Page 32 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)

C HAPTER 32

B Y THE TIME A brAHAM ARRIVED at his friend’s, Lucian and his wife were finishing up their midday meal. Abraham declined the offer to join them but accepted Verity’s generosity in making him a sandwich to take with him. While she put the small repast together, he explained the situation and his request to Lucian. Thankfully, Lucian readily agreed to help.

“I owe you, friend.” Abraham passed Miss Davis’s address to Lucian.

The wide grin on Lucian’s face told Abraham he would pay dearly for this favor. “A whole night with the woman who’s managed to catch your fancy? And a criminal clown turned deadly author, at that? I can’t imagine my wife and me spending my night off in any better way.” Lucian rubbed his hands together. “What stories should I share about you? Maybe the time we dressed as streetwalkers to lure out that violent cad? She might appreciate the details of how horrible you look in a dress.”

“I looked a far sight better than you.”

Given the first time he’d met Lydia she’d been wearing trousers, he didn’t find the threat too frightening. She was well accustomed to doing what was necessary to accomplish a task. Still, knowing Lucian had unrestrained access to share stories with Lydia didn’t sit well with him. It wasn’t that he feared Lucian would scare off Lydia. No, it was far worse. If Lydia ever picked up her pen to write again, Abraham had no doubt those stories kept between friends would make their way into fictional stories for the world to read.

Lucian shoved the address into his pocket, his face turning serious. “Be careful going after Poe. I don’t like that he’s already got one up on you.” He pointed at Abraham’s wrapped shooting hand. “I can go with you as backup to bring in Clemens.”

“As much as I’d like you by my side, I need you protecting Lydia more. Logically, Poe should be going after Ingram and not worrying about Lydia, but logic and Poe don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Maybe not, but watch your back. If he catches you alone, I wouldn’t count on him playing fair.”

Abraham gingerly flexed his burned hand. The burns weren’t as bad as Lawson’s had been, but they were enough to put Abraham at a disadvantage.

“I’ll be careful. Just make sure Lydia and her friends stay inside. I wouldn’t put it past them to become vigilantes themselves and try to catch Poe.”

“I’d say you’re overly worried, but they did try to steal a goat from the circus.” Lucian slapped him on the shoulder. “May the morning dawn with news that this is over, and you can begin courting and taming that wild woman.”

Abraham shook his head, then Lucian’s hand, and headed toward the station. He wasn’t foolish enough to confront Clemens on his own. He’d enlist at least one officer to go with him to bring in Clemens. Once Lawson had Monroe, the detectives would hopefully know who their man was, and Mr. Ingram could live out the rest of his life without knowing how close he’d come to facing death again.

Tracking down Clemens proved harder than Abraham imagined. The first logical place to visit had been the Cincinnati Commercial office, but Clemens’s boss said he’d sent in a note claiming to be sick. The timing was suspicious, but Abraham tried to withhold judgment. Everything they had was circumstantial and didn’t prove that Clemens was Billy Poe. The man really could be sick with a summer cold.

Only, when they went to the boardinghouse where Clemens resided, the landlord said he’d been gone since early that morning.

Abraham rubbed his thumb over the linen bandages and scowled. The timing fit for Clemens starting the fire, stealing the manuscript, and throwing the fire grenade. As much as Abraham disliked the man, a part of him hadn’t wanted to believe Clemens capable of the deeds Poe performed. Yes, the reporter was a snake, but they’d worked begrudgingly alongside each other for three years now. But knowing someone didn’t make them innocent. Clemens was like a dog with a bone—he fiercely went after what he wanted. And Poe was exactly the same kind of man. Abraham hated to think that Poe had been under his nose this whole time, gleaning information without much question from the very men who wanted to protect Cincinnati.

“If Clemens should return,” Abraham said, “please inform an officer as quickly as you can without alerting Clemens to your doing so.”

After agreeing, the landlord closed the boardinghouse door.

Officer Richards, Abraham’s assistant for the task, scratched at his beard. “What now?”

They should petition a judge for a warrant to search Clemens’s room. With the trouble this case had caused for the city, he might accept Abraham’s reasoning as good enough. However, that would take more time and likely yield little direction in where to find Clemens. The day was already edging its way into late afternoon. No, Abraham wouldn’t waste precious time in that futile effort. Clemens was a smart man, familiar with sensational stories. He would quickly recognize Ingram as Lydia’s story’s inspiration. If Abraham were Clemens, he’d secure his next victim, possibly kill him first, and then retrieve Lydia before dashing off into the concealing fog of obscurity. Ingram was his biggest lead, so that was where they should go next.

Abraham retrieved his notebook from his pocket and referenced the address. Of course the man would live in the Deer Creek Gang’s area. Assaults were less frequent in the daylight, but it was best not to take any chances.

