Monday morning, March 6, 1882
Police Station, Kearney and Washington, San Francisco
Nate had lost count of the number of times he’d sat on this hard wooden bench, watching as the police and city detectives went about their business. He remembered the first time, three summers ago, soon after he’d met Annie and been drawn into their initial investigation together. He’d been nervous, wanting to make a good impression on the men who could make or break his career as a trial lawyer.
He’d also been worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep Annie’s identity secret and her reputation intact. Little did he guess that over time and the successful culmination of a number of cases, the police would begin to value Annie’s investigative skills. As a result, they had been willing to shield her from unwanted scrutiny from the press. He hoped that Chief Jackson and his sergeant, Thompson, had come to respect his work as a lawyer as well, although as he concentrated more and more on divorce cases rather than criminal cases, he had less direct reason to consult them.
Today was different. Today, he needed to see if he could keep an institution, the Pacific Dispensary for Women and Children, out of the press. This might be hard to do, because this time, his wife was involved in investigating not just one, but two crimes that involved this institution—a possible poisoning and a threatened baby snatching.
At least the latter was how Annie characterized the actions of Charles McFadyn when he charged into the dispensary and roughed up Dr. Blair and Mitchell.
Thank goodness, Mitchell had seen the potential danger in notifying the local patrolman about McFadyn and what happened at the dispensary last night. Talk about catnip to some reporter, he could imagine the headlines.
As for the possible crime of poisoning, he hoped that between the letter Mrs. Truscott wrote to her husband and the document he’d had her sign, the dispensary would be safe from any sort of prosecution by the husband. But that didn’t preclude the husband going to the press.
Nate wasn’t looking forward to his meeting with his other law partners when he reported his involvement in helping a woman escape from her home. On the other hand, he was hoping that between his uncle and the other partner, Able Cranston, they would have some good advice on the best way to protect the dispensary from any liability.
“So, Mr. Dawson, I hear you would like a word.”
Nate looked up and saw Sergeant Thompson, an unremarkable man in his sixties whose very lack of distinguishing characteristics—unlike Chief Jackson with his leonine good looks—made him an effective investigator. He could sit in a saloon, ride a horsecar, take in a horse race, or lounge on a bench at Woodward’s Gardens and you wouldn’t notice him. That was until his large hand landed on your shoulder and you were marched off to the city jail.
Nate smiled and got up to shake Thompson’s hand. “If you have the time. I’ve got a couple of problems I wanted your advice on. Unofficial-like.”
He followed Thompson into his office, which was, as always, neat as a pin. After exchanging a few pleasantries about how Nate was finding fatherhood—Thompson had once confessed he had several grandchildren of his own—Nate got down to business.
He first told the sergeant about Charlie McFadyn, since this was, frankly, the most straightforward problem. He described how Dr. Granger had brought a young girl who was ill and pregnant to the dispensary for treatment. As Annie had requested, he didn’t mention Dr. Blair’s belief that the girl had tried to end the pregnancy, which of course was illegal. Instead, he recounted the story about Charlie McFadyn busting into the dispensary late last night.
Thompson frowned and said, “So McFadyn demanded that the staff hand over the girl?”
“Or just the baby, if this Hilda Putki had already had the child. He indicated he was the father, although the girl has steadfastly refused to say how or even when she got pregnant. The dispensary staff heard about some man hanging around the building a couple of days earlier and thought he was some hoodlum trying to figure out how to get in and steal drugs. Have you ever heard of this McFadyn? He bragged about being a boxer, by way of a threat.”
Thompson leaned back in his chair and said, “Charlie McFadyn is well-known around town. When he was younger, he participated in a couple of local prize fights—bare knuckle-style. He definitely has a reputation of being handy with his fists. Runs a boxing ring down near the docks. Lately, he’s started to get a reputation as one of the tough guys in Chris Buckley’s Democratic Party operation.”
“The local ward boss, who’s blind, shifted from the Republicans to the Democrats after the Workingmen’s Party began to fall apart?”
“Yes. People are calling him Blind Boss Buckley,” Thompson said. “Didn’t your wife do a favor for Peter Blaine? He’s one of Buckley’s rivals for power in the local Democratic Party. I bet he could fill you in on McFadyn.”
