The Black Midnight Page 9

  “I wasn’t.”

  The bluntness of the man’s statement shocked Annie. She schooled her features so as not to reveal her surprise. This was a matter between father and son, and unless she missed her guess, it had more to do with some simmering lifelong disagreement than anything currently happening between them.

  Dr. Joplin looked away first, adding a sigh as he settled behind his desk. A moment later, he looked up at Annie and then turned to Isaiah. “Sit down and tell me what you’re working on. If you can, that is.”

  A look passed between them. Isaiah would take the lead here. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod before taking a seat across the desk from the geology professor.

  “We’re working on the Midnight Assassin case,” Isaiah said. “Unofficially, that is. Apparently the mayor sent his payment to the wrong Pinkerton Agency, so the men who showed up worked for a fellow named Matt Pinkerton. It’s a relatively shoddy outfit with little to recommend it, but you never know. They may come up with an answer anyway. Sometimes that’s how it happens. You just stumble onto a clue that leads you to a solution.” He paused. “Other times, it is right there in front of you but takes some investigation for anyone to see it.”

  “Then there are the times when there’s no solution at all,” his father offered. “Let’s hope this isn’t one of them. The specter of that madman is hanging over this city even now. It’s been three months since he killed, but people still want to talk about it.”

  “Do you think they shouldn’t?” Annie asked gently, acutely aware that there was already sufficient animosity in the room without her adding to it.

  “I think it’s time to let it go,” he said. “It won’t bring any of his victims back to name him. For all we know, he’s long gone.”

  “That may be true. He could be gone.” Isaiah picked up a small brown rock from the shelf beside where he stood and tossed it into the air, neatly catching it again. “Or he could still be here. Maybe even in this building right now.”

  Dr. Joplin chuckled. Then he stopped. “You’re serious.”

  “I am.” Isaiah returned the rock to its place on the shelf. “You and I have spoken about this case.”

  “We have.” Dr. Joplin steepled his hands in front of him. “On several occasions. Why? Has something happened?”

  Isaiah lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug. “Possibly.”

  “Oh no. Not another murder.” He sat back in his chair and shook his head. “I thought for certain we were done with that.”

  “Who is it, Pop?”

  Dr. Joplin froze. After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t understand. Are you asking me who the killer is?”

  Isaiah nodded.

  “How should I know?”

  From the tone of his words to the expression on his face, the professor looked to Annie like he was telling the truth. But to believe Seth Joplin meant she had to disbelieve Dr. Langston. To her, they both seemed credible.

  “According to the evidence I got recently, you should, Pop.” Isaiah retrieved the list from his pocket and laid it on the desk in front of his father. “A witness overheard these men plotting to cover up a series of crimes their friend committed. The witness was very clear on what was said.”

  “I see.” Dr. Joplin looked down at the paper and then back up at Isaiah. Then he laughed.

  Annie was horrified at the man’s response but kept her silence. Isaiah lowered himself into the chair beside Annie and stared at his father as if he’d lost his mind.

  Finally, he shook his head. “How about you tell me what’s so funny in all of this, Pop? Because I don’t see it.”

  “I don’t know who gave you that list, and I don’t want to know. I do not deny that a discussion occurred between me and these three men regarding the killer. I believe it was right after the last article that fellow from New York wrote, stirring up trouble.”

  “So you don’t deny that the four of you were talking about how to cover up the crimes a friend committed?”

  “Hold on now.” The professor waved his hands in front of him. “I never said anything of the sort.”

  “My witness says otherwise.”

  “Your witness is wrong.”

  “My witness said you four were considering a campaign of misinformation to lead anyone away from the person who was committing the crimes. The witness couldn’t decide if the killer was one of the men in the room or a friend.”

  Once again, Dr. Joplin laughed. This time there was no humor in the sound. “Your witness has quite the imagination.”

  “Does the name Black Midnight mean anything to you, Pop?”

  Annie knew at once that it did. The proof was in the older man’s expression.

  His face went ashen. “Where did you hear that term?” he asked, his voice rough.

  “From my witness. Want to reconsider the lies you’ve just told me?”

  “I’ve told you no lies,” he said. “And yes, Black Midnight means something to me.” He stood up and walked to the door, looked outside, and then closed it. “But it doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

  “Go on,” Ike said. “I’m listening.”

  Pop returned to his desk and settled there. After a moment, he met Ike’s steady gaze. “The police were useless. People were dying. The September killings were the last straw. A few of us—me, those three, and a half dozen others—met to talk about what we could do.”

  “Just a conversation among friends?” Annie asked.

  He swung his attention toward her. “Yes, exactly. We all just wanted to go back to living normal lives in a town that doesn’t fear the darkness. To teach students who aren’t afraid of the dark and chattering about murders instead of studying for exams. That seemed like an impossibility for much of this year. We were tired of it.”

  “Yes, I get that,” Ike said. “So you called a meeting to tell the killer to stop? Great plan.”

  “Isaiah, if I knew who the killer was, I’d do a whole lot more than tell him to stop. Orange Washington was a good man.” He turned to Annie. “Orange did odd jobs for me before he found regular work, so I knew him well. Those women were hardworking ladies, some of them with children, who didn’t ask for such a fate.”

