Absence of Mercy
Page 30
“What did Mrs. Janssen say Baker threatened that day? That Janssen had better pay?”
“That was p-part of it, although I d-don’t recall the exact words just now. She also s-said something along the lines that B-Baker couldn’t be responsible if they didn’t d-deliver the goods.”
“So maybe that’s what happened. They—whoever they are—didn’t pay, and Baker couldn’t deliver the goods—the guns?—and so …” Hy trailed off.
“Perhaps,” Lightner said, after a long pause.
“You don’t sound like you agree, sir.”
“Something just d-doesn’t fit.”
Personally, Hy thought a lot of it didn’t fit.
Hy stretched his legs out and then winced at the pain in his back. “How long have I been here?”
“Almost t-twenty-four hours.”
“Er, I know you said that you went to them—er, who is them, exactly?”
“I sent a m-message to Dell, telling him I had the p-papers and wished to speak to whoever was l-looking for them. I also m-m-mentioned that I would be at the Sixth and that Haslem’s safety and the f-future of the papers were closely linked. And then I was b-brought here.”
“Jaysus.” Hy shook his head in admiration. “How did you know?”
“As m-much as everyone seems to loathe Dell, they t-tolerate him. I deduced he represented p-powerful interests.”
“So then, you getting’ thrown in here was all part of the plan?”
Lightner laughed.
Hy wished he’d never started this conversation; the man had to be crazy. He kept that unhelpful thought to himself. “Do you have a plan for getting us out of here, sir?”
“G-Getting nervous, Detective?”
“A bit. And also hungry.”
“I have to admit I hadn’t expected to end up l-locked in a cellar.”
That wasn’t the answer Hy had been hoping for.
“T-Tell me about Caitlyn Grady—what r-really happened.”
Hy opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but the thought of lying left him feeling heavy and tired. He sighed. “How could you tell?”
“You’re a v-very direct man. And then, suddenly, you weren’t. Also, I c-consulted a map, and it shouldn’t have t-taken you three days to get from here to Tannersville.”
“Caitlyn wanted me to take her little sister to Philly, to a woman who’d agreed to help her.”
“Is this p-part of the Orphan T-Train?”
The question surprised him. “Caitlyn mentioned the Orphan Train people once or twice, so I assumed it was them.”
“That’s who the m-money was for—Caitlyn’s sister.”
“Yeah. I don’t know who saw Caitlyn giving it to me—hell, maybe she told somebody—but McElhenny latched on to that like a shore crab to a rock.”
“The girl was p-pregnant?”
“How did you know?”
“It was a guess.”
Hy couldn’t tell from his tone what he was thinking, but he could make a few guesses. “It was Dunbarton’s—the kid.” When Lightner remained silent, he said, “Sir?”
“I’m listening.”
“Caitlyn knew—after Dunbarton ended up dead—that things would look bad.” He sighed. “Go on, you can say it, sir.”
“Things l-look bad, D-Detective.”
“I know, sir, but I thought of that—that Amy might have killed him, even though she’s barely fourteen—and I looked into her alibi. The girl had a damned good one—she was workin’ at some mansion on Long Island the night he was killed.” He sighed. “Of course now—thanks to Jemmy—we don’t know what night that was. Anyhow, even though Amy had an alibi, there was still Caitlyn—people would say she took revenge for her baby sister. Caitlyn was madder’na wet hen at Amy for sellin’ herself at Solange’s, and the poor girl was glad to get away from her—complained all the way to Philly about how Caitlyn wouldn’t let up on her. By Amy’s way of thinkin’, she was just sellin’ something that would likely be taken from her if she kept workin’ in service. This way, she said, at least she got paid for it. ’Course she never expected to get pregnant. I think the real reason Caitlyn got mad is that Amy waited too long to get rid of the baby. By the time she went to Philly, she was a good five months along.”
“You know where she is?”
“The woman who took her said gettin’ people away from their pasts was the only way to give ’em a new start. She said Amy could write in a year or two, once she’d had some time. Anyhow, that’s why it took so long to get to Tannersville. I should have taken care of Caitlyn’s business first, but I never thought she’d be arrested.” He shoved both hands into his hair and pulled hard enough to hurt. “Jaysus, but I fucked up handlin’ all that—I know it. I still can’t believe that Caitlyn would kill herself. She was one of the few kids from the orphanage who still went to church. Caitlyn was Catholic. Even after what the nuns did to her, she was still Catholic.”
* * *
As amazing at it seemed, Jasper dozed. He woke with a startled gasp, taking a moment to recall his predicament.
“You awake, sir?”
Jasper yawned. “Yes. D-Did I sleep long?”
“Not long. Still, I’m impressed you can sleep at all.”
“A skill I p-picked up during the war.”
“What’s it like, sir? Bein’ in a war.” When Jasper didn’t immediately respond, Law said, “Sorry, I’m not meanin’ to pry; it’s just—”
“Boring and uncomfortable.”
