Ill-Fame (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 2) (18 page)

“Thanks for the ride, Fred,” he said, as he put on his derby.

“Thanks for not trying too hard to redirect our route.”

“I’ll see you later,” Queen said, with a tip of his hat.

A streetcar clanged by filled with smiling passengers, probably out enjoying the last of the weekend. He wished, for a moment, that he had a lazy evening ahead of him, as well. A leisurely Sunday dinner, with pot roast and potatoes, a cigar and a good book to follow.

Life was careening along a different course, however, and he had to tackle it head on. When he went through the door, his countenance changed. He was chief of detectives, a hardened officer, and it was his time to take the bit in his teeth. He scowled at the patrolmen and detectives crowded in the mayoral waiting room, and they, in turn, snapped to attention.

“Why are you all lounging around in here? This is no goddamn way to guard the mayor. I want two officers stationed at every door in this building. Check everyone wanting inside for names and weapons. If they don’t need to be here, then send them home.”

A chorus of “Yes sirs” and feet shuffling brought the room to life. The mayor’s secretary, Thomas Brown, normally a meticulously organized and no-nonsense manager, seemed at the end of his rope. He looked gratefully at Queen as he stood from his chair.

“Please, detective, please go in.”

Queen strode by, shutting the door behind him. The mayor’s office wasn’t spacious, but it was comfortable, accented in dark woods and rich fabric coverings. A picture of Ames as a younger man, probably from his first term as mayor twenty-five years prior, hung in a fancy gilded frame.

Doc sat behind his mahogany desk, looking anxious as hell. His gray mustache bristled, and heavy black rings circled his eyes. His brother, Colonel Ames, sat across from him with a grim expression. Two bottles sat on the desk, one empty and the other on its way.

They both stood for Queen, something he was used to from the usually jovial Doc, but never from the colonel.

“Harm!” Doc cried. He walked around his desk and embraced the detective. The Colonel shook his hand.

“I’ll have to admit, I never expected a reception like this,” Queen said.

“I’m glad your business with that filthy Irish gangster is over,” said the mayor, who broke into a beaming, relieved grin.

“We had to move mountains,” Colonel Ames added, “to get you that hearing.”

“But it was all for naught, because Kilbane is dead,” Doc finished. “Would you like a swig, Harm?”

He did, of course, but wasn’t about to break his promise to his beloved. “Black coffee.”

“Sensible, Harm. Sensible,” Doc said. “We should be alert. Tom!”

His secretary hurried in.

“Bring in a pot of coffee and three mugs.”

“Very good, sir.”

The mayor gave Queen a long look before sitting on the edge of his desk. “Now that you’re here, we can get this bastard behind bars. Did Detective Norbeck fill you in?”

“A little. He said that you received a note at your house.”

“My house, goddamn it, Queen. My house! If you can’t find sanctuary at your own precious hearth, then where on earth will you find it, let me ask you that?”

“Where is this note, Mayor Ames?”

“Here,” said the Colonel, extending his thin arm. Queen took the envelope from his hand, and turned it over. It was plain, without writing, and manufactured of a heavy stock. Expensive, Queen thought. Not something a filthy gutter-traveling radical would be wasting his money on. Unless it was stolen, which was always a possibility when dealing with criminals of the low-down variety.

“So you think this was sent by anarchists?

“Read it, Harm. Read it and judge for yourself!”

Queen pulled the paper out and smelled it. He caught the faintest hint of a men’s cologne.

“Do you recognize this smell?” he asked, holding it out to Doc. Doc took it and sniffed it.

“By God, Fred. It smells of musk!”

“Perhaps a well-groomed revolutionary,” the Colonel muttered.

Queen took back the paper and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat and precise.

Mayor Ames

Curse you and your villainous ways. The very pillars of the earth wail beneath your heavy, heartless steps. May the devil himself consort you to the most fiery, terrible pit of hell and leave you there to burn and suffer for a hundred eternities.

Your years on this earth have been marked by atrocities and tragedies that you have been accomplice to. Nay, you have been more the instigator than naught!

