The Cliff House Strangler (42 page)

Yelena’s face had grown pale. She looked up at Nicholas, her large dark eyes intense. “This is true? This is why you take me out, say you love me? So to break off marriage with other woman?”

“I—” If he was about to protest his innocence, something in her face made him change his mind. “It’s true that I’m very fond of you, Yelena,” he said, hedging.

“Fond,” she spat out. “Fond is not same as love. You tell me fiancée break off wedding because you tell her it is me you love. But you not love me. You love no woman!” Her beautiful eyes filled with tears. “You use me. You want out of marriage, so you use stupid little Russian girl to scare off fiancée.”

“Yelena, please,” the young man pleaded. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She looked up at him through her tears. “Oh, yes, I know. I wonder why you no hold me like other men. No kiss, no hug. I think this strange. But I love you. I tell myself it is because I am so young and when we marry it will change.”

Yelena was weeping now, but when Nicholas tried to put his arm around her, she pushed him away. “
Dostatochno!
I even lie for you!” she managed to say between sobs. “At séance, I see you out of seat when lightning strike. I see you rush around table. But I lie when policeman ask what I see. I tell him I see nothing.”

“Yelena, please!” Nicholas pleaded, his nervous eyes going to Captain Gregory.

“Miss Karpova,” Captain Gregory said. “Do you mean to tell me you actually saw Nicholas Bramwell out of his seat when Darien Moss was killed?”

She nodded. “On other side of table. Then he run back fast to seat.” She looked up at Nicholas, who was now perspiring profusely. “At time I think maybe he kill evil man, but I not care because reporter says bad things about Mama. Better he be dead.”

“That’s enough!” Nicholas shouted. “Don’t you see what you’re doing to me, Yelena? You said yourself that Moss was evil. They should be thanking me for getting rid of him. He didn’t care what he did to people. All he cared about was selling newspapers.”

“So you admit you killed Moss?” Captain Gregory said.

“I don’t think of it as murder!” There was a wild gleam in his eyes now, like that of a hunted animal who’s been cornered and has no place to run. “Darien Moss deserved to die. You must see that. He was a monster! He wanted me to pay him a small fortune to keep my secret—money I had no hope of raising. It would have destroyed me, and killed my mother. He left me no way out.”

“Except murder,” Robert said, regarding the young man with disdain.

“What about Mrs. Reade?” I asked softly. “Did she also deserve to die?”

A flicker of guilt crossed Bramwell’s handsome face. “I didn’t want to kill her, but she’d seen me strangle Moss. The only reason she didn’t tell the police was that she couldn’t believe her own eyes. She was my godmother; she’d known me since I was a baby.”

“So, you dressed up as Dmitry Serkov, got out of your supposed sickbed, went to Washington Square, and strangled your own godmother,” I said in a flat voice. “When I first realized you were the killer, I felt genuine sympathy for the impossible situation Darien Moss had placed you in. Now, the only compassion I feel is for your victims, not only Moss and Mrs. Reade but Dmitry Serkov, whom you were willing to see hang for your crimes.”

“Serkov.” He said the name as if it were of no consequence. “He was nothing but a common criminal. Even you admitted that, Yelena. He had nothing to contribute to society. But my life was just starting. It’s like Mother said: I could be governor, maybe even president one day.”

Yelena’s eyes blazed at him. “Dmitry was thief, yes. But he was only father I know. He take care of me, of Mama. He was not evil. Not like you.”

“But don’t you see?” Nicholas said, his eyes welling with tears. “I had no choice. Moss would have ruined everything my mother and I had worked so hard to achieve. I couldn’t let that happen. You must see that!”

Captain Gregory made a slight motion with his head, and George Lewis walked over to Nicholas Bramwell, quietly cuffing his hands behind his back. Tears streaming down his face, the young lawyer made no attempt to escape the manacles.

All I could read in those striking hazel eyes was the humiliation of defeat. Not guilt or sorrow that he had killed two human beings, but sorrow that he’d been caught. I also read self-pity there. Yes, I thought sadly, a great deal of self-pity.

