The Alienist Part 24

"Point?" Kreizler said. "What point?"

"Laszlo," I answered, lecturing him a bit, "in case you haven't noticed, this whole affair means rather a lot to Sara."

"Sara?" he repeated in bewilderment-and by the way he said the name I realized just exactly how wrong I'd been since the very beginning. he repeated in bewilderment-and by the way he said the name I realized just exactly how wrong I'd been since the very beginning.

"Oh, no," I sighed. "It's not not Sara..." Sara..."

Kreizler stared at me for a few more seconds, then leaned back, opened his mouth, and let out a deeper laugh than any I'd ever heard from him; deep, and irritatingly long.

"Kreizler," I said contritely, after a full minute of this treatment. "Please, I hope you'll-" He didn't stop, however, at which annoyance began to come through in my voice. "Kreizler. Kreizler! All right, I've made a jacka.s.s out of myself. Now will you have the decency to shut up?"

But he didn't. After another half-minute the laugh finally did begin to calm, but only because it was now causing some pain in his right arm. Holding that wounded limb, Laszlo continued to chuckle, tears appearing in his eyes. "I am sorry, Moore," he finally said. "But what you must have been thinking-" And then another round of painful laughter.

"Well, what in h.e.l.l was I supposed supposed to think?" I demanded. "You've had enough time alone with her. And you said yourself-" to think?" I demanded. "You've had enough time alone with her. And you said yourself-"

"But Sara has no interest in marriage," Kreizler answered, finally getting himself under control. "She's little enough interest in men at all-she's constructed her entire life around the idea that a woman can live an independent, fulfilling existence. You ought to know that."

"Well, it did cross my mind," I lied, trying to salvage some vestige of dignity. "But the way that you were acting, it seemed as though-well, I don't know how it seemed!"

"That was one of the first conversations I had with her," Kreizler explained further. "There were to be no complications, she said-everything would be strictly professional." Laszlo studied me as I pouted. "It must have been very trying for you," he said, with another chuckle.

"It was," I answered petulantly.

"You might've simply asked. asked."

"Well, Sara wasn't the only one trying to be professional!" I protested, stamping a foot. "Though I can see now that I shouldn't have bothered with any-" I suddenly stopped, my volume falling again. "Wait a minute. Just one minute. If it's not Sara, then who in h.e.l.l-" I turned slowly to Laszlo, and then he turned equally slowly to the ground: the explanation was all over his face. "Oh, my G.o.d," I breathed. "It's Mary, isn't it?"

Kreizler looked toward the station, and then into the distance in the direction from which the train would approach us, as if searching for salvation from this inquisition. None came. "It's a complicated situation, John," he finally said. "I must ask you to understand and respect that."

Too shocked to offer any commentary, I proceeded to sit mutely through Laszlo's subsequent explanation of this "complicated situation." Clearly there were aspects of the thing that disturbed him deeply: Mary had originally been a patient of his, after all, and there was always the danger that what she believed was affection for him was in reality a kind of grat.i.tude and, worse still, respect. For this reason, Laszlo explained to me carefully, he'd tried very hard not to encourage her or to permit himself any reciprocal emotions when it had first become clear to him, almost a year earlier, how she felt. At the same time, he was anxious that I should understand how very much his and Mary's mutual attraction had grown from beginnings that in many ways were perfectly natural.

