Deadly Proof: A Victorian San Francisco Mystery (5 page)

*****

H
ours later, Iris came over and gave Laura’s shoulders a squeeze, saying, “Be ready for a break soon?” She then shouted across to Beryl and Betsy, who were working together on one of the hand presses, “Would you two go upstairs and make sure Babs and Bertie are getting ready to come down to work? While you’re there, put on a new pot of coffee and bring down the last of the applesauce cake.”

Beryl, a freckle-faced girl with frizzy bangs, stopped working the foot pedal to the Gordon job press and pulled the lever that stopped the flywheel on the press from turning. Betsy, a neat blonde, quickly stacked the cards she had been folding. The
four bees
ranged in age from Babs, who was only thirteen, to Bertie, who was sixteen. Babs and Bertie were sisters, who had just started working at the WCPU in May and therefore were only paid with room and board for their first three months as apprentices. This was standard, as Laura knew from her own work on the
San Jose Mercury
. But she knew that the apprentices’ living and working accommodations with this firm were far superior to what they would find with most printers.

While crowded with the type cases, machines, and stacks of cardstock and paper, the room wasn’t cluttered because Iris insisted her workers clean and straighten their workspaces every evening before they left. Laura had seen her walk through the rooms at the end of the day with a dustcloth. She also permitted everyone to decorate their stations, although the pressmen who mainly worked in the next room didn’t seem to have taken her up on the offer. A reproduction of a charming landscape hung above Laura’s case. The
four bees
brought in illustrations from old copies of
Godey’s Lady’s Book
that they tacked to the walls over the compositor desks they shared. Nan Freemont, the other full-time typographer, had covered the wall over her desk with one of the quilts her mother made. Iris had a shelf that held a vase of flowers and several photographs. The vase contained some red carnations.

All this made the print shop feel like home.

Even the teasing from the pressmen reminded her of life on the San Jose ranch with her brothers. Today, this male presence was missing since the two men who were scheduled to work were only coming in half day.

Taking advantage of the rare occurrence of being alone with the forewoman, Laura said, “Iris, I need to ask you something. You know my brother, Nate, is a lawyer. It turns out he may be taking on an important case that involves people in the printing business, and I thought you might know something about them.”

Iris said, “No really, do tell. Is someone suing someone? A labor dispute?”

“I don’t know all the details, but Nate has been asked to represent someone who has been accused of killing a man who runs a printing company...I think one of the bigger ones, because even I have heard of it. Rashers and Company.”

“Joshua Rashers was murdered!” Iris stared intently at her then said, “I’m not surprised someone finally killed the old bastard.”

Laura, intrigued by how Iris reacted to this news, said, “Yes, he was killed last Friday. The police have formally charged a woman, one of his typesetters, a Florence Sullivan, and...Iris, Miss Bailor, are you all right?”

Laura leaped forward to put her arm around the taller woman, who staggered and seemed about to fall. “Here, let’s get you over to this stool, and I will get you some water.”

Iris pulled sharply away from Laura, shaking off her arm and saying angrily. “I’m fine. Wherever did your brother get this absurd rumor? Florence Sullivan couldn’t kill anyone, not even Joshua Rashers, although God knows she had reason. What kind of fool––”

Laura watched Iris stop herself. She had seen her in a rage once before, when one of the young male apprentices was carrying on and almost fell against the large Koenig press, which could have seriously injured him. Sam, who was supposed to be supervising the young lad but had been egging him on, visibly quaked under the blistering tirade she’d directed at him. As quickly as the anger had come, Iris had it under control, as she did today.

Taking a short breath, she said, “I apologize, Laura. I didn’t mean to suggest that your brother was at fault. It’s just that I have known Florence for over ten years. She started as an apprentice for the WPCU at the age of fourteen. There is no way in heaven that she would ever kill anyone, no matter what the provocation.”

Monday, noon, July 5, 1880

––––––––

“Laura Fair Sentenced to be Hung on the 28
^th
of July”
San Francisco Chronicle,
June 4, 1871

––––––––

“W
hen I met with her this morning, Mrs. Pitts Stevens said emphatically that there was no possible chance that Florence Sullivan hurt, much less killed, anyone,” said Nate. “However, it seems suspicious that Mrs. Sullivan refused to meet with Mrs. Gordon when she tried to see her at the city jail on Saturday.”

