No Comfort for the Lost (27 page)

Nicholas Greaves entered the house, and Elizabeth started sobbing.

“It was an accident,” she whimpered. “She tried to hurt Emmeline. An accident . . .”

“If it was an accident, Mrs. Palmer, why’d you try to hide the crime? Was that your husband’s idea?” he asked. “I’d like to talk to him. Where is he?”

“He’s not been here all mornin’, sir,” said Rose. “He’s probably at the company warehouse down by the Vallejo Street pier. ’Cause of that man this mornin’. He came by looking for Mr. Palmer while Mrs. Palmer and Miss Emmeline were out visitin’. A fright he was, all banged up around the head.”

Celia glanced up. “Mr. Greaves!” She shivered, the feel of her assailant’s hand on her mouth fresh in her mind, the bruises beneath her chin a painful memento.

“What did he want?” he asked Rose.

“He wanted me to tell Mr. Palmer to meet him at the warehouse. I told him Mr. Palmer was probably at his office, and I was pure happy to shut the door on his ugly face!”

“Go to the police station at Jones and Pacific and have them telegraph the central police office,” Nick ordered Rose. “I need Officer Mullahey here, and Officer Taylor at the Vallejo Street pier. Can you remember those names?”

“Aye,” she said, and dashed through the front door and down the steps.

“Don’t anybody else leave, especially you, Mrs. Palmer. Mrs. Davies, I’ll need you to tell Mullahey everything once he arrives. I’m headed to the Vallejo pier.” He followed the maid out the door.

“Nick!” called Celia. He looked back over his shoulder. “Be careful.”

He nodded and was gone.

• • •

B
y Nick’s estimation, Palmer had been down at the warehouse for at least an hour. Nick didn’t know the nature of his business with the man who’d attacked Celia Davies, but he’d wager any sum that the man would turn out to be one of Palmer’s friends from the Men’s Benevolent Association.

Two ships were docked along the pier, a paddle-wheel steamer and a three-masted schooner with a load of timber. The rattle of logs being rolled over to the ship’s crane echoed off the water, and men aboard ship shouted orders to the longshoremen below. It was a busier day than it had been on the morning Li Sha’s body had been found in the bay, her clothing tangled on a piling. The type of busy day that meant nobody would pay much attention to a meeting between two men, at least one of whom was often seen down at the Vallejo Street Wharf, checking on his warehouse.

Nick hopped down from the horse he’d borrowed and tethered it to the nearest post.

“Which of these warehouses belongs to Palmer and Company?” he asked the wharf toll collector, who was seated inside the small tollhouse at the pier’s entrance.

The man looked up from his books. “Who wants to know?”

Nick showed his police credentials.

“That one over there.” He pointed to a brick building half a block away.

Four arched openings filled one side of the two-story building, their massive doors closed.

“Have you seen Mr. Joseph Palmer down here with another man?” Nick asked the toll collector.

He scowled and gestured at the books and papers piled up on his narrow desk. “Do I look like I’ve got time to be noticing who’s coming and going every second?”

Nick headed for the warehouse. He tested several doors before finding one that was unlocked. Slowly, he pushed it open and edged his way inside.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, and the space smelled of sawn lumber. Rows and rows of tall shelves, some piled with timber, filled half the main room. The other half was empty except for several towering pallets of bricks. The place looked and sounded deserted. But somebody’s passage had disturbed the film of dust on the wood floor, and not that long ago, if Nick was any judge.

Unholstering his gun, Nick moved forward, mindful of where he planted each foot to avoid making a floorboard creak. There was a commotion above his head, and he spun around, gun raised. It was only a bird flapping in the rafters. Getting his breathing back under control, Nick resumed his slow progress across the space, scanning every inch for movement.

A section of the main floor had been divided by two walls that reached the ceiling, forming a separate room. As he crept toward it, Nick heard voices coming from the interior. A door stood ajar, and Nick padded over, stopping just out of sight of the men inside.

“If you leave town now, the police will suspect you. Calm down.”

That was Palmer, his Southern drawl thick and sounding strained.

“But I got to get outta town. That kid, he saw me.” The voice was familiar, but Nick couldn’t place it. “And I don’t think he’s dead.”

“He saw you doing what?” asked Palmer.

“Doesn’t matter. I just gotta get out of here and you’ve gotta help me.”

“I do not ‘gotta’ help you. You are a risk to our operation. I am ending our association.”