  “No, of course not,” Annie said.

  Pop’s fist pounded the desk. “I know the Bible says we ought to leave revenge to God, but I sure would ask Him for an exception to that rule if I knew. But I don’t.”

  How like Pop to invoke the Lord’s wrath on the death of a stranger but hardly give notice to his own wife’s passing or what had gone on under his roof since. It was too much to hear.

  Ike snatched up the list and held it where his father could see it. “Why would my witness think you and these men were culpable?”

  “I don’t have any idea,” he said.

  “The witness said you called the killer Black Midnight? Why?”

  Recognition crossed his face, and Ike knew he had him. The question now was what had Pop really done?

  “That’s not the killer’s name, Son.” He paused. “That’s what we called our plan. We borrowed the term from a secret society of Englishmen that is whispered about but has never been proven to exist. I first heard about the Black Midnight while teaching at Cambridge. The purpose of its members is to quietly and purposefully aid the police in keeping law and order. The rumor is that all members are sworn to secrecy and to protect one another using any means necessary.” He shrugged. “Of course I thought the whole idea of a secret society hogwash, but it did make a good name for us.”

  Not at all what he’d thought his father would say. Ike turned to Annie. “Have you heard of the Black Midnight?”

  Annie shook her head. “I have not.”

  “Because it’s a secret,” his father insisted.

  “Annie was a police officer in London,” Ike countered. “Don’t you think she would have heard of a group whose mission it was to protect the officers?”

  “Not protect them, Son,” Pop said. “Help them
. If they’re having trouble catching a criminal, the Black Midnight might step in and handle that.”

  “All right,” Ike said. “So your group was formed by the four of you to step in and help. How did you plan to do that?”

  “It was simple, really. But first I have a correction. There were just a few of us at first, but we selectively added to our ranks as the weeks went by, so there are more than four.”

  Ike shook his head. “And what did you do, Pop?”

  “We took over where the police left off and did our own investigating. We spread the word through the community that was most affected by the murders that vengeance was on the way. We hoped it would be. Still do.”

  Ike folded the paper and tucked it back into his pocket. “So you were a vigilante committee?”

  “Of a sort, though we would never take justice into our own hands,” he said. “We just used our connections in the community to get the word out that the killer was being searched for by men who were more thorough than the police.”

  Leave it to his father to believe he could do a better job than a trained police officer. “A bunch of college professors?” Ike shook his head. “Really, Pop?”

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “Really. Once the word got out that the Black Midnight was after the killer, the killings stopped. Or haven’t you noticed?”

  The idea that the lull in the murders was attributable to Pop and his band of vigilante professors was questionable. He was about to say so when Annie spoke up.

  “So you believe the killer heard about the Black Midnight, some supernatural force for good, and was afraid enough to cease his activities or leave town?” Annie asked. “That’s actually brilliant.”

  “Thank you. We thought so. And for the record, none of us said anything about voodoo or the supernatural. That embellishment happened of its own accord, though none of us wished to correct it. I’m not averse to this monster believing we have some sort of power to find him and stop him. Whatever gets him caught is fine with me.”

  “Why did my witness insist you were plotting to cover up these crimes?” Ike asked.

  Pop let out a long breath. “I have no idea, Son. Truly, I don’t. But I assure you the four of us met here in this office to discuss ideas to continue with the work of the Black Midnight.” He paused. “Let me see that list again.”

  Ike complied. A moment later, Pop grinned.

  “Well, of course. Dr. Benton was there. He’s a psychologist and philosopher who had this theory of trying to understand the mind of the killer in order to come up with ways to deter him.”

  “Fascinating,” Annie said, leaning forward in her chair.

  “From the outset he referred to the murderer as ‘our friend.’ You’d have to ask him why that is.”

  “Because in theory you know a friend better than an enemy?” Annie offered.

  Pop gave her a thoughtful glance. “I suppose so. Did you study psychology or philosophy?”

  “I did not,” she told him. “But I am greatly interested in the topics and have read up on them frequently.”

  Pop gave her a look of approval, then handed the list back to Ike. “Are you going to tell me who this witness is?”

  “Of course not.” Ike tucked the paper back into his pocket. “But I will tell you that he was reluctant to speak with me. He really believed he’d heard something and held on to that information for several days before it weighed too heavily on him and he reported it to me.”

  “So he knows you and knows you’re a detective,” his father said. “That means I know him too. And since he heard our conversation through a closed door, I assume he is associated with the university in some way.”

  “You know I can’t answer that, Pop.”

  He shrugged again. “No matter. I don’t care who he is, but I applaud him. What we said was completely misinterpreted, but I appreciate that he felt obligated to report us.”

  “You do?” Annie asked, surprise coloring her tone.

  “Sure,” his father said. “If everyone reported what they saw or heard and the police actually acted on the tips, they might have found this man before now.”

  “Okay, Pop. You and your professor posse want to save the city and all the citizens who live here. You’ve made your point.”

