“The Supreme Court might still release him?” asked Swain.
Darrow shook his head. “Hell, at this rate, they’ll not only deny my writ, they’ll convict him while they’re at it.” He started to go inside, but then looked at Winnie. “Are you joining us?”
“No, I’m due to meet with ... my friend.”
Darrow glanced at Swain and then back to Winnie. “Captain Swain needs to know about Miss Capone.”
“Ok,” she said.
Darrow turned to Swain. “The friend she’s referring to is a young woman named Carla Capone. Carla used to be my secretary, for a short spell. Now she’s made some inroads with McParland’s operation. But I’m fairly sure McParland’s onto her. He must know she killed their man Farrington, a spy for us. Winnie can give you the details, or you can get them from Carla directly.”
“Carla has a new Pink,” added Winnie, her tone subdued.
“Yes,” said Darrow. “Agent Jack Garrett.”
“Him?” Swain shook his head. “PJG. Pinkerton Jack Garrett. That sneaky son of a bitch is—”
“He got lucky,” said Darrow. “Meanwhile, we live to fight another day. Speaking of that …” He turned to Winnie. “Tell Carla I want to talk with Jack. Tomorrow. Someplace away from here.”
“With the Pinkerton agent?” asked Winnie.
“Yes. Thank you, dear.” Once Winnie was gone, Darrow entered his office with Swain close behind. Inside, he saw eight men sitting in chairs at the end of the room. “Are these them?”
“Yes,” said Swain.
Darrow hung his hat and coat before addressing the men. “Gentlemen, I’m Clarence Darrow, Mr. Haywood’s attorney. I understand Captain Swain has hired you to help us.”
A smattering of agreement.
“First, let me ask you,” Darrow said, “how many of you are current members of the Western Federation of Miners?” When none raised their hand, Darrow continued. “Good. I obviously have great admiration for the Federation …” He sat on the edge of a table. “But this matter stirs the hearts of Federation men. I need men without personal vendettas or agendas. Without a cause of their own, if you understand. All right, clearly you’ve sworn to secrecy on your honor as gentlemen regarding anything you see or hear while working for us?”
Again, agreements all around.
“Good. Take no offense if information given you is limited, and if many of your questions go unanswered. This town is a leaky sieve, so I share only what I must with whom I must. But that doesn’t apply in reverse. Any and all information you gather, from any source—about the Pinkertons, Detective McParland specifically, anything regarding Senator Borah, Judge Wood, or any of the members of the jury pool, or anyone who visits or otherwise communicates with any of those people—should be reported quickly to Captain Swain. He’ll then communicate with me. Do what you can, but by no means—and I need you to all hear me clearly—by no means are you authorized to directly or indirectly act in a manner that is illegal, or which might be reasonably construed as illegal. Do you understand me on this?”
A chorus of “Yes, Sirs.”
“Actually, I want confirmation from each of you individually.” Darrow pointed at each man, getting a “yes” or “agreed” from each in turn. He then continued, “If you break this agreement, I’ll see you charged with the offense. If this is not clearly and fully understood and agreed to, then you should take your leave now.”
Silence. No movement.
“You’ll be paid—handsomely. Money enough to keep you in bullets and boots, anyhow.” Darrow received a nod from Captain Swain. “Alright— We need our people protected, theirs tracked, and we need to know who’s following whom. We can’t avoid them if we don’t know who they are. To begin, McParland’s men heeled me here from the barbershop just now, and I imagine they’re out there in the lobby. So, I need one of you assigned to me. And I’m sure there are Pinks on George Pennington. He’s the acting president of the Federation while Mr. Haywood is ... detained. Mr. Pennington is in Boise for the duration, but he has a very large union to run. So, he won’t be directly involved in what we’re doing. Nevertheless, we need a man guarding him. After all, he pays our wages.”
Murmurs all around.