When Kreizler first started to work with the illiterate and supposedly uncomprehending Mary, he quickly realized that he would not be able to communicate with her until he could establish a bond of trust. And he forged that bond by revealing to her what he now referred to ambiguously as his own "personal history." Unaware that I currently knew more about his personal history than he'd ever told me, Kreizler didn't realize how fully I understood his words. Mary had probably been, I speculated, the first person who ever heard the tale of Laszlo's apparently violent relations.h.i.+p with his own father, and such a difficult disclosure would indeed have bred trust, and more: while Laszlo had only intended to encourage Mary to tell her own tale by telling his, he had, in fact, planted the seeds of an unusual sort of intimacy. That intimacy had survived into the period when Mary came to work for him, making life on Seventeenth Street far more interesting, not to mention perplexing, than it had ever been before. When it eventually became impossible for Kreizler to deny first that Mary's feelings for him went beyond mere grat.i.tude, and, second, that he was experiencing a similar attraction to her, he entered on a long period of self-examination, trying to determine if what he felt was not at heart a kind of pity for the unfortunate, lonely creature whom he'd taken under his roof. He only fully satisfied himself that it was not several days before our investigation burst in on his life. The case forced him to put off a resolution of his personal predicament; yet it also helped him clarify what form that resolution might take. For when it became clear that not only were the members of our team in physical danger, but his servants, as well, Kreizler experienced a desire to protect Mary that went far beyond the usual duties of a benefactor. At that point he decided that she should be told as little as possible about the case, and play no part in its prosecution: knowing that his enemies might come at him through the people he cared about, Laszlo hoped to safeguard Mary by making sure that, on the off chance some outsider found a way to communicate with her, she had no useful information to divulge. It hadn't been until the morning of our departure for Was.h.i.+ngton that Kreizler had decided it might be time for his and Mary's relations.h.i.+p to, as he rather awkwardly put it, "evolve." He informed her immediately of this decision; and she watched him depart with tears in her eyes, fearful that something would happen to him while he was away and thus prevent their ever becoming more than master and servant.

As Kreizler finished his story, I heard the first whistle of the New York train in the eastern distance. Still stunned, I nonetheless began going over the events of recent weeks in my mind, trying to determine where it was that I had gone so wrong in my interpretation.

"It was Sara," I finally said. "Since the beginning she's been behaving like-well, I don't know just what she's been behaving like, but it's been d.a.m.ned peculiar. Does she know?"

"I'm sure of it," Kreizler answered, "though I've never told her. Sara seems to view everything around her as a test case on which to sharpen her detecting skills. I believe this little puzzle has been most entertaining for her."

"Entertaining," I said with a grunt. "And I thought it was love. I'll bet she knew I was off on the wrong track. It's just the kind of thing she'd do, let me go around thinking-well, you wait till we get back. I'll show her what happens when you play that kind of game with John Schuyler-"

I stopped as the New York train appeared a mile or so down the tracks to our left, still moving at high speed toward the station.

"We can continue this on board," I said, helping Kreizler up. "And rest a.s.sured we will will continue it!" continue it!"

After waiting for the train to come to a full, grunting halt outside the station, Kreizler and I began a quick trot across another rock- and ditch-riddled field toward the vehicle's last car. We climbed onto the observation deck and then moved stealthily on inside, where I got Laszlo comfortably positioned in a rear seat. There was as yet no sign of the conductor, and we used the few minutes before our departure to neaten Kreizler's bandage, and our general appearances, as well. I glanced out at the station platform every few seconds, trying to spot anyone whose demeanor might betray him for an a.s.sa.s.sin, but the only other people entraining were an elderly, well-to-do woman with a walking stick and her large, rather harried nurse.

"Looks as though we may have gotten a break," I said, standing in the aisle. "I'll just have a quick look up ahead and-"

My voice froze as my eyes turned to the rear door of the car. Two large forms had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, on the observation deck; and although their attention was directed away from the train-they were arguing with a station official-I could see enough of them to recognize the two thugs who had chased Sara and me from the Santorellis' flat.

"What is it, Moore?" Kreizler asked, eyeing me. "What's happened?"

Knowing that in his current condition Laszlo wasn't going to be much good in a confrontation of any kind, I tried to smile, and then shook my head. "Nothing," I said quickly. "Nothing at all. Don't be so jumpy, Kreizler."

We both turned at the sound of the elderly woman and her nurse entering the front door of our car. Though my stomach was alive with sudden dread, my mind was working reliably: "I'll be right back," I told Laszlo, and then I approached the newcomers.

"Excuse me," I said, smiling and doing my best to be engaging. "May I be of some a.s.sistance in getting you settled, madam?"

"You may," the old woman answered, in a tone that indicated she was very familiar with being waited on hand and foot. "This wretched nurse of mine is utterly useless!"

