The Alienist Part 33

It was Sara, pearl-gripped revolver in hand. She stared down at Connor for an instant without betraying any emotion, then looked up at Kreizler and me.

"I thought of this place just after we'd gotten into position at High Bridge Tower," she said tightly, as the Isaacsons appeared in the darkness behind her. "When Theodore said you'd left the opera, I knew..."

I let out an enormous breath. "And thank G.o.d you did," I said, wiping my brow with my hand and then picking up the Colt.

Laszlo stayed in a crouch by Beecham, but looked up at Sara. "And where is the commissioner?"

"Out searching," Sara said. "We didn't tell him."

Laszlo nodded. "Thank you, Sara. You had little reason for such consideration."

Sara's expression remained impa.s.sive. "You're right."

Beecham suddenly let out with a b.l.o.o.d.y, choking cough, and Kreizler got an arm under his neck, bringing the large head up. "Detective Sergeant?" Laszlo said, at which Lucius rushed over to a.s.sist him.

Taking a quick look at Beecham's chest, Lucius shook his head definitively. "It's no good, Doctor."

"Yes, yes, I know," Kreizler snapped. "I just need-rub his hands, will you? Moore, get those blasted manacles off. I just need a few minutes." As I freed the dying man's hands Laszlo reached into his pocket, brought out a small vial of ammonia salts, and wafted them under Beecham's nose. Lucius began to slap and rub at Beecham's palms, while Laszlo's aspect became steadily more concerned and his movements steadily more agitated, until they reached a level of near desperation. "j.a.pheth," he began to murmur, softly but pleadingly. "j.a.pheth Dury, can you hear me?"

Beecham's eyelids fluttered for an instant and then opened, the dulling orbs beneath them rolling helplessly about in his head. Finally he fixed them on the face that was very close to his own. He wasn't spasming, now, and his expression was that of a terrified child who looks to a stranger for help that he somehow knows he isn't going to get.

"I-" he gasped, coughing up a little more blood. "I'm-going to die..."

"Listen to me, j.a.pheth," Laszlo said, wiping blood from the man's mouth and face as he continued to cradle the head. "You must listen to me-what did you see, j.a.pheth? What did you see when you looked at the children? What made you kill them?"

Beecham's head began to shake from side to side quickly, and then a shudder went through his body. He turned his terrified gaze to the heavens and opened his jaw wider, revealing the big teeth, which were now coated with blood.

"j.a.pheth!" Laszlo repeated, sensing that the man was slipping away. "What did you see?" "What did you see?"

As his head continued to shake, Beecham's eyes s.h.i.+fted back to Laszlo's pleading face. "I-have never known-" he gasped, the tone both apologetic and pleading. "I-have never-known! I-didn't-they-"

The shaking in his face spread throughout his body for an instant, and then he grabbed Laszlo by the s.h.i.+rt. Face still full of mortal fear, John Beecham spasmed one final time, spat some blood mixed with vomit out one side of his mouth, and grew still. His head rolled away from Kreizler, the eyes finally losing their expression of terror.

"j.a.pheth!" Kreizler said once more; but he knew it was too late. Lucius reached up and closed Beecham's eyes, at which Kreizler finally lowered the dead man's head back down to the cold stone beneath it.

No one spoke for a minute or two, and then there was a sound: another whistle from below. I stood up, moved to the outer promenade fence, and looked down to Cyrus and Stevie, who were pointing toward the West Side urgently. I waved to them in acknowledgment and then went to Kreizler.

"Laszlo," I said carefully, "offhand I'd say Roosevelt's on his way. You'd better get ready to explain-"

"No." Though Kreizler did not lift his head, his voice was firm. "I won't be here." When he finally sat up straight and looked around, I could see that his eyes were red and moist. He looked from me to Sara, then at Marcus, and finally to Lucius, nodding as he did. "You have all given me your help and your friends.h.i.+p-perhaps more of each than I've been ent.i.tled to. But I must ask that you continue to do so for just a little while longer." Standing up, Kreizler spoke to Lucius and Marcus. "Detective Sergeants? I'll need your a.s.sistance in removing Beecham's body. You say Roosevelt's coming by way of Fortieth Street, John?"

"I'd say so," I answered, "based on the way those two are carrying on down there."

