Ring of Fire (eBook)

Chapter 2

Lieutenant Blake sat at his desk in the inspector general’s office, sifting through the reports he was summarizing. The three other desks in the room were empty, the officers who occupied them gone for the day. The door to the inner office of the assistant inspector general was closed. Colonel Wagner, the AIG, had left for the day as well. Through the bay windows across from him, the fog-clotted sky was visible but its gray-hued light was fading. Along the whitewashed walls, wooden shelves were filled with thick leather-bound folios containing reams of reports, inventory lists, and copies of requisitions orders necessary to their work.

Boot heels clumped along the hall beyond the open office door. Peterson, a sergeant major in the provost marshal’s department, walked in and glanced around the room. He wore a cape-shouldered regulation blue overcoat and cap. Coming to attention, he saluted. Blake remained seated, returning the salute with a distracted motion.

“Is the colonel here?’

“Gone for the evening. To a dinner party, I believe. At the Selby’s on Rincon Hill,” Blake answered.

“Major Ellis, one of the staffers with the quartermaster, is in the morgue. Someone shot him in the head. General Halleck received word this afternoon from Isaiah Lees, who’s a detective with the local police.”

Blake returned to his work. “I’ll let the colonel know in the morning.”

“General Halleck asked that the provost marshal follow the matter, but Major Colton has his hands full, what with running the stockade and rebuilding the batteries at Fort Alcatraz with convict labor. The major was wondering if one of you fellows might be able to consult with the police on this.”

Blake looked at the sergeant major. “You can’t spare a single man?”

“Most are working at the stockade. The rest are out chasing down deserters. Major Colton would consider it a personal favor if your commanding officer would take this over.”

Blake smiled to himself. That was the Army way—delegate troublesome work to the next fellow whenever possible. “I’ll take the news to him personally. That will be all, Sergeant.”

At the coat rack beside the open office door, Blake shrugged into his skirted uniform jacket and buttoned it. Removing a red silk sash from a wall hook, he wrapped it around his waist, and buckled on his pistol belt. In San Francisco, only Quaker gentlemen did not carry a handgun or a knife beneath their coats at night. As a soldier, he had the advantage of wearing a revolver openly. It had the proper effect—on the dark city streets, the shabby denizens stepped out of his way and beggars never asked him for spare pennies. Blake checked the small mirror hanging on the wall to make sure his dark-brown hair was neat, glancing into his skeptical gray eyes. He seated his kepi on his head, canting it to the left to give it the jaunty angle he favored. He pulled the office door shut and locked it.

***

“This is the Selby’s house,” replied the Negro butler, immaculate in a white shirt, silver brocade waistcoat, and dark swallow-tailed jacket.

Blake stood at the door of a grand two-story house mounted on a hillock overlooking Harrison Street, a boulevard lined with prominent mansions. He was slightly out of breath having climbed several flights of stairs up from the plank sidewalks.

“Who may I ask is calling?”

“Lieutenant G. W. Blake. I’m here to see Colonel Wagner on Army business. It won’t take but a moment. However, I must speak with him.”

“Come in, sir.”

The tall African stood aside, opening the door. Blake stepped into a richly paneled entryway, taking off his kepi. From an adjacent room came the noise of many voices talking at once. The party was still in the opening stages of cocktails and gossip. Supper had not yet been served. A plump middle-aged woman strolled in from the crowded room. She wore an elegant green silk dress with a yellow lace collar. Her hair was done up in the latest style.

“And who is this handsome young man, Nathan?” she asked, glancing at the butler as she placed her gloved hand in Blake’s palm.

Clicking his boot heels together, Blake bowed slightly from the waist. “Good evening, ma’am.”

“This is Mr. Blake,” Nathan said. “Here to see the colonel.”

She looked reprovingly at him. “What could possibly be important this late in the day?”

“Mrs. Selby, it pains me to disturb your party, but I am here on urgent military business.”

She smiled. “Oh, you’re a delightful liar! Isn’t he cute, Nathan? Do fetch the colonel, will you?”

With a sober nod, Nathan walked into the crowded, brightly lit room, disappearing among the people. Mrs. Selby slipped her arm through Blake’s.

“Have we met before, Lieutenant?”

He looked over at her, feeling uncomfortable. “Uh, no, ma’am.”

“Where has Colonel Wagner been keeping you?”

“Busy at the inspector general’s office. I arrived here in April, just a few months—”

“And where are you from?” she asked.

“New London, Connecticut. But I came out from Washington, DC, where I was working—”

“Are you married?”

“No ma’am.”

“Engaged?”

Blake smiled. “No ma’am.”

“Would you like a drink?’

“Thank you, no. I wouldn’t want to disrupt your party.”

“Nonsense.”

Withdrawing her arm, she stood back and looked at him with gauging eyes, fingering one of her garnet pendant earrings.

Nathan reappeared with the colonel in tow. Wagner was a tall man with graying temples and a cavalryman’s mustache. The brass buttons on his uniform shimmered like gold, having been doubtlessly polished that afternoon by an orderly. Blake stiffened to attention and saluted with a crisp motion. The colonel regarded him with a disapproving frown, returning the salute.

“Dallying with the ladies, Lieutenant?” asked the senior officer.

“Mrs. Selby,” said Blake, looking at her. “If you will excuse us?”

“Don’t be grumpy, Colonel. He’s a very nice young man and from a good family, I’ll warrant,” she said before returning to her room full of guests.

Blake waited until Nathan likewise removed himself from the entryway, then relayed the conversation he had with the sergeant major from the provost marshal’s office. Wagner listened, a grave expression on his face.

“I played poker with Major Ellis at my club just last Friday evening. This is troubling news. I want you to follow up—make sure the police are doing a thorough job. Have you got anything pressing on your desk at the moment?”

“Not really, sir. I’m summarizing the inspection at Ft. Crook and doing preparation for the inspection at Ft. Humboldt.”

The colonel nodded. “Give this priority for the moment. And keep me informed.”

“Understood, sir.”

Nathan emerged from the crowded parlor. The two soldiers looked over at him as he approached.

“Mrs. Selby would like you to join her supper party, sir. What shall I tell her?”

“The lieutenant is honored to accept.” Wagner smiled, his voice ironic. “Give Nathan your kepi and sidearm, Mr. Blake. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the hostess. Lord knows she seems to enjoy our young officers.”

The parlor of the Selby house was extensive, brightly lit by two chandeliers as well as wall-mounted gas lamps. Ornately carved chairs and couches were arranged about the long room, their polished wood gleaming in the light. Most of the guests were standing. A table stood to the right of the doorway, where a servant poured punch from a large silver bowl or sherry for the ladies and whiskey for the gentlemen. Amid the competing conversations, Wagner raised his voice to Blake.

“Whiskey, soldier?”

Blake shook his head. “Not on an empty stomach, sir. I’ll have punch instead.”

“A wise decision. Better to keep your wits about you, or Mrs. Selby will have you married off to one of her daughters before you leave the house.”

Blake smiled. “I received a thorough interrogation prior to your arrival.”

Drinks in hand, they mingled with the other guests, the colonel introducing Blake to several whiskered men in evening dress. A tall gentleman with a bald pate and an expansive gray beard gestured with his hand as he expounded on local politics.

“I don’t care if this fellow Middleton is the president of the Central Railroad! He’s a fraud. His proposal for the Second Street cut will ruin this neighborhood if it goes through. What do you think will happen to our property values then?”

One listener whose hair was dark and slicked with pomade shook his head. “You can’t hold back progress. The days of pioneers and miners are over. The vitality of civilization...