O’Malley drew back on the reins, bringing the horses to a stop in front of Holmes’s pharmacy. The patrol wagon had departed. Cody stepped out of the carriage and, with a purposeful stride, approached the patrolman standing in front of the pharmacy door.
The officer said, “Colonel Cody?”
“The one and only.”
The policeman opened the door, and the tall celebrity entered. Standing inside the door, apparently waiting for Cody, stood a young officer whom Cody vaguely remembered from earlier.
“I’m Officer Jenkins.”
“Jenkins. You’re the fella who sent the runner to fetch me earlier, right?”
Jenkins said, “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, son.”
Jenkins shrugged. “Only doing my job, sir. I’m a fan of your show and of Miss Oakley. I had the impression you were a close-knit bunch, so I figured you should be informed promptly.”
“Well, I appreciate it. We are very close-knit. Like family, really.”
“You’re very welcome, Colonel Cody. If you would, please follow me.” As they walked, Jenkins continued, pausing frequently to consider his words. “Detective Porter wanted me to prepare you. The scene is… disturbing. We’re not sure what Holmes was doing, but… our best guess is that he was… skinning… the young woman.”
“Skinning her?”
“Yes, sir. Like… like you might skin a deer. She’s opened up in the fashion of an autopsy, but we think she was still alive when Holmes started cutting. There’s a lot of blood, and a lot of her guts were removed. The stench in the room is… daunting.”
Cody grunted. Anger pressed against his internal restraints. He followed Jenkins through the pharmacy, into the back room, then down the stairs to the basement. The searching officers had arranged lamps throughout the basement. Jenkins proceeded through the labyrinth of hallways. Cody couldn’t keep track of the various turns. At one point, Jenkins muttered, “Shit.” and turned around. “Wrong way.” He backtracked a bit and, with a sheepish grin toward Cody, turned down one of the side halls they’d passed. Eventually, they arrived at a door guarded by two other officers.
One of the guards rapped on the door, and a gruff voice called from the other side. “What is it?”
The patrolman shouted back. “Jenkins has returned. He’s brought Cody.”
The door swung open, and Detective Porter stepped out. His ever-present cigar hung from the right side of his mouth as he reached out to shake Cody’s hand. “Thanks for coming. I’ve seen worse once or twice, but this is bad. Some of it’s downright disturbing, even for me. I reckon you’ve seen some things in your time too, but I think the warning is still worthwhile.”
Cody took a deep breath. “Only way to get it done is to get it started.”
Porter, harrumphed around his cigar, led the way through the door.
Cody stepped through and paused, letting his vision fully adjust to the brighter light. His sharp eyes, trained by years of scouting and tracking, moved slowly around the room, noting every detail. The pump, the drain, the tiles, the trail of blood. Finally, they settled on the surgical table.
The ashen, petite feet facing him from the end of the table made Cody’s nerves thrum and his heart race. Porter stood by the table with a uniformed officer and a man in suit pants and an undershirt. Unkempt hair ran in a ring around a balding patch atop his head, and his steel gray eyes watched Cody through thick spectacles.
The uniformed officer possessed the same bearing as all the NCOs Cody had ever met. He radiated dependability and a no-bullshit attitude.
Sizing up the bespectacled man, Cody thought, He looks like I feel. Cody guessed he, too, had been roused from a deep sleep. The three men, in turn, watched as Cody surveyed the room along with everyone in it. Each of the men, in his own way, was a seasoned veteran, and recognized a kindred spirit in Cody. They gave him time and space to do what he felt he needed to do.
Finally, Cody turned to them and stepped forward. Porter introduced Sergeant Burke and Doctor Cina, the Cook County Medical Examiner. All three men eyed the pistol at Cody’s hip for a moment but said nothing. Porter cleared his throat. “Mister Cody, do you recognize this young woman?”
Cody leaned over and looked at the woman’s pleasant, oval face, framed with auburn hair. Analyzed the aquiline nose over full lips. He started to speak, choked a bit, cleared his throat, and lowered his head, pondering how he was going to break the news to Annie. His voice rasped. “Yes. That’s Sophia.” He raised his eyes and looked at Porter.
Porter swallowed. The conviction in Cody’s expression reinforced the detective’s previous assessment of the man as more than just a showman with a good publicist. Cody now wore a look very similar to the one Sergeant Burke had worn when he entered the patrol wagon earlier and thrashed Holmes. The face of a righteous man of action who had found evil in his midst. If Holmes had been in the room, Porter was certain Cody would have killed the man without hesitation, then gone back to bed with a smile on his face.
“Thank you, Mister Cody. I’m very sorry for your loss. Please extend my condolences to Miss Oakley.”
After a pause, Cody said, “Promise me this monster will hang.”
“I can’t promise. The legal system doesn’t guarantee justice.”
Cody started to say something but was interrupted by Burke. Aware of Cody’s history in the army, Burke reflexively addressed Cody by his rank, “Colonel Cody, sir.”
Cody turned to face him.
Burke continued. “I personally promise. I’d rather be hanged myself than see this bastard walk.” He looked to Porter and Cina for any objections. They offered none.
Satisfied, Cody turned back to Porter and asked, “Do you need anything else from me?”
“No, sir. Once again, I offer my condolences and my thanks for the identification. Officer Jenkins will guide you back up, and make sure you get back to your tent.”
The two men stepped onto the porch in front of the pharmacy, and Jenkins offered to bring around a carriage to take Cody back to his tent.
“Don’t bother with the carriage, son. I’ve just swallowed a whole trough of bitter news, and the walk will help me digest it.”
With a brief nod, the young patrolman said, “Good night, sir.”
Cody stepped into the warm, humid night air and began walking east down 63rd. The odors of lamp oil and horse manure suited his mood. In the distance, the White City’s electric lights glowed their faint incandescent hue. He walked, head up, hands clasped behind his back. How could he break the news to Annie? Ultimately, he decided to say it outright. In her shoes, he’d want to hear it bluntly, and he knew the woman well enough to grasp that, in spite of the pain it caused, she’d appreciate the same courtesy.
With her slender, petite physique, Annie seemed frail, sometimes more like a child than a woman. Over the years, though, he had, time and again, seen the core of steel running through her tiny frame. Her diminutive figure held a reserve of strength comparable to anyone Cody had ever met, man or woman.
Out of respect, he wouldn’t sugar coat the news. He wouldn’t treat her like she was fragile or soft. He would tell her outright and do whatever he could to help her, and help Frank help her, through the grief. With his mind made up, his stride lengthened, and his pace quickened. An old dirge came to mind and he hummed it in low, respectful tones, a personal tribute to Sophia and the friendship she’d shared with his friend Annie.