Unseemly Ambition (36 page)

“
It sounds as if the Inner
Circle is going to great lengths to persuade your uncle to join.”
Concordia was relieved. It was apparent that Sir Anthony had not
yet committed himself. But the Circle had not given up. Their “aid”
in his latest case, with a plaintiff attacked and evidence stolen,
was meant to persuade. And perhaps serve as a threat,too? Now
Concordia was sure that Sir Anthony had nothing to do with the
attacks on Miss Hamilton and Eli, or the murders of Florence
Willoughby and Ben Rosen.

Charlotte turned accusing eyes to
Concordia. “You knew Bursar Isley to be an Inner Circle member, but
didn’t tell me?”

Concordia flushed. “I’m sorry. I was
worried that you might not be able to act normally around him on
campus.”

Charlotte tossed her head defiantly.
“I am more capable than you think. But you have to trust
me.”

“
You’re right.” Concordia
said. “I apologize.” She must start thinking of Charlotte Crandall
as a younger colleague, not a former student to be shielded. She
would also have to tell her about Maynard, but out here on a public
sidewalk was not the time.

Charlotte gave her a long look.
Satisfied, she continued walking.

“
Do you think your uncle
will join the Inner Circle, under these circumstances?” Concordia
asked, after a few minutes’ silence.

Charlotte shook her head vehemently.
“Absolutely not.”

“
I don’t think the Inner
Circle will be content with performing a favor for your uncle and
not getting something in return,” Concordia said
carefully.

Charlotte looked at her with widened
eyes. “So when he refuses their offer of membership, what will they
do?”

“
I wish I knew,” Concordia
said.

The first man on Miss Hamilton’s list,
Alan Goff, only took Capshaw a few days to find. It was a simple
matter of learning the fellow’s favorite watering hole and keeping
watch. Capshaw supposed that a businessman such as Goff would want
it to be easy for customers to seek him out. If he had supplied
Hitchcock with bomb-making materials, then a little bribery might
loosen his tongue.

Capshaw’s hopes were dashed, however,
when he walked into the saloon on the fourth day and Goff was
pointed out to him.

Alan Goff’s blank stare and shuffling
gait belied the reputation of a man who was supposedly an
explosives dealer in the criminal underworld.

“
That’s
Goff?” Capshaw asked in disbelief.

The bartender nodded. “Sad now, in’t
it? Right as rain a month ago, then has a few too many, falls down
drunk, hits his head. Hasn’t been the same since. He just come back
after weeks a’bed.” He glanced at the clock on the shelf. “It’s
gettin’ late. I expect his missus will come for ’im
soon.”

Capshaw walked back to Mrs. Murtry’s
boardinghouse. He was accustomed to dead ends in an investigation,
but the stakes here were as high as they had ever been. If Goff had
been the supplier, the link to Hitchcock was lost.

There was yet a chance: Artie
Lindquist, the other supplier on Miss Hamilton’s list. She had
thought him less likely, however.

“
He has a smaller operation
going,” she had said. “He was trained in munitions during the war,
so his knowledge is extensive, but everyone knows Goff has the
better prices. Goff has more contacts than Lindquist.”

“
How do you know so much
about him?” Capshaw had asked.

Miss Hamilton smiled to herself. “When
my husband was alive, he and Artie were friends. Of
sorts.”

Capshaw prayed the second man hadn’t
had an accident, too.

It took Capshaw the rest of the week
to find Lindquist, a cautious fellow of reclusive habits. That
certainly seemed the case when Capshaw set up a meeting with
him.

The location was an abandoned storage
shed along the docks. Capshaw, arriving alone for his midnight
appointment as instructed, prayed he wasn’t walking into a trap. At
least Lindquist had no way of knowing Capshaw was a policeman.
Otherwise, his life wouldn’t be worth a nickel. As far as Lindquist
knew, Capshaw was the agent of a prospective customer.

