Previously: Booth shoots Lincoln and breaks leg in escape. Stanton’s henchman Lafayette Baker takes Christy’s body to an embalmer. Booth and Herold join across the river in Maryland. Johnson takes the oath of office. Baker starts the official investigation.
A banging at the kitchen door drew their attention. Baker stood and with a couple of his soldiers strode to the door and opened it. A tall young man with a pickaxe on his shoulder stood at the door. Baker recognized him as the stupid one under the bridge from Thursday night. He was the one who was supposed to kill Seward.
“What do you want here?” Baker asked.
“Oh. I’m supposed to dig a gutter for Mrs. Surratt.”
“At midnight?”
“I happened to see the lights on. I dropped by to get directions. I’m supposed to do the job tomorrow. I didn’t even know her until last week. We met on Pennsylvania Avenue. She looked like a nice lady who needed help and…”
Baker turned to one of the soldiers. “Bring Mrs. Surratt here.”
“What’s wrong? Is she in trouble?” The man with the pickaxe shifted from one foot to the other. “She’s too nice a lady to be in trouble.”
“If you barely know her, how do you know she’s a nice lady?”
“She looks like a nice lady.”
The soldier brought Mrs. Surratt and Anna into the kitchen.
Baker pushed the young man under the gaslight lamp on the wall. “Do you know him?”
Mrs. Surratt raised her right hand as though she were swearing an oath in a courtroom. “I have never seen this man before in my life.”
Baker tapped his foot. He knew both of them were lying, but he could not explain to authorities how he knew.
Mrs. Surratt gasped. She pointed at his foot. “You’re the one under the bridge,” she whispered. “Wilkes told me how you tapped your foot in the river’s tide–”
“Mother, don’t say anymore,” Anna grabbed her mother by the arm.
Baker turned when he heard the front door open. The other soldier had returned with the carriage. “It’s time to go.”
After Mrs. Surratt and Anna sat in the carriage, Baker pulled the group of soldiers around him. “I think it best for the record if you say Major Smith was here tonight instead of me.” The soldiers frowned. “Colonel Henry Wells wanted Major Smith to be here. It’s a sign of respect to the Colonel.”
The men shook their heads but mumbled assent as they stepped back and Baker sat in the carriage next to Mrs. Surratt. As the carriage went down the street, Baker leaned over and said, “I want only the best for your defense. Truly. If you make wild allegations about my meeting with Mr. Booth under a bridge, well, you will lose your credibility. Understand?”
She slowly nodded, hearing the implied threat and considering the alternatives.
Suddenly aware of her surroundings, Mrs. Surratt frowned.
“Where are we going? The city jail is down the street we just passed.”
“Old Capitol Prison.”
“Why, that’s a federal prison. Why are we going there?”
“Mr. Stanton decided this was a federal offense under military jurisdiction.”
“Military? But I’m not a member of the military!” Mrs. Surratt’s voice cracked with fear.
“As I said, you must remain calm. You don’t want to jeopardize your credibility.”
The rest of the carriage ride was in silence, broken only by muffled tears from Anna Surratt and quick shushes from her mother.
After Baker delivered them to their cells at Old Capitol Prison, he told the driver to take him to the office of Dr. Thomas Holmes, the mortician who was embalming the remains of Adam Christy. He wanted to see how the preservation process was coming along. When he went by the office on Saturday morning with the fifty-nine dollars Baker was not impressed with the mortician’s progress. In addition, he became painfully aware of how exposed he was to the attention of the passing crowd. Anyone who knew him would immediately spot him at the mortuary and wonder what he was doing there. He told himself to make his future visits under the cloak of darkness. As they arrived at the building, Baker saw that all the lights were on. This confirmed to him that Dr. Holmes was a man of great energy, working into the latest hours of night.
The assistant Jeffrey answered the door and lead Baker into Holmes’ workroom. The doctor welcomed him and directed him to the table where Christy’s corpse lay.
“You see,” Holmes said, showing Baker the body, “Just as I promised.” He paused a moment. “When will the funeral be? If it will be longer than a week away, I must inject more of my formula, and that will be more money, of course.”
Baker cocked his head, the germ of an idea taking seed in his brain. He was realizing Christy might not have died if vain if his body could substitute for John Wilkes Booth. Eventually Booth would be found. Baker wanted to spare his life. Too many people had already died. Baker did not know the circumstances under which he would find Booth but he wanted to be prepared.
“So you could extend the preservation of the body for weeks?”
“Of course.” Holmes beamed with pride. “Why, I am leaving soon on the train with President Lincoln’s body. It will need constant injections, to keep him looking fit for all the people who will be viewing the body, from Baltimore to New York to Buffalo, Cleveland, Chicago and finally Springfield.”
“Will someone be supervising the office while you are away? I mean, who will be taking care of my son?” Baker asked.
“Jeffrey will be here,” Holmes replied. “I have trained him. You have no worries.”
“You’re a professional man, are you not, Dr. Holmes?” His words barely rose above a whisper.
“Of course, I am. I pride myself on my professionalism.” Holmes glanced about the room before looking directly at Baker. “I think what you are saying is that this young man is not your son.”
“That’s correct.”
Holmes took a step closer. “I assure you no one values life more than I, Mr. Lafayette Baker. Oh yes, I remembered who you were after you left Saturday morning. You are not Abraham Christy. You work for Secretary of War Edwin Stanton. You brought the body of a Republican senator’s son here a couple of years ago. That young man had died under mysterious circumstances, just like this boy.”
“Sir, I am not intimidated easily.” Baker felt his face flush.
“Oh, I am not trying to intimidate you, sir. I only wish to inform you that lies are not necessary with me. By the way, I surmise his real last name is Christy. You took the first name of Abraham from our late president.”
“Are you attempting to blackmail me, sir? If so, you are playing a dangerous game—“
“Oh, don’t be alarmed.” Dr. Holmes smiled. “I am not judgmental. Nor am I in the least bit interested in blackmail.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“So what do you want to have done to the body?”
Baker hesitated.
“You’ll have to excuse my bluntness. I deal in death. I have neither the time nor the inclination to follow common protocols.”
“I want the initials JWF tattooed on his left hand and another tattoo on the right side of his neck to look like a scar, as though he had cut a boil out of his skin and it left a scar.”
“Anything else?”
“I want his hair dyed black. Try to make his freckles go away.”
“Of course. I know an excellent tattoo artist. He does have a fee to match his talent.”
Baker’s stomach began to turn, but he tried to control it. “Anything it costs.”
After he had completed all the details of the arrangement, Baker stepped outside and told the carriage driver to go ahead without him. He decided to walk back to his hotel. His mind was racing with a million contingency plans. Baker knew his cousin Lt. Luther Baker was a military detective. Baker was confident he could suggest that his cousin be part of the hunt for Booth. Luther had as few scruples as Lafayette, but he did have a strong family loyalty. Anything Baker asked of him he would do and keep it a secret. Baker wanted to be at the exact location of Booth’s capture when it occurred. What he would do then was still a blur, but the longer he walked the streets of Washington City after midnight the more his strategies came into focus.
What swirled in his brain—including traveling with a transformed corpse—was madness, he conceded. But what the hell, Baker rationalized, the whole world at this moment in history was totally insane, and anything was possible.