Shadows in the White City Read online

  In fitting with the fabulous White City, this specialized army wore a light gray uniform, approximating an off-white, with fake mother-of-pearl rather than copper-toned buttons, a far cry from the traditional blues. Even so, there were never enough of the “Pearly Gate coppers,” as some called them, to cover the massive fairgrounds and huge pavilions, each of which looked in scale and appearance like Roman and Greek halls of learning where Euripides and Socrates might appear in heated debate at any moment amid the fountains and the boats and the columns. Each major exhibit hall looked from a distance like some giant dragon that crawled up out of Lake Michigan to curl up and go to sleep here.

  Griffin Drimmer had been assigned here, but he’d gotten lucky. He must wear his old CPD uniform as the fair force had run out of grays. On the other hand, he’d been unlucky. He missed working real detective cases. This was, to be sure, his comeuppance for having, in the end, sided with Alastair and in helping clear Philo’s good name, and for not further supporting Chief Nathan Kohler. Busted to rank of a footman is what must be on his horizon, unless…unless he himself could catch the Phantom.

  Although he strolled amid the throngs of fairgoers, revisiting known areas where the killer had struck, he came up empty. Nothing doing.

  He decided to make inquiries to determine where everyone had got off to. What was Ransom doing right this moment? Keane? Dr. Tewes? He located the same call box he and Ransom had used the night they were so cocksure they had Denton by the shorthairs. He called in to inquire if there’d been any calls for him at the station he worked out of. It took an interminably long time to get a reply. When he did, there was a message for him to call Dr. James Phineas Tewes.

  He had additional difficulty getting the blasted dispatcher to make connections to Dr. Tewes’s residence. Something made possible only recently. Still Griffin had to threaten the man with his job as the last dispatcher who caused Inspector Drimmer problems had been fired. He was finally put through.

  The good doctor came on to static, a note of concern in his high-pitched voice. “Your friend and colleague is barely capable of remaining on his feet another hour, yet he’s on a stake-outting at Lincoln Park.”

  “Do you mean stakeout, Doctor?”

  “Whatever! Can you please get over there and relieve him? Please?”

  “God, the whining doctor sounded like a woman in his concern for Alastair. “I’m on my way, Doctor, but whereabouts in Lincoln Park is he, and what is he staking out there? The lake?”

  “The cabstand. He’s shadowing Denton.”

  “Ahhh…of course. I hadn’t seen Denton about the fair all day.”

  “He’s removed himself from the fair traffic in an attempt to get clear of Ransom, and Ransom, fool that he is, has taken no sleep or rest for two days.”

  “Damn…look, I’ll try to get him home.”

  “He’ll only do so if you take over for him, Griff…ahhh, Inspector.”

  “I understand.”

  He rushed from the call box past the stone steps of the newly erected building exhibiting the sciences and industries that had carried America to the forefront of global production of food and manufactured goods. The exhibits here recognized the importance of such inventions as the Cotton Gin, the McCormick Reaper, and other marvels of modern farming, and the wonders of lighting a city, and the telephone, and the phonograph—all among other amazing new instruments, and the newly created machines housed inside the museum. The giant steam engines that powered a huge platform that descended and returned up a mock coal mine-shaft. The massive displays of ocean liners of the White Star and Cunard class, to mighty generators like those used at Cook County in the event of an electrical shut down, to the mighty train engines of America. All the marvels of mechanical science under one enormous roof.

  There is only one problem. When does a working cop find the time? Where does he find the money it would take to spend a day at the fair? Lucinda kept demanding Griff give more time to her and their children.

  The grotesque headless corpse of the beautiful Miss Mandor found burning in a boat here on the lagoon had dissuaded no one from attending the Chicago World’s Fair. Odd as that seemed, Griffin imagined it went right along with human nature. A cynical Alastair would have plenty to say.

