Chapter Thirty One

“It wasn’t Ryland McCarthy,” Farley announced without any exchange of greetings. Cobb looked up from his paperwork his face first puzzled then dismayed.

He threw his pencil onto the desk, where it hit and rolled off the edge. He didn’t watch it roll off nor did he pick it up. “Who was it?”

“I just got word from my informer that the laundry sale was finalized about an hour ago. The Union Trade Council is celebrating and word got out.” Farley caught Cobb’s dead-eyed stare and added, “It was Henry Teague who sold us out.”

Cobb jumped up, his chair banging against the wall behind him. “I should have known. That gutless snake never raised a single word of objection. At least Ryland had the guts to speak up.” Anger reddened Cobb’s face as he paced back and forth in the small office. “We have to call a meeting, discuss how we’re going to react to a union-run cooperative laundry.” He paused and stared at Farley, “How long until they’ll be up and running?” he asked.

Farley shrugged. “My informant didn’t know. And those two operatives of mine have completely disappeared. No one has seen them. I went to their hotel room and bribed my way into seeing their rooms. All their belongings are there. That makes me pretty sure that they had nothing to do with McCarthy’s death. If they’ve done a scamper, they wouldn’t have left everything behind. I’m thinking something bad has happened to them.”

“Never mind about them. Did you get that loose end tied up? The women?”

Farley gave a hesitant nod. “I think so. I told Sinclair to get them aboard ship before tide change this morning. Problem is, I also told him to immediately report to me once the ship sailed with them on it. I’ve seen neither hide nor hair of him.”

“What else can go wrong?” Cobb asked without expecting an answer. His hand fumbled for the chair arm and he carefully lowered himself onto its seat.

A knock sound on the office door and L.D. Warder slipped inside, carefully shutting the door behind him. “How come you guys are looking so glum?” The drivers’ union president seemed to be twitching with either excitement or cheer. “I’d think you’d be celebrating!”

Cobb straightened, as if hope had suddenly infused his body. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Why, the laundry sale. It won’t go through now that McCarthy’s dead.”

“You idiot!” Cobb shouted, finally giving vent to the anger that had been building. “The sale has already has gone through! Henry Teague sold them the Star Laundry this morning. Those union thugs are down there at their hall celebrating.”

Color drained from Warder’s face leaving it ashen. His knees buckled and he staggered, grabbing the wall with one hand to keep from collapsing. “But I heard you say. . . . It was Teague, not, not McCarthy?” he asked.

Horror contorted Cobb’s face. For once he seemed speechless. Before words came to Cobb, Farley grabbed his hat from a neighboring chair, clapped it onto his head and stood. “That’s it for me, gents. I don’t want any part of a murder I had nothing to do with. I’m catching the next train out of here. Good luck.” With that, Farley opened the door, stepped out and closed it softly behind himself.

In no time, the coach was rumbling along the dirt road that skirted the swampy morass of Guilds Lake north of the city. The coach was rolling at a trot. Since the glass windows wouldn’t raise, Sage opened the side door and leaned out to consider the horses. They looked in fine fettle, heads up and manes flying. Slamming the door shut, he settled back onto the bench seat next to Sinclair. Lucinda sat across from Sage, while Fong occupied the corner, across from the stranger, surveying all of them with heavy-lidded eyes.

“New coach?” Sage asked Lucinda.

She shrugged then smiled and answered, “Brand new. It was our first outing in it. The ladies are going to be upset with me.”

“Since you’re their boss, they’re not likely to complain.”

Her lips twisted in a faint smile but she said, “Maybe so. But they will be disappointed.” Her regret was genuine. The realization came to him that everything was genuine about Lucinda.

Sage studied the interior of the vehicle to take his mind off the woman across from him. Tufted and buttoned leather covered the two seats with plenty of foot room between them. Glass insets filled each side opening to keep rain out. The coach’s strong springs made for a smooth ride—as smooth as it could be on a rutted and potholed dirt road. Their fast pace had to be raising billows of dust.

He glanced to his side and saw that the stranger was staring at Lucinda, his eyes calculating. “Just who are you, Mister?” Sage’s voice sounded harsh and overly loud despite the incessant road rattle.

