The Body Snatchers Affair (7 page)

“She'll be so relieved.” Then, with sudden vehemence, “Andrea may be sorry James is dead, but I'm not. I hope he roasts in the fires of hell for all he put her through.”

*   *   *

The overnight change in Andrea Scarlett was shocking. Yesterday at the agency she had been neatly coiffed and stylishly dressed, and despite her fears, in rigid control of her emotions. Today, she wore a borrowed housecoat and a look of naked terror. She sat hugging herself in one of the chairs in Delilah Brown's parlor, her narrow, high-cheekboned face the color of whey, her auburn hair uncombed and lusterless, her eyes red-rimmed from weeping, lack of sleep, or a combination of both. But she was less distraught now than she had been when Sabina first arrived, Sabina's calming influence having shored up her courage.

“No, Mrs. Carpenter,” she said, “I didn't have a clear look at the man who tried to kill me last night. He was waiting in shadows across from the entrance when I returned from an errand. I managed to duck inside before he could fire again and he ran off into the darkness. All I can tell you is that he was short and wore white man's clothing.”

“What sort of clothing?”

“A hat and a dark-colored suit.”

“Type of hat?”

“I'm not sure. I think it had a broad brim pulled down low.”

“Such as the slouch type Chinese wear?”

“No, not like that.” Andrea Scarlett hugged herself more tightly. “But he
must
have been Chinese. It was one of those dreadful highbinders who shot James, wasn't it? That's what the newspapers said…”

“One dressed as a food seller outside the opium resort, yes.”

There was a little silence. When the woman spoke again, her tone was bitter. “James and his opium. James and his greed and his lust.”

“Lust, Mrs. Scarlett?”

“For Chinese women. I didn't say anything about that to you and Mr. Quincannon yesterday because I was too ashamed.”

More ashamed of her husband's infidelity than of his drug addiction. People could be perplexingly and irritatingly inconsistent.

“Was there any woman in particular?” Sabina asked.

“Yes. One named Dongmei.”

“Who is she?”

“A courtesan, I suppose … that's the polite term. She introduced James to opium.”

“You're sure of that?”

“Fairly sure.”

“Before or after he became involved with the Hip Sing?”

“Before, I think. Not long before.”

“How do you know her name?”

“He spoke it in his sleep, more than once. Admitted his affair with her when I confronted him.”

“Why didn't you tell us about Dongmei yesterday? Didn't you think your husband might have been with her instead of in an opium resort?”

“No. James never spent the night with her or any of his other women. Opium was his only true love.”

“Yet despite his vices, you stayed with him. Why?”

Andrea Scarlett released a stuttery breath. “I've asked myself that question dozens of times. The truth is, I don't know why. I stopped loving James long before he became involved with the Hip Sing. The money he made, the better life for us it provided … that had something to do with it, I won't deny that. So did the fact that he needed me. In spite of his other women, in spite of his addiction, he
needed
me…”

Sabina made no comment. She had encountered many women who felt as Mrs. Scarlett did toward a philandering husband, and while she didn't blame them for their weakness, neither did she condone it. She herself had too much pride, too much self-reliance to put up with any sort of spousal betrayal, even from a man she had loved as much as Stephen. Not that she had ever had to deal with such unfaithfulness, or would have had if he were still alive; he had been a fiercely loyal and honorable man, his love for her as steadfast as hers for him.

She redirected the conversation by asking, “Do you know where Dongmei resides?”

“Somewhere in Chinatown, that's all.”

“Or anything else about her?”

“No. I didn't want to know anything about her. I still don't.”

“You told us yesterday that your husband never confided in you about his connection with the Hip Sing tong. Is that completely true? You have no knowledge at all?”

“None. I swear it.”

“Did he ever mention Fowler Alley to you?”

“Fowler Alley? No. Why do you ask that?”

“He spoke the words last night before he was shot.”

“That's not significant, is it? It may be where one of his opium dens is located.”

