Shooting For Justice, G. Tilman [best historical fiction books of all time .txt] 📗

“A woman went crazy and shot Tony and stabbed Sean.”

“Yeah right! You are saying one woman killed two and severely wounded you?”

“I need a doctor!”

“And I need a hot cup of coffee. We are both gonna have to wait,” the officer said.

The man whined more about hurting.

The second officer said, “I know you. You guys rough people up for a living. I think you grabbed the wrong man or two and bit off more than you could chew. Woman? Ha! I’d like to meet the woman who could do this to you pukes! You still want to stick with your story?”

The man nodded.

“Then describe this woman who kicked the hell out of you and offed your two friends.”

“She was big. And mean.”

“What race?”

“White, I think.”

“Hair?”

“Dark.”

“Eyes?”

“I dunno. It was dark here. Still is.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing.”

“What was she wearing?”

“A dress, I guess.”

“You guess. So, this was a possibly white woman with dark hair, unknown eyes, who may have been wearing a dress, and said nothing as she shot one of you and stabbed two? Am I pretty much right?”

“Yep.”

“Your description is beyond worthless, you piece of dung. I am going to write ‘Got in fight with unknown person or persons and lost’, in my report. The bulls in the suits won’t touch this as a case. They will mark it like your two friends. Dead on arrival. Now, let’s go down to the lockup. Maybe somebody will patch you up there.”

Sarah began slowly walking away from the direction she was originally headed. She knew to walk slowly and not appear to be running from a scene of crime.

She stayed in the dark and under trees wherever possible. Seven blocks away, she stood under a gas lamp long enough to check herself for blood. She had a little on her dress. She used water in a ditch to swab as much as possible off with her handkerchief, then threw it in the bushes and walked on. She brushed her clothes and was fairly presentable when she made it back to near the hotel two hours later. She had made a wide circle. Before going in, she found a number of trash cans in an alley behind a restaurant and deposited the .38 in one and the bloody dagger in another. She walked back and entered the hotel. Knowing in reality she had gone west, she commented to the desk clerk over her shoulder she had gotten terribly lost walking east of the hotel. She could not hear his response as she walked on and began to climb the steps. Her hotel was not tall enough or well-funded enough to have one of the steam powered Otis elevators. She was happy it did not. This way, she avoided the scrutiny of an operator.

In her room, she removed her dress and examined it. She was sure in the dark and from the questions her survivor was answering for the police, she could not be identified. She took a washcloth and soap in the bathroom and stood naked scrubbing the faint remaining bloodstains on both herself and her dress. She then washed out the washcloths until they were clean.

Sarah put out her travel clothes for the return to Washington by train in the morning.

Once back at the train station the next day, she checked schedules. She would be able to take a train up to Scarsdale and look around. The people Lincoln had heard got off there.

She realized there was nothing specific to look for, but it was an “i” one of the detectives had to dot.

A southbound train to New York City was due an hour and a half later.

In Scarsdale, she got off and walked around. Nothing. She had a snack for lunch and sat at the station waiting for the southbound.

Sarah took advantage of this time to watch people surreptitiously and listen to conversations. Again, her efforts were to no avail, but illustrative of detective work.

The southbound came and she boarded for the trip, stopping in New York City and onward to Washington, DC.

While this travel day was non-productive, the trip overall had been very productive. She organized her notes as she rode. By arrival, she had her report ready to share with Pope.

Sarah arrived back in Washington and went straight to the Willard. She fired the gas water heater associated with the cast iron enameled tub. Filling the tub with now-hot water, she soaked and later blotted off the last vestiges of last night’s fight while drying.

Convinced the New York police would not pursue the killing of two thugs and wounding of another, she dismissed the thought from her mind. Her sense of reason was much like Pope’s. Bad men decided to attack her and died by her self-defensive action. So be it.

She waited until Pope returned to the hotel instead of trying to find him at the President’s House. Her wait was not long.

Pope returned for lunch, primarily to assure himself his partner had safely returned.

In the privacy of the room, she told him about the attack and of being convinced there would be no repercussions. He agreed whole heartedly with her.

“Is there any way the attackers could have been watching your snitch’s house? Maybe Conkling’s men?” Pope asked.

“I really don’t think they would be watching him after this long. And I was careful about someone following me there. I truly doubt they did. I believe I was a victim of opportunity,” she said.

“Ha! You were the wrong ‘victim’ darling!”

Sarah had the records spread on a table in the room. She gave him the background on the cotton deal, and they discussed Conkling in detail.

“I think this is enough to have a meeting with one or both of our contacts. I will leave a letter for Lincoln and let him decide who, when and where,” Pope said.

She accompanied him and they dropped the letter on the way to lunch.

Pope, since his vague letter said he would be in the security office of the President’s House, returned there to