The Cliff House Strangler by Shirley Tallman

Author:Shirley Tallman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780312357566
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-10-11T15:49:28+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

In his excitement, Eddie raced his brougham through crowded downtown streets, taking corners on two wheels, hitting every pothole, and generally tossing me about like a bowling pin in a ten-pin alley. In our chaotic wake, we left scores of angry drivers and pedestrians, most of them shouting unrepeatable expletives. When Eddie pulled his poor horse to a stop in front of the jail, I exited the carriage, skirts twisted, my hat and hair askew.

“Eddie, we’re going to have to sit down and have a serious discussion about your driving habits,” I told the boy, pushing my hat back onto my head and patting, probably futilely, at my mussed hair. “Before you kill us both!”

I entered the station but was informed by the officer on duty that it would be impossible for me to see my client.

After several minutes of fruitless argument, I asked if Lieutenant Ahern was there, hoping he might prove more reasonable.

“No, ma’am,” the man replied. “The lieutenant left word he’d be at a meeting with the mayor and some other big shots.”

“See here, Mr. . . .”

“Alston, ma’am, Paul Alston.”

“Yes, Mr. Alston. I understand that my client has been injured. Under the circumstances, I really must insist on seeing him immediately.”

I thought the guard was once again going to refuse me admittance, but he shrugged and called out to a young jailer, “Tilbert, show this lady to that Russki’s cell.”

“You mean now?” the boy said, looking appalled. “Considerin’ what just happened, I—”

“Now!” Alston ordered. “She says she’s his lawyer. I think we gotta let her in.”

The young man gave me a look heavy with surprise and curiosity. “A woman lawyer? Don’t that beat all!” Then, catching sight of Alston’s face, he hastily unlocked the door leading to the cell blocks. “This way, miss.”

The jailer led me down the same hall I had left only hours before. Ahead of us, I could hear the sound of voices; then we turned a corner and I saw several uniformed men gathered around Serkov’s open door. Inside, two men were standing over a man’s prone body. The victim, whom I could not get close enough to identify, was lying facedown on the cot, his head turned toward the wall. It was only when one of the men moved away from the cot that I made out the riot of white-streaked black hair and beard. I stared in horror. The wounded man was Dmitry Serkov!

“Miss Woolson, what are you doing here?”

I whirled around, to find Cecil Vere standing behind me, his face pale and drawn.

“I heard about the attack on Mr. Serkov,” I said breathlessly. “How is he, Cecil? Is he going to be all right?”

His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “I don’t think so, miss. The police surgeon’s in with him now. But I’m pretty sure the Russki’s dead.”

My heart lurched, and for a dizzying moment I wondered if I had understood Vere correctly. “When did it happen?” I asked, my voice not entirely steady.

“He was stabbed, miss.

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