Nevertheless, Capshaw looked over his
shoulder as he approached the shed, nervously fingering the
weighted pocketknife in his jacket. Mercifully, no one waited in
the shadows.

Capshaw knocked quietly on the rough
door and opened it at the sound of a voice.

Artie Lindquist was seated deep in the
shadows, behind a long counter once used to clean fish. Even after
years of disuse, the smell lingered. As far as Capshaw could see,
the man was alone. Another stool had been provided. An oil lamp was
positioned behind Lindquist, glaring in Capshaw’s eyes and
obscuring the man’s face. All that Capshaw could make out was a
grimy peacoat and a dark scarf muffling him up to his chin, even
though the night was temperate.

“
You have something for
me,” Lindquist said, once Capshaw was seated. His voice held the
wheezy strain of damaged lungs.

Capshaw passed over a slim,
paper-wrapped packet. Lindquist opened it and counted the money.
Capshaw suppressed a gasp of surprise at the sight of the man’s
right hand. Gloved though it was, he could see thick burn scars,
puckered and twisted, extending past the wrist. So Lindquist’s
choice to remain in shadow was not just a desire for
anonymity.

The man noticed Capshaw’s glance. He
gave a hoarse laugh as he pulled down his sleeve and pocketed the
bills. “Let us just say that I no longer deal in nitroglycerin.
You’ll have to look elsewhere if that’s what you want. But a little
friendly advice: don’t make your own at home.” He tucked his hand
back under the table.

“
I don’t intend
to.”

Lindquist sat back. “So now that I
have your down payment, let us talk about what you want me to get.
Timers, blasting caps? Iron casings? Phosphorous?”

Capshaw shook his head. “Information.
I need to locate a certain person who may have been a customer of
yours.”

Lindquist was silent for a long
moment, looking at Capshaw carefully. “You are police, then.” He
stood and pointed to the door. “If you leave now, I will let you
live.”

“
No, wait!” Capshaw
exclaimed, standing up and leaning over the counter. “I’m not
trying to interfere with your...operations. I’m only here because
Penelope Hamilton told me you could help. We must stop a ruthless
group of men, before they cause more harm.”

Lindquist hesitated. “Did you say
‘Penelope Hamilton’?”

Capshaw nodded.

Lindquist sighed and sat back down. “I
haven’t heard that name in years.” He regarded Capshaw with
penetrating eyes. “Did she tell you anything about us?”

“
Merely that you and her
husband had been friends.”

“
That is true. It was more
of a friendly rivalry, he and I. The private detective and the
criminal. A strange alliance, is it not?” Lindquist shook his head
over the memory. “And Pen. So smart. And brave. She worked a few
cases with her husband back then. She even saved my life. I
wouldn’t have survived this—” he touched his face in shadow “—if
she hadn’t pulled me from the fire in my workshop, years ago. I owe
her a great deal.”

“
You can repay that debt,”
Capshaw said. “Miss Hamilton was grievously harmed by the same
people I’m looking for.”

Lindquist started. “How bad are her
injuries? Will she survive?”

Capshaw could hear the anxiety in the
man’s voice. “She will, if she isn’t harmed further. But a man
tried to attack her in her hospital bed the other night, and he’s
the one I’m after. Have you ever had dealings with someone named
Hitchcock? Johnny Hitchcock.”

Lindquist hesitated, then pulled out a
small leather notebook.

Capshaw waited. The only sound in the
room was the turning of pages.

Lindquist marked an entry
with his finger, then looked up at Capshaw. “Before I tell you, I
want your assurance that no one will know I gave you this
information. I will lose my other customers. And
if you capture this man, you must promise that the
police will not then come after
me
.”

As dearly as Capshaw wanted to put a
stop to Lindquist and the dangerous materials he peddled, he knew
it was a battle that would have to wait for another day.

“
I can promise you this,”
Capshaw said. “I will never speak your name in connection with this
case to any police or court official. If I do capture Hitchcock, no
one else but Miss Hamilton will know that it happened through your
help. But—I cannot promise anything about your involvement
in
future
cases.”

