Shadows in the White City (23 page)

“Have not.”

“Does she come here?”

“Seldom.”

“When is seldom?”

“Seldom is seldom.”

“Seldom in daylight or seldom at night?”

“I tell you, she has not been round here since…well since the vanishings began, I'd say.”

Alastair noted several children clinging to the man and his wife. “Are you not fearful for your children, sir?”

“There he goes again, Mother…calling me sir.”

“Well? Have you fear for your children?” persisted Ransom.

“My true children have abandoned us, mother and father. These little ones you see here have adopted us, so to speak.”

“Adopted you?”

“They elect to stay close.”

It did appear the children were here voluntarily and held no fear of this couple. “Still, sir, tell me, what is your name?” asked Alastair.

“Crusoe…Robinson Crusoe.”

Obviously, the man was educated, well-read, and enjoyed verbal jousting. “Well, Mr.
Crusooo
…have you any opinion of the Vanishings?”

“I have my suspicions, yes.”

“And what are these?”

He held out his palm for money. Alastair filled it with a dollar bill. “I have recently come across a horrid fellow, a man who is Anti-Christ if I am human.”

“Anti-Christ?”

“The Anti-Christ.”

“Who is this man, the same as the children call Zoroaster?”

“I suspect so. I've seen him slaughter small animals, skin 'em and eat 'em uncooked. Says I to him once, why not build a fire and fry that meat?”

“And his reply?”

“He asked back, ‘Ever e't raw meat?'”

“Then what?”

“Then I decided to let it go.”

“And what makes you think him evil other than eating the flesh of animals?”

“It did not stop at his eating uncooked animal flesh.”

“Go on.”

“He fed it to his children.”

“Indeed!”

“Indeed…and his woman.”

“The whole family is eating dog flesh?”

“Times are hard. Dog, rat, cat, and I fear
children
now.”

“It is too crushing to believe it.”

“Didn't someone say the bodies are carved up? Like grandma's holiday turkey?”

“Yes, this is true. All the same…what you propose, Mr. Crusoe, is beyond the kin of all but wolves.”

“Wolves're kinder. Several knives of varying blades are used so I read.” He held up a tattered
Herald.

“You are well informed, but the general feeling is that the butcher uses several knives.”

The decrepit man shook his head. “Reverse that thought. Several butchers, some large, some small, trained on a separate blade—all carving on the carcass.”

“A horrible notion.”

“Hard to swallow, you mean!” He laughed at the bad joke until the laugh turned into a coughing jag. “But it's what I told the other man who came asking.”

“The other man? What other man?”

“Why the doctor. It's what I told the doctor.”

“What doctor? Please tell me it wasn't Dr. James Phineas Tewes.”

“No, not 'im. The surgeon, Dr. Fenger. He called himself Dr. Josephs, but I read the papers…maybe a week late, but I read 'em when folks throws 'em away, you see.” He warmed to his subject, waving his soiled paper. “I've spied his picture in the paper more'n once.”

“Fenger came down here and talked to you?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“A day ago now.”

“And this butchering family…these cannibals? Did you point them out to Dr. Fenger?”

“Point them out? No. They've relocated by all accounts, so there was no chance.”

“Where did they relocate to?”

“Dunno.”

“And this is what you told Dr. Fenger?”

“I never let on I knew who he was.”

“But you informed him as you did me? No deviation?”

“I did, and he paid me a damn sight better'n you.”

“Was anyone with him?”

“Yes, that big-shot guy.”

“Big shot?”

“
Ahhh
…fellow they call Chief in the papers.”

Kohler and Fenger here, tracking down this cannibalistic family twenty-four hours ago,
and Christian knowing this even as he autopsied Danielle, yet he'd said nothing of it, confided nothing of it. It could only mean one thing.

“Tell me…when'd you last see the Anti-Christ and his family?”

“Not for days now.”

“Does the Anti-Christ go by a man's name? I understand he goes about in men's clothing.”

“He calls himself Jones, Smith, and sometimes Dobbins.”

“Dobbins?”

“Donald P. Dobbins.”

Ransom wondered if the man made it up as he went. He decided this was the case to some degree. “Dobbins, I see. Can you show me where Dobbins and his family can be found? Where they sleep when here?”

“Aye…for another buck.”

Alastair yanked out another bill and laid it in Robinson Crusoe's hand. “What about me?” asked Sam beside him. Ransom frowned at the boy but gave in, handing him his last single.

As they followed Crusoe down the maze of the sewer, tramping through turgid black water part of the way, Alastair gave thanks that it'd been a dry month.