Somebody took a step. Nick looked hastily around. The nearest place to hide was a hundred feet away; they’d find him if they came out here.

“No, you can’t go!” the unidentified man yelled. Heavy booted feet stomped across the floor. “I’ll tell the cops you killed Li Sha. I saw you in town that night. Saw you at the parlor house. Bet you didn’t know.”

A deadly silence followed the declaration.

“Scared, Palmer? As scared as when that detective came snooping? Afraid he’d figure out what we were doing if he poked around enough?” He grunted. “I would’ve taken care of him, too, if he didn’t have such a hard head.”

Well, well,
thought Nick. The man who’d attacked him.

“I could just as easily accuse you of killing Li Sha. You assaulted her last summer when she tried to turn you out of the parlor house. Maybe you decided to finally get revenge for the insult.” Palmer was sounding confident. A bit too confident, in Nick’s opinion.

“You’re gonna lay the blame on me after all I’ve done to keep your part in our operation quiet? You’re a louse, Palmer.”

“I suppose you set fire to Uhlfelder’s saloon.” Palmer exhaled loudly. “That was not necessary. He would never have drawn attention to us, because then the police would begin looking at him and all that low-cost liquor he’s been dispensing.”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re almighty trusting? And I’m just plumb sick of Uhlfelder. Never did cotton to him.”

“And those notes . . . what was that all about?” asked Palmer. “Did you think Mrs. Davies knew about the smuggling? How ridiculous.”

“She saw me with Lange!” the other man shouted. “And she was with that cop last night, looking for me. Apparently, the notes weren’t enough to get her to mind her own business. I thought the rat would work, but it didn’t, either.” He cursed. “If only that kid hadn’t shown up.”

“What did you do?” asked Palmer, seeming concerned for the first time.

“Don’t worry. She’s not dead, either.” He sounded regretful.

Palmer exhaled loudly again, the noise turning into a groan. “Lange’s daughter. You killed her, didn’t you?”

“She’d figured out that we’d been selling opium on the cheap to her pa. Damnation, Palmer, didn’t you realize that would happen?”

Nick released a breath. Opium and cut-price liquor. And Palmer, adding to his wealth.

“But to kill her—”

“She wanted me to let Lange alone. I don’t know how she found me. She must’ve followed me,” the other man said. “She thought she could pay me off, and I’d be happy to leave her pa alone!” He scoffed. “And all she had on her was a hundred dollars. Stupid woman. It’s her own fault she’s dead.”

“So, what now, Wagner?” asked Palmer. “If I don’t help you evade the authorities, am I next?”

Wagner.
Of course. No wonder he’d been able to afford his fine black suit.

“Hey, there’s an idea!” Wagner said, chuckling.

Nick heard the thud of a fist connecting with flesh, followed by a grunt and the sound of scuffling. Gun extended, Nick crept forward and peered around the doorframe. Palmer had pulled a pistol and Wagner was trying to pry it out of Palmer’s hand.

“Stop!” Nick fired a bullet into the ceiling, the shot’s echo deafening in the small office.

Palmer jumped back and Wagner wrenched Palmer’s revolver out of his hand. He shot at Nick, the bullet going wide, and Nick leaped behind a desk. His shoulder burned and he looked down. The bullet hadn’t gone wide enough.

Wagner fired at the desk, bullets ricocheting and splinters of wood flying over Nick’s head. He lurched to his knees and shot at the man’s feet from beneath the desk, missing but making him pause.

“Damn it, Wagner!” yelled Palmer. “You’re going to get us both killed!”

A piece of furniture fell with a bang, skidding ledgers across the floor.

There was another shot and then a click as the cylinder of Palmer’s pistol reached an empty chamber. Here was his chance. Nick jumped up from behind the desk and leveled his gun at Wagner, whose spent weapon dangled from his hand. The man’s left eye, discolored black-and-blue, was almost swollen shut from the clout Mrs. Davies had landed.

Nick cocked the hammer and aimed the Colt at the man’s chest, thinking of Tessie Lange, killed because she’d tried to save her father, and of Owen Cassidy, who might still die from his wounds. Thinking of the bruises on Celia’s chin and neck. Wagner stared defiantly back at him. Nick had never shot a man in cold blood.

“Thank God you’ve come, Detective Greaves.” Palmer stepped out from behind the bookcase he’d knocked over, his hands raised at his shoulders. “That man is a violent criminal. I’ll tell you everything I know about his illegal dealings.”

