“One moment,” said Turner, whose expression had changed from terror to confusion and back again. “Mr. Lavien, you told me there would be a reward for my information, and no consequences so long as I told you the truth. I have told you nothing but the truth.”
“I told you that you must tell us the entire truth,” Lavien answered. “Captain Saunders believes you are lying. I believe you are lying. Leonidas believes you are lying. You may tell us everything now, or you may tell us everything in private.”
“I have nothing more to say,” answered Turner.
Lavien tossed a coin to Leonidas. “Be so good as to get us a room. As far away as possible from the main room.”
Leonidas left to tend to his task.
Turner continued to glance about the room nervously. “You cannot force me to go against my will. I shall simply cry out.”
“If you do that,” I said, “we shall be forced to tell the crowd that you were a British spy during the war and that you participated in a conspiracy against patriots. We would not be able to save you from the mob even if we wanted to. If you want to live, you will try your luck with us.”
“I choose not to.” He stood but then sat down at once. I saw that Lavien had placed his sharp knife to Turner’s back, at his kidney.
In a moment, Leonidas signaled to us that he had secured the room. Lavien said to Turner, “If you do not come with us quietly and easily, you will die. Do you believe it?”
He nodded.
“Good. If you come with us, if you cooperate, you will live. It cannot be any simpler.”
The three of us rose and walked toward Leonidas, me first, then Turner, then Lavien. We went up a set of stairs and then another, and Leonidas led us to a room in the back. The doors to three of the other five rooms were closed, and we could hear the creaking of floors, the shuffling of furniture, the low moans of passion. The rooms here were used by whores, which was good. Customers would be used to the occasional strange noise.
The room itself was just fifteen feet by ten, but it would do. Once we were inside, Lavien locked the door. I gazed around at a small dirty mattress, a pair of chairs, a small table for drinks or food. Lavien pushed Turner into one of the chairs. He shut the window, and the room grew dark.
“I have not known Mr. Lavien long,” I said to Turner, “but my impression, from my limited experience, is that you ought to be very afraid.”
“If I tell you all,” said Turner, “you will kill me.”
“It is a possibility,” said Lavien, “but not a certainty. It depends, of course, on what you have to say and how hard you make us work for it. But if you don’t tell us, we will try everything to make you speak, and if you still remain quiet we will certainly kill you. You have all but admitted that there is more, so we have no reason not to pursue it.”
Lavien used his knife to cut a strip of cloth from the stained cotton mattress cover.
“We’ll not have the deposit on the room returned,” said Leonidas.
“What are you doing?” Turner asked.
“A little trick I learned in Surinam,” Lavien answered. “You cut off part of a man’s own body, place it in his mouth, and then gag him. Let him sit with his own bloody flesh in his mouth for a time-it works best in the hot sun, but here will do-and he usually becomes cooperative. The men I learned from loved to use the penis. It is symbolic, but I find it too devastating. A man without a penis will often drift into despair. I like to use an ear.”
Turner started to rise. “No, you won’t-”
“Sit down!” Lavien cried. His voice was so hard, so commanding, it would have taken a man with a godlike will to resist. Turner sat down.
“Leonidas, hold his arms behind his back. Keep them still. I don’t want him to move while I do this.”
It was at this point that I began to consider precisely what was happening here. If Turner had information about events from all those years ago, I would need to have it, of course. I would not walk out of that room without it. On the other hand, I had seen with my own eyes not only Lavien’s resolve but his ruthlessness. The night we met he would have mutilated Dorland had I not intervened. I could not object now to his frightening Turner or even striking him a bit. Slicing off the man’s ear and placing it in his mouth, however, was of an entirely different order.
“Hold, Leonidas,” I said. I turned to Lavien. “A word.”
“No,” he answered. “I do this my way.”
“It is my past,” I said.
“And it is my sense of justice. Am I to spare this man because you do not like what it takes to find the truth?”
“Yes,” I said.
He shook his head. “Leonidas, will you help me?”
“Do not,” I said.
Leonidas, however, ignored me. He stood behind Turner, held him tight, and drew a thin stream of blood.
“Last chance,” Lavien said.
“You are madmen,” said Turner. “I’ll tell you. Don’t cut off my ear.”
Lavien backed up. “Leonidas, keep his arms where they are. If I think he’s holding back, I’ll ask you to dislocate his shoulders.”
“It might require a few attempts,” said Leonidas.
“Do your best. Now, Mr. Turner, tell us your secret.”
He remained quiet for fifteen seconds. Thirty. Lavien shook his head. “You are wasting my time.” He stepped forward, knife out.
“We killed him,” Turner said. Were I to imagine such a scene, I would have thought Turner would shout these words, but he spoke them softly, as though he added a vaguely relevant bit of information to an ongoing conversation.
I stared at him. He did not make me ask him to elaborate.
“Fleet. He came back to Philadelphia looking for me, looking to clear his name. He was going to taverns, asking questions, getting close. The particulars don’t matter to you, I suppose. You need only know that Pearson knew that Fleet was looking for him-for us-and he asked me to help. He didn’t say what for, and I don’t know that I would have done it had I understood. I approached Fleet. He was in a tavern, drunk and angry, and I asked him to step outside with me, for I knew a man who could answer some of his questions. We stepped into the dark, and Pearson struck him on the back of his head with a hammer. Then he stabbed him. Fleet was not killed in a drunken brawl. He was murdered by Jack Pearson.”
Ethan Saunders
Later I would be unable to say what I meant to do. Nor did I know why I was allowed to do it alone. I left Clark ’s in a blur of movement, and it seemed to me I did not walk but was transported by some unknown magic to Fourth and Spruce, outside Pearson’s house. Neither Lavien nor Leonidas had come with me. I never asked either of them, but I believe they concluded it was something I needed to confront on my own, in my own way, without words of caution or prudence.
Later I would chastise myself, not because of what happened but because of what might have happened. I am no Lavien, no master of martial prowess, but I did not fear Pearson. Perhaps I ought to have. He had killed in cold blood. I never had. I ought to have taken time-a day or two, perhaps-to consider what I wanted and then determine how to accomplish it. That would have been the correct approach, but I had no patience for it. Had I taken more time to consider-even five minutes-I would have reached one single inescapable conclusion. I could not allow Cynthia to live with him another day. No, not another hour. The time for caution was done.
As I approached, the house looked quiet, still. It was late afternoon-too early to see lights in the windows-so I do not know what would have given the house a lively look, but something seemed to me absent or missing. I took an instant to consider, came to no conclusion, and went forward.
I did not trouble myself to knock or ring. I tried the front door, found it open, and entered. I had made it only five feet into the hallway when I was approached by the surprised footman. In my mind I saw myself grabbing him, throwing him down, striking him, but I restrained myself. He was called Nate. I remembered that. I also remembered that he, like the rest of the servants, was loyal to Cynthia.