Law gave a choked laugh. “No. Really, sir?”
“I’m only p-partly jesting. It is days of tedium p-punctuated by moments of t-terror. Nothing in life afterwards is ever as v-vivid.” He thought that sounded rather sad when spoken aloud.
“That sounds kinda like the last thirty-six hours. Think they’ll kill us?”
“I don’t know,” Jasper admitted truthfully. “But I do know that if anything h-happens to me, Paisley will make them s-sorry they were b-b-born.”
“Aye, that’s true enough, I reckon. Wouldn’t want to get on his bad side myself.”
Jasper heard the amusement in the other man’s voice.
“That must be strange, sir.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Havin’ servants—especially one like that?”
Jasper gave a startled chuckle.
“You probably think that’s a dumb thing to say.”
Jasper heard the embarrassment in the younger man’s voice.
“I only l-laughed because I’m afraid I don’t know what it’s like not to have servants. P-Paisley has been with me since I was fifteen.”
“Even when you went to war?”
“Lord, I c-can’t imagine telling P-Paisley to stay behind when I purchased my commission—he d-didn’t want to stay behind today.” Indeed, Jasper half expected the man to come smashing through their cell door at any moment. “In truth, servants m-make one’s life easier in some regards, but they also c-complicate your life. I’ve had f-friends who often f-feel the need to get away—to b-be alone.” Jasper didn’t have such needs. Well, unless one counted going off alone to procure a bowl of opium.
“I didn’t think about that,” Law said.
Now it is your turn, Jasper.
Surely the man doesn’t wish to speak about an orphanage?
You are a snob.
Jasper sighed. “What’s it l-like to g-grow up in an orphanage?”
“I guess it’s the same in one way—in that you’re never alone. I wasn’t always there; my folks died of cholera when I was five or so, and then I lived with my German grandmother until I was seven. After she died, I lived in the streets before the sisters took me in. They were strict, but they were fair. Mostly, although—” He broke off, and Jasper heard the sound of keys rattling.
Jasper pushed to his feet as the door opened, but the lamp was too bright for him to see who held it.
“Come with us, Yer Lordship.”
Law stepped forward with him.
CHAPTER 35
McCarty slammed Jasper against the wall, his hands fisting Jasper’s lapels in a way that would surely annoy Paisley. “It’s ten minutes to midnight, milord. Thought I’d give you another chance before I take old Hy out of the hole and put my pistol to his head. You ready to get my papers?”
Jasper saw two of the man, and his head was ringing so loudly he could barely hear. “I b-beg your par—”
Fortunately, McCarty’s fist struck him in the stomach this time, because Jasper wasn’t sure he’d stay conscious after one more blow to the head. As it was, he vomited the contents of his stomach onto McCarty’s heavy boots.
“Goddammit!”
McCarty hit him again; this time there was nothing left to come up but bile.
Jasper knew, by the way the other man was beating him, that giving up the papers wouldn’t save him—nor would it save Law—and it would most certainly condemn Paisley to a painful death, because his headstrong valet would march to his grave before uttering a peep.
McCarty shook him until his teeth rattled. “I’m tellin’ you, this ain’t—”
The door to the library opened, and McCarty’s head whipped toward it. “What in the name of—” He stopped, his expression of shock almost comical, and his hands loosened on Jasper’s coat.
Jasper began to slide to the floor, but McCarty caught him beneath the arms.
The man who stood in the doorway was dressed in a suit that might have come off Savile Row. And he was scowling. “Help him to that chair,” he ordered in a clipped, annoyed tone.
“Aye, sir. Er, I didn’t know you were—”
“Now, Mr. McCarty.”
McCarty shoved his shoulder under Jasper’s arm and dragged him toward three chairs. Or perhaps it was only one. He released Jasper unexpectedly, and he dropped onto his tailbone, biting his tongue. The new pain and taste of blood took his mind off the agonizing ache in his skull.
“Lord Jasper?” The newcomer leaned down and extended his gloved hand. “I’m Daniel Anderson.”
Jasper opened his mouth, but the only sound that came out was “Urgh.”
Anderson’s smile dimmed, and he turned to McCarty. “Bring me a glass of whiskey and see yourself out,” he snapped.
Even in pain, Jasper could enjoy watching McCarty’s face turn a dangerous beet red. The man hesitated a long moment before obeying, handing the glass to Anderson, and then stomping toward the door, which he slammed hard enough to shake the entire house.
“Take a drink, my lord.”
It probably wasn’t what he needed, but it was certainly what he wanted. Jasper drank half the glass, gasped, and then threw back the rest.
It could have been one minute or ten that passed, the alcohol doing its part to ease the aches in his body, if not in his head.
When he opened his eyes, it was to find Anderson leaning against the desk, his brow furrowed with concern.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. And I’m sorry if McCarty manhandled you. Men like him are useful to us, but not for the subtler transactions.”
“Who is us?” Jasper croaked.
“Oh come, my lord—I’m sure you know who I represent. I believe the first job you did for Her Majesty was of the covert sort.”