“I hope you’re well-armed. We’re heading to Hunt Street.”

Officer Richards grimaced but double-checked that his revolver was loaded and ready.

When Abraham called in to Central to report his plans, the switchboard operator delivered surprising but welcomed news. “Clemens is cooling his heels in cell two. He was brought in not long after you left for slugging James O’Dell.”

“He punched his own uncle?”

“Yep, and he’s got a mean right hook. He’s waiting for you to question him.”

Thank You, God. It was a bigger break than Abraham could have ever dreamed.

At the station, Abraham found Clemens as the lone occupant of a cell, stretched out on the wooden bench with his coat as a pillow. The man looked entirely too comfortable for being in danger of losing his job. The Cincinnati Commercial wasn’t likely to keep him on once they discovered their reporter had been arrested for brawling. Then again, maybe they wouldn’t care. After all, it wasn’t like the newspapers cared much about anything except selling the next edition.

Abraham banged his handcuffs against the iron bars. “Wake up, Clemens. I have questions for you.”

The man startled but didn’t sit up. Instead, he readjusted his coat and crossed his arms over his chest. “By all means, ask.”

If the man didn’t mind his business being bandied about where the other cells’ tenants could hear, Abraham wouldn’t argue. They could move into a private interrogation room once the Poe allegations arose. “Mind telling me why you thought your uncle deserved a black eye and a broken nose?”

“He deserves more than that, and he’ll get it soon too.”

Was Clemens plotting murder as he lay in a jail cell? Granted, the dank accommodations didn’t inspire warm feelings, but that seemed a bit much even for him. Unless he was truly Poe. “Are you planning on giving O’Dell a Billy Poe ending?”

“Me? No. Miss Lydia Pelton has done it for me. Breaking her contracts is going to destroy O’Dell Publishing.”

“Losing one or two author contracts won’t kill a business.”

Clemens snorted. “Maybe if the owner wasn’t a greedy lowlife. Good ol’ Uncle James sank his profits into printing and selling new editions of the Poe stories at double the normal price. He has no funds to purchase new manuscripts or to fix the machines that angry protesters destroyed. He’ll be out of business by the end of the year.” The smile in his tone declared his pleasure at the thought.

“If Miss Pelton has already ruined him, then why did you punch him?”

Clemens sat up, and a photo slid off his chest and fluttered to the floor. He quickly retrieved it. Whoever was in the image must be someone Clemens revered, given the way his thumb gently stroked it.

His demeanor hardened, and a dangerous fury replaced the reverence. “Because the cold-blooded leech had the audacity to promote the special edition of my fiancée’s ruination on the anniversary of her suicide. I don’t care if it is also the date Wakefield’s case was dismissed. There were six Poe novels published before that book, but he had to go and grind his heel into the pain of all those who loved her.”

He spat on the floor as if it were his uncle.

Abraham couldn’t blame Clemens. He might have done the same thing had it been his loved one. He referenced the notes from the arresting officer. There could have been time after the fire for Clemens to fight his uncle, but the timeline was tight. As much as Abraham hated to admit it, Clemens as Billy Poe looked improbable.

“Where were you between eight and ten this morning?”

Clemens’s head jerked up eagerly. “Has there been another body?”

“Your location and any witnesses.”

“I’m not Poe, and my fiancée’s parents, Thelma and Patrick Napier, can attest to it. We met around nine for breakfast at Maggie’s favorite restaurant, took the half-hour trip to Spring Grove Cemetery, and visited her grave. On our way home, I saw Shadow in the Night displayed in the window with a sign saying, ‘Celebrate justice for Maggie with this special edition.’ I went straight to O’Dell Publishing and showed Uncle James exactly what I thought of him. I’ve been here ever since.”

Abraham bit the inside of his cheek. That meant Clemens was clear, at least as far as the carriage house fire and manuscript theft went. His alibis for the murders were weak at best, but good enough to cast doubt over his being Poe.

“So who did he kill? I heard Sullivan and Xavier skipped town, and Grant is awaiting his death from consumption in Colorado. Who’s left?”

Keys jangled at the barred entrance to the cells.

“We’ve got our Poe.” Lawson held a handcuffed Monroe in place behind the jailer.

The gate swung open, and Monroe stumbled through after a shove to his shoulder. His eyes were glazed over, and a euphoric smile played across his lips. His movements were sluggish, and he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. Was the man under the influence of opiates? Is that how he was able to fulfill his delusions and vile murders?

Abraham stepped aside and frowned at Monroe’s hands as the jailer opened Clemens’s cell. One hand was crudely wrapped, but ugly white blisters surrounded by unnaturally brown skin peeked out from the edges. The man was severely burned—like he’d pulled a manuscript box from the fire. Unfortunately it was his left hand. There would be no getting a writing sample from him now. Were the burns enough to claim him Billy Poe? After all, both Abraham and Lawson bore similar burns from this morning’s events.

