Bounty Hunter

Chapter 27

Events escalated the following evening after the Ripper claimed his second victim and Tone was forced to kill a man.

“How it came up, Tone and myself were on routine patrol along the waterfront when the second whore was murdered, then an attempt was made on Mr. Tone’s life,” Langford told his superior, an inspector named Muldoon.

“Why was a civilian on patrol with an officer of the San Francisco Police Department?” Muldoon asked suspiciously. He looked at the sergeant. “Good coffee, by the way.”

“Thank you, sir,” Langford said. “Mr. Tone is seriously thinking of joining the department out of a burning desire to reduce crime along the waterfront and I was showing him the ropes.”

“What? Is he nuts?”

“No, sir, he wants to dedicate his life to law enforcement.”

It was a small lie, or at least a gross exaggeration, but it got him over the hump because Muldoon nodded, squirmed to get more comfortable in Langford’s kitchen chair, then said, “Go on.”

“Just after eleven o’clock last night, Tone and me were proceeding down Pacific Street when I ascertained that there was a disturbance in an alley between the Dew Drop Inn and Lo San’s Chinese laundry.

“Upon arriving at the alley we were informed that a woman had been murdered in her residence. She lived in a shack in a backstreet running parallel to Pacific Street that the locals call Pisser’s Alley.”

“I know Pisser’s Alley,” Muldoon said. “I investigated a murder there when I was a young officer, oh, about a hundred years ago.” He smiled. “Please continue, Sergeant.”

Langford poured more coffee for Tone and the inspector, then said, “The murder was reported by the dead woman’s friend, a sometime whore who goes by the name of Peggy French. She led us to the residence and we proceeded inside.

“The woman had given her child into the care of French while she entertained a gentleman caller, so she was alone in the one-roomed shack. She was lying in bed near the stove and was partially naked. As in the previous case, her throat had been severed by two cuts and her abdomen had been slashed open by a long, jagged wound.

“A message had been left in red chalk on the wall over the bed. I wrote it down in my notebook just as it appeared.”

Langford pushed the open book across the table. He had neatly copied the words:

The coppers are the boys who won’t buckle me

Muldoon pushed the notebook back to Langford and said, “Before I left the precinct to come here, I was told that the victim’s left kidney and part of her uterus had been removed.”

“I didn’t know that, sir,” Langford said. He consulted his notebook, flipping up pages until he came to the one he wanted. “The dead woman was a whore by profession, and her name was Elizabeth Jones, but she was known on the street by the alias Jonesy.

“After Mr. Tone saw the body, he ascertained that she was the same woman who had solicited him outside her residence the night before by pulling up her skirt and acting in a lewd and offensive manner.”

“Why were you in Pisser’s Alley the night before, Tone?” Muldoon asked.

“Mr. Tone was—”

“Let the man answer for himself, Sergeant.”

Tone helped himself to a cigar. Outside, the morning was growing brighter and birds were singing in the elm tree in the front yard of Langford’s house. He lit the cigar, willing himself to stay awake. He hoped that Muldoon would cut his visit short.

“After the first murder, a witness said he saw a small, slight man run into Pisser’s Alley. Sergeant Langford asked me to investigate and I did, but saw nothing.”

“That’s when you were solicited by the recently deceased?” This from Langford.

“Yes.”

“And naturally, you turned her down?” Muldoon asked.

Tone nodded. “She was a fifty-cent whore with a child clinging to her skirt. What would you have done, Inspector?”

Muldoon was lost for words for a moment, then he said finally, “I have no doubt that Elizabeth What’s-her-name is the second Ripper victim.”

Tone saw Langford wince. “Yes, she was murdered by the same . . . perpetrator,” he said.

“It’s a bad business, Sergeant,” Muldoon said. “The newspapers are already jumping on the story. Did you see the Morning Chronicle’s front-page headline? ‘The Ripper Strikes Again.’ We have to catch this lunatic, Sergeant Langford, and soon. The mayor and more than a few aldermen have commercial interests along the waterfront and a mad ripper on the loose could be bad for business.”

“I am pursuing several leads and will continue with my inquiries,” Langford lied easily. “I am confident I will have the perpetrator in custody very soon.”

“I trust so, Sergeant. As I said, this is bad for business—very bad.” He looked at Tone. “Now, to the other matter at hand, the shooting of ”—it was Muldoon’s turn to consult his notebook—“Silas Pickett, by one John Tone, age thirty-seven, of no fixed abode. Occupation, laborer.” There was not a great deal of friendliness in the inspector’s eyes. “Enlighten me, especially since the killing was done while said John Tone was in the company of a San Francisco sergeant of police.”

“What did you find out about Pickett, Inspector?” Langford asked.

Muldoon consulted his notebook again. “He was a seafaring man, but for the past few years has worked as a runner, shanghaiing sailors for the New York and Boston ships. He was twenty-nine years of age, unmarried, and was named as a suspect in several murders but never prosecuted. He was reputed to have been a crack shot with the revolver and . . . well, that’s all I have on him at the moment.”

Langford nodded. “After I posted an officer at the murder scene, I proceeded—”

“I want to hear it from Mr. Tone,” Muldoon said.

“As Sergeant Langford was about to say, we returned to Pacific Street and proceeded to the Jolly Jack tavern to consult with an informant,” he said. He was smiling inwardly at his use of the word “proceeded.” It seemed that coppers never walk, they always proceed. And he recalled Langford’s caution about telling senior officers as little as possible, so he played his cards close to his chest.

“The informant was not present and we returned to Pisser’s Alley. We were proceeding along the alley in a southerly direction when we came under fire.”

“At whom was this fire directed?” Muldoon asked.

“I believe it was directed at me,” Tone said.

“Aha! Now, please go on.”

“I ascertained that my assailant was hiding in the shadows at the corner of a nearby dwelling and I proceeded to return fire. I saw the man stagger and fall and when we examined him we ascertained that he was already dead.”

Tone sat back in his chair, looking at Muldoon. It seemed that all his “proceeding” and “ascertaining” had pleased the inspector greatly, because the man was smiling.

“A clear case of self-defense, wouldn’t you say, Sergeant Langford?” he asked.

“Yes, sir, indeed. But Mr. Tone somewhat understates his role in the fight. He stood in the open to engage Pickett, and I have never seen anyone draw and work revolvers with such exquisite accuracy and rapidity. It was splendid work, and Mr. Tone’s behavior was exemplary.”

“Yes, yes, no doubt,” Muldoon said. “But one must wonder why he was targeted in the first place.”

“He was with me,” Langford said. “That was cause enough.”

Muldoon nodded. “Policing the waterfront is a hazardous business.” He drained his cup, rose to his feet and collected his cap, swagger stick and gloves. “One more thing, before I leave, Sergeant. A little bird told me that following the bombing of Joseph Carpenter’s saloon, the various rogues who between them control eighty percent of the Barbary Coast are planning a peace conference. Have you heard anything to that effect?”

“I have heard that same rumor, yes, and my inquiries are proceeding as to time and location,” Langford said, his face straight.

“Good. We can’t have more bombings, Sergeant. Bad for business. Peace along the waterfront is desired, both by the mayor and his aldermen. I don’t have to tell you that the mayor is nothing if not a generous man. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to see promotions all round if the peace talks succeed.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, sir,” Langford said. He stood. “Let me show you to the door, Inspector.”

Before he turned to leave, Muldoon said, “Good work, Mr. Tone. Keep it up and you’ll be in uniform in no time.”

“Thank you,” Tone said. Like Langford, he did not even crack a smile.