After allowing the full impact of the information to clobber Abraham, Clemens continued. “Lawson doted on her as one would a daughter. When I failed to walk Maggie home from work the day she was attacked, Lawson blamed me and swore that he would take care of Wakefield. Lawson went after him with such a focus and force that Wakefield’s connections were able to make allegations of falsified evidence and coerced witnesses to successfully get the case dismissed. Wakefield walked away a free man while my Maggie became a prisoner to the horrors his actions wrought.”
Abraham remembered reading the headlines that blamed Lawson for Wakefield’s release, but he’d dismissed them as another sensationalist story meant to cast a pall over the integrity of the police. Lawson was too highly respected and good at his job to consider anything else. Now Abraham wished he’d read the articles. Had he allowed his own prejudices to interfere with his being a good officer? Was Lawson a credible suspect? It might explain the man’s incessant prattle. The constant redirecting of Abraham’s thoughts had prevented Abraham from remembering Lawson’s connection to the Wakefield case. That detail alone was troubling.
Clemens’s nostrils flared, and a vein popped out along his temple. He took several deep, slow breaths before he spoke again. “I’d been reading Dupin’s novels for a few months whenShadow in the Nightreleased. Within pages, I knew that story was Maggie’s. I showed it to Lawson. Instead of being disgusted by the exploitation of her pain for profit, Lawson was elated. Claimed it was exactly the justice Wakefield deserved. Lawson disappeared for a week about a month later. I’m pretty sure it was the same week Wakefield was murdered. Use your brain and then try to tell me that Lawson’s not involved.”
It was circumstantial. Conjectures of a hurting man.
But the possibility could not be ignored. Abraham would have to verify Clemens’s story. Perhaps this was an elaborate ruse to deflect suspicion or get revenge on Lawson for allowing Wakefield to walk away. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?”
“Because I didn’t connect the details until Monroe accused him in the cell. I started thinking, and once I started …” Clemens shrugged. “I despise Miss Pelton for profiting from Maggie’s torment, but I wouldn’t wish her dead. I’m too vindictive for that. I’d rather she live with a ruined reputation from her Dupin stories. She wasn’t a hero for writing them. She was and is a villain.”
The hatred spewing from Clemens exposed a new and festering depth to the man. Justice was meant to bring restoration, but this? This was judgment without mercy. Condemnation that darkened the soul and made one incapable of seeing the light, hope, and forgiveness of Christ. Abraham pitied him.
“Careful there, Clemens. The words you’re speaking reveal your heart to be as vengeful and judgmental as Poe’s. You might not like it, but you and Lydia both make a living off the misfortune of others.”
“I report truth. I don’t take it and twist it into a story for entertainment.”
Abraham could debate that rebuttal, but it wasn’t worth it. God would have to do the work of changing Clemens’s heart. Right now, the only thing Abraham wanted to do was determine if Lawson indeed was the threat Monroe and Clemens painted him to be.
CHAPTER35
THE CARRIAGE RUMBLED ALONGSIXTHStreet, and Lydia shifted uncomfortably on the bench next to Detective Lawson. He’d assured her where they were going was safe and secluded, but wasn’t this area of town known for Deer Creek Gang attacks? Very few places struck fear in the hearts of the men Papa worked with, but she’d heard them whisper about this place as if it were a living nightmare that might eat them.
Thick humidity made the night sticky and hot, but Lydia tugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She’d lived enough of a nightmare over the last two weeks. Adding an interaction with the Deer Creek Gang was not something she wanted.
What few gas lamps that existed along the street were either unlit or flickering in fear behind broken glass panels. The two people they’d passed since entering this part of town had scurried along with furtive glances over their shoulders and hands clutched around objects as if prepared to wield them for defense. At one point, Lydia swore she heard gunshots fired in the distance.
Detective Lawson seemed unconcerned as he relaxed into the corner with his arm stretched out along the length of the padded seat back. Perhaps the gang only attacked easy targets who traveled on foot. Being trampled by horse hooves and carriage wheels might be a grim enough prospect that they avoided it. The driver did seem to urge the horses faster through the street now than he had when they’d been in the well-lit part of town.
The carriage slowed to a stop. Detective Lawson opened the door and hopped down before reaching back inside to assist her.
Lydia withdrew. “This is where Abraham agreed for me to hide?”
“He trusted my judgment. Monroe’s partner would never suspect to find you under the protection of the police here.”
It made sense, even if it unnerved her. She accepted his hand and stepped onto the dark street. Detective Lawson paid the driver and waited for him to drive away before guiding her farther down the square and into an alley. Another precaution to hide her location, he assured her. As they cut between several buildings, Lydia’s heart raced. It didn’t help that Detective Lawson walked with his gun out, ready to fire. Didn’t the man know she was an author and dreaming up all sorts of horrible scenarios? He was an officer, for heaven’s sake. The Deer Creek Gang would gut him alive and do unspeakable horrors to her if they caught up to them.
Before a single scenario came to life, Detective Lawson trotted up the steps of a porch at the back of a two-story brick building. Iron bars protected the lone window. Black lettering on the door indicated they were at Napier’s Dry Goods. Napier. Wasn’t that a victim’s name from one of the original cases? Before she could sort through her mental files of research, Lawson gestured for her to precede him up the outdoor stairs to the next level—likely the living quarters for the merchant owner.
“Are we staying with friends of yours?” That would protect her reputation—not that she had much of one since the Dupin debacle.
“No. The living quarters are being renovated before they move in, but he’s allowing me to stay here for a few days.”
She noticed his lack of the wordus. “Does he know I’m going to be with you?”
He put his gun away and retrieved keys from inside his coat, ostensibly ignoring her question.
She supposed his friend’s ignorance couldn’t be helped. He had said the fewer people who knew her location, the safer she’d be.
The keys jangled for a moment, and then he ushered her into a dark vestibule before locking the outer door behind them. A faint light glowed under the door leading to the living quarters.
That was odd, considering the urgency with which Detective Lawson had removed her from Nora’s home. Had he come here ahead of time to prepare for her arrival? Or was someone already here? Maybe Abraham?
Detective Lawson guided her into an unfinished kitchen. A single lantern stood on a table with a shotgun propped up so that it aimed at a door on the other side of the room.
What on earth was a booby trap doing facing toward a room?
Her eyes traced the thin cord looped around the trigger backward and up to the ceiling, where it connected to a pulley behind the gun. After passing through the pulley, the line drooped to the door handle and was secured in place. Should anyone from the other room pull the door open, the tension would pull the trigger and fire the gun at them.
