the river?”
“It’s a possibility. Maybe he brings the woman to his house, where he kills her then puts her in his car and leaves her close to the Potomac.”
“That’s a lot of traveling about, “Alonso said. “He’s taking the chance of being seen.”
Jess agreed. “But he hasn’t been seen yet. We need to find a native Washingtonian, if there is such a person, to ask about the area. Where would the killer live to be able to do all that in secret? Where is the murder scene?” When they found that, they would find the killer.
The dark hills of Arlington National Cemetery rose in front of them. Lightning splintered the night sky. Once over the bridge, they entered the state of Virginia.
“This is Park Police territory, right?” Alonso asked.
“Yep.” Jurisdiction was confusing here. The first two murders took place in Washington City, the third on the C&O Canal, and the fourth at Theodore Roosevelt Island, both under the Park Police.
They traveled partway around a circle until they turned right, crossed a cobblestone forecourt, and stopped outside large, wrought iron gates. A maroon Oldsmobile and a battered truck were parked to their right.
Emerging from the motor car, a curly-haired young man in Clark Kent glasses rushed Jess’s side of the Packard. “You’re the Bureau’s man,” he said and held out an identification card. “I’m Thad Graham, Washington Herald. What’s going on up there? Somebody murdered in the cemetery?”
Jess heard Mississippi in his accent and smiled in spite of himself. Thad was like them, a Southerner a long way from home.
“Get back, you,” a Park Policeman yelled and chased the reporter away, then came to Jess’s window.
Jess showed him his Bureau ID. The policeman opened the gates and leaned in. “They’re way up near the Confederate Memorial. Follow the signs. Sorry ‘bout them newsies. They showed up right behind the DC police.”
Once Alonso put the car in first, another man leaped in front of them and took a photograph through the windshield, his flashbulb blinding them.
Alonso braked hard, rocking them forward and back. The car stalled. “That’s one photographer who near about got himself run over.”
Jess blinked, adjusting his eyes. “Hope Thad Graham figures out what’s going on here.” The Bureau insisted on keeping a lid on the murders, so as not to discourage young women from coming to Washington to work. “Whatever you do, don’t talk to the press,” Fred had told them. “That comes from the highest level. Keep these murders quiet.”
But in other cases, Jess and Alonso had gotten help from the public. Witnesses came forward. Someone might have seen something here in DC—the city was too crowded not to—but nothing had been reported.
With these murders, they were on their own and worse, government girls like the ones coming to live with Mrs. Trundle were unaware of the danger. These young women believed Washington was safe and that men in uniform were heroes, never suspecting one of their heroes was a killer.
5
“Stay close,” Eddie told Rachel.
Union Station’s covered platform overflowed with people shouting to be heard. Thunder rumbled overhead. Pandemonium reigned.
With her pulse in her throat, Eddie couldn’t stop looking around. She was finally, finally, finally here.
“Never been in a city before.” Pearl squeezed Eddie’s forearm. “I’m so scared.”
Eddie patted Pearl’s hand. “I feel like a country mouse, too.” The city’s vastness loomed around her. Mut, she told herself, courage.
They stood beside their stacked luggage. Rachel had two suitcases in addition to her compact case and hat box. Eddie’s giant suitcase, so heavy she could barely lift it, contained her typewriter and her beloved German-English dictionary.
How would they find their way with all their baggage?
Eddie noticed Pearl carried only a feed sack. Her curiosity pricked, she said, “By the way, Pearl, where are you staying in Washington?”
Pearl didn’t answer.
Rachel took hold of Pearl’s shoulders. “Where are you billeted, Pearl?”
“Same as you two, with Eddie’s aunt.” Pearl’s grip on Eddie tightened. “Don’t leave me, please.”
“Of course, we won’t,” Rachel told her.
Eddie didn’t believe Pearl, but it was almost midnight, too late to argue. They had to find Aunt Viola’s house and get ready for tomorrow, their first day working for the government.
Rachel summoned a porter to help with their suitcases. Rachel had traveled to Washington before, even to New York City with her father on buying trips for their department store. She had seen the world and it showed.
They helped the wiry cinnamon-colored man load their things onto a cart. “Coming through,” he called and pushed the cart. The crowd parted. He led them onto an elevator.
Upstairs in the lobby, Eddie craned her neck to take in the gorgeous vaulted ceiling and arched doorways. She felt as if they had joined a huge party. The lobby pulsed with young women, other soon-to-be government girls, who wore their skirts short, long and in-between, and spoke English with strange accents. Few wore hats, none had on gloves. They were modern women, and Eddie felt kinship with them. They had come to Washington to be typists, file clerks, secretaries, but they were soldiers in this war as much as men in uniforms.
The porter stacked their suitcases beside a revolving door and accepted the tip Rachel gave him. “Can we get a taxi out there?” Rachel pointed to the portico.
“Yes, Ma’am.” He touched his cap’s bill. “But tonight there are too many folks and not enough taxicabs. One of you needs to stand in that line and wait. Sorry I…”
“Rachel, look.” Eddie pointed to a sign above the crowd that read Miss Rachel Margolis. Eddie started toward the sign when Rachel pulled her back.
“Papa must have called our cousin and asked for someone to meet us.” Rachel bit her bottom lip. “I want nothing to do with whoever it is.”
“Bless your father for sending someone to take us to Aunt Viola’s.”
The sign moved closer, held by a young man in starched overalls.
“Please, I have money for a taxi.” Rachel squeezed Eddie’s hand.
Eddie understood. They wanted to be independent.
Outside a crowd jostled for taxis. “Rachel, look at me.” When their eyes met, Eddie said, “If we have to wait for a taxi, we might be here for hours, and we need to report to the Pentagon by 9:00 tomorrow morning.”
Rachel huffed, brought her hair over her shoulders, and made her way through the crowd toward the man with the sign. After Eddie told Pearl to wait beside the door and watch their things, she followed.
“Whoever
