“Even so, sir, it was the right thing to do.”
“The right thing—” Carson ran a hand over his face and sat on the edge of the desk. “It’s a wonder you’ve made it this long.”
“I assume Dr. Pelton wants the charges dropped?”
“Of course not. You both have unyielding moral codes. Mayor Jacobs wants the charges dropped. Worse still, he wants the circus to surrender the escaped burglar. Fail, and he demands you be transferred to the Fifth Ward.”
The muscles in Abraham’s legs tightened as if he already stood on the dreaded Hunt Street and needed to run. Being transferred to the Fifth Ward, where the Deer Creek Gang reigned, was worse than being fired. The violent gang traveled in crowds of ten to forty. Almost nightly, the sharp crack of pistol shots and the curses and moans of wounded men filled the air. Officers patrolled in groups of four, revolvers ready and prepared to confront death. Being a patrol officer anywhere was a risk, but to be one in the Fifth Ward was a guaranteed fight for one’s life.
All Carson’s bluster died away, leaving behind a man in his late fifties, visibly exhausted by the political bureaucracy that plagued his job. Little could be done when the mayor held the power in who served as an officer—and superior—within the force. The failed attempt at a board of commissioners had ended in January, and police appointments were turned over to the mayor. It was a setback, but Abraham still prayed for a better system that would limit unscrupulous political influences. Even if he didn’t live long enough to see it.
“You have one chance to make this right. The circus’s last show ends around six, at which time Mr. Beadle will be brought in to formally press charges. Find a way to force him to hand over that aerialist and drop the charges against Miss Pelton and Miss Plane. I hate losing good officers to the whims of a politician.”
“What do you propose I do, sir?”
“You’ve got the mind of a detective, Hall. I propose you use it. You’re dismissed.”
He’d issued a challenge, and Abraham wasn’t one to back down.
Abraham strode from the office, formulating a plan as he went. He had two goals. First, convince Mr. Beadle to betray one of his own. To do that, he’d have to make the man more concerned about self-preservation than aiding and abetting a criminal. Mr. Beadle was a businessman, and if there was one thing Abraham understood about business, it was that money ruled. Circuses were notorious for breaking ordinances and incurring fines. If he found enough, it might shake Mr. Beadle’s confidence.
He’d need more though.
If two criminals had been caught in Cincinnati, it was likely other crimes had occurred in previous show locations. Maybe Abraham could cripple Mr. Beadle’s show by hauling in those with bench warrants. It was a long shot, but he had to try.
His second goal—getting Mr. Beadle to drop the charges against Miss Pelton and Miss Plane—would be near impossible.
One problem at a time, Abraham. God will see you through, no matter the outcome.
By the time he left the circus hours later, he’d found enough infractions to impound key animals and equipment until those fines were paid. The Cincinnati Zoological Gardens even agreed to house the elephants. Given how much work he’d seen the elephants do in setting up tents and performing during the show, losing those two would be a crushing blow.
After a few more hours wiring other towns, he had a handful of warrants for circus members who’d jumped bail. Most were for petty crimes, but Mr. Beadle himself was wanted for questioning in the disappearance of several adolescent boys. The boys had likely run off to join the circus of their own volition, but the parents insisted the man had kidnapped them. It was enough to hold Mr. Beadle and delay the circus’s departure. A delay which would cost the man dearly.
That left Abraham facing his final goal.
Mr. Beadle wasn’t likely to drop the charges against Miss Pelton and Miss Plane, especially with the charges and fines lobbed at him. However, paying fines required money, something that keeping that goat would never provide.
Abraham visited the three-legged goat in the stables and did a thorough examination of the animal. He was no veterinarian, but he could tell Tipsy wasn’t long for this world. If he had to guess, he’d say the goat had gotten too close to the tiger cage and almost become a meal. The deep gashes festered, and dull eyes barely acknowledged his prodding.
“Hey, Tackett.”
The stableman who cared for the horses poked his head out of a stall.
“You used to live on a farm. What’s the likelihood of this creature surviving?”
Tackett set his shovel aside and squatted next to the goat. After a cursory examination, he shrugged. “Personally, I’d put her out of her misery, but if someone were determined, it’s possible.”
“Do you think it would survive traveling?”
“Maybe for a day or two.”
“How much do you think it would cost to care for the animal and bring it back to health?”
His incredulous look said it all. “Only a fool would try. It’d cost more than she was worth at her best.”
“Thanks, Tackett. That is exactly what I needed to hear.”
It would be in Mr. Beadle’s best interest to accept Miss Plane’s payment for the goat and drop the charges. A much more appealing choice, once slapped with the fines.