“Oh, shut up, Palmer,” said Nick, carefully easing the hammer back into place. He wouldn’t shoot now and make it an easy death for Wagner. Better the misery of the hangman’s noose.

“You aren’t gonna shoot, Detective?” Wagner snickered.

“Guess it’s your lucky day.” Nick heard the sound of running feet reverberate through the warehouse, and he lowered his gun. “But I won’t speak for my men. They might not be so generous.”

• • •

“
Y
ou should have immediately told Detective Greaves that you’d seen Mr. Palmer that evening, Barbara,” Celia said to her cousin, who was standing quietly at her side as they watched Officer Mullahey help Elizabeth climb onto the police wagon. All around, neighbors were lined up against their fences, hoarding observations to be distributed as gossip later.

“I wanted to believe it wasn’t him,” Barbara responded. “I’d convinced myself I’d been mistaken. And even when that girl in Chinatown told me a man had been looking for Li Sha just before she’d died, I managed to tell myself she didn’t mean Mr. Palmer, and even if she did, he’d have a good explanation.”

“The man she mentioned wasn’t him, Barbara. It was a man named Connor Ahearn.”

“Oh,” said Barbara.

“Which does not mean it was perfectly fine for you to lie to me about what the prostitute said.” Celia wondered how long it would be before she trusted her cousin again.

“I see that now,” said Barbara. “But when we got that first warning note, I was certain she’d meant Mr. Palmer. I was afraid he’d left us the note because he thought I’d reveal what I knew about him and Li Sha and the necklace. I was so confused about what to do.”

“What you should have done was tell me the truth. I would have helped.”

Barbara lifted her chin. “But he
didn’t
kill Li Sha, Cousin. I was right not to believe he could.”

“Barbara, please do not claim any of your deception was justified.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. Celia sighed and wrapped an arm around her cousin’s shoulders.

At the police wagon, Officer Mullahey said a few words to Emmeline, who looked over at Celia and Barbara before climbing up after her mother. Elizabeth reached for her daughter, but Emmeline shook off her mother’s hand and sat as far from Elizabeth as possible. Officer Mullahey took a seat up front, alongside the policeman who was driving.

“For how long were you aware of the relationship that had once existed between Mr. Palmer and Li Sha?” Celia asked Barbara as the wagon drove away.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” she asked, stepping out from beneath Celia’s protective clasp. “I’m tired.”

“It is time for there to be candor between us, Barbara.”

Her cousin bit her lower lip. “Li Sha told me about him and his gifts. I think it was right before last Christmas. She trusted me,” Barbara replied, making Li Sha’s faith sound misplaced. “Li Sha had a lock of hair from her dead sister, did you know?”

“I didn’t.”

“They came to San Francisco together, but her sister passed away within a month of their arrival. Mr. Palmer found out about the lock of hair and how much Li Sha treasured it. He bought that necklace for her—probably two or three years ago, now—just so she’d have a beautiful place to store her sister’s hair. He’s kind like that.”

Barbara’s face was shining; Celia realized it might be some time before her cousin saw Joseph Palmer for the man he really was.

“She’d sold all of her jewelry to pay off her debt to the brothel owner,” Barbara continued, “except for that locket. She’d never sell it. So when Mr. Greaves didn’t return it with her other belongings, I wondered if the murderer had taken it.”

“And that murderer
could
have been Mr. Palmer, Barbara,” said Celia, firmly. “But you decided to protect him anyway. You went too far.”

“I didn’t want to lose him.” Tears swam in Barbara’s eyes. “He’s the only man who’s been kind to me, Cousin Celia, besides Papa.”

“He could
never
have replaced your father, Barbara, if that’s what you were hoping from him.” No one could replace Lloyd Walford, thought Celia, and that apparently included her. “You should have realized that the moment you learned he’d been lying.”

Chastened, Barbara dropped her gaze and prodded at the gravel walkway with her toe.

Celia studied her cousin. “I was terrified when I found that note from Mr. Palmer in your room, Barbara. I thought it meant he’d lured you to a meeting in hopes of hurting you.”

“He never showed up. And then Elizabeth saw me and I had to go with her, since I couldn’t explain what I was really doing in Union Square. He wouldn’t have hurt me, though. I know he wouldn’t have,” she declared, and turned away.