“And they’re probably following Winnie Minor. She’s … she’s also working for us. Well, Captain Swain will assign you out and give you further details. Any questions?”
No one spoke.
“Alright gentlemen, get to it.”
<><><>
– 53 –
TUESDAY
April 2, 1907
McParland and Borah both stood from their dinner table in the Idanha. Due to the limitations of their guest, they weren’t at their usual place on the mezzanine, but were on the main floor near the back. They watched as a guard rolled Neva to them. Borah pulled a chair, making a space for her.
“Good evening, Mrs. Haywood,” said McParland.
“Good evening, Detective,” she replied, noting the sharp contrast in the level of wrinkles in the two men’s suits.
“May I introduce Senator Borah,” said McParland.
“My pleasure,” said Borah.
“Yes, mine as well,” she said, then added, “Could you keep that chair? Just help me into it?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Of course,” said Borah. Due to the pleats of her dress, it took a few tries for him to get his hands under her knees.
“Don’t be shy, Senator,” she said wryly. She could have done it on her own, using her right leg and a steady arm, but the square-jawed man with the warm hands didn’t need to know that. Besides, she liked starting this meeting with the senator serving her.
Borah managed her into the chair, then scooted it to the table. “All good?”
“Yes. All good. Thank you.”
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Haywood,” began McParland, taking his seat.
“This must be a difficult time for you,” said Borah, also sitting. “But please know, we’re duty bound to proceed in accord with the law.” Seeing her green eyes narrow at him, he stopped.
“Senator. Detective,” she said, “thank you for agreeing to meet with me. But I’m not here to plead for my husband.”
The men blinked, sniffed, adjusted their napkins.
“You’re surprised?” she asked.
Borah bobbed his head. “We’re aware there’s discord between you and your husband, what with …” His voice trailed off.
“My sister?”
“Perhaps … yes,” said Borah softly. “And with the Federation, regarding some financial irregularities.”
She shook her head. “My reasons are my own.”
McParland leaned forward. “You don’t agree, Mrs. Haywood? That your husband has embezzled a large—”
“What difference is it to you?” she shot back. “If you’re successful in this trial, then—that matter will be resolved. If you’re not, then the Federation will square things with Bill. Surely you know, they’ll never allow you to scrutinize union books.”
“Perhaps not,” began McParland. “But our bank clients will—”
She lifted a gloved hand. “The money issue has nothing to do with this awful thing with the governor.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” said Borah. “But some banks have been holding union deposits, and if there are irregularities, they’ll look to the union. Specifically to the affairs of its treasurer.”
“How dare you! George’s affairs?” She glared at Borah. “His affairs, Senator? I was hoping to like you.” She glanced at her menu then back at him “You mean George’s relationship with me?”
“My goodness, no,” he protested. “Not at all.”
“Oh, I see.” She shook her head. “So, we won’t be speaking our minds directly. Personal matters being what they are: personal.” She absently studied her menu, then wa
s back at Borah. “The temerity to question my relationships. You, Senator? I read the papers.”
“My apologies,” began Borah, visibly shaken. “I concur. That’s uhmm ... That would be for the best, for all involved.”
Neva could taste her own disgust. Her tolerance was gone for this sort, these hypocrites, these powerfully weak men—the likes of her husband and this senator. As the bile bubbled up, it dissolved her guilt, her shame, her acceptance—even for having enjoyed the senator lifting her. She leveled on him. “While we are not discussing the unspeakable, I’ll say this: I expect my sister will attempt to ... to be with you. And you her, I’m sure. So I’ll tell you now: I won’t have it. You’ll both be using each other, perverting everything to the embarrassment of us all.”
Borah bristled. “Ma’am, I’ve never met your sister, and I’ve no intention of doing so.”
“I’m warning you,” Neva said, taking a breath. “I’ll go directly to the press. I love my sister, but I’ll do what I must. This whole thing is a moral travesty, and that would only make it worse.”
“I agree,” Borah replied flatly.