T
o Eddie Cooper’s considerable delight, Samuel wrote an article about the boy’s skill and bravery in singlehandedly bringing down an armed murderer at the city jail. The story made the front page of the
Chronicle,
and included a picture of a beaming Eddie brandishing his beloved cosh. Of course there was no living with the lad for days after the article came out. I suspect he seriously depleted his wages buying up every edition of the paper he could find and handing copies out to anyone who could read.

Lieutenant Ahern and Nicholas Bramwell were arraigned and were being held without bail. Having them safely behind bars did not bring back any of their victims, of course, but I daresay I was not the only one in the city who was sleeping better at night.

Philippa Bramwell took the arrest of her younger son very badly. Naturally, she hired the best defense attorney in San Francisco, and quickly become persona non grata at the jail because of her constant complaints that they were treating her son as if he were a common criminal. To his credit, Edgar Bramwell managed to strike a balance between standing by his son and at the same time holding him accountable for his actions.

Personally, I felt sorry for Cecil Vere’s fiancée, Annie Fitzgerald, as well as for the Ahern family. I have always found it unfair that when a family member breaks the law and is placed behind bars, innocent relatives are forever forced to bear that individual’s shame and dishonor.

Loyal to the end, Annie Fitzgerald flatly refused to believe that her Cecil could be a murderer, and no one, including Capt. Pete Gregory, could convince her otherwise. I went to visit her shortly after Ahern’s arrest, and it was Annie’s considered opinion that the lieutenant had blamed the Russki’s death on her Cecil in order to save his own neck from the noose. She argued this so vehemently, I wisely decided not to dispute the issue.

As for Nora Ahern, the last I heard was that she eventually planned to move back to the Midwest, where she’d been born and raised and where her family still resided. Perhaps there she would find the loving support she needed to live out the remainder of her life in peace.

On a happier note, shortly after Luther Sechrest’s arrest, Alexandra was awarded sole custody of her two boys. Luther was also required by the court to make full financial restitution to Leighton Mining Company and the city of San Francisco for money he’d stolen over the past ten years. Since the Sechrest home would most likely have to be sold to help pay these debts, Alexandra accepted an invitation from her neighbor, Mrs. Jane Hardy, to move in with her until matters were settled. Both women began volunteering their time at Annjenett Fowler’s safe house. Along with Annjenett, they were dedicated to bringing the ignominy of spousal abuse out of the bedroom and into community awareness, efforts I wholeheartedly applauded and supported.

The day before Madame Karpova and her daughter, Yelena, were scheduled to leave for Los Angeles, my sister-in-law Celia shyly asked me to accompany her to see the psychic. I think she feared I might consider her foolish, but I assured her that the one thing I had learned over the past month was to keep an open mind.
I couldn’t begin to explain Olga Karpova’s uncanny predictions, and I’d finally decided that Hamlet was correct when he observed, “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

When we arrived at the Karpova’s hotel rooms, we found them a beehive of activity. Two large trunks stood open, filled to near capacity with clothes, shoes, hats, undergarments, and various paraphernalia I presumed were used during the clairvoyant’s séances and other performances. While Celia had her private reading with Madame Karpova, I spent a pleasant hour chatting with Yelena as she completed her packing.

Although Nicholas Bramwell’s name was not mentioned, I could tell from the girl’s downcast eyes and quiet demeanor that she continued to mourn for the dashing, handsome young attorney. Despite his eventual betrayal, Nicholas had provided a strong shoulder to cry on after Dmitry Serkov’s death and her mother’s arrest. And he’d offered Yelena a world she could only dream of, a world she frequently glimpsed through Madame Karpova’s work, but one she’d never expected to be part of.

“Will you continue to tour with your mother?” I asked. “Or do you have other plans in mind?”

Yelena smiled very faintly. “I would like to be teacher. But must make English good. Someday maybe I go to school. Be clever, brave woman like you.”

I felt blood rush to my face, pleased and a little embarrassed by such a sincere and heartfelt compliment. “My dear, that would be wonderful. If there is anything I can do to help further your dream, you have only to ask.” I opened my reticule and handed her one of my business cards. “You can reach me at this address.”

The girl’s smile became much brighter, as if she had at last found a new focus for her life. “Thank you, Miss Woolson. I keep card safe. Maybe see you again.”

