Death of Riley (32 page)

“There won't be any play opening tonight,” the policeman growled. “Have you no sensitivity, man? Our President has been shot. Nobody knows if he's going to live or die. The whole exposition is shut down. And we're not done with you yet, by a long way.”

“But you can't seriously think that I am in any way involved.” Ryan managed a light laugh. “My dear man, would I do anything to jeopardize a new play on which I have spent the last year working? My whole reputation is at stake.”

“Take him away,” the policeman motioned to a guard standing behind us. “Put him back in the cells. The feds will want to question him when they get here.”

“I'm a citizen of the British Empire, as is this young lady,” Ryan said. “It should be quite obvious that we have no interest in what happens to your President.”

This wasn't the right thing to say at this moment either. The policeman aimed a kick at Ryan's backside. “Get him out of my sight!” he shouted.

He was taken from the room, leaving me alone with the two interrogators.

“Miss Molly Murphy?” One of them was staring at me with interest. I reminded myself that this was no time for smart remarks. I had to watch every word I said and not get riled. My only chance was to play the helpless and injured female.

“Yes, sir.”

“How did you come to be mixed up in this?”

Over the past few months I had become adept at lying. What story should I tell them to get myself out of there? I fished around but my brain would not cooperate. “I was working for a private detective in New York,” I said. “He was killed. I managed to find the identity of his killer—it was the man who shot the President. My employer had overheard a conversation in which Mr. Czolgosz tried to persuade Mr. O'Hare to join him in an act of anarchy. When I discovered he had gone to Buffalo, I feared the worst.”

“Why didn't you go to the police?”

“Oh, but I did. I went to see Captain Daniel Sullivan of the New York Police Department, but he wasn't there, so I left him a letter detailing everything I had found out. He must have read it and contacted you by now, surely?”

“I know of no Captain Sullivan,” the man growled.

He stared at me with the same intensity with which he had looked at Ryan before dismissing him.

“You Irish are known to be a lot of rabble-rousers and lawbreakers, aren't you?” he sneered. “Bunch of anarchists, the lot of you.”

“Anyone who was an Irish anarchist would have his work cut out for him driving the English from our land,” I said. “We'd have no need to travel abroad to find a cause.”

As I said this I realized what a hornet's nest of trouble he'd stir up for me if he decided to contact Ireland. Nobody in America knew that I had fled from Ireland after I killed a man. I would just have to bluff it out. My eyes held his.

There was a long moment of silence, during which the clock on the wall ticked loudly. Then the older of the two detectives opened the door. “Go on. Get out of here,” he said.

“I'm free to go?” I asked hopefully.

“Not by a long chalk,” he said. “I'm not satisfied with any of this. It smacks of an anarchist plot to me. We'll be checking up on you and Mr. O'Hare very thoroughly— and that might just take days or weeks. Harris!” he barked.‘Take this woman to a new cell, away from Mr. O'Hare. We'll see which of them cracks first.”

He grinned at me unpleasantly as I was led from the room.

The new cell had a plank against one wall and a bucket for a commode. I desperately wanted to go, but as there were only bars at the front of my cell, and I was thus visible to anyone who walked past, I sat on the plank with grim determination. After the heat of the day, I couldn't stop shivering. What would happen to me? It was obvious that Daniel was still away and hadn't received my letter. And even if he did finally get it, what good could he do? He had no authority in Buffalo, and these men seemed to be determined to find me guilty.

I sat in half-darkness. A small barred window opened onto file street outside and I could hear an angry crowd milling out there. They were ready to riot, which must be why the police were so anxious to conclude their investigation quickly and needed to produce scapegoats. I hugged my arms to myself and wished I had a shawl. There would clearly be no mercy for someone who shot the President of the United States. I felt almost sorry for Leon, but even more sorry for Ryan and me. This is what I get for meddling, I told myself. What stupid idea had ever convinced me that playing at detective might be a suitable profession?

Then a small voice whispered that I didn't want to be safe and secure and bored. I wanted to know I was alive and independent. I knew I was alive at this moment, but for how much longer?

I could see daylight fading in that small square of barred window. A uniformed policeman came by and poked a tin mug of water and a hunk of bread and cold meat through the bars, as if he were feeding the lions at the zoo. I sipped at the water but felt too sick and worried to eat.

