“The last thing in the world I want to become is . . . is my father.”
He stared grimly across at her as if taking this blow for Tewes. “Does your father know your feelings?”
“He’s rather wrapped up . . . busy with patients. Hasn’t seen me . . . not the real me in . . . in . . . well, in forever.”
“But all that tuition going to Northwestern . . .”
“If I could figure out a way to use it . . . my studies . . . in tracking down and catching killers . . . what you do . . . then it might be worthwhile, but just dealing with sick and depressed and grim people all day as Father does. I know I’d rather be a copper like you, working with the dead!”
CITY FOR RANSOM
149
“Hmmm . . . perhaps you should talk to Dr. Christian Fenger then.”
“Dr. Fenger? The famous surgeon?”
“And pathologist. Does work for the police . . . helps us identify victims of foul play, and determines just who is and who is not a homicide victim, and how precisely their lives ended.”
“I . . . I’ve not given this area of medicine a thought, not a single thought.”
“It’s not entirely new. Been with us since King William ordered a medical man to investigate suspicious deaths.”
“The first coroner? I wonder who he was.”
“Physicians working for the crown, only now you work for a municipality like Cook County.”
“Coroner . . . I rather like the sound of it.”
“Call on Dr. Fenger sometime, and tell him of your interest.”
“It’d be behind Father’s back.”
once you’ve established yourself with Dr. Fenger, how can your father balk? No one has a greater reputation as a surgeon.”
“I’ll visit him at his office tomorrow!”
“You’ll never catch him in an office. Does everything afoot. Go by County Hospital at exactly ten a.m. He’ll be there. Tell him two things.”
“Yes?”
“That Inspector Ransom sent you, and that your father is Dr. Tewes.”
“But with my father’s reputation as a mentalist, Dr.
Fenger’ll toss me out.”
“Not so. Your father enjoys a good relationship with Dr.
Fenger,” he lied, “and I am sure that if Christian finds you as determined a pupil as you seem, why then he’ll side with you.”
“Imagine it . . . Dr. Christian Fenger in my corner.”
150
ROBERT W. WALKER
“Stranger things’ve happened.”
She looked at the prone figure of Tewes, who was out and had no need of water or coffee.
“Will you have more coffee and stay longer, to tell me harrowing tales of cases you’ve worked on, Inspector?”
“It grows late, and I fear we’ll wake your aunt.”
“Oh,
“Really, it is late.”
“But the coffee, and I made cookies earlier.”
“Hmmm . . . you can be persuasive, young lady.”
“Then you’ll stay awhile?”
“One cup of coffee, two cookies—”
“And three lurid tales?”
“Let’s make it my
CHAPTER 15
Fire alarms from several directions sounded a distress that would wake the entire city. Still, Ransom ignored the Chicago Fire Department at work in the black of night, instead launching into the story of how he’d almost single-handedly caught Morgan Nels and his equally deadly wife, Nellie “the Hawk” Nels, a twosome who’d begun as flamboy-ant con artists, but had graduated to murder when a con went bad. “Found contract killing far more to their liking—faster results—so they embarked on a career as a tag team.” He was in midsentence when the phone rattled to life in the other room.
“You have a telephone?” he asked.
“We do. It’s needed in a medical practice.”
“A most helpful new tool for the police as well.”
“So I’ve read.”
“Read?”
“I know a young policeman who sneaks the police news to me whenever he can.”
“I see . . . the
“I love it.”
“You really do have the blue bug then, don’t you?”
“Is that what they call it?”
The phone continued to ring. “I’d best get going,” he said.
152
ROBERT W. WALKER
“But you didn’t finish. How precisely did the Nels do their murdering?”
“I suspect you’ve already read of the case.”
“I have, but to have you, the man who brought them to justice to tell it . . . this is such an . . . an honor.”
“I did some checking up on you; learned a lot about you, Inspector, and I’m not ashamed to say it, but”—she had begun a blush now—“I so admire you, sir.”
“Why thank you.”
“So few people . . . so few men could possibly be as brave as you.”
He swallowed hard at this. “I cannot remember a time when anyone has said as much to me. I don’t know what to say, except . . . well . . . thank you, Miss Tewes.”
“Gabrielle or Gabby . . . you must call me Gabby, yes.”
“All right, Gabby. I take it as an honor.”
“But for now . . . we must keep our alliance between us.
Should Father learn, he’d scalp me, and most certainly send me to convent.”
“Really?”
“He says you’re not to be trusted, that you’re a scoundrel, and that he suspects you have, on occasion, crippled or killed men to make them talk.”
“I had no idea he held so high an opinion of—”
“Is it true?”
“True enough.”
“I’m not sure I believe either of you.” She threw one of her cookies at him, making him laugh.