“Perhaps,” Sabina said. “He spoke two other words as well. ‘Blue shadow.' Does that phrase mean anything to you?”

“No, nothing.”

“He never used it in your hearing?”

“Never.”

“His offices were searched sometime last evening. By you?”

“Of course not. What reason would I have?”

“Where were you before your return home at eight-thirty?”

“At the apothecary shop round the corner. I … needed something to help me sleep.”

“One more question. Did your husband keep files or other private papers, anything that might pertain to his Hip Sing activities, someplace other than his office?”

“If he did, it wasn't in our home. He was closemouthed, as I told you … about everything, including his addiction and his Chinese whore.” Andrea Scarlett shifted position, shivering as if with a sudden chill. “That's what makes the attempt on my life so … so senseless. I'm no threat to anyone in Chinatown … anyone anywhere. What am I going to do, Mrs. Carpenter? I can't go home, I'm afraid to go out in public.…”

“You're safe here for the time being, until I can make arrangements for an even more secure refuge.”

“When will that be?”

“Soon. Long before nightfall. You'll be well protected.”

“Well protected.” Bitterness had crept back into the woman's voice. “Your partner wasn't able to protect James last night, was he?”

“That's uncalled for, Mrs. Scarlett. He had to carry your husband out of the resort and was taking him to your home when the highbinder struck. Burdened as he was, he had no time to prevent what happened. He was almost killed himself.”

There were several seconds of silence. Then, “Yes, you're right, I'm sorry. It's just that I'm so frightened. I don't want to die as James did, and for something I had nothing to do with and know nothing about.…”

*   *   *

Hunger gnawed at Sabina when she left the rooming house. Except for the months following Stephen's death, she had always had a prodigious appetite and all she'd had to eat today were an egg and two slices of bread with marmalade for breakfast. She'd have liked to stop into a café or teashop for a quick bite, but she would have to wait to fill the hollow in her stomach. Wait, too, to contact Elizabeth Petrie, a former police matron who could be counted on to keep a sharp protective eye on their client; Andrea Scarlett would be safe enough where she was for another few daylight hours. As it was, Sabina had just enough time to get to the Blanchford estate on Nob Hill and punctually keep her one-thirty appointment with the financier's widow.

 

6

SABINA

“No, no, no.” Harriet Blanchford leaned forward to tap Sabina smartly on the knee with a bony forefinger. “Infernal devices, telephones. Bad connections are the norm, so everything gets mixed up. I did not say I wished to hire your agency because my husband has been kidnapped. I said I wished to hire you because my husband's
body
has been kidnapped.”

“His … body?”

“From the family mausoleum, though neither Bertram nor I can imagine how it was done. Quite impossible, and yet there you are. They're demanding seventy-five thousand dollars.”

“Who is?”

An impatient frown creased Mrs. Blanchford's crepelike countenance. “The scoundrels responsible, of course,” she said. “Perhaps it wasn't the telephone after all. Are you hard of hearing, young woman?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Then kindly pay attention.”

Harriet Blanchford was a somewhat frail woman in her seventies, pallid and hollow-eyed, dressed entirely in mourning black, but obviously strong-willed, determined, and in full possession of her faculties. It was also obvious that she ruled this grand Nob Hill home, now inhabited by her and her son Bertram, and no doubt had even when her husband was alive.

Sabina said, “Yes, ma'am,” and resisted an urge to remove her jacket, loosen the tight collar of her shirtwaist, or both. The manse's drawing room was as warm as the oven room of a bakery, with all the windows closed and a fire blazing on the hearth even though the weather today was on the balmy side. It also smelled unpleasantly of potpourri mingled with woodsmoke and fumes from the oversweet violet sachet Mrs. Blanchford favored.

Another case of body snatching, this time for ransom.

A bizarre coincidence, surely; it seemed inconceivable that there could be a connection between the abduction of the Chinese tong leader's remains and the disappearance of the shell of the late Ruben Blanchford. But no matter what was behind it, Sabina found the grieving widow's plight to be both intriguing and challenging. So would John when she told him.