"Oh, surely not," I answered, eyeing the walking stick that the woman was leaning on: it had a fine head of heavy silver, which was fas.h.i.+oned into the likeness of a swan. I seized the woman's arm and guided her into a seat. "But there are limits," I said, surprised at the old woman's weight and ungainliness, "to even the best nurse's capabilities." The nurse gave me a smile, at that, and I took the opportunity to lay hold of the old woman's stick. "If you'll allow me to hold this, madam, I think we can-there!" With a loud groan the seat received its occupant, who let out a rush of air.

"Oh!" the woman exclaimed. "Oh, yes, that's better. Thank you, sir. You are a gentleman."

I smiled again. "A pleasure," I said, walking away.

As I pa.s.sed Kreizler he gave me a dumbfounded look. "Moore, what the devil-"

I indicated silence to him, then approached the rear door of the car, keeping my face to one side so that I couldn't be seen from without. The two men were still arguing with the station attendant on the platform, about what I couldn't tell; but when I looked down I saw that one of them held a rifle case. "He'll have to go first," I mumbled to myself; but before making any move I waited for the train to start rolling out of the station.

When that moment finally came I heard the two men outside yell some final, and fairly raw, insults at the stationman: in seconds they would turn and be inside. I took a deep breath, then opened the door quickly and quietly.

Not for nothing had I spend many seasons following the trials and tribulations of New York's baseball Giants. During afternoons in Central Park I'd developed a healthy batting swing of my own, which I now exercised with the old woman's cane across the neck and skull of the thug who held the rifle case. The man cried out, but before he could even clutch at the injury I'd put a hand between his shoulder blades and shoved him over the railing of the observation deck. Although the train was still moving fairly slowly, there was no chance of the man getting back on board-but I was still faced with the second thug, who screamed "What in h.e.l.l?" as he spun on me.

Suspecting that his first instinct would be to go for my throat, I crouched down low and let him have the silver swan in the groin. The man doubled over for just an instant, and when he rose again he looked more infuriated than disabled by the blow. He threw a fist that glanced off my skull as I leaned out over the railroad tracks to avoid it. The train, I divined from a brief, somewhat dizzy glance downward, was picking up speed. Clumsy even for a man his size, the thug had stumbled when his blow failed to land securely, and as he tried to regain his balance I laid the swan across his cheek, although the move was cramped and didn't prevent him from coming for me again. I held the stick up with both hands, but my opponent, antic.i.p.ating another swing, raised his beefy arms to protect either side of his head. Then he grinned maliciously and moved forward.

"Now, you s.h.i.+t," he grunted, and then he suddenly lunged. I had only one avenue of attack: leveling the stick at his throat, I shot its end into his Adam's apple sharply, producing a sudden, choked cry and momentarily paralyzing the man. I quickly dropped the stick, grabbed hold of the roof of the deck, pulled myself up, and let the thug have a full kick with both feet. The blow sent him, too, over the railing, and into an embankment by the tracks. There he rolled to a halt, still clutching his throat.

Lowering myself back down I took a few deep, gasping breaths, then looked up to see Kreizler coming through the door.

"Moore!" he said, crouching by me. "Are you all right?" I nodded, still breathing hard, as Laszlo looked into the distance behind us. "Your condition certainly seems preferable to the state those those two are in. However, if you're able to walk I suggest you get back inside-that woman's gone into hysterics. She thinks you've stolen her walking stick, and she's threatening to send for the authorities when we reach our next stop." two are in. However, if you're able to walk I suggest you get back inside-that woman's gone into hysterics. She thinks you've stolen her walking stick, and she's threatening to send for the authorities when we reach our next stop."

With my pulse finally beginning to calm, I straightened out my clothes, then picked up the walking stick and headed into the car. Stumbling a bit as I walked down the aisle, I approached the old woman.

"Here you are, madam," I said, cordially if still a bit breathlessly. She drew back in fear. "I only wanted to admire it in the sunlight."

