no reason they should get
all
the rejects.”

“I'd pay top dollar to get my hands on some…some fresh ahhh…meat,” the doctor confessed.

“But I'm not going into competition with anyone. If you've got a procurer already, I'm out.”

“But I don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Have a procurer.”

“No? Really? Tell me no lies, man. I want to help you, but I have to know the entire extent of your current operation.”

“Operation?”

“Business. Do you do business say with Shanks and Gwinn from time to time?”

“Only in the past. They're out of the business.”

“Then who is it you are currently working with? Who brought you these specimens?” Ransom pointed to the three desiccated bodies on the slabs here.

“Why, these were purchased at auction, bought at fair price from the pool of John and Jane Does that go unclaimed.”

“All those go direct to Rush College and Cook County now.”

“Precisely why we haven't a single fresh cadaver! Short of digging up a fresh grave, what am I to do?”

“You've made no other arrangement with anyone, then?”

“None whatever.”

“Can I trust you are telling the truth?” Oddly, Ransom believed the man. Something in his manner. Cagey, yes, but his body and features hid nothing. In fact, he'd proven far more forthcoming than had Pinkerton, who seemed bent on his beginning with Insbruckton before moving on to the mysterious Dr. Tewes. But if this were so, why was Nell targeting Insbruckton?

“I tell you, I am destitute, and I fear my school doomed,” Insbruckton was saying as if to himself, walking about in a small circle.

“Doc, show me what you have in the way of organs in jars.”

Insbruckton's rabbitlike manner and demeanor annoyed Ransom. His little pinched nose, bifocals perched there, the beady eyes so rodentlike, the demure and unmoving lips as he spoke, all conspired to irritate Ransom. The man simply annoyed, and he tried to picture him before a class explaining the intricacies of a surgical maneuver. He imagined the boredom of the man's students. Then he began to suspect that perhaps it was not Insbruckton at all Nell shadowed but one or more of the surgeon's students, who, out of sheer hellish boredom and frustration over the lack of a good ca
daver to work on, simply began their own side studies by helping themselves to a citizen or two. He imagined a number of such bored lads. Boredom led to crime as surely as a river fed its banks.