A/N: The crimes described in the chapters of this story are
factual. The names of the criminals have been changed to protectany remaining family members. Enjoy.
Chapter Seven: New Associates
"Emily, you remember how I asked you to take the cabs when I was worried for your safety?"
"Yes," her reply was pregnant with questions.
He steeled himself for the approaching storm. "I want you to do it again until I tell you to stop."
She nodded, "All right."
Erik felt as if the rug had just been pulled out from under his feet. She hadn't gotten angry, she had agreed. "All right," he repeated.
"Yes. I'll do it if you want me to."
This was way too easy. "You aren't just agreeing with me are you?"
Bemused by his question, she replied, "Didn't I just agree with you?" She thought she was sounding like an echo. "Aren't I supposed to agree with you?"
Erik sat his hands on his hips and looked down at her. "I will never understand women," he muttered.
Emily's eyebrows shot upward. "Did I hear you correctly?"
She was using that tone of voice that made Erik want to pick her up and shake her. "Oh no," he warned, lifting a hand. "You aren't getting out of this one just by acting offended. You will take cabs, Madame!"
Emily closed her eyes as his voice rose and started counting. She tried again in a reasonable voice, "I said I would, Darlin'."
Erik wasn't going to be placated by her reply. "I mean it, Emily. Don't tell me that you agree because you think I want to hear it. You have to take cabs again."
"I am not saying that just because you want to hear it." Lord knows, men were always the ones that needed to hear something. Why was that?
"I told you what I wanted you to do, and you're agreeing with me." His voice was growing louder. Wait, Erik thought, was that correct?
She wondered for a moment what number she had counted up to, because she would have to start again. "You just said you told me what you wanted me to do, and I agreed. Did I miss part of this conversation?"
"A moment," he said, stalling for time as his mind replayed his last words. "Yes, you said you'd agreed with me." He glanced at her face, and found her staring back at him. "Well, see that you do, Madame," he added briskly, satisfied that he had won.
This conversation was starting to make her head hurt. Trying to pin down where his logic had wandered off of the path, she couldn't even form a reply to his last words. She just nodded her agreement. He was looking at her, scrutinizing her expressions. She finally had to ask, "Is that all you needed to see me for?"
"No, I was going to tell you that I am going to give some help to your American friend."
"Really? What are you going to do?"
"I am not sure yet, Emily. I may have to be seen as Martin." He paused to pull out the shell he had received. He had brought it back and drilled a small hole in it, running a satin cord through it. "I want you to keep this with you at all times. Tuck it away, but always have it on you."
Emily took it from his hand, looking at the small swirling shell. "Alright. You're not going to give me any more hints are you?"
"I'm going to be busy for the next few weeks. I may not be seeing much of you until this is settled."
"I'll be busy as well with getting everyone set up with their typewriters." That was one of the primary reasons she had agreed to the cabs. She would be busy enough she would have to take them anyway.
Erik looked at his intended; they were alone in one of those rare moments during the day when Phillipe or Javier weren't due to stop in. He stepped forward and took her hand, giving it a tug; she stepped closer with a smile. He raised a hand to her face, "Hello, Madame."
"Hello, Monsieur," she replied. She expected a kiss, but he only looked at her.
"I'll miss you, ma charmanté," he told her.
"You of all people should know where to find me."
He surprised her with a mischievous smile "Yes, I do." Pausing to make sure he could hear no approaching footsteps to the study, he said, "I love you, Emily."
Her eyes drifted closed and her smile turned radiant. "And I love you, Henry Charles Erik De La Shaumette."
Despite his surprise, he had to laugh. "I suppose I encouraged that didn't I?"
She giggled, "I just wanted you to be sure you knew that I love you too."
Erik began a slow teasing kiss that kept her breathless for the rest of their brief time together.
Watching the clerk leave for lunch, Boston Jim Burns waited until the other bank clerk was busy with a customer. He walked to the first clerk's vacated desk, taking down the man's ink stained coat, and donned it. Dropping his hat in the man's chair, he proceeded behind the other clerk to the stairs which led down to the room that held the vault and the safety deposit boxes.
For nearly two months Jim Burns had kept watch over the bank. Every Tuesday around the lunch hour, the first clerk would leave, and an elderly gentleman would arrive at the bank to gain access to the Formier Insurance Agency's safety deposit box.
When the elderly man arrived, Jim busied himself sorting papers on the table where the customers would bring their boxes to open them. As the gentleman sat down the box, Jim silently noted the stack of Bonds the man shifted out of a folder and into the box, closing the lid.
Edward Tully glanced inside, saw Jim Burns nod and came to the man and tapped him on the shoulder. "Monsieur Daudet…"
As man turned around to see who was addressing him, Jim Burns lifted the lid of the deposit box, slid out the bonds, replacing them with a handful of papers and closing the lid silently. Sliding the stack in a small bag, he proceeded past the two men out of the vault, up the stairs, and retrieved his hat on the way out of the bank's door.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Monsieur! I mistook you for someone else." Edward Tully told the gentleman. He backed out of the vault smiling at the man, then left the bank behind his partner.
The older man slid the box back into the cubby, closed the door over it and locked it. The bonds would not be missed until he returned the next Tuesday, a full week away.
Broken-Nose Tully opened the bag in their private room on the train. "Looks to be sixty-five thousand Francs."
"Thank God," was the exasperated reply from Jim Burns. "I'd hoped to put that town behind me, and this makes it all worth it."
When Chase Kennard stopped into the hotel to check his messages, he found a note with an address for the Rue de Rennes. Confirming with one of the staff that this area of the city was a row of docks that faced the river, he and Henri planned a late dinner.