Even as a young man, your march with Sibley against the native Sioux was marked with blood and misery.

Once grown into a “man,” your deceptions and calculations proved to the world how like a wild, savage wolf you are. How noble you are, Ames, ripping apart the oppressed with the blood of innocents dripping from your sharp, patrician fangs!

Understand this. You have been illegally elected to office for your final time. Enjoy your last days on earth with fine Cuban smoke-sticks and a bottle of “bubbles” while you can. On behalf of laborers around the world, I will avenge their despair by taking your final breath!

Signed,

A concerned citizen

“Interesting,” said Queen, folding the paper up and inserting it back into the envelope. “May I keep it?”

“Get it out of my sight!” Doc shouted. “Find this man, Harm, and put him in jail! Damn these dirty anarchists and everything they represent!”

The old man was working himself up into a lather, petrified of mysterious assailants hidden deep in the dark night. Fortunately, men like this did not frighten Queen. He felt at home amongst the low and desperate, although from this note, he wasn’t so sure that was where he should start looking. The grammar and spelling were precise and proper. Whoever wrote this wasn’t trying to play games, either, by attempting to mislead the police by misspelling words. He was who he was, and ready to cry it to the heavens.

“Do you have any enemies who might use a tactic like this to scare you?” Queen asked plainly, trying not to react to Doc’s agitation.

“Do I have enemies? Without question, I do.”

“Could this simply be one of them, trying to get a rise from you? Could it be, Mayor, that this wasn’t written by an anarchist, but instead by someone with a personal grudge?”

Colonel Ames stepped forward, clenching his teeth. “We’ve considered that, Detective Queen. But that is why you’re here, to determine the identity of the author. The note does cast a revolutionary tone, does it not?”

It did. What really struck him, though, was the specific mention of Doc’s early life. Why would the writer hone in on what happened forty years earlier, but speak only in vague terms about the decades of actual corruption as the city’s on-and-off mayor?

“Do you remember anyone back from your days with the Ninth Minnesota,” Queen asked, “that you might not have gotten along with?”

“No, no. We were like brothers,” the mayor said. “And need I remind you, I was a surgeon! I never fired a weapon at an Indian, nor any other enemy. I was too busy learning my trade with a saw.”

That made sense to Queen, but he wasn’t ready to let the letter’s reference to the Sioux go just yet.

“Remind me, Mayor Ames, of what exactly you fought for.”

Doc went back to his chair as Brown entered with the coffee. Brown started to pour, but Doc waved him away, and began the process himself.

“You said black, Harm?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here,” he said, handing him the mug. He sat back down in his chair, and leaned back. The lines of worry disappeared from his face, and were replaced by a look of nostalgia. “Those days were glorious, Harm, simply glorious. Carefree and without a problem in the world!”

“Except for the Indians.”

“Yes, yes. I was just a boy, really. Fresh-faced out of medical school. It was 1862. I’d just started my medical practice in Minneapolis when Indian troubles started brewing in the south and the west. I helped raise a company of volunteers for the Ninth and we rushed to the front to fight. I rose, Harm
, rose
, through hard work and pails of blood, to the rank of Surgeon Major.”

“I know how proud you are of your service, sir. But can you think of anyone that you might have made angry during those years?”

“Angry? The war was popular!”

“It was popular with the side that won, but there were losers as well.”

“The Sioux lost, as we all know. I’m sure they were more than a little sore. But what political power do they wield? They’ve all been rounded up and placed on their reservations, to live their lives, properly apart from the white man. What more do you want?”

“Were there sympathizers with the Sioux cause?” Queen persisted. “Some say they were hungry, and attacked out of desperation. The goods they had been promised in exchange for their lands had been withheld. Surely at least a few white men might have sympathized with them.”

“I don’t know, Harm,” Doc said, in frustration. “Hell, there were some whites who lived with the Indians. Men in the fur trade, tied to the tribes by blood mixing.”

The fur trade. Why did that sound familiar? The entire day had been a blur of motion, but somewhere, today, he had thought about it.