"Very well, then," Kreizler went on. "When he arrives, Cyrus will direct him up here. The detective sergeants and I will take the body out through the Fifth Avenue gate"-Laszlo walked to the street-side fence and issued a command by waving one hand-"where Stevie will be waiting." He stepped over to Sara and took her by the shoulders. "I wouldn't blame you if you refused to be any part of this, Sara."

She looked for a moment as if she were about to erupt with a spiteful indictment-but then she simply shrugged and put her pistol away in a fold of her dress. "You haven't been honest with us about this part of it, Doctor," she said. Her hard look softened. "But if it hadn't been for you we never would have had the chance in the first place. I'm prepared to call it even."

Laszlo pulled her close and embraced her. "Thank you for that," he murmured, and then stepped back. "Now, then-in the control house you will find a rather terrified boy wrapped in a fairly decent cloak of mine. Go to him, would you, and see to it that Roosevelt asks him no questions before we've had time to get downtown."

"Downtown?" I said, as Sara moved toward the control house doorway. "Wait a minute, Kreizler-"

"There's no time, time, John," Laszlo said, moving toward Marcus and speaking to both him and Lucius. "Detective Sergeants? The commissioner is your superior, and I will understand if-" John," Laszlo said, moving toward Marcus and speaking to both him and Lucius. "Detective Sergeants? The commissioner is your superior, and I will understand if-"

"You don't have to ask, Doctor," Lucius answered before Laszlo could finish. "I think I know what you've got in mind. I'll be curious to see how it turns out."

"You shall see for yourself," Kreizler answered. "I intend that you shall a.s.sist me." He turned to the taller Isaacson. "Marcus? If you wish to exempt yourself, I shall more than understand."

Marcus weighed Kreizler's words for a moment. "It's really the only riddle left to solve, isn't it, Doctor?" he asked.

Kreizler nodded. "Perhaps the most important."

Marcus took a moment more, then gave a nod of his own. "All right. What's a little departmental insubordination against the interests of science?"

Laszlo clasped his shoulder. "Good man." Returning to Beecham's body, Kreizler grabbed one of the dead arms. "All right, then-let's proceed, and quickly."

Marcus got hold of Beecham's feet, and Lucius draped some of the dead man's clothes over the torso before taking hold of the remaining limb. Then they lifted the body, Kreizler wincing in some pain as he did, and started down the promenade toward Fifth Avenue.

The prospect of being left up on those walls with no one but two unconscious thugs and Connor's body to keep me company put new life into my movements and my mouth. "Wait a minute," I said, following the others. "Wait just a G.o.dd.a.m.ned minute! Kreizler! I know what you're up to! But you can't leave me here and expect me to-"

"No time, John!" Kreizler answered, as he and the laboring Isaacsons picked up speed. "I'll need six hours or so-all will become clear then!"

"But I-"

"You are a true stalwart, Moore!" Kreizler called.

At that I stopped, watching them fade into the deep blue of the promenade and then vanish into the blackness of the Fifth Avenue staircase. "Stalwart," I mumbled, kicking at the ground and turning back around. "Stalwarts don't get left behind to explain this kind of mess-" don't get left behind to explain this kind of mess-"

I ceased my little monologue when I heard a commotion inside the control house: Sara's voice, followed by Theodore's. They exchanged a few heated words, and then Roosevelt burst out onto the promenade, followed by Sara and several men in uniform.

"So!" Theodore boomed when he caught sight of me. He began to approach, holding up a thick, accusatory finger. "This is my payment for entering into an agreement with what I mistakenly took to be gentlemen! By thunder, I ought to-"

He stopped suddenly when he saw the two bound thugs and the one corpse. Glancing from the ground to me twice in bewilderment, Theodore directed his finger downward. "Is that Connor Connor?"

I nodded and approached, quickly putting my anger with Kreizler aside and then feigning great anxiety. "Yes, and you're just in time, Roosevelt. We came here looking for Beecham-"

Righteous indignation came back into Theodore for a moment. "Yes, I know," he bellowed, "and if a pair of my best men hadn't followed Kreizler's servants-"

"But Beecham never showed," I went on. "It was a trap, set by Connor. He was out to-to kill Stevie, actually."

