“But with my father’s reputation as a mentalist, Dr.
Fenger’ll toss me out.”
“Not so. Your father enjoys a good relationship with Dr.
Fenger,” he lied, “and I am sure that if Christian finds you as determined a pupil as you seem, why then he’ll side with you.”
“Imagine it . . . Dr. Christian Fenger in my corner.”
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“Stranger things’ve happened.”
She looked at the prone figure of Tewes, who was out and had no need of water or coffee.
“Will you have more coffee and stay longer, to tell me harrowing tales of cases you’ve worked on, Inspector?”
“It grows late, and I fear we’ll wake your aunt.”
“Oh, poooh on her! She sleeps like a stone a way off in the other part of the house. You must tell me of your cases!”
“Really, it is late.”
“But the coffee, and I made cookies earlier.”
“Hmmm . . . you can be persuasive, young lady.”
“Then you’ll stay awhile?”
“One cup of coffee, two cookies—”
“And three lurid tales?”
“Let’s make it my most lurid case.”
CHAPTER 15
Fire alarms from several directions sounded a distress that would wake the entire city. Still, Ransom ignored the Chicago Fire Department at work in the black of night, instead launching into the story of how he’d almost single-handedly caught Morgan Nels and his equally deadly wife, Nellie “the Hawk” Nels, a twosome who’d begun as flamboy-ant con artists, but had graduated to murder when a con went bad. “Found contract killing far more to their liking—faster results—so they embarked on a career as a tag team.” He was in midsentence when the phone rattled to life in the other room.
“You have a telephone?” he asked.
“We do. It’s needed in a medical practice.”
“A most helpful new tool for the police as well.”
“So I’ve read.”
“Read?”
“I know a young policeman who sneaks the police news to me whenever he can.”
“I see . . . the Police Gazette. ”
“I love it.”
“You really do have the blue bug then, don’t you?”
“Is that what they call it?”
The phone continued to ring. “I’d best get going,” he said.
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“But you didn’t finish. How precisely did the Nels do their murdering?”
“I suspect you’ve already read of the case.”
“I have, but to have you, the man who brought them to justice to tell it . . . this is such an . . . an honor.”
Am I blushing, he wondered.
“I did some checking up on you; learned a lot about you, Inspector, and I’m not ashamed to say it, but”—she had begun a blush now—“I so admire you, sir.”
“Why thank you.”
“So few people . . . so few men could possibly be as brave as you.”
He swallowed hard at this. “I cannot remember a time when anyone has said as much to me. I don’t know what to say, except . . . well . . . thank you, Miss Tewes.”
“Gabrielle or Gabby . . . you must call me Gabby, yes.”
“All right, Gabby. I take it as an honor.”
“But for now . . . we must keep our alliance between us.
Should Father learn, he’d scalp me, and most certainly send me to convent.”
“Really?”
“He says you’re not to be trusted, that you’re a scoundrel, and that he suspects you have, on occasion, crippled or killed men to make them talk.”
“I had no idea he held so high an opinion of—”
“Is it true?”
“True enough.”
“I’m not sure I believe either of you.” She threw one of her cookies at him, making him laugh.
The sound of sirens continued closer now. The phone had stopped rending apart Ransom’s head, but it’d left a throbbing. His contorted features telegraphed the depth of pain he entertained.
“Are you all right, Inspector?” she asked.
“Have this headache, you see. Should be off to bed.”
“You ought to’ve had Father diagnose your problem ’stead of spending the evening drinking, the two of you.”
CITY FOR RANSOM
153
“So right.” He stood to leave.
“I suspect the headache is the tip of the iceberg,” she hazarded a guess.
“You’re going to make a fine doctor.”
She escorted him to the front door. A red glow against the sky in the distance made them both stare in wonderment.
“Whataya suppose?” she began. “Fireworks at the fair?”
“Another fire. They break out routinely. So many of the original homes built substandard before the new laws were enacted, and when they go up in flame, well the way they are atop one another over there on Broadway, Clark, the Lincoln Park area . . .” he paused, giving a thought to Merielle. She lived in the area in question.
“Can you imagine someone calling here at this hour?” she asked.
He banged the floor with his cane. “By my word, perhaps the doctor is being called to assist at the fire?”
“I think not, but who knows.”
“If it should ring again, answer it. If they need him, get that coffee into him and get him there.”
“Are you going to see the fire? Would you take me with you?”
“No,” he lied and grimaced. He did indeed mean to determine its origin and extent, but he certainly did not want her on his arm at the scene of a fire.
“You really should take care of your health, sir, that headache.”
“I’ve tried all cures.”
She nodded. “All but my father’s. Come by for it. He does good work, despite what people think.”
“If it’ll afford me the pleasure of your company, Gabrielle, then I may just do that.”
Ransom said good night, his body silhouetted against the red sky. She called out as he grabbed a passing cab, “Do take better care of yourself, Inspector. Chicago needs men like you! Many more I’m afraid.” “Make for the fire, my good man!” he shouted to the cab
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bie as he boarded. Out one cab window, he saw Gabby waving him off; out the other, he saw an oddly shaped black plume of choking smoke rising over Chicago. He cursed the fool who’d fallen asleep over his stogie, or the overturned lamp, or the careless fellow with one of those newfangled gas stoves kicked over at the foot of a bed.
The devastating fire reached beyond the London Royale Arms Tavern, threatening to destroy other tenement houses around it. Most builders at this time, having learned the lessons of the Great Fire of ’71, used brick and mortar and the new concrete, especially in high-rent districts and for the high-rise structures of Michigan Avenue and other downtown locations. In such places, the city upheld new fire standards, but here on Clark new construction followed old paths: payoffs and graft to aldermen and building inspectors allowed substandard housing to again flourish.
After the debacle of flame that leveled Chicago, headlines had read:
FIRE DEVASTATES CHICAGO . . .
CITY TO NEVER RECOVER . . .
GREAT LOSS OF LIFE AND PROPERTY . . .
END OF GREAT RAIL HUB!
GONE THE WAY OF ASH . . .
Such headlines abounded in the few newspapers whose presses the Great Fire hadn’t silenced. People who’d lived through the fire in ’71 now stood in shock and fear at the sight of any conflagration that even appeared to have the possibility of becoming the next Great Fire. Tonight’s in-ferno looked far too familiar; older citizens standing and watching the rain of ash and cinder trembled at the prospects while blood orange, red, and blue flames licked at all surrounding structures. Nearby trees and fences ignited. Was CITY FOR RANSOM