They passed others who'd taken up residence here below the city—desertlike expressions on their faces like so many zombies. One gaunt, weather-beaten old woman loudly tsk-tsked at their passing and shook her head and loudly an
nounced, “I'told ya all…predicted this. My daughter told me so. They've come to root us out.”

“I'm not here to harm you, old mother,” Ransom assured her.

“The angels will catch him some day. Leave him to the angles. They'll destroy him,” said the addled woman.

“In Chicago, we're not much for leaving justice to angels or to another life, my lady.”

She twittered at his calling her “my lady.” She came alongside Ransom with a small vial of water, splashing it over him, calling it holy water to protect him. “If you're that stubborn bent on it, you'll need protection,” she finished. “Besides, the Anti-Christ hates holy water. Burns his soul like acid.”

He imagined the old woman had stolen the water from one of a hundred churches in the city.

The old man shooed her off, while Sam said, “Holy water makes his skin dissolve and turn to steam…weakens him. But tainted holy water don't bother him in the least.”

“Right, son,” replied Alastair, tired of hearing this kind of nonsense.

But Sam kept on. “You know, like sewer water and like tap water'll do for 'im. That he can even drink and it don't bother him, but not blessed holy water. I know a priest sells it outta the back of St. Alexis shelter for the homeless.”

“I'll bet you do.” Alastair took a moment to jot down the priest's name, as he wanted a talk with this man.

Just then Alastair saw a large figure rise in the distance here, a strange steam coming off him. The figure appeared flanked on two sides. On one side, a woman, on the other a child. Then another child, then another. They seemed to curl up from out of the ground like smoke. Alastair heard the song sung in the streets by children replaying in his head:

Alastair looked from Sam and back to the homeless family shrouded in gloom here, below ground. They looked back with vacant eyes: This motley group, not so deadly as pathetic, recalled a family in one of Philo's photos.

Ransom spent a few moments with the father—a man calling himself Gideon Tell—commiserating about his inability to find work. Ransom made a few suggestions, people to speak to, an alderman in the district, telling him to use his name to break the ice as a kind of letter of introduction. “There is the chance in this to feed your family,” finished Alastair. “You, too, Crusoe, but you'll have to supply your real name.”

Crusoe grunted. “That'd be Robert Louis Stevenson.”

Across town at the same time

Jane and Gabby had not been able to sit idle all
this time and had gone in search of Audra. They located her on a street corner in the company of others, including King Robin. All of the children had undoubtedly heard of Danielle's fate, and most of them scattered on seeing Jane and Gabby, but Audra, Robin, and a handful held their ground.

Jane convinced those remaining to accept a carriage ride to Hull House where she had friends who would take care of them. “At least until the police catch this madman who killed Danielle,” she pleaded.

“No one can catch the Devil,” countered Robin, even as he urged his followers to climb into the carriage. None of them had ever been in a cab before, and they took it as a great opportunity that would not come again. It quickly became a free-for-all.

In fact, the ride to Hull House was boisterous and fun for all, but as they neared their destination, Gabby began interrogating Audra, asking when she had last seen Danielle and who might have been with her when she'd disappeared. “Why was she alone? Where were the other children in her gang?”

“Danny…she sometimes went off on her own,” said Robin.

“Said she needed thinking time.” Audra began sobbing. None of the other children could add to this.

Robin explained that the two bands mutually supported one another, and that everyone liked Danny as they affectionately called her. After this, Robin opened up, telling Jane and Gabby a story about himself and his mother. “One night last year, we made a bed out of a large freight box, newspapers, and some brush in the park by the lake, the place where a lotta drunks gather after all the bars are closed. And it was my turn to stand guard against the “screamers.”

“Screamers?” Jane asked, making all of Robin's followers laugh.

“Packs of roaming addicts—screamers.”

“What sort of addicts?”

“All sorts. Booze, heroin, opium. Anyhow, while mama slept, I guarded her. That's when all of a sudden Charlie was standing before me, dressed in his army uniform.”

“And Charlie is?”

“My dead brother. Died in the Indian Wars out West.”

“I'm so sorry Robin,” Jane replied, placing a hand over his, but he quickly withdrew.

Robin then gnashed his teeth, gulped, and teared up but kept on with his story, pretending some lint had flown into his eye. “My brother's spirit, says he, ‘The Devil got loose from under the river!'”

“The river?”

“The Chicago River. He found a hole under Lake Michigan and came up through the river is what Charlie was saying out of his dead mouth. Then he said, ‘The rich people didn't stop him!' And then he says, ‘The angels need soldiers.'”

“So he was warning you, your brother?”

“That's what I'm telling you. He's close by, watching us
right now
.”

Gabby piped in. “One of the good angels, heh?”

“Where is your brother now?”