Monroe’s head listed to one side, and he muttered almost incoherently, “She’s safe now. I did it for her.”

His words certainly sounded like those of a madman.

“He’s been speaking deliriously since I found him at his home with the burned manuscript box in his possession, along with Miss Davis’s address.” Lawson released Monroe from his iron bracelets and shoved the man inside.

“Her address? But how?”

“He’s been watching her long enough that he probably discerned who her friends were and then used the directory to find them.” Lawson clapped Abraham on the shoulder. “We were just in time, Hall. Ingram and Lydia are safe.”

Praise God for that. “What about the manuscript pages?”

“Mostly ashes. I doubt Monroe could discern that Ingram was his next victim.”

Good. Not that it mattered now. “We’ll need a warrant to thoroughly search his home and office for more evidence.”

“I’m taking care of that next. You’ll interrogate him while I’m gone. See if you can get a confession. It might take you a while to though. Those opiates need to leave his system first.”

Abraham cast a doubtful glance Monroe’s way. He’d lain down in the middle of the floor, curled around his burned hand, and continued to mutter incoherently. It would be hours before he could be interrogated if this demonstration were any indication.

Lawson continued. “I found him trying to treat the pain with an opium pipe and lamp.”

Not surprising with the severity of his injuries, but putting together an opium setup one-handed didn’t fit. He gestured for Lawson to step away from the cell and lowered his voice. “Was there evidence someone else set it up for him? Maybe a partner?”

Lawson’s brows drew together as he seemed to go back to the scene and mentally walk it. After a moment, he shook his head. “I didn’t see any, but I was more focused on hauling him in while he was easy to control. But you’re right. He couldn’t have done it on his own. You get that search warrant paperwork written up while Monroe recovers. I’ll transfer Lydia to a new location and stay with her. Officer Atwood will remain with Miss Davis to protect her and be prepared to capture Monroe’s partner.”

“I’ll transfer Lydia and see to her safety.”

“After your kiss with her last night? I think not.”

So Lawson had seen them. The collar around Abraham’s neck seemed to tighten, and he tugged it loose.

Clemens gave a low whistle. Apparently they hadn’t been speaking low enough. “Maybe you’re not as straight a die as I thought. Trying to pass off a night with your saucy miss as duty? I don’t think there’s a person in town who’d believe her innocence intact. Not with your relationship in the papers and all.”

The insult to Abraham and Lydia’s integrities couldn’t be ignored. “We would never allow anything of the sort to happen. Her safety is my priority.”

Lawson folded his arms. “Even the most upstanding men can fall to temptation, son.”

“By that logic, her going with you, an unmarried man, would be just as much a temptation.”

“Do you see how much gray is in my hair and beard? I’m not a young, hot-blooded man anymore. She’ll be safer with me than you. I’m pulling rank on this one. You don’t get the choice.”

Abraham chafed, but there was little he could do. With Clemens watching, Lydia’s reputation was at stake if he insisted. “Where will you take her?”

“I’ll leave directions on your desk. I wouldn’t want curious ears to hear.”

He had a point. As soon as Clemens’s bail was set, he’d be out. And it was possible that Clemens and Monroe had worked together. The more he thought about it, the more that made sense. “God be with you both, sir.”

Lawson left the cellblock, but Abraham lingered. Maybe with a few well-pointed questions, he could determine if Clemens was Monroe’s partner.

“What time did you and the Napiers leave the cemetery?”

Clemens’s wits weren’t clouded by opium, and it showed in the calculating glint to his eyes. “I’m not Poe’s partner. I departed Spring Grove with the Napiers around eleven thirty this morning and did not leave them until I lost my temper at seeing the book around noon. I went straight to O’Dell Publishing, where I was placed under arrest by one. I’ve been in this cell ever since.”

That was disappointing. Abraham would have to verify Clemens’s story with the Napiers, but if it checked out, Clemens couldn’t be the one who helped Monroe set up the opium lantern. Perhaps O’Dell?

“Did O’Dell go to a hospital after your fight?”

“Uncle James doesn’t have the wit nor the stomach to partner with Poe in anything but the written word. I am certain he went to the hospital. The man has less tolerance for discomfort than a newborn babe.”

In truth, Abraham agreed. He couldn’t envision O’Dell physically committing the murders, nor being the one to plan them. But someone had to have helped Monroe with the opium equipment. Abraham needed to petition for that search warrant and determine the possible partner’s identity. He pivoted on his heel and strode toward the detectives’ office.

“Hall! Where are you going? Let me out.” Clemens’s voice rang out behind Abraham.

“You’ll have to wait until bail is set. I’ve got more important work to do than chew the fat with you.”