The woman accepted the stick without saying anything; but as I walked back to my seat I heard her shriek and exclaim: "No-get it away! There's blood blood on it, I tell you!" on it, I tell you!"

Collapsing with a groan, I was joined by Kreizler, who offered me his flask. "I can only suppose that those were not not men to whom you owe a gambling debt," he said. men to whom you owe a gambling debt," he said.

I shook my head and had a drink. "No," I breathed. "Connor's boys. More than that I can't tell you."

"Did they really intend to kill kill us, do you think?" Laszlo wondered. "Or simply to frighten us?" us, do you think?" Laszlo wondered. "Or simply to frighten us?"

I shrugged. "I doubt we'll ever know. And frankly, I'd rather not talk about it just at the moment. Besides, we were in the midst of a very important discussion, before they b.u.t.ted in..."

The conductor soon appeared, and as we bought two tickets to New York from him, I began to cross-examine Laszlo about the whole Mary Palmer business, not because I had any trouble believing it-no one who'd ever met the girl would have had any trouble believing it-but because, on the one hand, it soothed my nerves, and, on the other, it disarmed Kreizler so thoroughly and refres.h.i.+ngly. All the dangers we'd faced that day, indeed all the grimness of our investigation generally, somehow shrank in significance as Laszlo very tenuously revealed his personal hopes for the future. It was an unfamiliar sort of conversation for him, and difficult in many ways; but never had I seen the man look or sound so completely human as he did on that train ride.

And never would I see him so again.

CHAPTER 36.

Our train, a local to begin with, made abominably poor time, so that when we stumbled out of the Grand Central Depot the first hints of dawn were beginning to show in the eastern sky. After agreeing that the long job of interpreting the information we'd gotten from Adam Dury could wait until that afternoon, Kreizler and I got into separate cabs and headed for our respective homes to get some sleep. All seemed quiet at my grandmother's house when I reached Was.h.i.+ngton Square, and it was my hope that I'd be able to slip into bed before the morning's activities began. I almost made it, too; but just as I was preparing to undress, having successfully navigated the stairs without making a sound, a light knocking came at my bedroom door. Before I'd given any reply, Harriet's head poked into the room.

"Oh, Mr. John, sir," she said, clearly very upset. "Thank heavens." She came fully into the room, pulling her robe tighter around herself. "It's Miss Howard, sir-she was calling all yesterday evening, and last night, as well."

"Sara?" I said, alarmed at the look on Harriet's usually cheerful face. "Where is she?"

"At Dr. Kreizler's-she said you'd find her there. There's been some sort of-well, I don't know, sir, she didn't explain much of anything, but something terrible's happened, I could tell it from her voice."

I jammed my feet back into my shoes in a rush. "Dr. Kreizler's?" I said, my heart beginning to race. "What in the world's she doing there?"

Harriet wrung her hands vigorously. "Like I say, sir, she didn't tell me-but please hurry, she's called more than a dozen times!"

Like a shot I was back out onto the street. Knowing that I wouldn't find a cab any closer than Sixth Avenue at that hour, I bolted west at the fastest pace I could manage and didn't come to a halt till I'd jumped into a hansom that was parked underneath the El tracks. I gave the driver Kreizler's address and told him the matter was urgent, at which he grabbed his whip and put it to work. As we charged uptown-myself in a kind of fearful daze, too tired and mystified to make sense out of Harriet's statement-I began to feel an occasional splash against my face and leaned out of the cab to look at the sky: heavy clouds had rolled in over the city, staving off the light of daybreak and moistening the streets with a steady rain.

My driver didn't let up for a moment during the trip to Stuyvesant Square, and in a remarkably short time I was standing on the sidewalk in front of Kreizler's house. I gave the cabbie a generous amount of money without asking for change, to which he announced that he would wait for me at the curb, suspecting that I would need another ride soon and not wanting to lose so openhanded a fare at such a slow hour of the morning. I moved cautiously but quickly to the front door of the house, which was pulled open by Sara.