“A heinous crime, indeed,” she said. “The more so for having taken place so soon after your bereavement. You must be devastated.”

“We are. Or at least I am,” Mrs. Blanchford added, glancing at her son.

“Now, Mother.” Bertram Blanchford, who was seated on another of the room's ornate and uncomfortable chairs, was a plump, balding, clean-shaven man in his forties, dressed in an expensive broadcloth suit as mourning-black as his mother's velveteen dress. “Father and I may not have gotten along, but you know I'm as upset as you are.”

“About the kidnapping, yes, but not that he's gone to his reward. He lingered at death's door for weeks before passing through and you gave him little enough comfort.”

“How could I? You're the only one he wanted at his bedside.”

Sabina cleared her throat. “About the, ah, kidnapping,” she said to Mrs. Blanchford. “Have you any idea who is responsible?”

“Ghouls, that's who. Monsters preying on the bereaved and grief-stricken.”

“Yes. But I meant anyone in particular, by name.”

“No one we know could conceivably be involved,” Bertram said. “Blackguards from the Barbary Coast is my guess, drawn by the funeral notices in the newspapers. The kind that will stop at nothing, including violence against those who deny them.”

His mother sniffed. “You keep saying that, Bertram. It sounds as though you're well acquainted with the Devil's Playground.”

“Hardly. But you and I both know its evil reputation.”

“The racetrack touts and bookmakers you consort with are no better.”

“Now, Mother, you know that's not true…”

“Do I?” She thumped the edge of her hand on a stack of magazines on a table between their chairs. “What do you call this trash you insist on bringing into the house?”

“The
Breeder and Sportsman
is a respectable publication, devoted to people of culture and refinement who admire the sport of kings—”

“Balderdash. Sport of kings! Greedy humans exciting themselves by betting on sweaty animals chasing each other around an oval of dirt and mud.” Then, to Sabina, “My son thinks we ought to pay the ransom.”

“Yes, I do,” Bertram said. “It's the only way to ensure a safe return.”

“Do you agree, Mrs. Carpenter?”

“I'm afraid not. Paying a ransom demand is a poor risk in any case.”

“That is my position as well, at least for the present. I'll have no rest until my husband's remains are back where they belong, and none, either, until the perpetrators of this outrage are exposed and punished. That is why you're here. I have been told you and your partner are competent detectives. The most competent in the city, would you say?”

John would, in a heartbeat. Sabina was, as always, more discreet. “We have had considerable success in our investigations. If you would like references, I can give you the names of several satisfied clients—”

“No, no, that isn't necessary. I'm already aware of your credentials, though I must say I don't understand why an attractive young widow would wish to undertake such a profession.”

“My late husband and I were both employed by the Pinkerton Detective Agency when we met. I was not their first women operative, nor the last. More women every year are entering into one facet of law enforcement or another, and proving just as capable as their male counterparts.”

“Mmm, yes. Well, I'm not sure I approve, but I admit to being old-fashioned when it comes to our sex. What assurances can you give me that you'll succeed in finding my husband and punishing his abductors?”

“None except that we will make every possible effort to do so.”

“A proper answer. Yes, you'll do.”

“Thank you.” Sabina shifted on the hard cushion of her chair, seeking—and not finding—some relief from the heat of the fire. “Do you have any idea when the theft took place?”

“One of the last two nights,” Bertram said. “Father was laid to rest in the mausoleum on Monday.”

“Have you informed the police?”

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Blanchford said. “Ruben considered the police inept and corrupt, and I quite agree.” So did John, despite his recent dealings with them, and Sabina concurred, though to a lesser extent. “And their involvement would bring the worst sort of sensational publicity, the likes of which I wish to avoid at all cost.”

“Quite understandable. When did you receive the ransom note?”

“This morning. It was in a package Edmund found on the doorstep.”