Death of a Robber Baron (18 page)

After supper, she showed him to her parlor. They would rise early, eat something, and be waiting for Prescott's coach. Tom appeared to agree. But, as she lay in bed, she wondered if he might reconsider the plan, slip out during the night, and go back to the life of a tramp.

No sound came from the parlor. After a restless half hour, she rose and quietly opened the door. He was now snoring softly. Reassured, she went back to bed and fell asleep.

C
HAPTER
30

 

T
he next morning, to Pamela's great relief, Tom was dressed and ready for breakfast. Bright eyed and smiling, he seemed pleased with his new identity. After a light meal of bread, preserves, and tea, they waited at the front door for Prescott. Promptly at seven, his agent Harry Miller drove up to the house. From inside the coach, Prescott pushed open the door. Pamela and Tom scrambled in, and the coach set off for the train station.

“So far so good,” remarked Prescott. He appeared tenser than Pamela had ever seen him. At dinner last night with a well-connected officer in the NYPD's detective department, he had learned that Superintendent Byrnes had ordered an all-out search for the killer of Henry Jennings. His murder by a tramp had aroused fear among the city's wealthy elite, already on edge because of social discontent rumbling through the country. A year ago, workers had fought a pitched battle with strikebreakers and their Pinkerton guards at the Carnegie Steel Company's plant at Homestead near Pittsburgh. A young anarchist had tried to assassinate Henry Frick, the president of the company.

Prescott glanced at Tom's knotted brow. “You needn't worry. The police are looking for Tom Parker, a bearded, shaggy-haired, shabbily dressed tramp, hiding in New York, just waiting for an opportunity to strike down another captain of industry. Fortunately, Mrs. Thompson has transformed you into Jimmy Barker, a poor but respectable woodworker. I'm confident that we'll bring you safely to the Berkshires.”

When the coach arrived at the train station, patrolmen were standing at the entrance. Pamela's heart began to race. But they took no notice of the three travelers. Inside the station, Prescott stiffened momentarily. With his eyes he pointed to two men scrutinizing the crowd.

He whispered to Pamela, “Plainclothes detectives. I recognize the older man, Murphy. We've crossed swords before.”

Then, to Pamela's dismay, Murphy sauntered over to Prescott. “Where are you going, my friend?” Murphy didn't smile. His eyes were a cold, icy blue.

“I'm traveling to Lenox with my assistant, Mrs. Pamela Thompson, and Jimmy Barker, an artisan I've hired to work on my cabin. Here are the tickets.”

The detective glanced at them. “Lenox isn't as safe as it used to be. Did you know that a tramp killed one of the rich summer residents?”

“So I've heard.”

Murphy then asked for identification. Prescott showed him a business card. Pamela gave him a letter of recommendation from Mrs. Jennings. And Parker handed him a contract with Prescott.

The detective's eyes fixed on Parker. “Show me your hands.” Parker held them up. The detective examined them closely.

“The hands of an honest woodworker.” He gave the tickets back to Prescott. “Have a pleasant trip.” He tipped his hat to Pamela and returned to his companion. Pamela released a quiet sigh of relief.

The travelers arrived in Lenox at noon. Pamela got off the train while Prescott and Parker continued on for a few miles to Pittsfield. Prescott had telegraphed to Charles Garner, Berkshire County's district attorney, requesting a meeting in his office.

Garner was waiting for them at his desk. Prescott introduced Parker and added, “The Lenox detective and the New York police regard him as the chief suspect in Henry Jennings's murder. He has returned from New York to clear his name. Will you give him a hearing?”

The district attorney glanced, puzzled, at Parker. “You are said to be a tramp, though you don't look like one.”

“Whether I'm a tramp or a robber baron doesn't matter in the eyes of the law. I want a fair hearing. The Lenox detective has wrongly accused me of the crime.”

“Tell me briefly what happened.”

Parker recounted his earlier quarrel with Jennings, his years as a tramp, and his attempt to punish Jennings on the night of the Fourth.

The district attorney looked skeptical. “Why did you run away?”

“In Lenox a tramp couldn't get a fair hearing.”

Garner leaned forward, fixing the tramp in a cool gaze. “There are reasonable grounds to treat you as a suspect.” He turned to Prescott. “What do you say?”

“Keep an open mind. The case against Parker is circumstantial. Other suspects had equal or greater opportunity and motive for the crime.” He briefly explained Henry Jennings's problematic relationships with his family and other persons close to him.

“I agree with you, Prescott, on the need for further investigation. The Lenox detective was badly trained in New York and is out of his depth in this case. We need a more competent man.” He met Prescott's eye. “You and your assistant know the family intimately and are professionally qualified. May I hire both of you as special investigators?”

“Yes, you may. We'll work for the usual compensation and expenses.”

“Good. I'll do the paperwork immediately.”

“In the meantime,” Prescott continued, “Parker needs a place to stay.”

“That can be arranged,” Garner replied. “A local police officer and his wife run a boardinghouse in Pittsfield. Parker can stay there for a few days until the judge schedules a hearing.”

Prescott turned to the tramp. “Do you accept these arrangements?”

Tom replied glumly, “They're the best I can expect.”

Prescott suspected that flight was still an option.

 

Back in Lenox, Pamela telephoned Lydia from the railroad station and learned that the police had found a tramp with the stolen silverware.

Lydia's voice was excited. “They think he's Ben, Tom's partner, and they want you to identify him. Afterward, come to my apartment and report on your visit to New York.”

Pamela went directly to the jail. The constable on duty brought out the prisoner. “Is this the tramp they call Ben?”

“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. “I'd like permission to speak to him.”