McParland said nothing.
She stared at Borah another moment, then took up her menu.
In the cold silence, McParland cleared his throat and asked, “Shall we order?”
“No,” Neva blurted, setting the menu aside, her face reddening further. “I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. I came here to talk about my husband, but—” She looked at Borah, willing herself not to cry. “George is a dear friend. That’s all. And that’s more than you deserve to know.”
Borah saw her wet eyes and softened. “You have my apologies, Mrs. Haywood, if it seemed—”
“And mine as well,” said McParland. “This is an awkward, uncomfortable situation. Especially for you, Ma’am, I’m sure.” He adjusted his glasses, counting to four. “Might we begin anew?”
Neva took a drink of water and dabbed her napkin to her lips. Once she’d gathered her thoughts and settled her heart, she glanced about the dining room, reassuring herself that no one else could hear. (Though she saw a waitress watching their table, Neva didn’t know Carla to recognize her.) Finally, she addressed McParland. “All right. As you know, Mr. Darrow would like me to testify on my husband’s behalf. Apparently, I might be persuasive to the jury. I’m to speak of his generosity to the miners and their families, and such.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Borah tried. “It’s common for a wife—”
“But you aren’t going to do that,” McParland interrupted, his gray eyes fixed on her.
“No,” she said, tilting a nod to the detective’s intuitive skills.
“For your private reasons,” said Borah.
“Yes, but allow me to clarify,” she said. “I might not testify for him … were my personal concerns assuaged.”
Borah bounced a glance at the detective, then back at Neva. “I think I understand,” he said slowly. “Please tell me if I’m wrong, but ... what if I could assure you that, regardless of the outcome of this case, there’ll be no inquiry into or against Mr. Pennington? Not on this matter, nor on any union money concerns.”
Neva’s eyes brightened ever so slightly. “Well, Senator, of course I don’t speak for Mr. Pennington.”
“No, of course not.”
“But,” she continued, “were you to insist, then I would accept that guarantee on his behalf.”
“Good,” said Borah, “Then I insist.”
Neva continued. “And all monies previously donated to Walla Walla College?”
“No inquiries,” said Borah.
“You can give that assurance?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I can.”
She looked at McParland. “And if the banks instruct the Pinkertons to harass the college? Or to come after George? Will you be kidnapping him as well?”
McParland winced. “You’re a smart woman, Mrs. Haywood. You know I can’t speak for Robert Pinkerton. So any assurances I gave you would— Well, I just won’t give you any. But, the United States Senator here has that power. And he has the ear of the president. So, if he says George won’t be implicated, and your donations will remain in place, then that’s how it’ll be.”
Neva relaxed. “Then, I’ll put my faith in you, Senator Borah—and your word as the gentleman I’ll choose to believe you are ... that you can be. I’ll not give any testimony.” She lifted her menu. “Let’s eat, shall we? What’s the specialty here at the Idanha?”
<><><>
“He’s over there?” Darrow asked, walking on the shore of the swollen Boise River, about a mile from the center of the town. Captain Swain’s lantern swayed in the dark, alternating their path between the visible and the unseen.
“Crossing is here,” said Swain, indicating a rope-drawn ferry.
Darrow frowned at the flowing water. “When I said far from town, I didn’t mean this.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” said Swain, “except he’s over there.” He motioned to the far side of the river. “No one will see who you’re talking with, that’s for sure.”
Darrow stepped onto the platform. “If I don’t drown first.”
***
Twenty feet away, deep in the impenetrable blackness, Iain huddled close to the ground, crouching his big frame within a wooded declivity, listening, watching the faintly illuminated men.
***
“Take a seat there,” said Swain, handing the lantern to Darrow. He then murmured, “I must say, I don’t trust Garrett.”
Darrow matched Swain’s whisper. “I’m not sure I do either.”
“He might be an imposter—not really a double. McParland does that. He ran me as such, once.”
