After dropping off the horses at a livery in a better part of town, they hiked back to Stevenson’s neighborhood. The street was now mostly empty, and only a few restless residents could be seen. Clouds were beginning to gather above the city, and the wind started to whip up as the darkness of night began to move in.
Ezra shivered and looked up at the sky. “Looks like we might get some rain,” he commented.
“That can work in our favor,” Jack said. “It’s hard to hear a man breaking into a house if it’s raining.” He pointed to the house ahead as the rain began to come down heavy sheets. “We’re almost there - let’s go see if our friend is home.”
They walked past the front of the house in the gloomy rain. No light could be seen through the windows, which were covered with boards. They stopped and looked around to see if any neighbor was watching them. Seeing no one, Jack motioned for Ezra to follow him behind the house.
The back of the house was also boarded up with rough-hewn wood slats over the doors and windows. A small dilapidated fence shielded the yard from any prying eyes. Jack looked for any unwanted observers and saw that the surrounding buildings were dark and silent.
Ezra stopped his friend: “What’s that noise?” They stood still and then Jack pointed toward the fence. A scrawny orange cat held a dead rat in its mouth, and had knocked over some piled-up kindling wood. It looked at them, hesitated, and then noiselessly padded off. The detective sighed in relief. He then walked over to the back door and pulled on the handle. It wasn’t just locked, but nailed tightly shut.
“Looks like these nails are on pretty tight,” Jack said with a grunt. “Why don’t you check the window over there while I keep a lookout?” He took a position at the corner of the house to keep an eye on the neighborhood as Ezra looked over the windows. Jack looked up at the rain-drenched sky and saw lightning flash in the distance. It was a good night for this kind of work.
Ezra went over to the ground floor window next to the door and pulled on the bottom wooden board. There was a loud groan as the nails on the bottom board separated from the rotted window frame. Jack waved his hands, motioning for his friend to stop. He looked carefully around the corner of the house to see if anyone had heard. No one was there, so he went back to help him. Using the freed board, they pried the next slat from the frame. Behind the boards, the window was still intact. They both pushed hard to open the window, but it was nailed shut on the inside.
“Since we’ve gotten this far, we might was well finish the job.” Jack grinned as he smashed the bottom windowpane with the board. Even with the heavy rain coming down, the shattering glass crashed loudly in the night air. They stopped their work momentarily to listen for anyone raising the alarm, but again no one in that neighborhood seemed to care. Using the bottom of his coat to shield his hand from broken glass, Jack pushed the jagged remains of the window off of the bottom pane.
They crawled in, one at a time, through the narrow opening, being careful not to cut themselves on the remaining glass splinters. Inside, the wooden floor had a thick layer of dust, and the boards squeaked loudly as they crept forwards in the gloom. Jack lit a match and held it high in the air. It was a back bedroom which showed some signs of recent use; a newspaper and some matches were on the floor next to a dilapidated chair and a rumpled bed. A kerosene lamp stood on a small table in the corner, along with some dirty glasses and wadded newspaper. Through the arched doorway on the right, there was a hallway with a small kitchen which gave a faint odor of cooking. A closed door stood at the end of the hallway.
The match flared out. Jack walked further into the room to take a closer look. Ezra followed, looking behind them to see if they were being watched. The house appeared to be empty as the only sound to be heard was rain drumming against the roof. Sudden flashes of lightning dimly lit the rooms, causing shadows to momentarily appear on the walls.
They walked into the kitchen. Several dirty pans and dishes were strewn on the table. The old rusty wood oven still felt slightly warm against Jack’s hand. They went into the hallway and cautiously opened the door at the end of the hall.
Both of them silently went into the main room that was located at the front of the house. The front door was shut, and everything was quiet. A ratty sofa and a pair of stuffed chairs were the only furniture. The fireplace held nothing but ashes from the previous fire. A single unlit lamp and key stood on the mantelpiece. Past the sofa, there was a door leading to another room.
Jack tried the door knob, but it was locked. Ezra picked up the key from the mantelpiece and fit it into the lock. His partner turned the key, while Jack stood ready with his Starr pistol cocked. The door slowly opened, revealing nothing but a dark room. The curtains inside were apparently drawn tight because neither of them could see anything in the gloom. A dark, sick odor wafted toward them, and they took a step back in recognition.
Jack coughed and held his nose tightly to stop himself from gagging. He knew that smell – it was death. “Let’s get some light in here,” he said through his hand which he had pressed tightly to his nose. He grabbed the lamp from the front room and lit it. He raised the flame enough to just give a faint glow and went back to the room where Ezra stood waiting.
Sitting on an old wood chair sat the body of a man stripped to the waist. He was tied to the arms and feet of the chair, with his head hanging over his chest. The shirt lay tattered around the man’s waist. Not a breath or sound could be heard, only the final stillness that death brings. Jack to a step closer and pulled the man’s head up. The youthful face was waxy with the mask of death and a trail of dried blood ran down his broken nose and into his mouth. The cheeks were battered with deep bruises, and the eyes were swollen shut.
Jack sighed and let the head drop. “Well, we found him,” he said flatly. “Faith won’t be happy, but we found him alright.”
“Are you sure it’s Lawrence?” his partner asked, nearly gagging.
“It’s him - looks just like the photograph we were given.” Jack felt sick to his stomach and was full of regrets that he had failed in finding Lawrence in time. He turned around and quickly walked out of the room pushing Ezra ahead. He shut the door and breathed heavily, trying to clear the stench of rotting flesh out of his nostrils.
Ezra was leaning against the wall looking sick. “Stevenson plays rough,” he gasped. “He could have just killed him, but he decided to torture him for a few days first. He must have bled to death.”
“The poor fool,” Jack whispered in reply. “It’s a sad way for any man to die.”
“At least it’s over for him now. I would like to get a piece of the bastard in return.”
“I agree. Let’s sit in the other bedroom and wait for Stevenson to return. We can beat the truth out of him and get to Davis in the end.” His face was grim.
“I would like that,” Ezra said coldly.
Jack and Ezra relocked the door and put the key back in its place. They extinguished the flame and put the lamp back above the fireplace.