Shadows in the White City by Robert W. Walker Page B

was the kid’s turn to die. He’d caused enough suffering.
    Alastair patiently watched the cab halt before the wharves, Denton sitting high and blinking in the setting sun. Harry played his part well, slurring his words and stumbling about as he asked Waldo if he’d like to see the Chicago Fire Department’s pride and joy, a diesel-powered tug that piped its way up and down the river in the event of a fire along the length of the Chicago River, the boat fully equipped with the latest in pumps and utilizing the river water itself to douse errant fires that might break out at warehouses or aboard ships harbored as far as the eye could see.
    Waldo Denton—Campaneua—took the bait, wide-eyed and curious at the wondrous fire tug sitting at the end of the pier. He stepped aboard behind Stratemeyer, who waved at a couple of his lads already aboard. “I’ve another to take the tour, boys!” he proclaimed.
    This was met with boredom from the two men aboard, both in suspenders and boots, a heat wave having descended over the city.
    Waldo was well into the tour, being conducted about the fire-fighting tug and his head half in the barrel of the water cannon when Harry said, “And just to your left is Inspector Ransom.”
    Ransom and the two other firemen grabbed Denton, who was quickly overpowered and hog-tied. “Into the ice chest, now!” shouted Ransom even as Harry lifted the lid to the huge onboard ice chest, a leftover from a time when the fire tug had been a fishing trawler. It held nearly a ton of ice and Waldo Denton, tied and gagged, was dropped inside.
    In a matter of a half hour, the fire boat was out over Lake Michigan, its crew, Harry and Ransom enjoying a Pabst—the beer that “Only Yesterday” won the blue ribbon at the World’s Fair. Harry remained skeptical of thenew beer, but said he wanted to give it a try. They toasted to a job well done.
    Alastair added, “To my lovely Polly Pete, my Merielle. May she find the peace in death she sought in life.”
    â€œHere, here!” cheered the firemen, all of whom had been on hand the day Polly’s blackened body and separated head had been discovered amid the ruins of a fire, the source of which had been her apartment. She’d been one of Denton’s first victims.
    â€œAnd to Griffin Drimmer,” added Harry.
    Alastair raised his bottle of Pabst and clinked it against the others. “A better-hearted young detective, and so dedicated, never lived.”
    â€œNor died,” agreed Harry as he and Ransom began feeling the effects of their third beer now. By now they’d taken the boat several nautical miles out over Lake Michigan.
    All four men stared at the ice box, imagining its contents, now silent after much kicking and thrashing.
    â€œYou think he’s froze to death, Alastair?” asked Harry as he gulped down his Pabst.
    â€œWe need to get back to the river and soon,” said one of the fireboat men.
    â€œDon’t want anyone missing us,” agreed the second boatman.
    As if on cue, Denton kicked out at his ice coffin again. “Frankly, I want the bastard alive for the next shock to his system,” replied Alastair. “Boys,” he addressed the two younger firemen, “appears we are alone with the elements and the waves here, so let’s get the bastard outta deep freeze for phase two.”
    The two younger men stared at one another.
    Harry erupted, shouting, “Do as Inspector Ransom says, boys!”
    Ransom explained, “So he’s conscious of his fate. I want him to know he’s to be cold beneath the lake for eternity.”
    They opened the chest to find Denton turned blue and near solid save for the shivering. “Took some doing packingall that ice into the old chest for you, Inspector,” said Harry, “but there’s not a one of us who didn’t like Griff.”
    The younger men hauled Denton from the ice. They