Love Lies Bleeding (25 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

I
t seemed like hours before he finally had the floor mopped up. He had stanched the bleeding on Jimmy’s head, using a rag and water to clean the wound and then the floor. He’d scrubbed so hard that the boards almost sparkled. When he was done, he’d tossed the rags into the hallway stove to burn along with the clothing he’d placed there earlier. Now, he had to figure out what to do with the body. He wished he’d known what was waiting for him at home; if he’d held onto the flivver a little while longer, he’d have been able to dispose of Jimmy very easily. But now he was in a fix.

When he looked out the side window, he could see Jimmy’s horse, Old Blue, hooked up to the Devenport buckboard at the hitching post next to the building. As near as he could figure, all he had to do was get Jimmy into the buckboard and then dump him in the lake. If he was lucky, it would be days or weeks until the body was found. He figured he had a solution to his train dilemma, as well. Cleaning Jimmy up a bit more, he rifled through the boy’s pockets, not expecting much but hoping there might be something he could use. He found a dollar in change and a sterling silver pocket watch that had to be the only thing Jimmy still owned of any value. He might be able to hock it, if he was lucky. He tucked the watch into his front breast pocket, hoping for the best, then picked up his satchel, depositing it in the back of the buckboard. On his second trip, he wrapped Jimmy’s arm around his shoulders and made his way out to the horse and cart again.

“Oh, Mr. Estabrook! Mr. Estabrook!” came the voice of Mrs. Protts behind him, looking out her door. She wore a long striped nightdress and housecoat, and a nightcap covered her gray hair. “Is everything all right? I heard a noise.”

Somehow, he kept himself from visibly flinching.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Protts!” he called over his shoulder. “I must apologize for my friend and the commotion he’s making. I must get him home. He’s had a bit too much to drink, y’see.”

“You do that, son. Get that boy home. He can’t even walk upright, the poor dear!”

He struggled with the front door handle.

“Here, let me help you,” she said, beginning to enter the corridor.

“No!” he said, trying to sound relaxed, although he knew his voice was shaking. “We’re just fine…” he said, finagling the thing open with relief. “Thank you, though. Good evening, Mrs. Protts!”

“Good evening, young Tom.”

Tom heard her door shut, and slipped out the front door. As he bore his burden over to the buckboard, he saw with relief that the rain had lessened to a mere sprinkle. His clothes would remain in far better condition now. It took a bit of work, but he managed to dump Jimmy in the back and cover him with an old horse blanket. Thank goodness Mrs. Protts’s apartment was on the other side of the building. Old Blue looked annoyed that the driving had been taken over by an unfamiliar master but swished his tail at a fly and obeyed the commands Tom gave him.

Tom drove to a spot not far from where he had pushed the flivver into the water. Seeing no one about north of Myers Point, he grabbed his old friend, lifted him as well as he could, and tossed him into Lake Cayuga. The waves took the body, and it floated away, eyes still open and glaring at his killer. Tom hoped to be far away by morning, when he was sure the body would be found.

Tom arrived back at the station, and with a new ticket taker in place, he was less worried about being remembered. He’d also pulled his hat lower and remained engrossed in the day’s newspaper, which he held up for camouflage. He booked passage to Erie, Pennsylvania, in case anyone came checking around after him. Once he was in Erie, he could buy another ticket under a different name. Instead of heading east, which had been his original plan, he’d decided to use the extra dollar to strike out for Chicago instead.

Hackett and Flynn Pawnbrokers, Erie, Pennsylvania
September 19, 1916

Ephratus Hackett dusted a jewelry case near the front of his store, glancing out the window at the traffic passing on Sassafras Street. His store was around the block from the rail depot, so the people-watching here was always first-rate. The old man sported an impressive head of frizzy gray hair and mutton-chop whiskers.

He hoped business would pick up today. The last two days had been very slow. He and his partner, Isaiah Flynn, had barely managed to avert disaster the previous summer, when the Millcreek Flood had swept through their store, cleaning them out. Thank goodness they’d had insurance. He’d hoped for a better year in nineteen sixteen, but it hadn’t materialized. They were still scraping along, hoping for the next best deal.

Just seven months ago, Mr. Flynn had made a deal on a one-of-a-kind sapphire necklace. Its owner claimed it had been passed down from a great-great grandmother who had been a Lowell in Boston. According to her, the family, like many others in the area, had fallen on hard times after the flood. The woman wept as she pledged the piece, unsure if she would ever see it again. She didn’t.