  He pulled out a pipe like the one Alastair used, and as he found a cab to take him to Lincoln Park, he tamped in some tobacco and worked on lighting up. He looked closely at the cab driver of the dram he climbed into to be sure it was neither Denton nor the madman who’d opened up his horses at full gallop with Griff and Ransom on the cushions, bouncing about that night they’d busted into the Tewes’s residence to ostensibly save Miss Jane Francis and Gabby Tewes from the clutches of the maniac that Alastair had identified as Waldo Denton.

  Griff thought he’d die in a hansom cab accident that night long before arriving at the Tewes home. He now called out an address he knew a block off the park where Ransom must be. He’d disembark a block early; to go unnoticed.

  Along with the rhythm of the cab ride, a flitting thought of a future victim struck him as an inevitability. He imagined some poor defenseless woman, her throat cut by the garrote, her body set aflame. When and where would it happen?

  Then he gave a good deal more thought to why the killer liked fire. Then he thought of Ransom’s history with fire, the awful rumors, the awful truth no doubt embedded there, and he wondered if this killer who seemed to have a penchant for Ransom’s circle of friends, if he did not have a quite personal reason for terrorizing Ransom’s life and city.

  Then he wondered if Waldo Denton might not have an alias. Then he wondered if Waldo Denton were an alias. He had the cab stop at another call box, and he got Luther Noble, an able man, to run Denton’s name as an alias. It was not found. Then try Campaneua. If anyone by the name of Campaneua has been arrested at any time in the city in the last say three years.

  “That’ll take time.”

  “Then take time. I’ll call you back later.”

  “It is already later. I am headed out the door. But there is tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, then, and thanks.”

  “Oh hell, look…I will turn it over to our new intern.”

  “And does he have a name?”

  “She…she has a name.”

  “She? A woman on the force?”

  “Not yet. She has as yet to go through boot camp.”

  “Gotcha, so what do I call her when I call back?”

  “Gabby.”

  “Gabrielle Tewes?”

  “Ahhh…then you know her? A friend of yours, Detective?”

  “I’d have never guessed her to be interested in police work.”

  “Wants to learn it all, she says.”

  “Damn surprise is all.”

  “Keep an open mind, Inspector.”

  “Is she good at it?”

  “A natural.”

  Junior Inspector Griffin Drimmer stared across from his position behind a tree at Philo Keane and Ransom, disbelieving. “Ransom,” he whispered, “what are you doing here?”

  “More to the point, Griff, what’re you doing here? Are you converted to my cause?”

  “A call came in that you were about to make a public nuisance of yourself at this location.”

  “Really? And who made the call—prophetic as it was?”

  “An anonymous caller,” Griff lied.

  “Denton, no doubt. One cheeky bastard.”

  “The complaint came from a woman. At least it sounded like a woman.”

  “Jane…Jane Francis?”

  “Like I said, it came as an anonymous call.”

  “She’s trying to protect you from yourself,” suggested Philo.

  “So I’m to thank her?”

  “We are all worried about you, Rance,” added Griffin.

  “I should give her a piece of my mind.”

  “All right! It wasn’t Miss Francis,” said Griff.

  “Then who?”

  “Dr. Tewes. He’s also
concerned about you, though I can’t understand why.”

  “Tewes and Jane, both concerned.” Both Philo and Griffin had as yet to discover that Dr. James Tewes and Jane Francis were one and the same.

  “And Gabby,” added Griff.

  “And everyone who cares about your hide,” put in Philo.

  “I’ve already given everyone a piece of my mind!” retaliated Ransom.

  “All they want, you fool,” said Philo, “is your mean heart. Go see Jane and smooth it over.” Philo pulled at him.

  “Leave off. Let go.”

  “Have you read a paper in the past week, Ransom?” Griffin sternly asked. “They’re saying you’re spirit possessed, that you fingered Waldo Denton through some sort of drunken occult spiritualism. Séances, they’re saying! Even your old friend Carmichael has—”

  “Bastard son of a bitch is on Kohler’s bribe list?”

  Philo and Griff exchanged a look of concern. Philo said, “You are beginning to sound like a raving lunatic, Ransom, and you don’t even hear it.”

  “Indigestion…just indigestion,” Ransom replied.

