Time of Fog and Fire: A Molly Murphy Mystery (Molly Murphy Mysteries) (26 page)

“But, Daniel,” I protested. “You just said yourself that the police chief or his lieutenant…”

“They’ll be too busy trying to keep order in the midst of chaos to notice me.”

I lay there, snuggled against him, feeling the comforting warmth of his body, and tried to think clearly. I didn’t share his confidence that the man who pushed him down a cliff would not spot him again and would not hesitate to use the current chaos to put a bullet in his back.

“Is there any way you can go back to your church and find that disguise you wore?” I asked. “You could move around safely in that.”

“The authorities have condemned the building,” Daniel said. “Nobody is to go inside until there has been a thorough inspection.”

“I don’t suppose you could slip in without being noticed?”

“When I left they had soldiers posted on the street outside. I’d likely be shot as a looter.”

“What are we going to do?” I said. “Somehow we have to get you out of here.”

“Molly, I have to say that running away leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I was sent here to do a job and I’ve achieved nothing, except for almost getting myself killed, and the poor fool who came to meet me smashed on the rocks at the bottom of a cliff.”

“So who do you think ordered your death?” I asked. “Do you think that Douglas Hatcher is here in the city and was in cahoots with the chief of police, and maybe paid him to get rid of you? Or do you think that they somehow knew you were asked to look into the federal corruption charge?”

“I’m not sure how they’d have found that out. I didn’t share that information with the chief of police, since his name was on the list of those to be indicted. But they may have been watching Dennison all the time, using me as bait to get him out into the open.”

“Who suggested meeting by the cliffs?” I asked.

“Not me. Dennison did.”

“Then it’s possible that you were pushed over the cliff just because you were there and they couldn’t let you go free. It was the man you met who they wanted dead.”

“Yes, that is possible,” Daniel said.

“So it had nothing to do with Douglas Hatcher.”

“Probably not. Even in San Francisco I can’t think that an individual could bribe the police to hurl two men over a cliff. Although I suppose it is not beyond the realms of possibility. But we haven’t any proof that Douglas Hatcher is still in town, have we? He could have passed through on his way to God knows where.”

Silence followed as I went through everything that had happened before the quake.

“So do you think now that Mr. Douglas really was the man you were looking for?”

“I’ve no idea.”

Another long silence while I tried to put my thoughts in order. With my aching head and the all-consuming worry about my son I really hadn’t had time to formulate what I had seen at Bella’s house. I pictured Señor Garcia’s body—sightless eyes bulging—lying there stuffed in the trunk. I hesitated. Should I tell Daniel? Or did I not want to inflict more worry on him at this time of overwhelming worry? I decided it might be good to give him something to think about that wasn’t his missing son. God knows I wanted to talk about something else myself.

“There’s something you don’t know,” I said. “Because you were at the opera with everyone else last night.” My God, I thought as I said the words. Last night. Was it only last night before the world changed forever?

“You found out something?” he asked.

“I found a body. At Bella’s house.”

“Whose body?” I felt the arm around my shoulder tighten its grip.

“Nobody you’d know. A Mexican man called Señor Garcia. It was all very strange. He arrived during the party you attended. Bella was clearly annoyed or even distressed to see him. He wanted to talk to her but she told him that she couldn’t leave her party guests and he had to come back the next morning.”

“And did he?”

“He must have done. I was out but he wore some kind of obnoxious pomade or cologne and the smell of it was definitely lingering when I returned. I thought he had come and gone. But that evening, when everyone else was at the opera listening to Caruso, I started to look for your suitcase. Bella said the police had taken it. The police said they hadn’t. So I wondered if it could possibly be hidden away somewhere. I went down to the basement and I found your suitcase there, but I also noticed that unpleasant smell again and when I opened a trunk, there was Señor Garcia’s body stuffed inside.”

“Good God,” Daniel said. “So I was right in thinking that Bella wasn’t exactly just the sweet and generous hostess that she seemed. I really was being treated like a prisoner there and my every move being watched. I wonder what her game is—or rather was, since her mansion will have been destroyed with the rest.”