Robin opened the window sash on the carriage and looked about. Seeing nothing, he stuck his head out farther and returned his head with a smile. “He's atop the coach, beside the driver, enjoying the ride.”

“He's perched on the coach seat?”

“Yes ma'am.”

Gabby asked, “Is he, you know, stuck on this plane of existence, this realm?”

“Charlie's spirit thinks he is needed in the war.”

“The war?” Gabby repeated just as the coach hit a huge pothole, jarring her but making the children cheer.

“War of angels, the one you've been told about.”

“He's lingering here so he can fight back?” asked Jane.

“Now he has the power, yes.”

“So where now is your mother, Robin?”

Robin looked about the cab at all the expectant faces. It was a secret he had not told anyone; he informed them now, prefacing what he wanted to unload. “Mum is in county hospital.”

“Cook County?” asked Gabby.

“Sick…sick she is…up here.” Robin pointed to his head.

A chubby Polish boy piped in, his name Stanley. “My dead cousin told me that as soon as water touches the Devil's skin, it turns deep burgundy and…and horns, they grow from his head. The river itself turns into blood; spirit screams and the bones of murdered children float on the water.”

“And just when the angels think they've convinced
Good Streets
—people like us—that they are in as much danger as
Bad Streets,
Satan vanishes through a secret gateway beneath the river, or lake, or pond, or ocean depending where you are.”

“I see,” said Jane, her heart silently sobbing for these children.

“Now he's coming your way,” Audra warned.

Robin quicky added, “You'll need to learn how to fight.”

“Teach me,” replied Jane.

At the same time Gabby asked Stanley why he was carrying a ratty old school book that'd been torn and beaten.

“I can't go to school,” replied Stanley.

“But you carry school books?”

“Only cause Robin got them for me. He ought to grow up to be a teacher.”

“Perhaps he will.”

Stanley dropped his wide-eyed gaze in a gesture of sadness.

“‘Study hard,' Robin tells us all,” said another of the children.

“Stay strong and smart so's you count on yourself, no one else, is what he always says,” added Audra.

“And he taught us to never stop watching out for one another,” added little Stanley, his blond hair wispy and wild.

“To watch our backs,” said Audra.

“For Bloody Mary, you mean?” asked Gabby.

“And Satan?” added Jane. “Zoroaster?”

“I tell them what I'm telling you now, ladies,” Robin said, his voice ominous. “Bloody Mary is coming with Satan. And she's seen your face. She's picked you out for a no good end.”

Jane placed a hand on Gabby's shoulder at this warning.

“What about this predator, the one the police and the press are after, the child killer?” Jane asked Robin point-blank. “How does he figure into this war of angels and with Bloody Mary?”

“How do you know that Leather Apron is a he?” Robin asked in return.

“Guess I've assumed it a statistical probability.”

“I think Bloody Mary is Leather Apron,” replied Robin.

“What makes you say so?”

“At least, she is directing his movements.”

“Why do you say so?” asked Jane.

“I saw her with Danny a couple of times lately.”

“Why do you think Danny'd go off with Bloody Mary, if she feared her so?” asked Gabby.

“Nothing goes on here on the streets without Bloody Mary having a hand in it,” added the sullen Noel.

Jane's frustration filtered through in her voice. “Zoroaster, Satan…and the Blue Lady?”

“God, she works for God.”

“And where are God and the Angel Warriors and the Blue Lady?”

“Hiding out. Lickin' their wounds…”

“Hiding out where?”

“Hiding out in plain sight. In hospitals, banks, schools. Here on the street. Danielle was an angel, and for all I know, you and your daughter, you could be warrior angels.”

“That's sweet of you to say.”

“It's not sweet. It's instinct.” Robin then looked her hard in the eye and added, “You…you remind me of my mother before…before she got sick.”

She reached across the carriage to hug him, but Robin pulled back, saying, “Look…I have nothing to give you beyond the facts of life on the street, but soon maybe…maybe I will know something. I have my eyes open and my ears to the ground. If you two are willing to pay in goods or coin.”

“We're budgeted to pay for information that leads to this killer, sure.”

“All right, then you're going to hear from me again…soon.”

“No, not if it places you in danger, Robin—any of you,” insisted Jane.

The carriage had pulled to a stop at Chicago's famous Hull House, where Jane Addams herself stood on the steps awaiting their arrival. Dr. Jane Francis had contacted her long-time friend and confidant, asking her to help out and offering a generous check for Hull House in the bargain. Jane had thought about the homeless children since the first day Audra had introduced them, and she'd sat down and
asked herself a series of questions: Who would care to know about the homeless children? Who would want to create a program of hope for them? Who would already know that kids need love and perhaps pets as well as books and schooling to help save them from everyday fears and horrors, traumas and the exigencies of life on the street, life without a daily routine, life without a bed and a roof and four walls and a lock on the door?