Annie said, “I guess if she were involved in any way with her employer’s death, even if her actions were in self-defense, she might be too upset at first to talk to people—especially people she knew cared about her. I could see reacting like that. Is that why they wanted to hire you? They thought she might open up to a stranger.”

“Part of the reason. I had hoped it was because they’d heard what a sterling job I had done in defending Watkins against the charge of reckless endangerment for driving his cart into a backyard.”

Nate grinned at Annie, who sat across from him, finishing up her grilled chop. They were having lunch at Montaigne’s Steak House, where Annie’s former boarder Miss Pinehurst was the cashier—and where they always got their meals discounted by the proprietor who looked favorably on any friend of hers.

Nate thought Annie looked like a summer day, with some sort of shiny blue material trimmed in white ribbons and lace that he didn’t think he’d seen before. No wonder Laura enthusiastically seconded his choice of the sapphire. She must have known it would go well with this new dress. Since Annie had cut back on her work as the clairvoyant Madam Sibyl, she not only was able to meet him for lunch more often––she was far less likely to be wearing one of the depressing black dresses that were part of her Madam Sibyl costume.

How he hated that reminder that Annie was a widow. He knew Annie’s first husband mistreated her, and she’d been very unhappy, so it wasn’t that he was jealous of the deceased Mr. John Fuller. It was just the idea that another man...

“They
should be
impressed with your credentials, Nate. Being the second counsel for Able Cranston on four criminal defense trials should count for something.” Annie reached out and touched his hand, which he realized he had clenched involuntarily. “Were you able to get any other information about the charges before your meeting this morning?”

Nate chastised himself for letting his emotions get the better of him, and he said, “I am afraid I didn’t learn much. I did make an appointment to see Chief Jackson this afternoon, and I hope he will be forthcoming with what evidence they have against her. While the grand jury is meeting tomorrow on the question of whether or not to indict her, the district attorney is so sure of their decision that he has put Mrs. Sullivan’s arraignment on Judge Farrell’s docket for Thursday morning. If she is indicted, my first order of business will be to get that arraignment postponed.”

“Don’t you first need Mrs. Sullivan to agree to have you represent her?”

“Yes, without her approval, I can’t really do much. I am going to try to see her this afternoon after I have been to see Chief Jackson. I have a letter of introduction from Mrs. Pitts Stevens. I hope that will convince her to see me.”

“But Mrs. Pitts Stevens has offered to pay you for any work you do?”

“To start with, she has given me a small retainer to look into the case and report back to her. If Mrs. Sullivan agrees to my representation, we will discuss further fees. Both Mrs. Gordon and Mrs. Pitts Stevens were quite concerned about what would happen if the case went to trial. They wanted to make sure I would be willing to defend Mrs. Sullivan if that happened. Do you remember the Laura Fair scandal?”

Annie looked puzzled. “Wasn’t she the woman who killed the man she had been having an affair with? Killed him on the ferry from Oakland, didn’t she? I was living in New York at the time, but it made the national news.”

“Yes, she shot Crittenden, a prominent local lawyer, point blank in front of his wife and children. Laura Fair’s first trial was in 1871, and the jury found her guilty. She was scheduled to be hanged. That would have made her the first woman, actually the only woman, to be executed in California history. Her defense attorney successfully appealed, got a new trial in 1872, and she was acquitted. I was at Harvard law school when it happened, and we studied the case in a class.”

“I remember the first trial,” Annie said. “My husband John made a big fuss about this proving that a woman should never be given a gun. Since I was taught as a girl to carry a rifle to kill rattlesnakes, I thought he didn’t know what he was talking about. Of course, I didn’t say anything––he had just started courting me at the time. I thought I would be able to change his mind once we married—naive woman that I was. But I don’t remember the second trial. I think I may have been on my wedding trip to Europe during that time. Why?”

