‘So tell me about you. Have you always lived in Illinois?’
‘No.’ Lae laughed. ‘I’m from Hong Kong. I came here with my husband two years ago.’
‘Is your husband a student too?’
‘No he has his own business.’ Lae explained. ‘We came over for his job so I studied here while he works full time.’
‘Do you like it here?’ Darnell asked.
Lae nodded. ‘Yes, I love it here. I was quite lonely at first but people are very friendly and starting classes at college has been very good for me.’
‘What are the other students like in your class?’ As Darnell quizzed her on her classmates, Lae’s smile suddenly faltered. He couldn’t help but notice that she’d been alone in the two encounters he’d had with her.
‘They mainly keep to themselves. I’ve made friends through the drama society and the Chinese society with the college. There are lots of us here.’ She giggled and covered her mouth. ‘We’re taking over your country.’
‘Well don’t tell the Lincolns for God’s sake.’
Together they chuckled as they considered the claims they were currently dissecting about their former president.
‘What’s that Poppy girl like?’ Darnell asked, staring curiously at Lae to gauge her reaction to his query.
‘Oh that punky girl? She’s OK. Very opinionated. Always on some picket line,’ Lae explained with an unimpressed snarl. ‘She’s on a final warning with the university after vandalising college property last year.’
Darnell’s ears pricked up.
‘Oh yeah? What sort of vandalism?’
‘She spray-painted a swastika onto a photograph of George Bush. He came to the university a few years ago and they have a photograph of him shaking the Dean’s hand at the entrance, but it’s gone now as she destroyed it. She was caught red-handed with the spray paint.’
Darnell stopped in his tracks. Lae continued to walk until she noticed the detective was no longer in tow. She turned around and glanced at the disturbed investigator, curiously jotting in his notepad, which was no bigger than his palm. Poppy Shipman had tarnished the image of a former American leader, just like the culprit who stole Lincoln’s body. He couldn’t help but tie the two together.
‘We’re here, detective,’ Lae called and pointed to the building before her. It was tall and maroon in colour with a stained glass window. It towered over a flat Springfield which didn’t have a high-rise in sight.
The First Presbyterian Church rested on the corner of Capitol and Seventh Street. It was famous for two elements; its Tiffany windows, designed in the nineteenth century, but more importantly it was referred to as Lincoln’s Church. Although any history nerd would spot that Lincoln couldn’t have attended the religious house as it was built nearly a decade after he died. Instead he attended the original church where the more modern building now stood.
Amongst the artefacts from the original church, including a bench which Lincoln once sat upon, the building housed many of the original records of the parish. With permission from the warden, Lae took the detective to the front of the church and turned a left, and led him down into the vestry. In the centre of the room was a mahogany table with twelve chairs surrounding it, where the elected heads met to discuss the use of their funding and donations. Surrounding the table were cases of books dating back to the 1800s.
Lae scanned the sides of the books and picked out one which was stamped with 1857 on the leather spine. She lifted the cover and flicked through the pages until she reached the month of June, before handing it to Darnell. The detective took the book and scanned over the pages.
‘What is this?’
‘These are the minutes from the Illinois Division of the American Colonization Society,’ Lae explained. ‘They were a group who were determined to remove the Africans out of America once and for all. Northern Americans might have been sympathetic enough to allow the slaves to go free, but not all of them wanted to share the country with them. The society itself only dissolved in 1964.’
Darnell read over the contents, which had a speech by Lincoln himself made precisely where the detective was now stood.
“The enterprise is a difficult one; but 'when there is a will there is a way;' and what colonization needs most is a hearty will. Will springs from the two elements of moral sense and self-interest. Let us be brought to believe it is morally right, and, at the same time, favourable to, or, at least, not against, our interest, to transfer the African to his native clime, and we shall find a way to do it, however great the task may be.”
The detective’s heart raced. He skimmed over it numerous times to ensure he was reading it correctly.
‘And Lincoln was a member of this society?’ Darnell asked.
‘He was elected as manager,’ Lae confirmed with a raised eyebrow. Jackson sat down on one of the chairs and took deep breaths. He slammed the book shut and pushed it away from himself as if it carried an unpleasant odour.
‘You seem upset, detective.’ Lae sat beside him and rubbed his arm.
‘Well you can probably see that I’m the same colour as the people he tried to deport. My ancestors died for the freedoms which I enjoy today.’ He held his head in his hands and felt moisture run down his forehead. ‘And until now, I thought Lincoln had our backs. But it seems that if he hadn’t died after the war, my family would’ve been shipped out of the country and I’d likely be some farmhand in Haiti rather than a respected detective in Illinois.’
‘These are just theories, detective,’ Lae reassured him.
‘That isn’t a theory.’ Jackson pointed to the book. ‘That is a transcript from