More hours went by. I tried to sleep, but couldn't. Then heavy footsteps came down the hallway. My cell door was unlocked.

“Look lively. You're wanted again. The chief wants a word with you.”

I was hustled down the same tiled hallway and into another room, brightly lit with an electric lightbulb. This time a large mustachioed man in shirtsleeves sat at a desk, with other policemen standing around him.

“Miss Murphy, sir,” my escort said, thrusting me toward the desk.

“Ah yes, Miss Murphy. The one who uncovered the plot single-handed.” The man at the desk had several chins and was leering at me. “I understand you are one of our more promising detectives, Miss Murphy. I should keep you on here, to give my boys some lessons.” Chuckles from those standing around him.

“No, sir, I'm very much a novice detective,” I said. “But I worked for a man who was one of the best and he was killed. I thought I owed it to him to find out who killed him. It was only by luck that I stumbled upon a picture of the man who shot the President this afternoon, found that he was on his way to Buffalo and put two and two together. I left a message with a captain at the New York Police Department and came straight to Buffalo in the hope of preventing this tragedy.”

He was still looking at me through piggy eyes with a leer. “Friend of yours, Captain Sullivan?”

“An acquaintance,” I said, lowering my eyes.

He smirked unpleasantly. “Acquaintance, huh?”

“Yes, sir. But if you could contact him, he'd vouch for me. He knew I was trying to find Paddy Riley's killer. And I sent him the photos—”

He held up his hand to quieten me. “It seems he has friends in the right places, this Captain Sullivan. You've been given a glowing testimonial. I'm to understand Miss Murphy is true-blue and has been instrumental in helping the police before. We've had a message from the governor's office and been instructed to let you go.”

A great wave of relief swept over me.

“Now?” I stammered. “I'm free to go now?”

He spread his hands in a gesture of futility. “You will, of course, leave particulars of where you can be contacted with us, and you will not think of leaving the country. Who knows what might come out when this investigation digs further.”

The feeling of relief was incredible. “It won't uncover anything that implicates me,” I said, “or Mr. O'Hare. We risked our lives just now, trying to stop your assassin, and all we got for our pains was bruises and torn clothing.”

“Yes, well…” my interrogator began. “Our lads were just doing their duty, you know.”

“For what it's worth, Fm very sorry indeed for what happened to the President,” I said. “Was he killed?”

“He was still alive last time I heard,” he said. “Able to speak.”

“Well, that's good news, isn't it.” I attempted a smile. “We'll just hope and pray for the best.” Then I made my exit.

I came out of police headquarters into the dark street. A large crowd was milling around, still in an ugly mood by the look of them. I hesitated, not sure what to do next. Should I take the next train home? Should I wait and see if I could do anything more for Ryan? I didn't know whether he had been released before me or whether he was still locked in a cell somewhere. The least I could do was to tell his theater company the news. And I had left my overnight bag in his green room. I tried to slip through the crowd unnoticed and find myself a cab, since I had no idea of the layout of this town.

At every step I was afraid someone might recognize me and raise the alarm that I had been somehow involved in the assassination attempt. I sensed that this crowd was in a mood for revenge and I had no wish to be strung from the nearest lamppost. The police should really have given me an escort. It occurred to me that the officer who released me knew this full well. Perhaps he was hoping that the mob would execute the justice he felt was denied him. I moved into the crowd, head down, and wished for once I had a bonnet to hide my features and not such prominent red hair. Gradually I inched my way through and I was almost at the other side, with freedom stretching before me, when I heard the words I had been dreading. “Wait a minute—you were one of them, weren't you? I saw them putting you in the paddy wagon at the Temple of Music.” The voice was raised. “Over here, boys. Here's one of‘em trying to slip away.”

Before he could grab me, I lashed out and ran. I didn't for a moment think that I could outrun a mob, but I was going to give it a darned good try. Footsteps clattered behind me on the cobbles. I found it hard to move fast in my pointed shoes and with all those skirts swishing around me. I picked up the skirts, revealing what was obviously an improper sight of undergarments, but at this moment I didn't care. Then, over the noise of the pounding feet, I heard the clatter of hoofbeats gaining on me and the next moment a black vehicle drew up beside me.