"Stevie?" Roosevelt echoed incredulously. "Kreizler's boy?" Roosevelt echoed incredulously. "Kreizler's boy?"

I looked at him with deep earnestness. "Roosevelt, Stevie was the only witness to Connor's murder of Mary Palmer."

Theodore's face opened up with comprehension, his eyes going wide behind the spectacles. "Ah!" he noised, now pointing his finger upward. "Of course!" The brow wrinkled again. "But what happened?"

"Fortunately, Commissioner," Sara said, having correctly perceived that my powers of invention were weakening, "the detective sergeants and I arrived in time." She indicated the body with more confidence and certainty than I knew she felt. "That's a bullet of mine you'll find in Connor's back."

"Yours, Sara?" Theodore said incredulously. "But I don't understand." Sara?" Theodore said incredulously. "But I don't understand."

"Neither did we," Sara said, "until you brought us wind of what John and the doctor were up to. Although by the time we figured out where they were likely to be, you'd already left High Bridge Tower. But if I were you, Commissioner, I'd get back up there-the rest of your detectives are still on watch, and the killer hasn't struck yet."

"Yes," Theodore said, considering it all. "Yes, I suppose you're right about-" He suddenly stood up straight, smelling the ruse. "Just a moment. I see what we have here. If all that's true, then kindly tell me this-who is that boy in there?" He pointed his finger at the control house.

"Honestly, Roosevelt," I insisted, "you'd better-"

"And where are the rest of them-Kreizler and the Isaacsons?"

"Commissioner," Sara said, "I can tell you-"

"Oh, yes," Roosevelt answered, waving us off. "I can see what sort of thing's happening here. Conspiracy, is it? That'll be fine! I'm delighted to oblige! Sergeant!" One of the men in uniform snapped to and approached. "Have one of your men take charge of that boy in there-and then place both of these people under arrest! I want them taken to Mulberry Street immediately!" Before Sara and I could say anything in response, Theodore brought the finger around once more and wagged it in our faces. "I'm going to give you two a very unpleasant reminder of just who's in charge of the Police Department in this city!"

CHAPTER 46.

It was all so much hot air, of course. Oh, Roosevelt dragged us down to Mulberry Street, all right, and locked us up for a few hours in his office, where we got one h.e.l.l of a lecture about honor and trust and living up to one's word; but eventually I told him the truth about what had happened that night, although not until I was fairly sure that Kreizler and the Isaacsons had had enough time to get where they were going. I explained to Theodore that I hadn't really lied to him, since I myself hadn't known what was going on before I showed up at the opera; indeed, I said, I still still didn't have explanations for many of the things that had happened up on the reservoir walls, although I intended to get them. And I promised that as soon as I did, I'd come straight to Mulberry Street and share the information. Roosevelt calmed down considerably as I was saying all this; and when Sara pointed out that the important thing, about which there could be no doubt, was that Beecham was dead, Theodore's mood began to brighten considerably. As he'd told us several weeks earlier, the successful conclusion of the case meant a great deal to him personally (although, given the affair's many complexities, he'd never be able to make much hay out of it professionally); and by the time Sara and I finally got up to leave his office, at about four o'clock, Theodore had traded criticism of some of that night's developments for characteristically effusive praise of our team's work as a whole. didn't have explanations for many of the things that had happened up on the reservoir walls, although I intended to get them. And I promised that as soon as I did, I'd come straight to Mulberry Street and share the information. Roosevelt calmed down considerably as I was saying all this; and when Sara pointed out that the important thing, about which there could be no doubt, was that Beecham was dead, Theodore's mood began to brighten considerably. As he'd told us several weeks earlier, the successful conclusion of the case meant a great deal to him personally (although, given the affair's many complexities, he'd never be able to make much hay out of it professionally); and by the time Sara and I finally got up to leave his office, at about four o'clock, Theodore had traded criticism of some of that night's developments for characteristically effusive praise of our team's work as a whole.

"Unconventional, without doubt," he clicked, putting a hand on each of our shoulders as he walked us out, "but, all in all, a magnificent effort. Magnificent. Think of it-a man with no connection to his victims, a man who could have been anyone in this city, identified and stopped." He shook his head with an appreciative sigh. "No one would ever believe it. And to get Connor in the bargain!" I saw Sara wince just a bit at that; but she worked hard to conceal the reaction. "Yes, I will very much enjoy hearing just how our friend Kreizler cooked up that last part of his scheme." Theodore rubbed his jowl and stared at the floor for a few seconds, then looked up at us again. "Well, then-what will you all do now?"

