Read Online Death at Pullman by Frances McNamara - Free Book Online

face. Whitbread was not an emotional man himself. He relied upon fact and logic and was relentless in pursuit of them, with perfect disregard for extraneous influences. His greatest point of pride was his integrity and I had seen him risk job and livelihood in defense of his reputation. He was not about to have it impugned. He cocked his head.
    â€œI repeat, madam. We are here in the pursuit of justice. We have not been dispatched by the Pullman Company, Mr. MacGregor and his strike committee, or anyone else. We represent only the people of the city of Chicago, who demand that a deed such as the murder of your brother be investigated and the perpetrator brought to justice. This is our errand, nothing else. To accomplish it, we will have to view your brother’s body to determine the true cause of death. You can assist us, or you can attempt to hinder us, in which case I will have the unwelcome duty of putting you under arrest.”
    He returned her concentrated glare coolly and I had no doubt he would arrest her and brave the anger of the crowd that was gathering in the yard behind my back.
    â€œMrs. Foley,” Dr. Chapman intervened. “I am Stephen Chapman. I’m a doctor and I have come to Pullman at the request of Miss Jane Addams to provide medical care to those who need it during this strike. I can vouch for Detective Whitbread. He is not in the pay of George Pullman, or Mr. MacGregor, or anyone else. It is Mayor Hopkins who has asked Detective Whitbread to investigate in order to ensure that everything is done to find whoever did this to your brother. Please let us examine his body. It will not take long and then you can take him to the church. If you like, we can ask your priest to come in while we do the examination. Would that help?”
    Whitbread turned to frown at the doctor, releasing his gaze from the deadlock with Gracie Foley. She watched them with narrowed eyes. “Dr. Chapman, we have work to get on with. We cannot be waiting for a priest.”
    â€œWhitbread, if we must wait for a priest we will. I will not do the examination without the consent of Mrs. Foley, so unless you want to find another medical man, you will wait.”
    As they continued to argue, Gracie Foley’s eyes fell on mine.
    â€œHe really does not work for Mr. Pullman, Mrs. Foley. He refuses to be influenced by anyone. He will find the truth.”
    Somehow the bickering that had broken out between the two men managed to drain the rage out of Gracie Foley. I thought she recognized in it something about the male character that she could trust more than any show of force. Suddenly, she stepped away from the table. At that the men stopped talking. Before Whitbread could question her move, Dr. Chapman stepped to the table and began to gently fold back the sheet draping the body. The man was clothed in a threadbare jacket and pants that the doctor began to remove. When Mrs. Foley pushed her way out the door, wiping tears from her cheeks, I followed, hoping to allow them privacy. I stood beside her outside as she sniffed back her tears. Mr. MacGregor had moved off by himself on the mud flats and he looked away towards Lake Calumet. Gracie glared at his figure.
    â€œHe has a nerve coming, him and his daughter. Brian wasn’t good enough for her. ’Twas that he was Catholic. Ian MacGregor claimed a great friendship with my father but when Brian and Fiona wanted to marry they both of them—MacGregor and my father—stepped in the way. They forbade it. On the grounds of religion. That was a Christian act, now wasn’t it?”
    I could think of no response. I didn’t like to leave her side. She radiated an intense anger, yet she drew my sympathy like a wounded animal might. Her glare had not left Ian MacGregor’s figure and, as if he felt it—though he was turned away—I saw him head across the mud flats to the large, long shed where we had found Brian O’Malley the day before. I