She looked uninjured, for which I was grateful enough to give her a big embrace. "Thank G.o.d," I said. "From the way Harriet sounded I was afraid that-" I suddenly pulled back when I caught sight of a man standing behind Sara: white-haired, distinguished, wearing a frock coat and carrying a Gladstone bag. I glanced at Sara again, and noticed that her face was full of an exhausted sadness.

"This is Dr. Osborne, John," Sara said quietly. "An a.s.sociate of Dr. Kreizler's. He lives nearby."

"How do you do?" Dr. Osborne said to me, without waiting for a reply. "Now, then, Miss Howard, I hope I've been clear-the boy is not to be moved or disturbed in any way. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial."

Sara nodded wearily. "Yes, Doctor. And thank you for being so attentive. If you hadn't been here-"

"I only wish that there was more I could have done," Osborne answered quietly. Then he put his tall hat on his head, nodded to me, and set off. Sara pulled me inside.

"What in h.e.l.l's happened?" I said, as I followed her up the stairs. "Where's Kreizler? And what's this about a boy? Has Stevie been hurt?"

"Shush, John," Sara answered, quietly but urgently. "We've got to keep things quiet in this house." She resumed the climb to the parlor. "Dr. Kreizler's-gone."

"Gone?" I echoed. "Gone where?"

Walking into the dark parlor, Sara made a move toward a lamp, but then decided with a wave of her hand to leave it alone. She collapsed onto a sofa, and took a cigarette out of a case on a nearby table.

"Sit down, John," she said; and something about the range of emotions contained in those few words-resignation, sorrow, anger-made me comply instantly. I held out a match for her cigarette and waited for her to go on. "Dr. Kreizler's at the morgue," she finally said, in a smoky breath.

I took in air quickly. "The morgue morgue? Sara, what is it, what's happened? Is Stevie all right?"

She nodded. "He will be. He's upstairs, along with Cyrus. We've got two cracked skulls to care for now."

"Cracked skulls?" I parroted again. "How in-" A sudden, sickening rush swept through my gut, as I glanced around the parlor and the adjacent hallway. "Wait a minute. Why are you here? And why are you letting people in and out? Where's Mary?"

Sara didn't answer, at first, just rubbed her eyes slowly and then drew in some more smoke. Her voice, when it reemerged, was curiously faint. "Connor was here. Sat.u.r.day night, with two of his thugs." The twisting in my stomach became more extreme. "Apparently they'd lost track of you and Dr. Kreizler-and they must have been taking a lot of heat from their superiors, based on the way they were acting." Standing up slowly, Sara strode to the French windows and opened one just a crack. "They forced their way into the house, and shut Mary in the kitchen. Cyrus was in bed, which left Stevie. They asked him where you and Dr. Kreizler were, but-well, you know Stevie. He wouldn't say."

I nodded, and mumbled, "'Go chase yourselves,'" softly.

"Yes," Sara answered. "So-they started in on him. Along with his skull he's got a few broken ribs, and his face is a mess. But it's the head that-well, he'll live, but we don't know yet just what sort of shape he'll live in. in. Things ought to be clearer by tomorrow. Cyrus tried to get out of bed to help, but he only collapsed in the hallway upstairs and b.u.mped his head again." Things ought to be clearer by tomorrow. Cyrus tried to get out of bed to help, but he only collapsed in the hallway upstairs and b.u.mped his head again."

Though afraid to ask, I did: "And Mary?"

Sara's arms went up in resignation. "She must've heard Stevie screaming. I can't imagine what else would have made her act so-rashly. She got hold of a knife, and managed to get out of the kitchen. I don't know what she thought she was going to do, but...The knife ended up in Connor's side. Mary ended up at the bottom of the stairs. Her neck was..." Sara's voice trailed off.

"Broken," I finished for her, in a horrified whisper. "She was dead?"

Sara nodded, and then cleared her throat to speak again. "Stevie got to the telephone, and called Dr. Osborne. I came by when I got back from New Paltz last night, and everything was-well, taken care of. Stevie did manage to say that it was an accident. That Connor didn't mean to do it. But when Mary stabbed him he spun around and..."

