Chapter 34
The ransom note was delivered just before dawn.
Forest Park Pavilion.
Girl for cash.
Eight a.m.
Come alone.
Following most of the instructions, Blade stood in front of the band pavilion in Forest Park. The briefcase at his feet held five thousand dollars, his entire savings.
Hiding off to one side, Jared clutched a similar case with another five grand from the bank’s vault. With no time to wait for the police, they’d packed the cases themselves.
Blade scanned the walkways leading to the pavilion for a man and a redhead. He couldn’t wait to hold Stormy in his arms.
Few weekenders strolled the city park at this early hour, so the kidnapper had no crowds to shield him. If he snatched the money and ran, they’d give chase, two against one, until they caught him.
“See anything?” Jared called. He was impatient, too. Candy had protested her innocence loudly under interrogation last night, but Jared had convinced the sergeant-at-arms to hold her in a cell until the case was solved. He’d even roused a sleepy photographer to snap a photograph of his unfaithful wife behind bars.
“No.” Blade still couldn’t shake the conviction that Candy was behind this terrible affair. Every answer she gave a few hours ago revolved around money. How she deserved more, and the kidnapper deserved less.
He’d read somewhere that kin fleeced kin more often than acquaintances or strangers. The rudimentary handwriting on the ransom notes could have been scrawled by a half-drunk roustabout in exchange for an hour with a willing whore. Like Candy.
He pulled out the gold pocket watch he’d borrowed from his father. On the ranch, he told time by the sun and his stomach. A few minutes here or there weren’t important. But, right now, every second mattered.
Stormy had been kidnapped five days ago. He prayed Peabody had given her decent food and a clean place to sleep. And, swore the investigator would pay if she’d been mistreated.
He checked the timepiece again. Ten minutes to go. The second hand ticked slowly.
He patted his pockets. The choke cord was wound so the handholds protruded. His switchblade was a quick reach away.
“Look!” Jared hissed.
Blade looked up and recognized Edward Peabody.
The investigator walked toward the pavilion, jauntily swinging his walking stick as if he intended to spend the day at a gentlemen’s club. He stopped at the entrance to the pavilion and motioned for Blade to come over. Stormy was not with him.
Peabody’s smile reminded him of every con artist and thief he’d ever met—disarming and smug.
Jared had convinced him to let Peabody make the first move, but his fingers itched to shove the smile down Peabody’s throat. “Where is she?” he growled.
“Where’s my money?”
Blade gestured toward the briefcase, which he’d left on the stage. “Up there.”
“How much is in it?”
“Five.”
Peabody’s eyes flashed disappointment. “And, the rest?”
“My brother has more,” Blade said evenly, though he wanted to tear the man limb from limb. “But, you didn’t bring anything in trade.”
Peabody reached inside his tan coat and withdrew a small, folded paper. “Her signature, written a few hours ago.”
Blade snatched it from his hand, popped the wax dot seal, and read,
I want to go home.
Stormy.
It was her handwriting. Small, flowing letters.
“Hand over the money,” Peabody ordered.
“Not until I see her.”
“Sorry, old man. We’re doing things my way.” Without warning, Peabody rammed the brass knob of his walking stick into the underside of Blade's chin.
He fell back. Stars danced in front of his eyes.
Jared yelled, “Blade!” but he was too far off to help.
The investigator towered over him, eyeing him with ruthless intent. He gripped his walking stick with both hands and raised the heavy brass knob high above his head. “I won’t let you cheat me.”
Desperate, Blade tucked his arms and rolled.
The second swift blow struck the middle of his back. A painful, paralyzing tingle rippled through his limbs. He had no strength to deflect the next blow. It would probably crack his skull.
He heard a loud bang and jerked onto his side.
The exultant glare faded from Peabody’s eyes. His knees buckled. A red stain sprouted on his shirt, and he collapsed, dead.
Three policemen ran out of a stand of trees with guns drawn.
“Blade!” Jared’s hands slid under his shoulders, raised him to a sitting position, and shouted, “He’s all right.”
Blade’s relief turned quickly to despair. How would he find Stormy now?
“Mr. Masters. Mr. Masters.” An insistent voice pierced his misery. “I think we’ve got something.”
Blade couldn’t imagine what, but he forced himself to focus.
Crouched beside Peabody’s torso, a mustached policeman held a blood-soaked slip of paper. “It’s hard to read, sir, but I think it’s an address. It could be where he’s hidden your fiancée. Eight twenty—”
“Juniper,” Jared exclaimed. “That’s the rooming house.”
Blade struggled to his feet. Ignoring the pain in his jaw and ribs, he pointed at the officers. “You, you, and you. Follow me!”
~ ~ ~
Blade ignored the police commissioner’s order to let his officers secure the rooming house. He leaped from his brother’s carriage and ran inside shouting Stormy’s name. When he heard no response, he skipped the office door and pounded on the next.
The mustached policeman who’d found the slip of paper in Peabody’s breast pocket caught up to him. He raised his weapon and nodded.
Blade kicked in the door. The room’s occupant wasn’t home. They backed out and approached room number two.
Jared and a second team of policemen thundered past and marched up the stairs to the second floor.
The hausfrau rushed out of her apartment waving a ring of keys. “I good person,” she shrieked. “Why you break my place?”
Blade turned toward her like a lion on a mouse.
She recoiled and blanched. “You?”
“Where is she?” he roared.
“Up,” she squeaked. “Come.” She scurried toward the stairs, urging him to follow. “This not my idea. She pay money and threaten to burn down if I talk.”
“Who’s she?” the policeman demanded as they climbed.
“Stripples! Bad tenant. Make hanky-pank all hours of the night. Her man not care what she do.”
“Who’s her man?”
“He say his name is Vance. He finds room for her, and then she makes me find one for him.” She stopped, breathing heavily, in front of a narrow door. “He fix room up.”
“The attic?” Blade reached for the door knob, expecting it to be locked.
It turned easily in his hand.
Fear stabbed his heart. Peabody could have moved Stormy before he came for the ransom money. He pushed open the door and stepped onto a dark flight of steps. At the top, another door was shut tight.
The policeman touched his arm. “Let me go first.”
He shook his head. “We’ll go together.” He raised his fingers. One. Two. Three.
They charged up the stairs and rammed the door with their shoulders. It flew open.
Stale, foul air choked the room.
Stormy lay on the floor at the end of a heavy metal chain hooked to the headboard of an iron cot. Her unseeing eyes were sunken black circles. A thin, bloodstained quilt partially covered her wasted body.
Blade knelt beside her, praying she still breathed. He pressed her neck for a pulse.
Policemen poured into the room, and he motioned for silence. Seconds ticked by. Uniformed men shuffled their feet.
Unwilling to give up, he cradled her icy hands, bent his head, and blew streams of warm air over her fingers.
One digit twitched. Then, another. Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Parched and cracked, her lips moved.
Overjoyed, he scooped her into his arms and held her close.
She spoke two faint words. “Baby. Vance.”