That question tore the man’s eyes away from Lucinda and he answered readily, “Name’s Paul Sinclair. I’m out here from Chicago.”

“What do you do in Chicago?” Sage’s question made Sinclair stir uneasily and turn his face away, so that he was staring out the side window. When he turned back, all the life was gone from his face and his voice was dull as he said, “I’m a panderer, a white slaver, a seducer of innocent girls.”

That candor took Sage off guard and in the pause that followed he looked toward Lucinda. She had stiffened and somehow withdrew from them all.

“What are you doing here in Portland?”

“I was hired by a man named James Farley to kidnap Rachel Levy.”

Once again, the candor gave Sage pause then he said, “So, why are there three women aboard the Maggie Jane if Rachel Levy was your only target?”

Sinclair rolled his eyes to the ceiling, clearly exasperated with what had transpired. “I didn’t know there were two sisters who were identical twins. I grabbed the wrong one, Rebecca. Then I tricked the second one, Rachel, to come to the aid of Rebecca.”

Sinclair’s voice seemed to soften when he said the name “Rebecca” but Sage couldn’t think about that now. “So why did you grab Mae Clemens?”

“I did that early this morning. I panicked.” He heaved a sigh. “She was snooping around the Maggie Jane. I was afraid she’d call for help before the steamer sailed. So, I grabbed her.” He held out a hand that had been severely scratched as if demonstrating the task had not been easy.

Sage smiled but still asked, “Did you hurt her? Did you hurt Mrs. Clemens?”

Sinclair chuckled softly. “I only hurt her pride. She was mad as a wet hen, as my mother would say. Me, on the other hand, got scratched and stomped. I’ll be limping for a week. She barely came to before she was telling me to take a long walk on a short log.”

Lucinda snorted and even poker-faced Fong’s lips twitched. “Where is the Maggie Jane taking them?”

“San Francisco. From there, they’ll be taken to Panama to work in the houses there.”

Lucinda gasped and, for the first time, she spoke to Sinclair in a voice raspy with anger, “You despicable, disgusting human being. They’ll never survive working in a Panama whorehouse!”

Sage saw that her hands were balled into fists and quickly intervened to touch upon his greatest fear. “Mae Clemens is too old to be a prostitute.”

Sinclair’s face tightened and his lips formed a thin line. “That’s why we have to intercept the Maggie Jane before she crosses the bar into the Pacific. I’m afraid the captain will just throw her overboard,” he said.

Caroline settled onto the rail car’s seat and for the first time relaxed. It had been a frantic run to the Union Station. What a picture they must have presented, the big Sergeant, towing her along by her elbow, a Chinese man running on her other side close enough to grab her other elbow should she stumble, the three of them trailed by four beehive helmeted policeman and the shabbily dressed older fellow. Lord knew what people on the street made of their odd little parade..

While Hanke talked with the engineer, she’d waited beside the huffing train engine with steam clouds billowing around her knees. It had been touch and go whether the engineer would comply with the sergeant’s orders.

“This train has to go straight to Astoria, no stops,” Hanke ordered as soon as the engineer appeared at the top of the iron-rung steps.

“I am sorry, sir. I am not authorized to take that action,” the engineer spluttered in alarm.

“Three women have been kidnapped onto a ship. They’re going to take them out into the ocean, maybe kill them by dumping them overboard. This train needs to beat that ship to Astoria so we can rescue them before it crosses the bar. There’s not much time.”

The engineer’s brow wrinkled. He took his cap off to run stubby fingers through sparse hair. He turned toward his fireman who’d left off shoveling wood into the burner to listen. “Well, how about I find the station boss and get his okay?” he asked, turning back toward Hanke.

The big police sergeant shook his head and raised both hands to halt the engineer’s descent from the engine. “We don’t have time. The ship sailed, under steam, over an hour ago. We need to leave right now!”

“But my passengers will raise a ruckus if we just blow past their stop. And what about all the folks at the stations waiting to board?”

“I’ll go back and explain to the passengers once we are underway. And I’ll have one of my men here explain to the station master so he can telegraph ahead to any waiting passengers and tell them what’s going on. They can catch the next train, there’s at least six a day.” Caroline marveled at how rapidly the sergeant countered the engineer’s objections.