Erik watched them arrive from the end of the warehouse. The taller of the two must be the American; his posture and his gait betrayed the edginess of a man who expected violence. He waited for them to stop before the boat, then broke out of the shadows and joined them.
Chase could feel the change in the air. Head swiveling instinctively, he turned to see the lone figure moving towards them in a silence as impenetrable as a tomb. Something dark covered half of his face; something darker hovered behind the gaze of the eye that met his.
Erik walked slowly towards the American; the man might have in possession the gun Emily talked about. He stopped a few feet away, "You are Kennard?" The man gave him a curt nod, his eyes never breaking contact with his own. It was the sort of all-encompassing gaze that centered on the face, but took in the rest of the body. Fencers were taught that gaze. Gunfighters must learn it as well.
The shorter man in a light summer suit with a boater hat stepped up beside Kennard. "I am Henri Capegon. I am Mr. Kennard's interpreter, Monsieur."
Erik nodded to Henri. "I am Martin. I work for De La Shaumette." He turned his full attention back to Kennard. "I am to help you find what you are looking for."
Chase recognized the name; the man was reputed to be De La Shaumette's spy along the river, and possibly his henchman. Informants had warned him to treat the man with a wary respect. His whereabouts were always questionable, and his actions were rarely heard about until after the fact.
Erik led them to the cabin of the Erebus. Inside he motioned the two men to the table, standing across from them, he put his back to the cabinets. "What can you tell me about the men you are looking for?"
Erik crossed his arms over his chest and listened to the combined voices of the agent and his interpreter. His work with music made it easy for him to endure the bizarre duet of two languages interspersed.
"The central figure we are trying to track down is known as Ned Darlington. He's a talented forger who linked up with a man names Joseph Sterns in New York. Sterns acts as the boss for the gang, using a sneak thief named James Burns, another man named Edward Tully, and a woman named Annie Reilly.
"You are sure these are the people involved in the crimes?"
"If there are any others, they would be local talent called upon as receivers."
"We start with your forger." Erik held up a hand and turned to pace along the length of the cabinet. "What is his preferred medium?"
"Paper," Chase replied, "he does checks, securities, and bonds. But he has been known to dabble in other forms."
"Experimenting, or seeking another source of cash flow?"
Chase pondered the question, "Either I suppose. He always comes back to the paper."
"Because he is more secure in his abilities? It is safer for him?"
"I'd agree with that."
"Would you say he is an artist?"
Chase nodded, impressed by the man's insight. "Absolutely. Forgers are part artist and part alchemist.
"What alchemy has he practiced?"
"Paste for diamonds in Paris and LeMans. They were substituting rings at jewelry shops. And that is why we are in Rouen."
Erik understood the direction Kennard was going, "Paste needs to be made in an oven, and Rouen has porcelain manufacturers." This was good news because it meant that Kennard was only searching in the most likely places. "Paste requires chemicals. I shall have Dugast go over his manifests for the chemicals which might be used." He stopped and leaned an elbow on the cabinet. "Do you know what he is working on now?"
"No. The last job they did was some bad bonds turned in at a bank in Arras."
Erik took a map out of the cabinet and laid it out on the small table. Taking up a stub of a pencil he made a circle around the towns that Chase had mentioned. Chase added a few more, pointing them out to him.
"This Sterns, what kind of man is he?"
Chase smiled slightly, "American, but very good with the French language. I'm not sure how long they planned to come over here, but they got the language down pat before they did."
"I need a clearer picture, Monsieur." Erik leaned back on the cabinet. "Habits, hobbies, vices; the man must indulge in some guilty pleasures."
"His nick name is 'Peppermint Joe'. He carries around a little tin of the candy in his pocket," Chase sat back as well and thought. "He seems interested in history and writing. The man doesn't gamble, doesn't go for the ponies, or cards as far as we know. If he chases skirts, he is careful not to make one woman a habit. I know about the candy, but food or liquor preferences are a blank for me."
"So Sterns hides behind anonymity?"
"He does nothing remarkable or out of line. Not one thing that would bring suspicion down on him. This is why I asked Madame Griggs about contacts with De La Shaumette. It's going to take a lot of eyes, knowledgeable eyes, to find this man."
"Very well, Dugast will keep an eye out for smaller cargos. I'll check along the docks for information on someone who is trying to smuggle something along the river. That is all I can do at this point unless we find something that would point us to Sterns."
Chase didn't speak, but Henri continued, "You have our address at the hotel. How will we be able to contact you?"
"Send a note to De La Shaumette's address or Dugast. Either way, they will find me and pass the information on." He added, "This Sterns is well versed in French you say. Have you thought about him traveling through Belgium and Switzerland as well? French is the predominant language along the borders of these countries."
Henri translated for Chase, who seemed interested in this new angle to their search. "I'll get right on that." He replied to Erik. "We'll be in touch."
Erik stayed on the boat for a while, sitting at the table and looking at the map. Was there a pattern to be found here, or destinations picked at random. What would Sterns be looking for?
The circles on the map pointed to worthy venues for their crimes. Kennard said Darlington was best at paper. Banks were the most likely places, and larger towns had banks. They would also choose towns where they could move in and out quickly, hence the reason most of the towns had railway stations. All of the towns were large enough to support a population where new faces would not be noticed.
As Kennard had stated, they would need as many sets of eyes as possible to pick up any trail to these men. He would have to spend the evening talking to the people along the river. Javier and Phillipe could casually ask questions of local businesses, and dressed as Martin, he could be seen in warehouses, taverns and along the streets with the prostitutes.
He rubbed his one exposed eye. It was time to seek his bed and get what rest he could. For the remainder of the time it took to run these criminals to ground, he would have to be ready to move at a moment's notice.
