Death at Tammany Hall (22 page)

“Thanks,” he said. “Were they planning to kill me?”

“Yes,” Pamela replied. “Instead, they will all go to jail. We must hide behind a wall of crates and wait quietly. Dan Kelly should soon arrive.” She lowered the flame in the room's sole oil lamp.

 

Ten minutes later, Pamela heard a horse's hooves in the gravel outside, then a hand on the door. Dan Kelly strode in, frowning when he saw no one. Pamela called out, “Raise your hands, Dan!” Quick as lightning, a knife appeared in his right hand, the blade shining in the lamplight. But his three opponents stood apart from each other and behind their barrier of crates. Seeing they were out of reach, Kelly cursed and slowly dropped the knife.

Pamela picked it up. Chapman held the shotgun at the ready while Johnny searched Kelly and removed a derringer and another knife. Meanwhile, Pamela found rope and bound him. The anger and hate in his eyes tingled her skin.

“I should summon the police,” said Johnny. “Will you two be comfortable here guarding the thieves?”

“I think so,” Pamela replied, having gotten a nod from Chapman. “But hurry.”

The police soon arrived—they had been alerted by Ortiz and were harnessed and ready to go. They loaded the three thieves and Kelly into a Black Maria and sped off. Chapman put the stolen money back into his portfolio and recovered his watch. Shortly before nine, Johnny drove Pamela and Chapman to the Nadeau, weary but not much the worse for the experience.

 

“Pamela, where have you been?” Mary embraced her, then stepped back, frowning. “You're covered with dust, and your hair is a mess. Mr. Gagnon told me that Ortiz was hurt and Chapman kidnapped, but he didn't have the details. Were you involved?”

Pamela nodded. “I'll tell you about it. But first, order food and drink for us while I wash my face and tidy my hair.”

A half hour later they sat down to a late supper in their room. Pamela described the incident in front of the Ramona and the capture of Dan Kelly and the three thieves in the storage shed. “Kelly and his accomplices are now in jail. A judge will arraign all of them tomorrow. I'll be there for questioning. Later I'll speak with the judge and the prosecutor about sending Kelly to New York. He should be tried again for his part in the cabdriver's murder seven years ago, as well as for his assault on Fred Grant.”

“How is Mr. Chapman?”

“He received a nasty blow to the head. A doctor treated it and recommended that he rest at the Nadeau for a day or two. His work at the Ramona is nearly finished. The owner should be pleased that we've returned the stolen money to him.”

“Do you know how Chapman feels about going back to New York?”

“This episode has severely shaken him. I fear that he might refuse to confront his enemies at Tammany Hall. I'll ask him later tomorrow. You and I should leave for New York on Sunday and bring him with us. I still hope to force the authorities to acknowledge the injustice done to Harry Miller. His cause is always uppermost in my mind.”

Mary pouted. “It looks like we'll spend Christmas in a Pullman Palace Car. Still, we have much to be grateful for.” She paused, smiling. “Herb and his friend were perfect gentlemen this afternoon, and I properly thanked them. After lunch, we toured the city hall, where I learned how Los Angeles is governed and will note it in my journal. When I mentioned that I'd be visiting Mission San Gabriel, they urged me to see the house where the famous Ramona had lived.”

Pamela looked askance.

Mary grinned. “I told the two rascals I knew full well that Ramona was the fictional heroine of Helen Hunt Jackson's novel. Did they take me for a simple schoolgirl? They laughed heartily.”

“Still, take their advice and visit the house,” suggested Pamela. “You should recall Ramona from your reading. Picture her at home and in the mission church where she worshipped. Sketch the sites. The livelier your impressions the better you will later write about this experience for your teachers. Now, go to bed and rest for tomorrow's trip. It may be tiring as well as interesting. I'll telegraph today's news to Prescott. He'll be pleased to hear of Kelly's arrest.”

C
HAPTER
27

 

T
he next morning, in the city jail's interrogation room, Pamela and Gagnon helped a police officer question the three thieves. They had earlier admitted assaulting Ortiz and Chapman and taking the money.