Of course. His hand dived into his pocket, and he wrenched his roll of money apart with his fingers. He felt the leather strap, and the outline of the silver turtle. The man he had chased: he’d worn this, along with a wool sash strapped to his waist. Didn’t long-ago trappers and traders wear those same marks of identification?

“Detective Queen,” the Colonel said, interrupting his thoughts. “This can’t wait.”

“I know, sir, and it won’t. I’ve got some ideas on where to start.”

“Where?”

“I think it is best if I don’t bother the mayor with the details. Leave that to me and my detectives.”

“As the police superintendent, I need to be privy to...”

“Christ, Fred. Leave him to his work. He has experience in these things.”

“Thank you, sir. What does your schedule look like in the next few days, may I ask? I’ll assign our plain-clothed detectives to stay with you at all times. I know Fred Connor is a crack bodyguard, but you’ll need more help than him if something should happen.”

“We’re canceling the mayor’s appearances, Queen, until you find the man who wrote that message.”

“Aren’t there important events...”

“Yes, and that is why you need to start working on this right away. I will escort you out.”

Queen nodded, and turned to go, but Doc caught him with a firm arm around his shoulder. “You’ve always been my man, Harm, and you’ve never let me down.”

“I won’t this time, either, mayor.”

Doc gave him a weary, reassuring smile. “I have every confidence you won’t.”

CHAPTER 23

The waiting room was quieter now, but a few policemen still milled about with nothing to do. A door joined the waiting room to the police offices, and as Queen put his hand on the knob, he heard the colonel behind him.

“A word, Detective, if I might.”

Queen wasn’t surprised, as this was a common tactic for Colonel Ames. He’d be agreeable in his brother’s presence, but then directly and often viciously speak his mind in private.

“Sir?”

“I want details of your plans, Queen.”

“Today has been exhausting. I’ve hardly had a chance to catch my breath, let alone devise a plan. I need a night of sleep, Colonel, before I’m ready to tackle this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Queen. I saw your expression after my brother answered your questions about the Indian wars. You reached for something in your pocket....”

“I’ve got nothing in them except money and a badge. Do you need to inspect those?”

“Listen,” the colonel commanded. “I know about your friend Peder Ulland. He has ties to the Socialist Party. And where Socialists tread, anarchists are quick to follow. He is your path to the assassin. You’ve got to interrogate him, Queen. Force him to reveal his contacts. Make him give up the underground revolutionaries that are plotting against Minneapolis. Plotting against you, and me, and the very foundations of civilized government!”

Colonel Ames was his boss, but it didn’t mean that Queen felt any personal allegiance to the man, nor any duty to surrender his best friend. Although Peder walked in the world of the destitute, uneducated and voiceless, it didn’t mean that he was an active member of the Socialist Party. He also knew it wouldn’t do a damn bit of good to try to convince the colonel otherwise.

“As we both know, Colonel, Mayor Ames in power is like money falling from the sky for you, for me, and for many others. I won’t jeopardize this administration by allowing anyone with a grudge against the mayor to threaten his life. Let me do things the way I see fit. If I fall short, than you can punish me as you see fit.”

“If you fall short,” the Colonel snapped, “then our entire world will collapse, and punishing you will be the least of my worries.”

Once he was away from Colonel Ames, Queen rushed to the detectives’ room, which opened from the larger police assembly room. He booted three bulls out, shut the door, and picked up the telephone receiver.

“Operator, connect me to 2785 L-3.”

Peder answered the phone with food in his mouth. “Hello?” he managed after a swallow.

“It’s me, Peder. It’s Harm.”

“Harm,” he said, “Vere are you?”

“I’m in Minneapolis.”

“Ven Karoline came back vitout you today, ve tot de vorst.”

“I know, and I apologize for worrying you. Things blew up.”

“Vat do you need from me, Harm? Do you need any of my men for...”

“No, no. I’ve already involved you too much. I just need to see Karoline. I want to make sure that she’s at your house.”

“She’s gone, Harm.”

Queen couldn’t speak. Gone? She wasn’t supposed to leave until tomorrow morning.