“Molly, jump in. Quick.” I looked up at the sound of Daniel Sullivan's voice. He held out his hand. I grabbed it and was swung inside.

“The railway station, as fast as you can,” Daniel commanded the driver and we clattered away just as the first of the mob pounded on the cab door.

I sat there gasping for breath, too overwhelmed to speak. “Are you real?” I asked, gazing up at him. “Fm not imagining you, am I?”

“Quite real.” He was looking at me with great tenderness.

“How in God's name did you find me?”

“They wouldn't let me see you before and they didn't make me too welcome at police headquarters either. So I was left kicking my heels outside, hoping that they'd release you as soon as they read the message from the governor.”

“You brought a message from the governor?”

“When I first found they had arrested you, they were not willing to release you based on my word alone. I had to summon the heavy artillery and telegraph the governor.”

“It was a miracle,” I said. “I thought I was done for this time.”

“That was a rather impressive sprint you put on back there,” Daniel said, giving me the wicked smile I had found so hard to forget. “And a pretty pair of legs revealed, too.”

“Don't joke about it, Daniel,” I gasped. “It's not funny. In fact, it's all been so horrible that—” Without warning I burst into tears. I had never cried in front of anyone in my life before, and I fought to master myself but I couldn't help it. My whole body shook with sobs. Daniel's arms came around me. “There, there. It's all over now. You're safe,” he whispered, stroking my hair as if I were a little child.

In his arms I felt safe. My cheek was against his shoulder. I could have lain there forever.

“You saved my Me,” I whispered. “That's the second time you've saved me.”

“I’m hoping it won't become a habit,” he said. “If only you'd stay home and act like a sensible woman, I wouldn't have to rescue you from these harebrained schemes of yours. What in God's name were you doing at that Temple of Music? It's that O'Hare person, isn't it? A damned anarchist if ever I saw one. He got you mixed up in this!”

“No, you've got it all wrong. Ryan was helping me.” I didn't say that my own suspicions had echoed Daniel's. “If you want to know what got me into this, it was hunting for Paddy's killer.” I sat up. “You got my letter, didn't you?”

“You are fortunate that I did,” he said. “I had planned to spend the week at a house party out on Long Island. When I got there, I discovered to my dismay that there was to be a formal ball and I had left my white tie and tails in the city. So I had to race back to get them and found your note.”

“So you should have been attending a ball at this moment,” I said in a small voice.

“Yes. That's correct.”

“I’m sorry I took you away from such a pleasurable occasion,” I said, as a picture of Daniel with Arabella, looking exquisite in a ball gown and jewels, flashed across my mind.

“Don't apologize. I am the world's most hopeless dancer, so you have saved me from considerable embarrassment,” he said. “But I wish you'd explain to me what on earth you've been doing and what made you come here. Your scribbled note and the photos have left me completely bewildered. I take it this has something to do with Paddy Riley's death?”

“I was obviously too upset to make myself clear,” I said. “And at that time all I had were suspicions. Now, of course, I know. Leon Czolgosz killed Paddy.”

“Leon—you mean the man they say shot the President? He killed Paddy? Are you sure?”

I nodded. “Paddy overheard him telling Ryan about his plans to disrupt the exhibition. Leon and Paddy lived in the same boardinghouse and Leon found out that Paddy had been snooping in his room.” I paused. “He tried to kill me, too.”

“He did?”

“He broke into my house and came at me with a knife.”

“And you managed to escape?” “With the timely arrival of my friends.” “My dear, you never cease to amaze me.” He shook his head.

“You never went to the police with this?”

“I wanted to make sure of my facts, and by the time I did make sure, Leon had.already left for Buffalo. I put all the information in a letter to you and followed him.”

“Well, I'll be—” He broke off before he uttered a profanity.

“Daniel, those photos—did you get a chance to look at them? Did they mean anything to you? I know Paddy took the pictures of Leon with Ryan O'Hare when he overheard Leon telling Ryan his plans. But there was also that picture of Sergeant Wolski, talking to a man I didn't recognize. Is it possible he was involved in the plot too?”