“But why kidnap Mr. Chapman?” the police officer asked the oldest thief, the apparent ringleader.

“Kelly promised each of us $10, besides what we found in the portfolio.”

“What was Kelly going to do with the prisoner?” Gagnon asked.

“He never told us,” replied the thief. “We figured he might hold him for ransom.”

“You must have known that Chapman was poor as a church mouse,” Pamela said.

The thief nodded. “The Ramona's owner would have had to pay.”

Pamela concluded in her own mind that the thieves suspected from the beginning that Kelly would kill Chapman. Now they feared that they might be charged with complicity in attempted murder.

When the thieves were led back to their cells, Pamela asked the police officer about Kelly.

“He's next. We've kept him separate from the three local thieves to see how their stories match.”

Kelly shuffled into the room in chains, looking glum. When he noticed Pamela, his eyes seemed to narrow with hate. She glanced at his chains and felt reassured.

The police officer confronted Kelly directly. “The three men who assaulted the hotel manager and stole his portfolio claim that you hired them. What do you say?”

“I had no idea they would commit a crime. They were supposed to pick oranges for me, that's all.”

The officer bristled. “In someone else's orchard? You also promised to pay them $30. The usual rate is about a dollar.” The officer spoke as if questioning a naughty child.

Kelly's brow wrinkled with wounded innocence. “I'm new in the orange business and didn't know the local prices.”

The officer signaled a deputy to take Kelly away. After he had shuffled out, the officer turned to Pamela and Gagnon. “Kelly refused the help of a lawyer, apparently thinking his friends in New York will save him. I'll charge him with conspiring to assault and rob the manager.”

The officer gazed curiously at Pamela and Gagnon and asked, “Why had Chapman left New York and changed his name?”

Pamela replied evenly. “He feared for his life at the hands of Kelly and his Tammany associates, so he fled here. Kelly has pursued him.” She showed the officer a letter from Larry White, NYPD, detective bureau, explaining that he wanted Chapman's testimony in a seven-year-old murder case involving Kelly.

The officer appeared to mull over what he had just heard. “I'll have to talk to the judge about this.”

Pamela sensed a complication developing in her plans.

In the afternoon Pamela went to a hearing in the courthouse. The prosecutor presented the three thieves and the evidence against them. Without further ceremony, the county police judge declared there was sufficient evidence to convict them of armed robbery and kidnapping and promptly consigned them to the county jail to await trial.

When Kelly was brought in, he was as insolent as before. The judge was irritated but maintained a dignified calm and accepted the charges of conspiring to assault, rob, and kidnap. Kelly pleaded not guilty. The judge said, “I'll postpone your trial until I decide the question of your rendition to New York City, where you are wanted as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation.”

Kelly smirked as he was led away. Did he think the judge could be bought? Pamela wondered.

The judge called her into his office. “From Detective Larry White's letter,” he said, “I've learned that New York may also want to try Mr. Kelly and will need Mr. Chapman's testimony. I'll make some inquiries. Bring Chapman to my office early tomorrow morning for a hearing concerning Kelly's alleged attempt to kill him. Afterward I'll tell you whether we need to hold him for further questioning.”

Pamela left the jail, disappointed. At the least, if Los Angeles were to insist on trying Kelly first and requiring Chapman to remain and give testimony, it could delay for months his return to New York and her investigation into the cabdriver's death.

 

When Pamela returned to the Nadeau, she found Chapman at tea in the dining room. His eyes lit up, and he gave her a welcoming smile. She reported on the police investigation and her conversation with the judge. Chapman frowned at the prospect of meeting the judge tomorrow. She asked evenly, “Will you be ready to talk to him?”

“Yes,” he replied with a hint of displeasure. “I'm not going to hide anymore. With time to think this morning, I've concluded that I should return to New York with you and try to reconcile with my wife, Ellen. But I still lack the courage to testify against Big Tim. A wounded Tammany tiger may be even more dangerous now to anyone threatening him.”