“Maybe it wasn’t Bella who killed Señor Garcia,” I said. “Maybe it was Tiny or even Francis. They seem devotedly loyal to her. If someone showed up on her doorstep who was clearly distressing her—maybe knew something incriminating about her, wanted money—I can see that Tiny would have thought he was doing her a favor by killing that person.”

“Possibly,” Daniel agreed.

“Don’t you think there was something odd about that relationship?” I asked.

“Bella and Tiny? A relationship, you call it? Was it that and not just mistress and servant?”

“I don’t know rightly,” I said. “More than mistress and servant. She definitely bossed him around and he told me that he longed to be back in the wide open spaces on a ranch but that he wouldn’t leave Bella. Why was that, do you think?”

“She treated him well? He was putting away money for his future?” Daniel suggested. “Or he was secretly bleeding her of her money? Maybe he saw her as a cash cow and was robbing her blind behind her back.”

“And if Señor Garcia knew something about her and threatened to expose her to the authorities, Tiny got rid of him in a hurry because he was protecting his own future,” I said.

“Yes, that’s possible,” Daniel replied. “I wonder what she might have done? They say that everyone who comes to San Francisco is running away from something or has something to hide.”

“She did tell me that her husband was a bully and she was well rid of him,” I said. “What if she persuaded Tiny to help her kill her husband? Then they sold the ranch in New Mexico and now she can’t let Tiny out of her sight because he knows too much. And she’s paying him well for his silence.”

“Possible again,” Daniel said. “But I’m not sure how any of this could be proved. Especially now after the fire. The house will be ashes and presumably Señor Garcia’s body with it. And if his charred remains are found, it will be assumed that he was a servant who got trapped in the house by the fire. Or even killed in the earthquake and left there.”

I nodded, realizing this was exactly what would happen. Bella would have escaped once again, and if she had taken that trunk of money with her, she would be able to resume her role of society hostess in another city. Except that … “I have one of her wigs,” I blurted out. “It’s here with my belongings.”

“Bella wore a wig?” Daniel sounded amused. “And I was so impressed by her hair. What is the betting that her own hair is turning gray or falling out and she’s so vain that she wants to keep her youthful looks?” He paused. “Why did you take her wig?”

“I don’t know. I thought if I caught up with her she might be grateful to have it back. But she obviously has more than one because she and Tiny were seen loading things into their carriage and then leaving the house after the quake and before the fire reached them.” I started to chuckle. “You could wear it, Daniel. Another perfect disguise.”

“Oh, definitely.” Daniel laughed too. “And my several days of stubble wouldn’t give me away.” His grip around my shoulder tightened. “Oh God, Molly. What are we doing here? How did I ever get you into such a mess?”

“You wrote me a strange letter and I surmised that you wanted me to come out to you.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing my wife and son into such danger,” he said. “But I thought if you came to visit me, then I’d be—”

“Safe?”

“Not safe, but at least I’d have another pair of eyes to watch my back. And a witness should anything happen to me. And an aura of respectability with my wife and family around me. And since I’d had to promise the president and Wilkie that I’d tell no one where I was going or what I was doing, I had to hope that my very astute wife would pick up the clues in my letter. And you did, dammit.”

“You’re not allowed to swear, Daniel.” I slapped his thigh.

He laughed at this. “I’m hiding from people who tried to kill me once. I’ve lost my son. My wife is injured and the whole city is burning around us, but I’m not allowed to swear? Molly, I’ll say ‘dammit’ if I like.”

From beyond the trees came the sound of an accordion and voices singing. It all sounded very cheerful and jolly, like a regular campout. But I knew that those people must be feeling the way we were and singing to keep up their spirits. I rested my head back against Daniel’s shoulder. “I wish it was morning,” I said. “All I want is to have Liam safely back with us.”

“And to be far away from here,” Daniel said. “If I could find a way to move around without being noticed, I’d go to General Funston and tell him what I know. I’m sure he’d be interested to know that the beloved mayor and city attorney had lined their pockets with graft and corruption and that the respected police chief was a cold-blooded murderer.”

“He might be in cahoots with them,” I said.

“I doubt it. He’s a tough warrior. Don’t forget he distinguished himself fighting in Cuba with the president, and then he conquered the Philippines before he was posted here. I expect he is as straight as they come and disgusted by corruption.”