Four months ago, an exotic-looking woman introduced herself as Miss May Hayes and handed him a hairclip with tiny rubies surrounding a sizable piece of topaz. She claimed that it had belonged to Lemonade Lucy, the wife of the late president Rutherford Hayes. She had represented herself as a Hayes cousin, but the truth was later revealed that the barrette had been absconded with from the home at Spiegel Grove. Mr. Flynn had received a commendation from the police in Fremont, Ohio, and from the Ohio state police for his savvy work in ensuring the criminal was apprehended.

And two weeks ago, Mr. Hackett had taken the offer of an unusual comb, inset with jade and mother-of-pearl. The woman sacrificing it, a Miss Bergstrom, claimed that it had been the property of Miss Jenny Lind and that her grandfather had been the Swedish Nightingale’s manager.

There was no limit to the number of outrageous stories he heard to make merely interesting items seem invaluable for the purposes of obtaining cash loans. He enjoyed his business, but he was growing tired after all these years.

Moving the dust rag over the wooden showcase, he glimpsed the comb on its velvet scarf within, sparkling under the glass. He hoped today would bring another piece as special.

The young man was non-descript. Hackett sized him up, seeing a handsome dark-haired fellow with somewhat shabby clothes but a shy smile.

“Good afternoon. Welcome to Hackett and Flynn, sir.”

“Good afternoon,” Tom said. “I’m interested in pawning this watch.” He crossed to the large wooden showcase and set the watch on the glass, looking around him at the store. The pawnbroker wore a sober black vest over his brown wool trousers. His tucked white shirt lent him a professional air.

Mr. Hackett picked up the antique and pulled his eyeglass into place. After carefully examining the engraving and construction of the watch, he opened the cover, revealing the timepiece itself, and continued to assess its attributes.

“Very nice,” he said.

Tom leaned on the glass of the showcase.

“A William Ellery model. Appears to be in very good working condition. Pure sterling silver, it is. Nice fob, as well. Do ya know what this G is for, son?”

Tom thought fast. “Why, that would be Gardner, sir, my mother’s name. This watch was my grandfather’s, y’see.”

“What a shame to have to part with an heirloom like this. I’m afraid I see a bit too much of that these days. Hard times all around, you know.”

“Yes, sir. We’ve had some bad luck the last few months.”

“Have you then? You have my sympathies. Where do you hail from, young fellow?”

Tom’s brain sped through a list of the depots they had passed between Ithaca and Erie and came up with Chautauqua, hoping the lie would suffice.

“Pretty area. Nice lake, beautiful scenery,” the old man said, one eye still busy with the appraisal. “This William Ellery was a very popular soldier’s watch for the men in the war between the states. Your grandpap a veteran, then?”

Thomas nodded, in solemn deference to his fake war hero kin.

“You know how they picked the name? William Ellery was one the signers of the Declaration of Independence. From Rhode Island he was.”

“Is that so?” Tom asked, feigning interest in the watch, although the only thing on his mind was its possible value and the cash he could receive from it. When Mr. Hackett handed him a more-than-fair sum, his eyes bulged.

“I’m sure my grandfather will appreciate your generosity, sir,” he stated.

“Well, you thank him for his service, young man.”

“I will do that.”

With some of the extra money he obtained from the watch, Tom purchased a sliced beef sandwich and a beer at a nearby pub, then strolled down 14th Street to buy his ticket to Chicago.

A train outside Ashtabula, Ohio
September 1916

The young man in seat 7A had been engrossed in the scenery, looking out the window for at least the last forty miles or so. He had dark hair combed to one side, a tweed jacket and trousers that were a bit on the shabby side, and a dark bowler hat, which now rested on the plush green frieze seat next to him.

“Stamp your ticket, sir?”

“Oh yes, here it is.” David Lawrence handed his ticket to the gray-haired old man and watched him verify the passage.

“All the way to Chicago then, sir?”

“Yes, all the way.”

“Very good.” The conductor nodded. “And you, sir?” he asked, speaking to the seatmate across from him.

“Chicago for me, as well,” said the big man, handing over his ticket. His expensive cologne and fancy gold pocket watch announced him as a man of the upper classes. He wore an expensive-looking suit with a carnation in the lapel, and had pomaded his hair into the perfect shape.