Nate nodded. Annie and his sister Laura had both won Blaine’s gratitude for what they had done to protect the reputation of Blaine’s daughter, Kitty. He might be a useful ally if they needed help in warning this McFadyn to stay away from the dispensary, although he certainly didn’t want to bring either his wife or the good women of the dispensary into the middle of a battle between Blaine and Blind Boss Buckley. Nor did he want to get Mitchell into any more trouble than he already was if McFadyn was serious about his threats.
“I’ll think about suggesting that. Meanwhile, I would appreciate it if you could beef up the number of local patrolmen in the area for a week or so. The place is entirely staffed by women. While they have started locking the front and back doors, even in the daytime, last night McFadyn was able to burst in when they had opened the door for a patient.”
Thompson said, “This Pacific Dispensary is down on Thirteenth Street? A couple of blocks from Woodward’s Gardens?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. We always have a couple of extra men in that section of town on weekends, because of the crowds who come to the evening entertainments at Woodward’s Gardens. Won’t be difficult to ask them to add Thirteenth Street to their regular patrols. I can say that we’ve heard rumors of a burglary ring targeting medical facilities like the dispensary and local pharmacies.”
“Thanks. That should help. But that brings me to my second problem, which is Mrs. Truscott. She’s the patient I mentioned, the one who was being admitted to the dispensary last night when McFadyn burst in. She had become quite ill and believes that someone has been trying to poison her. Yesterday morning, when the dispensary’s resident doctor visited her, the woman asked for help in escaping from her home. As a result, late last night, when Mrs. Truscott and her maid slipped out of the house, that doctor and I were there to bring her to the Pacific Dispensary for treatment.”
Nate didn’t think he’d ever seen Thompson look so shocked, although the good sergeant began to relax as he provided the background on how Annie had gotten involved with the dispensary. He described how her job of auditing the books led to the discovery that Mrs. Truscott’s husband had refused to pay for his wife’s bills and how that had led to Dr. Granger and Dr. Blair attempting to visit the woman.
Thompson had frowned when Nate then introduced the story of the worried maid who’d stolen a couple of bottles of what she feared was poison and the possible role an argumentative homeopathic doctor was playing in turning Mr. Truscott against the dispensary. Nate was careful only to mention Mitchell’s role in the analysis of the poison, not wanting to bring Miss Sutton into the picture.
When Nate concluded his tale with the midnight carriage ride across town, Thompson actually chuckled. He shook his head and said, “Well, now, it looks like that pretty wife of yours has gotten you into a right fine mess. But I’m damned glad you thought to have the woman sign that document. You say that this doctor friend of yours…this Mitchell…thinks he’s found evidence of poison? Killed a rat or something?”
“I know, I thought the whole thing about poison was pretty outlandish. But the two substances he found were belladonna and something called aconite. And the woman’s symptoms fit with what would happen if you swallowed these materials. What’s worse, both could be lethal if ingested in a large enough dose. Now, before you say anything, I know that none of this is sufficient as legal proof that someone’s trying to poison the poor woman or even enough to justify getting a warrant to search the woman’s house. Mitchell pointed out to me that even if the police found more of these substances at the woman’s house, they could be explained away as part of any homeopath’s regular bag of tricks.”
Thompson said, “Well, I’m glad you aren’t asking me to take this to the district attorney or a judge for a warrant. I’d get laughed out of their offices.”
“Now that we have the woman safely away from her home, being treated for the possible after-effects of these two drugs, our immediate concern is how best to protect the dispensary from any legal action by the husband.”
Taking three bottles out from his inside coat pocket, Nate said, “However, I wonder if there is any chance you could have the local coroner test the contents of these bottles. The two clear ones hold samples of the liquids the medical students tested and the third green one holds a spoonful of cereal the maid collected. The cereal was served to Mrs. Truscott yesterday morning, and the maid said when she tasted it, it made her tongue feel funny…which evidently is a symptom of aconite.”
“I’ll give it a try. I can see that if you are facing some sort of suit on the part of the husband suggesting his wife has been kidnapped, it would help if there has been some independent verification of what was in those bottles.”
Nate nodded. “Especially if they did turn out to contain poison.”