I took one of her dainty hands and gave it a little squeeze. “I hope so, Yelena. I would like that very much.”

______

C
elia had come out of Madame Karpova’s room fairly glowing with happiness, and she insisted on treating us to a hansom cab for our journey home.

Our carriage had barely left the curb, when she could contain herself no longer. “I saw Sophie, Sarah! I’m convinced Madame Karpova was able to bring her to me.” She flushed and looked embarrassed. “I know I sound naïve, and I probably am. But, oh, Sarah, I could actually feel her in my arms.”

Sudden tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, no, not again,” she groaned, taking a lace handkerchief from her reticule. “These days, I seem to cry over the least little thing.”

“I would hardly call holding your lost child a small thing, Celia,” I said, putting my arm around her slender shoulders.

“I don’t know how she does it, but Madame Karpova told me things no one else could possibly know. She also insists the new baby will be a boy, and that he’ll be healthy and smart, and have a tiny mole on his back, right below his left arm.” She sniffed and wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “I feel so silly even talking about it.”

“There’s no need to feel foolish, Celia. Since meeting Madame Karpova, I’ve had ample opportunity to wonder about her abilities. The truth is, her predictions are more often right than wrong.”

A small frown line appeared between Celia’s lovely blue eyes. “Do you think she realized Mr. Serkov was using her readings to blackmail people?”

“She says she didn’t know, but . . .” I thought back to my last conversation with Madame Karpova after she was released from jail. When I’d questioned her about Dmitry’s habit of eavesdropping at her readings, she swore she’d forbidden him to do it anymore after they’d made their way to London from Russia. “I can’t help but wonder if a leopard can so easily change its spots.”

“So you believe she condoned his actions and perhaps even
aided him to rob people?” she asked, looking shaken by the idea. “Now that I’ve met her, I can’t imagine her doing anything so despicable. She seems so sensitive, and genuine, and caring.”

I gave a soft laugh. “Perhaps she truly is all those things. We’ll never really know, will we?” I thought of Madame Karpova’s hard life in Russia, her struggle to survive, her love and loyalty to the man who had saved her from a fate very probably worse than death. No, I thought, it is not up to me to judge.

“The only thing I can say for certain, Celia, is, whether she’s the real thing or a talented charlatan, Madame Karpova is an amazing woman.”

I
am delighted to report that earnings from my first two cases as an independent attorney have ensured the solvency of my law office for at least another six months. Robert insists that still qualifies as living from hand to mouth, but I consider it a triumph.

As does my downstairs neighbor, Fanny Goodman, who surprised me with a small but most enjoyable victory party in her millinery shop. Robert, my brother Samuel, and, of course, Eddie were invited, as well as half a dozen adjoining shopkeepers. With a mouth-watering display of homemade pies, cakes, brown Betty, peanut brittle, taffy, and fudge, as well as apple cider, hot chocolate, tea, and coffee to drink, the celebration was judged by all to be an unqualified success!

After most of the guests had departed, including my brother Samuel, I was delighted to receive a letter by afternoon post from Pierce Godfrey. Because of my mother’s continued determination to see me settled down with a husband and children, I had asked Pierce to send his letters to my business address, instead of my home. Unfortunately, Robert happened to spy the sender’s name on the envelope as I was hastily placing it, unopened, inside my skirt pocket.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually corresponding with that pirate,” he said with a frown. “Where is he anyway?”

“Hong Kong,” I replied. “And you know very well that he’s a respectable businessman. I told you Pierce was sailing to Hong Kong to open another shipping office, which, by the way, is already showing a profit.”

“Good for him,” he commented dryly. “I hope he stays there.”

I ignored his snide remark. “Actually, he said in his last letter that he planned to be home for the Christmas holidays.” For some reason I could not fathom, Robert had taken a profound dislike to Pierce, whom I’d first met during my involvement in the Russian Hill murders. It seemed all the more inexplicable, given that Pierce invariably treated Robert with the utmost civility. “It will be nice to see him again.”

He made a face. “I can’t wait.”

“Oh, really, Robert. Enough is enough! Just what do you have against Pierce Godfrey?”