It was a simple question, yet one whose implications were, I suddenly discovered, thoroughly unpleasant. "What will we-?" I echoed. "Well, we-that is-I don't really know. There are-details to tie up."

"Of course," Roosevelt answered. "But, I mean to say, the case is over-you've won!" He turned to Sara, as if expecting agreement.

She nodded slowly, looking as confused and uncomfortable as I felt. "Yes," she finally managed to say, in the face of Theodore's expectant expression.

There followed a long, peculiar pause, during which the vague but unsettling emotion that had been produced by the thought of the case being over took a stronger hold on each of us. In an attempt to banish it, Theodore changed the subject deliberately.

"At any rate," he said, with a slap of his hands to his chest, "a fortunate and intriguing end. Timely, as well. I leave tomorrow for St. Louis."

"Ah, yes," I said, happy to talk about something else. "The convention. It'll be McKinley, I take it?"

"On the first ballot," Theodore replied with mounting gusto. "The convention is merely a formality."

I gave him a needling smile. "Picked out a house in Was.h.i.+ngton yet?"

As always, Theodore grew stormy at any suggestion that he indulged in ambitious maneuvering; but then, remembering that I was an old friend who would never have questioned his basic motives, he let the storm pa.s.s. "Not quite. By thunder, though, what possibilities! Perhaps the Navy Department will-"

Sara let out a sudden, uncontrollable laugh, then covered her mouth quickly. "Oh," she said. "I am sorry, Commissioner. It's just that-well, I never would have thought of you as a Navy Navy man." man."

"Yes, Roosevelt," I added, "when you come right down to it, what in the world do you know about naval matters?"

"Why," he answered indignantly, "I wrote a book on the naval war of 1812-it was very well received!"

"Ah, well," I answered, nodding, "that does make all the difference."

Theodore's smile returned. "Yes, Navy's the place to be. From there we can start planning for a reckoning with those blasted Spaniards! Why-"

"Please," I cut in, holding up a hand. "I don't want to know."

Sara and I moved to the staircase while Theodore stood in the doorway of his office with his hands on his hips. As always his energy seemed not in the least diminished by a long night of activity, and his beacon of a smile was still visible when we reached the end of the dark hall.

"Don't want to know?" Theodore shouted after us merrily as we started down the stairs. "But you could come along! Why, with the work you people have done, the Spanish empire shouldn't represent any great challenge! Come to think of it, there's an idea in that-the psychology of the king of Spain! Yes, bring your chalkboard to Was.h.i.+ngton and we'll decide just the right way to thrash him!"

His voice finally became inaudible as we left the building.

Sara and I walked the short block over to Lafayette Place, still in a kind of shock that prevented our going back over the conclusion of the case in any detail. Not that we didn't want to clarify many of the things that had happened at the reservoir; but we both knew that we didn't possess enough information to do so on our own. And the hard knowledge that we did did possess was going to take time and wisdom to come to grips with. Of nothing was this more true than the fact that Sara had put an end to a man's life that night. possess was going to take time and wisdom to come to grips with. Of nothing was this more true than the fact that Sara had put an end to a man's life that night.

"I suppose one of us was destined to do it," she said wearily, after we'd turned onto Lafayette Place and begun to walk north. Her eyes stared blankly at the sidewalk. "Although I never would have thought that it would be me..."

"If anyone ever had it coming, Connor did," I said, trying to be rea.s.suring without committing the deadly sin (to Sara's way of thinking) of mollycoddling.

"Oh, I know that, John," she answered simply. "Honestly I do. Still..." Her voice trailed off, and then she stopped and took a deep breath, looking at the quiet street around her. Her eyes continued to wander from darkened building to darkened building, and finally came to rest on mine-then, in a quick motion that surprised me, she put her arms around me and laid her head on my chest. "It's really over now, isn't it, John?"

"You sound sorry," I said, touching her hair.