Who indeed. The revelation coming in at her felt so horrible, so distasteful that she wanted to scream out its impossibility even as it formed in her mind. Chicago, her city, had helped greatly a madman by letting these children down. The Vanishings were nothing new; in a quieter but just as awful way, kids had been vanishing before their eyes since the city's inception.

Jane Addams had become the fulcrum for the settlement movement that preached for shelter communities in every neighborhood. She was always at the center of anything dealing with destitute women and children. If there were a program in place to put homeless children in physical touch with orphaned and impounded puppies, to give them a warm meal and a place to lay their heads at night, this was the place. If there was any chance whatsoever of finding good foster care for such as Robin, Audra, Stanley, and the others, it was Hull House, as Jane Addams had a sixth sense about people.

Dr. Jane Francis realized that Alastair had a job to do, and must end this slaughtering of the innocent, but it was increasingly clear to her that these children were not a direct path to the killer. They were the lure but could not be used as the bait.

It was possible, yes, that the killer had knowledge of the morbid “religion” professed by the homeless, and used its precepts against them along with enticements, no doubt—food, money, toys, the promise of a pet…or immortality as a follower of Zoroaster!

It was a wild, anxiety-ridden bird of a notion, which now fluttered insanely inside Jane's brain, and perhaps ought to remain there. She saw herself trying to sit astride the back of this “fowl” idea that had invaded her mind. The idea that
Dr. Christian Fenger, Nathan Kohler, and she—as she had entered into a deal with the others—might benefit from all of this horror by delivering up the killer to Senator Chapman's idea of justice.

Christian had told her of the secret only the day before. She'd been told that Alastair had flatly declined Senator Chapman's “kind and generous offer,” and she respected him for taking the higher, moral ground, but to her mind there was a difference in her own notions of getting hold of a share of this treasure. How much good it could do in the hands of the caretakers of Hull House to feed and clothe these children. Still, she remained removed from any direct connection even as she'd quietly provided Christian with information gleaned from Audra and the other children.

Jane had not been comfortable with the role that Christian had placed her in, but unlike Alastair, she had no compunction about
how
this monster they called Leather Apron would meet justice, so long as he did! And if she could cash out a dramatic winner thanks to Chapman's deep pockets, so be it. Like Christian and Kohler, she could use the money, but now she'd begun thinking any such funds must go to these homeless—these daily survivors.

Still the godawful gnawing at the pit of her stomach and around the edges of her soul about this deal continued inexorably to erode away sane notions and to taunt her. So often good things were done in the name of humanity, religion, love, brotherly concern, fatherly passion, a mother's love, for god and country, and this for a grandfather's vengeance. But so often it proved a complete lie, a fabrication, a distortion, an illusion. It was one of life's tragic comedies, and largely due to her experience and training—she must pay close heed to her instincts and suspicions.

She watched the children line up at the order given them by a stern Jane Addams, whose very tone, icy and firm, the children seemed to welcome, even Robin, as though he would gladly relinquish his crown if someone else, an adult, would please take it.

Jane and Gabby climbed last from the carriage, waving at the heavyset woman on the steps with the unforgettable smile and commanding presence. At the same time, Jane Francis glanced at the topmost coach seat for Robin's brother, imagining him just there.

“What'd you make of Robin's story about his dead brother?” Gabby asked in her ear as if reading her thoughts. “You think it true?”

“I've no doubt that soldiers, who die a traumatic, violent, and sudden death often are left in limbo. They sometimes send out messages—confusing and vexing and conflicting images, yes, but images nonetheless.”

Gabby and Jane helped settle the children in at Hull House, and once this was accomplished, Jane Addams gave them the full tour and a brief history of her work here. As she listened to the indefatigable Miss Addams, Dr. Jane Francis offered up her services as a physician to bring health care on a regular basis to Hull House.

Miss Addams stared for a moment at Jane Francis, a single tear appearing in the older woman's eye. The tear swelled and slipped down her cheek. Addams brushed it away. “So good of you, Dr. Francis.”

The following night

Alastair was on a crawl tonight, but not a pub crawl—rather an information-gathering crawl in search of Bosch. Ransom the Bear was afoot, exercising his feet and hips and sweating off some pounds and getting nowhere.

Police work was like that. Hours upon hours of simple hard work leading to nothing, and sitting idle, and making rounds, and asking question after question with little result, and then came the explosion in the face. Some event or happening bursting on the scene to give a shock to the system.