  “And in the meantime, we wait until the monster strikes again?” complained Griffin.

  “In the meantime, we have to rely on our instincts,” countered Ransom. “And my instincts are still screaming that Waldo Denton kills people for the fun of it.”

  “Intuition is often all we have left in the last analysis,” agreed Philo. “My own tells me that Denton shrewdly doctored the second photograph, making a comparison of the two handprints impossible.”

  “All the while you were whoring, he was doctoring the photo under your nose.” Ransom gritted his teeth and glared.

  “In fact, I, ahhh…taught him too well every process I know.”

  “Sounds like a willing learner, heh?” asked Griff, blinking.

  “Crafty, cunning little prick is what he is.” Ransom smothered a cough.

  “After all, he was my apprentice.” Philo looked sheepishly at the other two. “Well…think of it. He cops to the first bloody print due to mere clumsiness at the crime scene. Then he exposes the second in development just a bit too soon.”

  “Leaving us with nothing, and Fenger testifying on his behalf instead of ours.”

  “Galls me to think he himself took the second handprint photo with my Night Hawk, complained Philo. Used my materials and my studio, all while I sat behind bars, arrested as the Phantom! Me!”

  Ransom held back a laugh. “As absurd as that Chinaman singing our national anthem at the fair in Chinese.”

  “Did you hear about that?” Griff’s words dripped with disapproval.

  But Ransom returned to the subject of Denton. “Then the weasel doctored the second one to make it inconclusive as evidence. So why can’t we get him on evidence tampering?”

  “Ransom, it can only be proven a bad job of processing. Even Christian Fenger couldn’t testify that it was doctored and not simply fouled up.”

  “Fenger should’ve lied then; should’ve made it fit.”

  The other two remained silent, unsure what to say to make Alastair feel better. Philo finally muttered, “It’ll be a great ally some day—science—if you beefy-headed coppers’ll ever open your eyes to it. And maybe learn to prize it and to protect scientific evidence.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Griffin’s defenses had gone up.

  “If you had a processing center kept under lock and key, for instance, Denton could not’ve handled that photo alone. There’d’ve been channels, proper procedures, all of it.”

  Ransom only grinned at his friend, while Griff firmly replied, “Now hold on, Inspector Ransom’s the one got the CPD to go full force into fingerprint collections.”

  “And still no headway in that area! Dragging their feet. They don’t trust it…don’t trust anything new or scientific. You law enforcement types are the worst for it.”

  Dr. James Phineas Tewes stepped from nowhere it seemed, and said, “I suggest we have some ale and talk about it at length, sirs, at the nearest establishment for libations.”

  “Coffee perhaps,” replied Griffin. “I think Inspector Ransom needs coffee or tea more so than alcohol.”

  Philo quickly put in, “Fact is, Griffin and I were just saying that Ransom here could use your cure, sir. I understand it worked well for him once before.”

  “That can certainly be arranged. My residence is only a few blocks away. Shall we, Inspector Ransom? I know my sister would be pleased beyond measure to see you again at our home.”

  “Did I ask for a committee meeting out here? Is everyone following me?” Ransom looked on the verge of collapse.

  “You fellows are quite welcome to join us, of course,” said Tewes, ignoring Alastair’s complaint.

  “Perhaps another time,” said Philo. “I’ve much work awaiting.” He secretly punched at Griffin’s side. Griffin got the message that he needed an exit line.

  “I…I too have a lot of paperwork back at the office.”

  “No, Griff, stay on Denton for me. Will you do that, Griff?” asked Ransom.

  “I will, Ransom. You may rely on it.”

  “He is our man, so don’t take your eyes off the monster.”

  “Aye, Inspector, I will not.”

  “I always knew you were a good lad, Griff.” Ransom sounded drunk, fatigue slurring his words.

  Tewes led a still weak Ransom off toward her and Gabby’s home. Alastair asked, “Has Denton come around to the house? Have you seen him skulking about for glimpses of Gabrielle?”

