The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu, by Sax Rohmer, was published in 1913 and was the first in a series of thrilling novels about the villainous Fu Manchu, aka the Yellow Peril from the East. Tales of murder, white slavery, and remarkable escapes from death were the hallmark of Rohmer, and this volume was no exception. In the book, Karamaneh, the heroine, is a girl of great beauty whose description corresponds strikingly with that of La Rue. The young woman is taken captive and held in a luxurious apartment, where she is threatened by seeing the grave of another victim. The villain, the mysterious Chinese criminal lord, has the power of life and death over his captive women. Ads for the book in the papers claimed that “these are no ordinary detective stories.” Faurot said that La Rue had given the book to friends, recommending it highly. The book was eventually mailed to a friend in Havana but returned to New York as undeliverable, which is how Faurot found it. In the book, several people are made to commit suicide by jumping out of windows. There are blindfolds, veiled cellars, and men who hold the complete will of their charges in their hands. Faurot noted at least twenty other passages that coincided with exact specifics in La Rue’s story. The briefing was ended with Faurot noting that La Rue’s real name was Mrs. H. T. Clary and that she had family in California, including an eleven-year-old son named Harry. When the Sun reported the end of this strange story, they said “And so it goes. Copies of ‘The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu’ and of THE SUN for the last days of June may still be had while they last.”
At the time, one of the most popular films was Poor Little Rich Girl, starring America’s sweetheart, Mary Pickford. In the film, the maid gives Mary an extra dose of sleeping medicine so that she can go out. Mary experiences a surreal, imaginary world inspired by her real-life friends. The world includes places such as the Tell-Tale Forest and the Garden of Lonely Children. People wondered whether La Rue’s story happened the same way, like a kind of self-hypnosis. Where did this story come from? Was it drugs, delusion, or just a wild, public lie? Two shadowy men would later be indicted for blackmail in the La Rue case, but for the most part New York readers felt as if they were coming out of a haze.
Reporters tried to reach Grace for comment, but she was out of the city. She was in Annapolis.
On another big case.
17
The Marked Neck
The first thing that Grace noticed about the house in front of her was that it had only recently been painted white. The color was still bright and thick on the wooden planks. Someone had been paid to do it too, from the looks of it, which also told her something about the husband. He was too busy to do it himself, possibly, or just didn’t go in for that type of thing. That, or his line of work didn’t lend itself to physical labor. Grace already knew that she was right on that guess. The husband was in naval intelligence.
The house stood almost perpendicular to the sidewalk, separated only by a narrow front porch. As Grace walked through the front door, she found herself in a small, square room with a couch, a library table, and a Graphophone. There was a chimney and mantel lined against the other wall. Looking straight ahead, Grace saw an open door. When she passed through its frame, she gasped to find herself in the bedroom. The room was a mess. There was a white dresser with its drawers open. Clothes were scattered on a dark rug that was decorated with golden, interlocking shapes. The brass bed in the middle of the room was bowed and looked to have a feather mattress. In the corner, Grace saw a wooly toy lamb placed near a book about babies. The mattress on the bed was soaked in blood.
Grace walked through the dining room and saw the mahogany sideboard, then the bathroom, filled with the usual appointments of a young couple. As she was about to leave, Grace stepped out onto the rear porch and looked out the back. Past the tall weeds at the far end of the short yard, she could see shapes moving through the five-foot-tall plank wooden fence. She had been told there was a Negro community there, just on the other side.
A day earlier, Grace had been in New York, when a call came in from the Washington Times. Grace assumed it was for yet another quote about Ruth, but it was not. The editor told Grace that there had been a murder in the naval city of Annapolis. They wanted to hire her to solve it. As trial preparations were beginning in Italy for Cocchi, Grace was staying out of it. She had already called for Cocchi’s extradition, but there was really nothing more she could do for poor Ruth Cruger. So she agreed to listen.
The facts of this new case were both sad and mysterious. The Brandons were a young, newly married couple living in an Annapolis row house. On August 8, 1917, Val, the husband, came home from work to find his wife, Lottie May, murdered in their bed. There was barely any physical evidence, and everyone had an alibi, including her husband, who worked for the navy. Grace took a moment to think on the phone, negotiated some, and then got on a train to Washington.
When Grace arrived, the first thing she did was to interview Valentine Brandon, the young husband. He was a stenographer with the navy, in the Experimental Division. When they met and clasped hands, the thin man stood tall with his head angled downward. He told Grace that he had married Lottie May a year ago. She had come from a family of nine. He told her of their home life. Val was clearly heartbroken.
“After I bury my wife in Washington, I shall return to Annapolis,” he told Grace. “I will sell my household effects and leave here for all time.”
Grace then took a machine to Annapolis and the Brandon home. Grace entered the house without speaking and walked through its rooms in silence. When Grace got back to Washington, she passed the Capitol and remembered her time in those halls, walking across that flat marble, arguing about immigration. She kept going. In front of the iron fence of the White House were a line of gray ladies in tight black boots. They wore sashes and had flags colored purple, white, and gold. They held large signs that read “Mr. President What Will You Do for Woman Suffrage?” and “Mr. President, You Say Liberty Is the Fundamental Demand of the Human Spirit.” Some of the other signs referred to President Wilson as “Kaiser Wilson.” Grace saw them and thought of Inez. “Just a year ago they were married,” reported Alissa Franc, of the Washington Times, “and in a few weeks a tiny stranger should have entered their doors.” At the time of her death, Lottie May Brandon was seven months pregnant.
On August 11, three days after the crime, Grace had her first exclusive column on the front page of the Washington Times: “Lottie Brandon’s murderer was undoubtedly someone Lottie Brandon had known,” Grace wrote. She also didn’t believe that the murderer was from the nearby Negro community, as the police were hinting at in the papers. Lottie’s diamond engagement ring had remained on her thin finger. “A Negro would almost certainly have committed a theft while in the house,” Grace said, matter-of-factly. She also believed that the horrible act was premeditated. “Very few crimes start all in a moment,” wrote Grace. “The genesis and ramifications of this tragedy may date back several years.” Grace called out in print for evidence and leads, promising that “this murder mystery is going to be solved.”