From beyond the trees the sound of applause came toward us. And shouts and hoots. It was going to be a long night. Probably the longest night of my life.

Twenty-seven

I suppose I dozed from time to time but I was aware of any small movement through the forest—the hoot of an owl, the crack of a twig, the sounds of men going to relieve themselves among the bushes—far too close for comfort. The damp cold of the fog crept under the coat we had draped over us and it was impossible to get warm. The fog covered any exposed part of us with a layer of moisture and more drops dripped down from the branches above us. Daniel seemed to be breathing regularly so I didn’t want to move and wake him. By morning I had a horrible crick in my neck to add to the throbbing in my head and the dry mouth from a whole day without anything to drink. I was never more glad to see the first signs of dawn, although the fog was blotting out the rising sun and the sky beyond the branches. Birds started singing in a raucous chorus, crows cawing loudly to drown out lesser songbirds. Daniel sighed and tried to sit up.

“My arm under your head has gone to sleep,” he complained. “What a miserable night. Shall we go and see if anyone is awake and has possibly made coffee?”

“Do you think anyone will have had the foresight to rescue coffee from a collapsed house?” I asked. “And besides, you can’t risk being seen, Daniel. You must stay here while I go looking for Liam.”

“I don’t want you wandering around alone,” he said. “I’m coming with you. I’m sure our noble police chief and his lieutenant will be occupied elsewhere.”

“Be sensible, Daniel,” I snapped. “It’s not just those two. You said yourself it was a group of men who pushed you over that cliff. Any one of them could recognize you and inform the chief that you’re still alive.”

“There must be some way of disguising myself,” he said.

“We could take off my bandage and put it around your head,” I suggested.

“Don’t be stupid. And expose your own wound to the dirt and air?”

“Maybe we could share it? Let’s unwind it and see how long it is. And you could also see if my wound really needs to be covered.”

“Molly, I don’t really think…”

“Let’s just try it, Daniel. If the wound looks bad and there’s not enough bandage, then you can wind it back on again.”

“I suppose…” he said and untucked the end of the bandage. I grunted as he came to the back of my head. I had obviously bled through and the dressing had stuck. This unwinding was pulling at it. “I’m not doing this,” he said.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I exclaimed. “It’s your life, Daniel. Keep going and let’s see.”

Slowly, painfully, he tore apart layer after layer. “There’s quite a good amount of it,” he said. “And a nice big gauze pad over the wound itself. That seems to be well and truly stuck, Molly. You certainly bled well. But we’ll not try to remove it until there is a clean dressing to take its place. And you’re right—they were quite generous with the bandage. There may just be enough for both of us. Hold on, let me get my penknife out of my pocket.”

Soon he was rewinding my bandage around my head and then it was my turn to wind it around his.

“I’m sorry, I know this is rather revolting,” I said. “At least the blood has dried.”

“I’ve had worse things happen to me recently,” he said dryly.

I made sure the bloodstained section went over part of his face. I examined him critically. “Yes, that might do the trick,” I said. “I think you could be recognized if someone really studied you, but with a quick glance all they’d see is the bandage and the blood.”

I secured the end of the bandage.

“Ready?” Daniel climbed stiffly out of the driver’s seat and came around to open my door. I stood up, my limbs also stiff and aching. My face, hair, and the bandage were all clammy with damp fog. The world around us was hazy and indistinct, all sounds muffled. Daniel tore off ferns and branches and covered the automobile pretty well.

“I hope we can find it again.” I smiled as I said it. It felt strange to smile, as if it was a skill I had forgotten.

“I hope so too,” he said. “But we’ll make sure we remember our route to the meadow. Starting with that big tree with the bark peeling off it.”

He took my hand and we walked cautiously through the swirling whiteness toward where we hoped the meadow lay. The tents lay still for the most part. Beyond them families were curled together in sleep on the grass, their possessions piled around them. Only a few people here and there were awake, standing and staring out at the scene, arms wrapped about themselves to fend off the cold. At the table where stew had been served the night before, some soldiers were now setting up a new cauldron. We went over and found it contained oatmeal. This discovery made us go back for our plates and spoons and soon we had some warm breakfast inside us, also a drink of water, as a barrel had also been delivered with a dipper attached.