The old conductor nodded as he looked over the ticket, then made his way farther down the car to inquire of the harried young mother sitting with two young boys three seats behind.

David continued to watch the scenery flowing by. Here in northeastern Ohio, it was an abundance of thick wooded forests. But as they followed Lake Erie, one could sometimes catch a glimpse of the water. His copy of Sabatini’s
The Sea Hawk
sat abandoned on the seat next to him.

“Heading west, eh?” asked his seatmate, making polite conversation.

“Yes, I’m seeking employment there.”

“You don’t say,” the fellow said. “What is it you do, sir?”

“I design and build clocks,” David said, embroidering his experience just a bit.

“Do ya, now? Well what do you know! This could be your lucky day. It just so happens, son, that I own the largest clock factory in the Midwest. Blackhawk Clock and Watch. Ever heard of it?”

“I must apologize, sir, but no.”

“We’re in the market for a talented young man such as yourself. I could sure use some more help in my business, if you’d be interested. I’ve got the market cornered in Chicago, and we’re looking to expand. I would enjoy some new blood at the factory.” Winking, he finished, “And I believe my daughter Ethel wouldn’t mind meeting you as well. You’re a good-looking fellow, sure enough.”

“What is your name, sir?” David asked.

“Why, Smith’s the name. Lafayette Smith!” The man held out a large paw for David to shake. “I’d be mighty pleased to offer you a position, Mr.—”

“Lawrence. David Lawrence. And I would be most pleased to accept, sir,” David said.

“Lafe! Call me Lafe!” the big man insisted, lighting his pipe.

David had to admit things were looking up already.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Harvard, Illinois
1986

F
rank had watched the old man’s tale unfold, and he knew from the emotion that it had stirred up that he was telling the truth. Libbie had made the mistake of picking Tom as her unwilling abortionist.

Tears still oozing slowly down his cheeks, the old man grabbed Frank’s hand and said, “I’ve wanted to tell someone for so long. I never meant it to happen. God, I loved her. We were going run away to Cortland to be married at last, the most beautiful girl in town and me. Can you imagine? But then at the last minute, she told me that she wouldn’t do it. That she would never wed a poor man. I think she imagined she would end up like the mother in that book, marrying below her station. She told me she would never have a bunch of babies and live in poverty…” His voice faded off.

Frank pulled his hand away in disgust and watched the old man’s face as he spoke.

“I was so frightened after it happened. I wasn’t even that scared during the war when the Hun came up over the top of that trench and shoved the blade into my shoulder. But I was so afraid…of no one believing me, of going to the chair at Auburn. Of Della and her whole family being shamed by what I had done. I couldn’t let Libbie keep laughing at me after the way she treated me. She teased me, saying I wasn’t a man, that I was poor, that I was a coward…belittling me. She was evil, Investigator Conley. She was so casual about playing with people’s emotions. It was like nothing to her. Like squashing a fly.

“She used me for sex, and then when she knew she was going to have to start looking to marry some respectable man with money, she was going to dump me. But she had this little complication pop up first. And then with Jimmy—I never meant that to happen. I loved Jimmy. For so much of my life, he was like a brother to me. But he was going to blackmail me. How could I live like that? I thought he was my friend, but I had no idea he hated me so much. I refused to go to jail for those two on top of everything else, but now I suppose that’s where I’ll be. And I deserve it.” He let out a sigh of relief.

“Yes, you do,” Frank said quietly. He wanted to tell Tom how his behavior had changed Maude’s life—how it had destroyed a family—but the man was trapped in his own hell anyway. And Frank needed to keep his objectivity at all costs.

“Frankly, any change of scenery would be a relief after looking at these awful walls for ten years,” the old man said, “even if they do have bars on them. But the joke’s on you, son. I doubt my body will even last for the trip back to New York.” Another violent paroxysm overtook him, and he shook with his coughs until he was able to tame them.

“I need to go make a phone call,” Frank said. “Don’t get any bright ideas.”

The old man nodded as he watched Frank leave the room.

Willowbrook Manor, Harvard, Illinois
October 1986

Once he reached the nurses’ alcove around the corner from the old man’s room, Frank used his official phone card to put in a call to Linda.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey, me. You still in Chicago?”