  “No, there’s been no such trouble out of the young man, and while Waldo has pursued Gabby, she’s utterly rejected his advances.”

  Philo turned from watching Tewes and Ransom walk off into a growing mist in the park, actually a low-hanging fog moving steadily in from the lake with unseasonably cool weather. In fact, a fog was beginning to envelope the entire city. In the gloom, he tried to get Griffin to come away with him, that Waldo Denton did not deserve the attention of a stakeout.

  “Perhaps, but suppose it should turn out Ransom is right about Denton? What then?”

  “Are you mad? You’re going to stand round in this mucky weather on some off chance that Denton will show himself a murderer?”

  Raindrops began falling. “I will do it for Ransom, yes. A promise is, after all—”

  “A promise, yes, I know all that rubbish.”

  “You, sir, you need to spend less time in Bohemian taverns and more time deciding precisely what you do believe in.”

  “Hmmm…and I was about to suggest that you go home to your wife and kiddies, and allow me to stand guard over this criminal suspect.”

  “No…this calls for a badge. Go home, Mr. Keane.”

  “Do you imagine if it is Denton, and if he never kills again…do you imagine he will have gotten away with murder?”

  “Neither Rance nor I will let that happen, not if it takes the rest of our careers.”

  “If it is Denton at all.”

  “Yes, well, why don’t you have a close look at that Night Hawk shot that you suspect he doctored. That could go a long way to prove his guilt.”

  “Good idea. I will.”

  “A search of Denton’s house turned up nothing in the way of additional stolen goods from the victims, like the ring found in your possession. Tell me, did Polly Pete give the ring to you as some sort of payment? You said so the night you were questioned.”

  “The night I was questioned, I would’ve said anything to be left in peace, man!”

  “Yes…well that is the way of interrogation, sir.”

  “So I’ve learned.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  “Then I take it, you will keep vigil on Denton until he retires to whatever hole he sleeps?”

  “A ramshackle place down on Halsted among the rows of shantytown there.”

  “Where he keeps a chicken coup atop the roof.”

  “Correct. I understand he is no longer in your employ.”
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  “Damn straight, right-o,” replied Philo. “And that scoundrel has yet to return my camera!”

  “I could arrest him if you choose to swear out a warrant for theft.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Do it! It would get me into his private quarters, where I know I’ll find items torn from his victims.”

  “First thing tomorrow.” Philo Keane slowly, reluctantly walked off, going in a direction that would cause no curiosity from the cabbies or Denton. He curiously looked back at young Griffin Drimmer, and a twinge of eerieness came over him as Griff disappeared ghost-fashion on fog. Alastair had once himself suspected Griffin of the crimes, later confiding how foolish it’d been, but if it were not Denton, then who better to plant evidence than another copper?

  From his vantage point, obscured now in a blanket of fog, Griffin watched the strange Philo Keane amble off, and when Philo had disappeared into the encroaching night, the young inspector felt a chill loneliness pass through him as if a spectral creature of dream walked over his grave. He took out a photo of his Lucinda, and next a photo of himself, Lucinda, and the children—all of whom he’d secretly moved to Portage, Indiana—far from harm’s way, until the Phantom of the Fair should unequivocally be either jailed or killed.

  The following morning at the Tewes residence

  Everyone in Chicago was awakened by the shrill bells of emergency fire equipment and police wagons careening down the streets, going away from the city proper toward the fairgrounds of White City. The noise awakened Ransom, who was equally startled to find that he lay in his underwear alongside Jane Francis. He recalled nothing of the night before, except that he’d fallen asleep under her caressing fingers. He feared the worst with respect to their relationship. He feared he’d fallen asleep while in her embrace.

  He rushed to the window and stared out.

  “What is it, Rance?” she asked.

  “I can’t say, but whatever it is, it’s big. Perhaps a fire’s broke out at the fair. Best make a call. May I use your phone?”

  “By all means, yes.”

  He quickly dressed and coming out of the room, he found himself face-to-face with Gabby, whose eyes informed the inspector that he needn’t concern himself over her sensibilities.