“He’s a sly one. You’ll wait here?”
Swain nodded and, staying on the near shore, began pulling the rope hand over hand. The pulleys squeaked, the platform moved, and Darrow and his lamp eased into the darkness, cross-cutting the cold rush of snowmelt water.
When he reached the other side, he stepped onto the ground and waved the lantern to signal Swain. The creaking stopped. He listened, and then inquired of the dark, “Mr. Garrett?”
“Mr. Darrow,” came Jack’s voice. “Up here.”
Darrow lifted the lantern and began up the incline. At the top, he shook Jack’s hand. “I appreciate you meeting me.”
“The pleasure is mine,” said Jack. “It’s an honor.” He motioned into a stand of woods. Once there, they sat on downed trunks. “I realize you don’t trust my intentions.”
Darrow chuckled. “That’s about the sum of it.” Darrow knew that whether or not Jack was a true double agent, Jack would still need to take something back to McParland. Thus, Darrow planned a series of innocuous revelations—to say things that sounded secret, but were of little consequence. A breaking twig gave Darrow a start. “Who’s—”
“Mr. Darrow,” said Carla, approaching.
***
During the prior night, much had become clear for Carla and Jack. In the hazy afterglow of their shared passions, they had talked for hours, exploring the common threads of their entanglement. In the end, they affirmed a pact founded on a shared opinion: Haywood was a pig and most likely a murderer, so to hell with him. She would help Jack do what he must for the Pinkertons and the prosecution, but only just. Nothing to harm the Federation as a whole. Perhaps it was contrition, an act of expiation for her cumulative surrenders: allowing herself to be Haywood’s pawn with Orchard, for giving her body to Wade, for killing him. She shuddered off such inviable self-examinations. She would simply do what she could to help Jack. The rest must remain where it was and what it was. So, when Winnie came to her seeking this clandestine meeting between Jack and Mr. Darrow, Carla agreed but affected uncertainty in arranging it. And here, in the night-shadowed grove with Darrow, they would pretend a distance existed between them—
though she’d cautioned Jack that Darrow might see through it. She had laughed when Jack replied, “Then try not to touch me.”
***
Darrow stood at her approach. “Miss Capone. I hoped you’d be here.” She offered her hand, and he helped her find a place to sit. With the lantern on the ground in the middle of them, their faces and hands seemed disembodied specters floating in the dark. “So let’s get some things in the open,” began Darrow. “You, Mr. Garrett, are Agent Jack Garrett, a six-year Pinkerton man. You have no ties to the Federation. No union family. And you have been, until now, quite loyal to Detective McParland. Am I right so far?”
“Yes.”
“And Miss Capone, of course I’m familiar with your connection with the Federation. But to keep things in the open, you’ve made some efforts to win the trust of Detective McParland by identifying Mr. Orchard. And Carla, if I may, I know you planted the plaster of Paris, at Bill’s request, to assure Orchard received the blame—but, my dear, you used the wrong type of plaster.”
“I didn’t.”
“I’m sorry, but you did. McParland knows it. Right, Jack?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Jack.
Darrow nodded toward Carla. “I don’t think it changed things any. I did wonder why though, if you were true to the Federation, why you betrayed Mr. Orchard? Why not help him escape?”
“I didn’t—”
“I figured it out,” Darrow pressed. “Orchard was supposed to be killed before he could be arrested.”
“I didn’t know that,” Carla protested. “Not at the time. Or I wouldn’t have—”
“I know, dear,” said Darrow. He paused a moment before resuming. “I’ve met a number of killers. Heard their schemes. This seemed sloppy—to not get Orchard and plant the plaster at that same time. Assuming the plaster was needed at all. Regardless, I don’t doubt your loyalty, Carla. But, and you’ll have to pardon me, I’m not so confident about the Pinkertons you recruit. Wade Farrington was— Well, I’m sorry it ended as it did.”
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