“Just outside. We found him. You and me. He’s still alive at some nursing home here, and he’s been living as David Lawrence for the last seventy years. Libbie was pregnant and wanted him to give her an abortion. It ended up killing her.” Frank took a deep breath. “Do you remember Russ talking about some friend of his? Jimmy something?”

“Yeah, Jimmy Devenport. He drowned around the time Libbie disappeared.”

“No, he didn’t. Estabrook killed him.”

“Oh my God!”

Frank recapped everything the old man had related to him. “Linda, do you remember anything else about Devenport? This is my curiosity talking now, not even my cop sense.”

“From what I remember, Jimmy had a head injury of some sort when they found him. I think the medical examiner at the time thought he might have hit his head on something and fell in. He was fully clothed, so they knew he wasn’t swimming. He had a history with the bottle, like his father, so they just figured he’d been drinking. They found his horse hooked up to the family’s buckboard somewhere between Ithaca and Newfield heading toward their farm, so nobody was completely sure.”

“Well, we know now.”

“When will you be home?”

“I’m heading to the airport as soon as I can. I’ll try to get the first flight available.”

“What about the killer?”

“We have a helluva tale to tell when we’re ready to finish that book. I have to see to some extradition matters, then I can head back.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you, too. I’ll call you when I get home.”

Willowbrook Manor, Harvard, Illinois
October 1986

After Frank left the room, the old man pushed his wheelchair over to a small cheap bureau near his bed. He opened the drawer, recoiling at the odor of mothballs that assaulted him. Then he pulled out an old Robusto cigar box that held what was left of his few possessions. Reaching past the obituary for his wife, an old boutonniere from their wedding, their marriage announcement, several pictures of her during their courting days in Chicago, and a few contraband Three Musketeers bars smuggled in by an orderly, he came to another photograph. Taking it from the box, he held it in front of him for a few moments, still marveling that any human being could be that beautiful. Libbie’s haunting face glanced back at him from her sepia-toned world.

“Well, you finally won,” he told her.

After seventy years of running from the past, his weakened heart had had enough.

When Frank returned to the room fifteen minutes later, Tom Estabrook still sat in his wheelchair, clutching the photograph, and he was turning cold.

Ithaca, New York
October 1986

Frank approached the metal bed and the frail figure in it. Diana stopped him before he got all the way to her side.

“She’s been asking for you. Seth thinks she’s been waiting for you to get here.”

He took his mother’s hand and stroked it, letting her know that he was there. She gazed up at him, the tube down her throat prohibiting her from speaking. Near the bed, Diana and Seth stood with their children.

Shannon approached the bed as well. Her mother stood back a bit, not wanting to intrude in a private family moment, since she was no longer a member. But she had always been close to Maude during her marriage to Frank, so she wanted to be there.

“I’m here, Mom,” Frank said. “I got him. It was Tom. I found him in Chicago, living under an assumed name. He confessed. Everything’s fine now. Libbie would have forgiven you for all you said. You know that.”

The relief in her eyes was unmistakable.

He leaned down a little closer to her and whispered, “I haven’t had a drop in weeks. I promise.”

It was hard for her to smile with the awkward tube there, but he could still see the joy radiating from the shrunken body.

Maude looked up at her children, her eyes bright with realization. When she knew that it was safe to go, she let herself drift away. Frank stood holding her hand for a long time afterwards.

Linda sat in the hallway, nursing a cup of water, waiting for the family to regroup after conferring with the doctor for funeral preparations.

Frank joined her there, and they sat together for a moment, silently holding hands. After a few minutes, Shannon came and sat down with them.

“Hi, Linda,” she said, holding up her hand in greeting.

“Hi, Shannon. I’m very sorry about your grandma.”

“Thanks. I’ll be all right, I guess. I…um…I’m glad you’re going out with my dad.”

“Me too,” Linda said, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Your dad’s a good guy.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Shannon looked up at him with an expression he’d never seen from her before and was nervous about labeling. It frightened him a little, but he wanted to call it pride.

Shannon leaned over to him and whispered in his ear.

“That sounds like a good idea. Why don’t you ask her?”

He could tell she was self-conscious when she turned to Linda and said, “Dad and I were thinking about going to Purity’s for an ice cream. Can you come?”

“I’d love to,” Linda said.

As they headed across the parking lot to the car, Frank turned to Linda with a sudden thought.

“Hey, do you like cats?”

THE END