The engineer straightened, squared his shoulders and turned to the fireman, “Better step up the pace there, Davy. We’re going to be running real hot, straight through to Astoria. No stops.” He saluted Hanke and returned to his controls.

Hanke’s broad face broke into a smile. He gestured for one of his men to ride on the engine and said to another, “You run off and tell the station master what’s going on. Make sure he telegraphs ahead to the stations. You telegraph the police chief in Astoria. Tell him about the coastal steamer and that we’re heading his way.” The fresh-faced young police officer nodded and ran off.

The engineer called down from his open window. “You better get yourselves aboard because this train’s pulling out in one minute.”

Hanke grabbed Caroline’s elbow and they ran alongside the train to the first passenger car. Once they all climbed aboard, Hanke began his announcement. “Ladies and gentlemen, this train is now operating under the orders of the Portland Police Bureau. It will be proceeding directly to Astoria without stopping.”

Gasps, cries and angry shouts greeted that pronouncement. Hanke held up a big palm to halt the outcry, saying, “Three decent women have been kidnapped by white slavers. They are on a boat heading downriver to Astoria. We need to get there ahead of them in time to arrange for their rescue.”

Hanke’s explanation triggered excited murmurs. Caroline knew there’d be no problem when one of the male passengers shouted out, “Well, what the heck are we doing sitting here? Let’s get this goldarn train a-going.” The other passengers’ cheers echoed his sentiment.

And so it went in the next two cars, as the train rocketed down the tracks, taking the curves at speeds that caused Caroline to stagger in the aisle and grab for handholds.

Finally seated, Caroline studied her surroundings. Across the aisle, the older man had pulled a small book from his capacious coat pocket and was thumbing through it. She could have sworn it was a book of poetry from what she could see of the words’ arrangement on the pages. He looked familiar. Then she had it. Without his cart, she hadn’t recognized the ragpicker who’d been hanging around outside the laundry. Come to think of it, lately, he’d been outside the union hall as well. Who the heck was he? Why was he going with them?

As if feeling her eyes on him, the older man looked up. In those dark brown eyes she saw an intensity of worry but also the shine of kindness. He smiled gently and she returned the smile. Leaning across the aisle, he said softly in an accents she knew as belonging to New Yorkers, “How do you do, Miss Stark. My name is Herman Eich. I am a friend of Mae’s and Sergeant Hanke’s.”

He reached out a gnarled hand and she shook it, noticing how rough and large it was. “Nice to meet you Mr. Eich. I surely hope that Mae’s alright,” she said.

For a moment, his brow furrowed. “That is my hope as well,” he said before turning back to his book.

That conversation at an end, she turned her attention to the big police sergeant across from her. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings as he stared out the window. “Are you looking for something?” she asked. The question turned him to face her.

“Yup. I am thinking that Mae’s other friends will be racing to Astoria along that road we can see whenever there’s a break in the trees. I’m trying to spot their carriage.”

“Are you going to get in trouble for commandeering this train?” she asked.

That question brought a smile to the broad, placid face. “Probably. Astoria’s way outside my jurisdiction and the railroad company’s going to raise holy hell. If we don’t rescue those women, I probably need to think about becoming a farmer, again.” Hanke’s face was rueful before he shrugged off the worry. “On the other hand, if we do rescue them, folks will be so impressed that they might forget I broke a few rules to do it.”

Hanke’s eyes sharpened and Caroline found herself wriggling under that look. He gazed around the railcar which was only about half full. Gesturing to a collection of empty seats at the swaying car’s rear, he said, “How about you and me move on back there where we’ll have a little more privacy.” She understood he intended it as neither a suggestion nor a question. She immediately stood and, using seat backs to keep her on her feet, she led the way.

Once seated again, Hanke focused his intent blue eyes on her face. “Okay, Miss Caroline Stark, suppose you explain exactly why you’re hanging around the laundry workers. You needn’t spare the details. We have plenty of time.”

Caroline heaved a sigh. She should have known that this determined fellow wouldn’t be distracted long from getting the answers he wanted. So, after taking a deep breath, she began to answer.