For long seconds my vision faded, everything around me blending into a kind of vague grayness; then I heard a sound that I'd last detected on the Williamsburg Bridge anchor the night Giorgio Santorelli was killed-the powerful churning of my own blood. My head began to shake, and when I put my hands up to hold it still I noticed that my cheeks were moist. The kinds of memories that usually accompany news of such tragedy-quick, out of sequence, and in some cases silly-flashed through my mind, and when I heard my own voice again I didn't really know where it was coming from.

"It's not possible," I was saying. "It isn't. The coincidence, it doesn't make-Sara, Laszlo was just telling me-"

"Yes," she said. "He told me, too."

I got up, feeling awfully unsteady on my feet, and went to stand by the window with Sara. The dark clouds in the dawn sky were continuing to prevent daybreak from really taking hold of the city. "The sons of b.i.t.c.hes," I whispered. "The lousy sons of...Have they got Connor?"

Sara threw the stub of her cigarette out the window, shaking her head. "Theodore's out now, with some detectives. They're searching the hospitals, and all of Connor's known haunts. I'm guessing they won't find him, though. How Connor's men found out you were in Boston is still a bit of a mystery, though it's probably safe to say they checked the ticket sellers at the depot." Sara touched my shoulder as she continued to stare out the window. "You know," she murmured, "from the very first time I walked into this house, Mary was afraid that something would happen to take him away from her. I tried to help her understand that that something wouldn't be me. But she never seemed to lose the fear." Sara turned and went back across the room to sit down. "Perhaps she was smarter than the rest of us."

I put a hand to my forehead. "It can't can't be..." I breathed again; but on a deeper level I knew that, in fact, it could easily be, given who we were dealing with, and that I'd better start adjusting to the reality of this nightmare. "Kreizler," I said, forcing some kind of strength into my voice. "Kreizler's at the morgue?" be..." I breathed again; but on a deeper level I knew that, in fact, it could easily be, given who we were dealing with, and that I'd better start adjusting to the reality of this nightmare. "Kreizler," I said, forcing some kind of strength into my voice. "Kreizler's at the morgue?"

"Yes," Sara answered, taking out another cigarette. "I couldn't tell him what happened-Dr. Osborne did it. He said he's had practice."

I gnashed a new surge of remorse away with my teeth, tightened my fist, and headed for the stairs. "I've got to get over there."

Sara caught my arm. "John. Be careful."

I nodded quickly. "I will."

"No. I mean really really careful. With him. If I'm right, the effects of this are going to be a lot worse than you may be expecting. Cut him a wide path." careful. With him. If I'm right, the effects of this are going to be a lot worse than you may be expecting. Cut him a wide path."

I tried to smile, and put a hand on hers; then I kept on moving, down the stairs and out the door.

My cabbie was still waiting at the curb, and when I appeared he jumped back up onto his hansom smartly. I told him to get me to Bellevue in a hurry, and we sped off at the same lively pace. The rain was beginning to pick up, blown by a strong, warm, westerly wind, and as we bounced up First Avenue I pulled off my cap and tried to use it to s.h.i.+eld my face from the water that was spraying off the roof of the cab. I don't remember having any thoughts, as such, during that ride; there were just more quick images of Mary Palmer, the quiet, pretty girl with the remarkable blue eyes who, in the s.p.a.ce of just a few hours, had evolved in my mind from housemaid to future wife of a dear friend to no more. There was no sense in what had happened, no sense at all, and even less in trying to create any; I just sat there and let the images fly by.

When I reached the morgue I found Laszlo outside the large iron door in the back that we'd used to enter the building when we'd examined Ernst Lohmann's body. He was leaning against the building, his eyes as wide, vacant, and black as the gaping holes our killer had left in the heads of his victims. Rain was cascading down off a gutter on the edge of the roof above and drenching him, and I tried to pull him away from it. But his body was stiff and intractable.

"Laszlo," I said quietly. "Come on. Get in the cab." I tugged at him a few more times without achieving anything, and then he finally spoke, in a hoa.r.s.e monotone: "I will not leave her."

I nodded. "All right. Then let's just stand in the doorway here, you're getting soaked."