  “Isaiah,” Annie said sharply. “That isn’t necessary. I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

  “Thank you, Detective Walters,” Pop said. “It is a harebrained scheme, actually, but it makes us feel like we’re doing something worthwhile instead of just complaining about the inept police department. As my son said, we’re just a professor posse.”

  “No,” Ike said, regret lacing his words, “Annie is right. My comment wasn’t necessary, Pop. I’m sorry.”

  His father looked as if he had no idea what to say. Then he gave a curt nod and reached for a stack of documents that were resting on the center of his desk, and began to read the first page. “Tell your witness thank you for me. Now, if that’s all, I do have some papers to grade.”

  And just like that they were dismissed. Ike stood and so did Annie.

  “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Joplin,” she told him.

  “And you.” He looked up from the papers. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Won’t you join us? Might ought to plan on staying over. No one wants to wake up on Christmas morning in a hotel.”

  Annie cast a quick glance at Ike. “I couldn’t possibly intrude on a family celebration.”

  “Pop is right. You should come. It will be Miss Hattie and me,” Ike told her. “I know she would love your help trimming the tree. I’m hopeless at it. She might put you to work threading popcorn. I hate that job. I always end up stabbing my fingers and bleeding on the decorations. Last year Hattie fired me altogether and put me in charge of reaching the top of the tree to put the star on it.”

  “That does sound safer. What about you, Dr. Joplin?” Annie asked. “What is it Hattie has you do?”

  Pop looked up. He was obviously at a loss for words.

  “My father doesn’t usually show up until after everyone’s in bed, so she’s given up assigning him anything to do.”

  “Even on Christmas Eve?” Annie blurted out, then looked sorry she’d said it.

  When Pop didn’t look up from his work, Ike took it as their cue to leave. “Come on, Annie,” he told her. “Time to go.”

  “It was very nice to meet you, Dr. Joplin,” she told him again.

  “And you as well,” echoed after them once they’d stepped out into the hall.

  “Your father is an interesting man, Isaiah,” Annie said after they’d made their way out of the building.

  “You have no idea,” he told her. “Smartest man I know, but sometimes he’s the stupidest as well.”

  Chapter 12

  You’re certain I shouldn’t have said no?”

  “We talked about this yesterday,” Ike said as he lifted her bag into the carriage. “You should have said yes, and you did. When I left, Miss Hattie was adding extra quilts to the bed in the guest room just in case you’re delicate and get cold easily.”

  “I’m not, but I appreciate the thought. Miss Hattie is a treasure.”

  He climbed into the carriage and grasped the reins. “She is, and she likes being reminded of that, so don’t forget to tell her at least once.”

  “Duly noted,” Annie said. “But are you sure your father won’t mind that I’m staying beyond Christmas Eve?”

  “My father won’t notice, Annie. But if he did, he would not care. And Hattie was incensed that a lady of your charm and character might possibly have to wake up in a hotel on Christmas Day. Her words, not mine.”

  Annie’s smile would put a bandage on any hurt a man might have. “Then it’s settled.”

  “It is indeed, so hush about it.” Her smile turned to laughter as Ike waited for a slow-moving wagon pulled by two sleepy mules to pass. Then he pulled the carriage out onto Pecan Street, where they rode along at a slow pace beneath the festive Christmas gar
lands that stretched across the road.

  Ike looked over at her and noticed she no longer wore her watch. “What happened?”

  She looked down at her wrist. “Oh, that. I must have lost it somewhere between the college and the hotel. I noticed it was gone when I sat down to work on my reports. I’ve asked the hotel clerk to put out the word that it has turned up missing, but he doesn’t feel it will be returned.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ike said.

  “It’s fine. I wasn’t particularly attached to it.”

  Ike shook his head. “No, I’m sorry I won’t have you to ask when I need to know what time it is.”

  Annie laughed and nudged him with her shoulder. “Oh well. I guess we’re in the same boat. We’ll have to muddle along together.”

  “I guess we will.”

  The sky was darkening over the Capitol building up ahead, a portent of the stormy night ahead. Miss Hattie had told him that the cook next door had warned tonight’s blue norther would bring sleet and snow. Apparently the next-door neighbor’s cook had some sort of special talent at predicting such things.

  Because of this, Miss Hattie had him chopping wood until Ezra, the handyman who had replaced Orange, arrived to take over. His arms still ached with the effort.

  A companionable silence fell between them. The carriage slowed to a stop to allow a mother carrying a child on one hip and leading another by the hand to cross in front of them.

  Annie watched the trio safely arrive on the other side of the street and then spoke up. “What was Christmas Eve like for you as a child, Isaiah?”

  He smiled at the thought. Back then the memories were happy. At least until they weren’t. “I’ll tell you, but first I want to hear yours.”

  “Mine?”

  He nodded. “Yes, tell me about Christmas Eve in England. What was it like?”

  “Well, it was…” Her eyes went wide. “Wait. Stop!”

  He glanced over at her. “What is it?”

  “Stop, Isaiah, right now! I need to get out.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, please. I cannot be a guest at your home on Christmas Eve without bringing gifts. It’s just not done.”