Pamela didn't argue his point. Chapman's bruised head was a present reminder of Tammany Hall's long, violent reach. For now, she would be content to see him soon board the California Limited for New York.

 

Pamela was writing in her journal when Mary returned, dusty and tired from a full day's excursion. She hung up her coat, pulled off her shoes, and dropped down into a sofa. “The trip was
most
interesting,” she exclaimed. “In the Pasadena museum I learned all about fossils and sketched a few. I had no idea the earth was millions of years old.”

“Did you meet Ramona in Mission San Gabriel?” Pamela asked with a teasing smile.

“Yes, ma'am, but not the fictional one you're thinking of. At the old mission church, an attractive older woman, nicknamed Ramona, was polishing brass candlesticks. Her real name was Margarita. I paid her a dollar and she posed for me.”

Mary handed Pamela a crayon sketch of a lively, brown complexioned face with fine features and thick gray hair. “For fun, a priest at the church once told a group of tourists that Margarita was the true Ramona and the name stuck to her—some tourists will believe almost anything.”

Pamela remarked, “This woman bears an uncanny resemblance to my image of the fictional character.”

“That's perhaps because Margarita's father, like Ramona's, was Scottish and her mother Indian. Margarita acts the part of Ramona in a parish play based on Mrs. Jackson's novel.”

“Really! Could your Ramona read?”

“Yes, she had gone to school and had a much happier life than the fictional character. But she knew Indians who had suffered like Ramona and her husband at the hands of American settlers, and the government had done nothing about it.”

“This evening, you must thank the Carrolls for the trip and write about it in your journal while impressions are still fresh. Now, wash up and we'll join Mr. Chapman for supper. We must build up his courage for the meeting tomorrow with the judge, and even more for the test he'll soon face in New York.”

“Are you worried about how his wife will receive him after seven years?”

“Yes, Mary. With good reason, she might reject him or discourage him from becoming embroiled in the prosecution of Big Tim and his agents.”

 

Back in the room after supper, Pamela received a telegram from Prescott. He had persuaded Ellen Chapman to move to St. Barnabas Mission. Her husband's prospective return had shocked and confused her. She also feared Tammany's retaliation.

For a minute, Pamela stared at the message, trying to put herself in Ellen Chapman's mind. Suppose she heard a knock on her door, opened it, and saw her husband standing there, hat in hand. Would she even recognize him?

He had aged in the years he had been away. His face was creased and gray, his body thin and bent from deprivation during his struggle with alcohol. His spirit had also changed. Gone was the reckless, buoyant energy and greedy ambition of the young Tammany lawyer. Chapman was now a cautious man of diminished expectations, plodding through life's daily challenges.

To his credit, he had become a kinder, gentler man. At the Ramona Hotel he was known to help men and women who were down and out. In teaching chess to Mary Clark he showed patience with a beginner's stumbling moves. Her enthusiasm for the game seemed to lift his spirit.

Following supper this evening, he had told Pamela how grateful he felt for Mary's company. After years of cheap, lonely meals in his room, this cultivated man once again enjoyed good food and conversation in a comfortable setting with delightful female companionship. “I regret that I've deprived Ellen of the joy and comfort she needed. Her life must have been lonely. I understand how she might now resent me.”

Pamela showed Prescott's telegram to Mary. As she read, her brow creased with concern. “Will there be trouble ahead?” she asked.

“Yes,” Pamela replied, “Tim Smith is certainly planning new measures to prevent Mr. Chapman from reaching New York or, at least, from ever testifying in a courtroom.”

Mary appeared to shudder at the warning but quickly gathered courage. “Then we must watch out for assassins boarding our train in Kansas City or Chicago.”

“Right. Now go to work on your journal and sketchbook, while I report to Prescott on today's arraignment of Kelly and Chapman's decision to return to New York. I'll inform him that Kelly, shackled and under guard, will board the California Limited with us on Sunday, God willing.”