For a moment, Nate’s thoughts were again derailed. How could he compete with a man, even a dead one, who could afford to take his bride on six-month trip to Europe for their honeymoon? All he could hope for was to make enough money on this case to take Annie down south to Los Angeles for a few weeks to visit her mother’s grave. He was sure she would like this, but he hadn’t brought it up yet because he didn’t know if he could afford the time away from the office or have enough money to make the trip.

Nate felt Annie squeeze his hand, which was again in a tight fist.

She said, leaning forward, “Does it bother you when I mention John? I won’t if it does. It is just that for such a long time I couldn’t, without sounding sorry for myself. Lately, however, you’ve made me so happy that I can even find humor in some of those memories––not just bitterness.”

Nate pulled her hand towards his, kissing it. She always knew what to say. He shook his head. “No, please, don’t feel you can’t talk about the past. It’s my problem that I always want to thrash him and I can’t because he’s dead.”

That got her to laugh, and Nate felt he could get back to the subject at hand. He leaned back and said, “I asked about Laura Fair because, evidently, Mrs. Pitts Stevens was dragged into the newspaper circus that erupted around the first trial, with extremely negative results. She believes that if Mrs. Gordon, as one of the first female lawyers in the state, or she were connected to the case, and it came to trial, that it could actually have a negative effect on Mrs. Sullivan’s chances of acquittal. Thank goodness I cautioned Laura last night not to tell anyone of Mrs. Pitts Stevens’s role in hiring me.”

Annie then asked him if he thought that Mrs. Gordon had recommended him because this was a way of getting the help of Able Cranston, the partner his uncle had hired specifically because of his experience in criminal law.

“I thought that might be the case,” Nate said. “But it appears that is the furthest thing from what they want. I mentioned that, if they wanted, I could approach him to be co-counsel. Mrs. Pitts Stevens said no, very firmly. As far as I could understand it, she felt that the prominence of the defense lawyers in Laura Fair’s first trial was one of the reasons it turned into such a circus among the press.”

Annie, who was just bringing her glass of water up to her mouth, paused and cocked her head. “I remember now. The prosecution argued that Laura Fair killed Crittenden because he was ending his affair with her and going back to his wife. Do you think that Mrs. Pitts Stevens knows something she doesn’t want the press or the prosecution to discover about Florence Sullivan and Mr. Rashers? Could they have been involved in an affair?”

Monday, afternoon, July 5, 1880

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“Dr. J. T. Cook, who made the autopsy upon the body of the deceased, described the nature of the wound, which he said caused internal hemorrhage, the cause of death.”
San Francisco Chronicle,
February 4, 1879

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“A
s a rule, Mr. Dawson, I wouldn’t be talking to you until you had Mrs. Sullivan’s permission to represent her. But if what I give you helps you convince the woman to talk to us, it would be worth it.” Chief Detective Jackson started pawing through a stack of files on his desk.

Jackson had held the appointed office of Chief of Detectives in the San Francisco police force for nearly twenty years, a testament to both his professional expertise and his diplomatic ability to get along with the ever-changing political leadership of the city. Annie once described him as a sleek and powerful lion, an apt characterization.

Today, however, he looked like an aging king of beasts, his full head of curls unkempt and the grey strands more numerous among the red than Nate remembered. The shadows under his eyes suggested too much Fourth of July revelry. Or just a very difficult year that included two politically motivated shootings by prominent San Franciscans. Jackson was known for being very good with the press...but he’d had to work hard to ensure that his department was seen as impartial in these cases.

Nate suspected the Chief was no more anxious than Mrs. Pitts Stevens for the arrest of a woman for murder to become public news, which may be why he had agreed to meet with him. Maybe he was remembering that Nate, with Annie’s help, had saved Jackson from pushing for the prosecution of the wrong man last August. Could be Jackson had some doubts about this case as well.

“I know you’re busy, and I do appreciate you taking the time,” Nate said. “I thought if I had at least the bare outline of your evidence, I could have a more productive talk with Mrs. Sullivan. Even just the facts about what happened Friday night would help. There didn’t seem to be any details in the morning papers.”