"A little," Sara answered. "Not for anything that's happened-but I've never had an experience like this. And I wonder how many more I'll be allowed."

I lifted her head by the chin and looked deep into her green gaze. "Somehow, I get the feeling you're done with people allowing allowing you to do things. Not that you were ever very good at it, to start with." you to do things. Not that you were ever very good at it, to start with."

She smiled at that, then walked over to the curb. "Perhaps you're right." She turned when she heard a horse's hooves. "Oh, there's good luck-a hansom."

Holding her right hand up to her face, Sara extended her index finger and thumb and, to my consternation, put them in her mouth. She then drew breath and blew hard, producing a whistle that almost split my head open. I clapped my hands to my ears and looked at her in shock, getting another big smile in return.

"I've been practicing that," she said, as the cab clattered over and stopped next to her. "Stevie taught me. It's fairly good, don't you think?" She climbed up into the hansom, still smiling. "Good night, John. And thank you." Rapping on the roof of the cab, she called out "Gramercy Park, driver!" and was gone.

Alone for the first time that night, I took a moment to try to decide just where I was going. I was bone-weary, to be sure, but sleep was somehow out of the question. Strolling through the still streets was definitely called for; not, as I say, to make sense of all that had happened, but simply to absorb the fact that it had. John Beecham was dead: the focus of my life, however gruesome, had been removed, and with a sudden ache of dread I realized that come Monday morning I'd have to decide whether or not I was going to report for duty back at the Times. Times. The thought, brief and pa.s.sing though it was, seemed nothing short of horrible-to spend more days and nights hanging around in front of Police Headquarters, waiting for a lead or a story to materialize, and then shooting off to get the facts on some bit of domestic violence or some housebreaking on Fifth Avenue... The thought, brief and pa.s.sing though it was, seemed nothing short of horrible-to spend more days and nights hanging around in front of Police Headquarters, waiting for a lead or a story to materialize, and then shooting off to get the facts on some bit of domestic violence or some housebreaking on Fifth Avenue...

Without intending to, I'd come to a stop at the corner of Great Jones Street. Looking down the block, I saw that the lights of the New Brighton Dance Hall were still burning bright. Perhaps explanations were not so far off after all, I thought; and then, before I'd consciously decided to go, my feet were carrying me toward the place.

I was still several doors away when I started to hear loud music echoing out of the New Brighton (Paul Kelly employed a much larger and more professional band than the usual three-piece noise gang found in concert halls). Soon raucous laughter, a few drunken screams, and finally the resonant rattle of gla.s.ses and bottles joined the din. Not relis.h.i.+ng the prospect of actually going inside, I was much relieved to see Kelly emerge from the joint's frosted gla.s.s doors just as I arrived. With him was a police sergeant-in uniform-who was laughing and counting a wad of money. Kelly glanced over, caught sight of me, and then elbowed the cop, telling him with a nod of his head to get lost. The sergeant obliged, scurrying obediently away in the general direction of Mulberry Street.

"Well, Moore!" Kelly said, pulling a small snuffbox out of his silk vest and grinning in his handsome way. "You can forget you saw that," he said, inclining his head toward the vanis.h.i.+ng cop.

"Don't worry, Kelly," I answered, drawing up to him. "I figure I may owe you one."

"Me?" Kelly chuckled. "Not likely, newshound. I see that you're in one piece, though. From the rumors that're floating around town, I'd say you're d.a.m.ned lucky." Kelly chuckled. "Not likely, newshound. I see that you're in one piece, though. From the rumors that're floating around town, I'd say you're d.a.m.ned lucky."

"Come on, Kelly," I said. "I saw your rig tonight-and your man McMa.n.u.s saved our necks."

"Jack?" Kelly opened the snuffbox, revealing a mound of finely ground cocaine. "Why, he didn't tell me. Doesn't sound sound like Jack, though, to go around doing good deeds." Kelly put a little cocaine on one knuckle and snorted it hard, then held the box out to me. "Care for some? I wouldn't myself, but these late nights-" like Jack, though, to go around doing good deeds." Kelly put a little cocaine on one knuckle and snorted it hard, then held the box out to me. "Care for some? I wouldn't myself, but these late nights-"

"No," I said. "Thanks. Listen, the best I can figure is that you made some kind of a deal with Kreizler."