Lindquist hesitated, then shrugged.
“It seems I have made yet another uneasy alliance with law
enforcement. Just like the old days. Very well.” He scribbled
something on a scrap of paper and closed the book. “I met with
Hitchcock on two occasions. He needed better fuses than the cheap
stuff Goff foists on his customers. Half of them don’t hold a burn
and fizzle out partway through.” His lips twisted in a distorted
smile. “You get what you pay for.”

“
When was this?”

“
Our last meeting was a
week ago,” Lindquist said. He passed the paper over. “This is where
I had them delivered. He said he couldn’t show his face in public
to pick them up.”

Capshaw imagined not, since that was
just after the aborted attack at the hospital, and the entire
Hartford police force was searching for the man. “When were the
fuses delivered?”

“
Yesterday.” Lindquist
stood. “If that is all, I must be going.”

Capshaw held up a hand. “There’s one
more thing.” He took another envelope of money out of his pocket
and handed it to Lindquist, who raised a puzzled
eyebrow.

“
What’s this for?”
Lindquist asked. He thumbed through it and started counting. “It’s
quite a sum.”

“
I need to learn how to
defuse a bomb, should I encounter one.”

“
You want me to
teach
you?” Lindquist
asked incredulously.

“
Who better?” Capshaw
asked.

Lindquist was quiet for a moment. He
counted the bills again. “You are an intriguing man. And a brave
one. All right, I’ll teach you. Just the basics, mind. I assume
it’s Hitchcock’s bombs you want to know about? Well, it just might
work.”

After arranging to meet the next night
for his first “lesson,” Capshaw left. He took a cab directly to
Maloney’s lodgings.

A grumpy, disheveled Maloney answered
the door. His brow cleared at the sight of Capshaw. “Lieutenant!”
he cried. “What on earth are you doin’ here at this time o’ night?”
He opened the door wider and let him in.

“
I’m sorry for the late
hour, but I know where you can find Hitchcock,” Capshaw said. He
handed him the paper Lindquist had given him. “Since I’m off the
force, you’ll have to make the arrest.”

Maloney grinned. “It’ll be a pleasure.
I’ll have to come up with a story about how I found him, though.”
He peered closely at Capshaw. “I assume I shouldn’t ask how you got
this.”

Capshaw shook his head. “I promised my
source he would remain anonymous. Good luck, sergeant.” He pulled
open the door to let himself out. “I’m staying at Widow Murtry’s.
Send me word when you have him, will you?”

Maloney was already dashing up the
stairs as Capshaw closed the door behind him.

This is the night
That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

Othello
, V.i

Week 14, Instructor
Calendar

May 1898

“
Nonsense, you look
wonderful,” Charlotte insisted, pinning the last stray tendrils of
Concordia’s hair under the silver netted hair covering. “I knew the
gown would fit you once we hemmed it.”

“
Once
Ruby
hemmed it,” Concordia said,
thinking about how hard the house matron had worked on such short
notice. “That woman’s a treasure.”

The gown Charlotte had lent her was
certainly lovely, with its crossed bodice of black velvet accenting
the shimmering fabric of pearl-gray satin. The cap sleeves were
trimmed with more narrow bands of velvet, and the deeply-pleated
sides of the skirt caused the skirt to drape in graceful folds and
enabled greater freedom of movement. It was a bit tight, of course.
Charlotte was slimmer than she, but the corset was doing its job.
Concordia had given up trying to take deep breaths.

Concordia made a face at her
reflection. The gown showed a more ample expanse of pale bosom than
she was accustomed to. Still, the color suited her, deepening her
green eyes and softening her freckled complexion. Not that it would
matter much once her mask was in place.

She stepped back to inspect
Charlotte’s gown, a high-necked creation of midnight blue, trimmed
at waist and hem with sheer ivory scarves, shirred several rows
deep. “What a lovely gown.”