Across the tether, a flash of annoyance passed even though Felipe’s facade never wavered. “When was the last time you saw Herman alive?”
“Right after he got out of jail. Came crawling back here crying that he needed a place to stay, that he was getting his life in order. Like I hadn’t heard that before. He said he had a job that was on the up and up, and he was going to finally make things right. I don’t know how that could be if he got the job in jail. I let him stayonenight. Next day, he took his things, left, and I haven’t heard from him since. And before you ask, no, I have no idea who might have had reason to kill him, but knowing Herman, he gave someone reason to.”
“Do you remember what his supposed job was or the name of his employer?”
Mrs. Judd scoffed. “That was months ago. I don’t know. He was supposed to be an orderly or janitor or something. Some doctor who came to the prison offered him the job. Probably a quack, anyway. The name had ‘spirit’ in it or something Christian-like. I don’t know why a place like that would hire him.”
For the first time since they arrived at Mrs. Judd’s apartment, Felipe looked over his shoulder at Oliver to see if he had any questions of his own. He had plenty of things he wanted to say to Mary Judd, but none of them were questions or useful to their investigation. Staring down at his notes, Oliver’s heart sank. She never even asked to see her son’s body or when she might get him back. He had to ask, though he already knew the answer.
“Mrs. Judd, do you have a funeral parlor or cemetery you would like us to send your son’s remains to for burial?” Oliver asked, straining to keep his voice level as he did with the uncooperative dead.
“The city takes care of unclaimed bodies, don’t it? Not like I’d want to pay for it even if I had the money.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Judd, for your time,” Felipe said, rising and heading for the door with Oliver a step behind him. “We will let you know of any further developments.”
“Don’t bother.”
Oliver jolted as the door slammed behind them. The tight, winding trek down to the front door was a blur.No one deserved that, was all he could think. Growing up in a family like that... no wonder Herman Judd had the life he did. Outside, Alice sat on a crate talking to another woman as the two little curly-haired girls chased after a redheaded girl who couldn’t have been more than a year or two older than them. The eldest Judd girl’s head swung toward Oliver and Felipe with a toothy smile as she waved goodbye. Oliver managed a timid wave as he slipped into the steamer. Fear burbled in his gut. Like called to like. God, he hoped he was wrong. He hoped that, for that little girl’s sake, her family’s magic skipped a generation or that her uncle was an aberration. She didn’t deserve to have her spirit crushed by the Judds.
***
FELIPE WATCHED OLIVERfrom the corner of his eye as they slowly made their way down the congested streets toward the Lower East Side. Since they left the tenement, Oliver had been silent and staring into nothingness. Felipe wanted to ask him if he was all right, but he knew he wasn’t. Oliver only got quiet and vacant like this when he was deeply upset, though which part of that whole experience upset him specifically, Felipe couldn’t say. The emotions that came across the tether were too muddled for him to parse out. A street over from the market, Felipe parked the steamer and gently patted Oliver’s knee.
“You still want that lunch I promised you?”
Oliver sighed and squeezed his hand. “I do, but I think I’ll come with you.”
The market was busy, as it always was, but the vendors were already setting up for lunch. There were tenements in the Lower East Side that were just as dank and crowded as where the Judds lived, but this part of the city felt more vibrant and alive than the Bowery. The people here, at least, seemed hopeful, and Felipe would take hope above all else. Going the long way around to avoid the pungent pickle barrels, Felipe moved from cart to cart buying knishes, several bagels, and getting the latter doctored up with the fixings. At his side, Oliver silently held their purchases. When asked if they should bring a knish back for Gwen, Oliver nodded, though his eyes still seemed far away. As they walked back to the steamer, Felipe wished he could wrap an arm around Oliver or kiss his forehead, but that would have to wait until they were back home.
The doors had barely shut behind them when Oliver blurted, “I want to pay for his burial.”
Felipe stared at Oliver for a long moment until it clicked what he meant. “That’s very noble of you, but you know the society will pay if his family won’t. Herman Judd won’t end up in a potter’s field.”
“His headstone, then.” His gaze went everywhere but Felipe’s face as his hands tightened around the parcels of food. “I don’t want him to end up in an unmarked grave, forgotten. I don’t want it to be like he never existed once he leaves the morgue.”
Felipe firmly rubbed Oliver’s shoulder until the other man released a tight breath and leaned into his touch. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I don’t know. It was always a fear of mine, before I met Gwen and you, that one day I would die and that would be it. No one could reanimate me to ask what I wanted, and there would be no family to contact that I know of. Who would mourn me or care what happened to me? No one. I kept a will and enough money to pay for a burial or cremation in the lockbox under my bed just in case. I don’t like being acknowledged most of the time, but I couldn’t live knowing that if I died, it might be like I never existed, that my life was for nothing.” Oliver blinked hard. “I may not understand why Mr. Judd turned to crime or the sort of life he had, but he and I may be more alike than I would care to admit. I don’t want him forgotten.”
“He won’t be.” Threading his fingers between Oliver’s, Felipe squeezed his hand. “We’ll make sure of it. Speaking of which, did any of the morgues or hospitals get back to you? After speaking to his mother, it seems more likely he was an unclaimed body.”
“The Methodist hospital, the Brooklyn City Hospital, and the local nursing school all sent word this morning that they aren’t missing any bodies from the morgue. I haven’t heard back from the others in Manhattan yet, but those were the closest to Green-Wood.”
Felipe frowned as he pulled away from the curb. “So it seems less likely it was a prank, then. To move a body across city lines is a fair amount of work and risk.”
“Unless he was taken from a local undertaker, but I would think they would reach out to the authorities if a body turned up missing. I have no idea what hospital or clinic Mrs. Judd was referring to, by the way. There’s no one on my roster with a name like that, that I can think of.”
“When we get back, I’m going to go to the library and see if I can find anything remotely close in the city records. If the job was real, maybe one of his coworkers can tell us more about his life. Who knows, maybe he has someone missing him. While I’m there, I’ll give Gwen her knish, so you don’t have to worry about running into Christopher Ansley.”
“Thank you.” Taking the notepad from his pocket, Oliver reread Mrs. Judd’s words. “I’m going to type up the interview transcript and review Mr. Judd’s autopsy notes again. I feel like we’re missing something; I need to figure out what.”
***
STARING DOWN AT THEdrawings he had made of the marks on Herman Judd’s chest and neck, Oliver tried to remember where he had seen them before. It hadn’t been in the morgue, of that he was certain. It must have been during medical school or his residency. Oliver pulled a few medical books off the shelf and returned to the bench. Dendritic patterns that didn’t look like infection should have been distinctive enough to make it into a book on unusual skin conditions. If the source was purely magical though, that might hinder his research. He sighed. If only he could get the healers to collaborate on a scientific book on magical injuries, then he might have a reliable resource. The last compendium came from the 1700s, and that was woefully out of date, full of unconscionable biases, language so flowery it was nearly indecipherable, and with far too many incomplete explanations. Unfortunately, getting anyone to collaborate at the society was like herding cats. Oliver flipped through the next text and stopped on the entry for Lichtenberg figures.
A fern-like pattern can be detected on the skin of one who has been struck by lightning. It is believed to be caused by damage to the capillaries beneath the skin and will usually disappear on its own in a few days’ time.
Oliver frowned and pictured Mr. Judd in his mind’s eye. He didn’t look like he had been struck by lightning. He looked relatively composed, and there was no exit wound or obvious burn where the lightning escaped. He needed to check his body again, but he surely would have noticed it the first time, unless it was somewhere very obscure. Oliver was halfway to Mr. Judd’s drawer when the inner laboratory door opened.