Her request seemed to surprise the constable. “He admitted his guilt and led us to the silver.” The constable took her to a small waiting room. A minute later, the tramp arrived, his feet and wrists shackled. The constable attached Ben's chains to rings in the floor. “That should hold him, ma'am. I'll wait outside.” The constable left the room.

Pamela asked, “Did Tom, your partner, help you steal the silverware?”

“No, he said it was too difficult to turn into cash.”

“Then why was he in the cottage? I saw the two of you in the kitchen.”

“We got in through a window. Tom told me he wanted to play a trick on old Jennings. He would steal his famous lapel pin. I said that was as foolish as stealing the silverware. How could he ever sell it? He said he didn't expect to. He just wanted to hurt Jennings in return for the trouble Jennings had caused him.”

“When did you part?”

“I left just before the fireworks ended. He said he would hide in the house until it quieted down, early in the morning, then sneak into Jennings's study, where he kept the pin.”

“Did he ever say that he would kill Jennings that night?”

“He said he had thought about it but had given up the idea. Too risky.”

“But if he surprised Jennings in the study, he might have killed him, right?”

Ben pursed his lips and glanced toward the door. “I don't know,” he replied. Pamela understood that the constable was listening.

 

At midafternoon, Pamela arrived at Broadmore. Lydia seemed eager for news. She wore black, but that was her only sign of grief. Pamela couldn't blame her.

“The tramp Tom Parker has returned from New York,” Pamela began. “But we haven't recovered your husband's lapel pin. Parker insists that he didn't steal it and also denies killing Mr. Jennings.”

Lydia frowned. “I recall his fight with my husband. I'm glad he's in custody, but I wish he had confessed. Then he'd be quickly convicted and punished, and we could turn the page on this sad chapter.” She paused. “Did he implicate the maid Maggie?”

“No,” Pamela replied.

“Then you should speak to her. I'm upset and can't decide what to do. She has apparently abetted the theft of silver from the pantry. I may need to dismiss her, unless the police arrest her first.”

Pamela couldn't find the maid. Other servants said she had gone into the village to shop. When Maggie finally returned to the cottage, she grew wary as she saw Pamela approach. They sat at a small table in the pantry with the door closed.

“Tom Parker is in police custody in Pittsfield,” said Pamela.

“I'm not surprised,” the maid said. “He was foolish to run away to New York. But he didn't kill old man Jennings.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know. Tom's desperate and talks tough, but he wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“And Ben?”

“I don't know him well like I know Tom.”

“Did you help them get into the cottage?”

“No, they didn't need help. They must have sneaked in through a window and got out the same way.”

After this conversation, Pamela took a walk in the garden to enjoy the flowers and to reflect on the maid's story. Maggie wasn't a good liar. She might have unlatched the window for the tramps and hidden Tom in the closet. She could even have suffocated Jennings. Pamela was in a quandary. If she shared her suspicion with Lydia, Lydia would fire the maid. But that seemed rash. Pamela paced the garden back and forth, arguing quietly with herself. Finally, she decided to hide her suspicion and give Lydia only the facts. She hoped no harm would come of that.

 

As Pamela was about to leave the garden, Prescott appeared. She pointed to a bench, and they sat next to each other. Pamela reported on her conversation with Maggie. “She refused to implicate either Tom Parker or Ben. I learned nothing useful from her—except perhaps that she might not trust me.”

“That's predictable,” Prescott remarked. “We've just brought her friend Tom back to face an uncertain future. But let's talk about the Lenox detective. He's here questioning the servants, and I've spoken briefly with him. He wants to charge Tom for the murder of Jennings. He would be tried and convicted in about a month and hanged shortly afterward in a state prison far from the Berkshires.”

“What a travesty of justice!” Pamela exclaimed.

“I agree,” Prescott said. “The local authorities in Lenox desperately want to put this incident behind them as quickly as possible. Rich summer residents must be assured that they are safe here, or they might leave and take their money with them. Hanging is unsightly and should be kept at a suitable distance.”

“What did the district attorney tell you?” asked Pamela.

“He wants a thorough investigation of several suspects and wants me to lead it rather than Mr. Brady, the Lenox detective. Brady must be told of the new situation as kindly as possible to avoid making an enemy of him.”

“That will be difficult,” Pamela pointed out. “He's stubborn and aggressive. Won't his investigation collide with ours and cause delays and other complications? How will the local authorities and the cottagers react to that?”

“With dismay and impatience,” Prescott replied. “Most of them agree with the detective that the tramp killed Jennings. If the truth be told, they would have Parker hanged tomorrow in a distant place so that their social life could return to normal.”

“Their attitude is self-serving,” she said. “No one actually saw the tramp kill Jennings. Other potential suspects had sufficient motive and opportunity. Mrs. Allen, for example. Jennings apparently had promised her marriage and money, then rejected her. Or, George Allen, her husband. Jennings had cuckolded him. Or, John Jennings. His father had abused him for years.”

Prescott waved a warning hand. “You had better stop listing possible suspects. You will soon reach Maggie the maid, or even Lydia Jennings, her husband's heir. Her motive is as strong as any of the others.”

Pamela gazed at him with reproach. “That would be totally out of character and very hard for me to accept. We have become friends.”

“Sorry, Pamela, the investigation has to include her, as well as those you mentioned, plus Wilson the steward—my favorite. They will all be irate that we suspect them.”

“So what should we do?” asked Pamela. “We have no authority here. These suspects can refuse to talk to us.”

“Don't worry. The district attorney in Pittsfield has given us all the written authority we need.” He reached into his pocket. “Here are our official papers from the district attorney, authorizing us to assist him. We must use our authority carefully so as not to make the suspects skittish.”