Jasper’s mouth opened, but he had nothing to say. How had this man learned what he’d done in France at the behest of the Home Office?
“It was clever of you to guess Dell was the best way to send a message,” Anderson said. “But you needn’t have bothered—I’ve had somebody following you from the moment you left Baker at the Tombs. I know your valet deposited something at Rutledge’s today. If you don’t give me the papers, I shall get them out of him.”
The man’s bored tone was more chilling than McCarty’s fists.
“What will you d-do with them?”
“That’s none of your concern.” His eyes were utterly opaque and expressionless, out of place in his handsome, pleasant face.
“You’re p-protecting them—Baker, Symington, Hoyle. Who else is involved?”
Anderson lips flexed into a facsimile of a smile, but his eyes remained fixed and hard.
“Why?” Jasper persisted.
Anderson took off his hat, tossed it on the desk, and poured two fingers of whiskey into the remaining glass. He lifted the bottle toward Jasper.
Why not?
Once they were both in possession of whiskey, Anderson spoke. “Have you ever heard of the so-called Conspiracy of 1741?”
“No.”
“It was a group of slaves accused of fomenting rebellion against the New York Colony. Men and women were hanged and burned at the stake, all on the word of a young bar wench who enjoyed attention. Relying on her word alone, over one hundred slaves and powerless whites were hauled in, threatened, and promised freedom if they could implicate others in a conspiracy that didn’t exist. For months new suspects were incarcerated. Once the last of the conspirators was executed, people began to look at their neighbors. Soon the only way to be safe was to implicate others. Who knows where the witch hunt might have led? To Rome, some people thought, if the young woman naming names hadn’t finally leveled an accusation at somebody who could defend themselves. My point? No matter how asinine this plot sounds, there are plenty who will grasp it with both hands, especially in the current political environment.
“Can you imagine the public outcry if people learned that Southern agitators were purchasing arms and planning a rebellion against the government of New York in order to start a war—with the assistance of Northern millionaires?” He laughed, and it sounded genuine. “The last time rebels thought they could leave the Union, the president was strong enough to crush their revolt. But the situation now is … well, let’s just say it’s unlikely the U.S. Army could waltz into a Southern state and then waltz back out again. Not without cost.”
“H-How long have you known about all this?”
“Long enough. We’d just begun to move when you and Mr. Law began poking around.”
“I suppose you’ll offer the conspirators a b-better deal—use their connections against their Southern c-collaborators?”
“Surely you d-don’t expect me to answer that question?” His pleasant expression chilled. “As if the current political tensions aren’t bad enough, there’s an economic storm of unprecedented proportions on the horizon. Men like Symington and Dunbarton didn’t involve themselves in such a stupid—not to mention dangerous—plot because they wanted to. Dunbarton’s reckless investments and embezzlement at Ohio Life and Trust are about to become public knowledge. Symington’s overreliance on credit—and his inability to pay even the interest—will destroy him and take dozens of other wealthy men with him. As for the poor? Those barely surviving now?” Anderson shook his head. “This might be catastrophic. And you, my lord, would like to make it even worse by doing what? Publishing Finch’s confession and possibly starting a war?”
“I’d l-like to do my job.”
“Yes, well—so would I. I’m afraid I need those papers, my lord. There’s no point in saying you won’t do it; you’re not the sort of man to sacrifice the lives of—” He paused and ticked the fingers of his hand. “Well, that would be five lives, including your own.” He cocked his head. “Or are you?”
Jasper had believed that life with the duke had inured him to feelings of powerless fury. He would have been wrong.
“You won’t be losing anything by handing them over—you can reassure yourself of that. Any thoughts you have of releasing them to newspapermen?” He shook his head. “We wouldn’t let that happen. And if you did manage to convince someone to print them, you can rest assured there would be no witnesses left alive to confirm such wild, lunatic tales.” Anderson cocked his head. “I can see by your expression you don’t agree with me. But I think you know t
here is no other option. I’m sorry you’ve come to our country and this is the first case you were handed. It does not reflect well on our leadership.” He shrugged. “But these are unsettled times and call for drastic measures.”
“Like m-murder,” Jasper said flatly.
Anderson shrugged again and took a sip of whiskey.
“So a m-murderer will go free?”
“On the contrary; Detective Terrance Ryan is already in custody.”
Jasper hadn’t been expecting that. “What about whoever ordered Sealy, Dunbarton, and J-Janssen’s deaths—because I’m assuming they were part of this? Who had them killed? Symington, B-Baker, and Hoyle?”
Anderson smiled. “Mr. Ryan claims he acted alone—I’m sure he’ll let us all know his reasons in his confession. The only connection we really have between Stephen Finch and the ridiculous plot is Mr. Symington—and he will suffer a fatal heart attack—” Anderson took out his watch. “Correction, he has suffered a fatal attack, five minutes ago. God rest his soul.”
Jasper’s jaw sagged at his ruthless callousness. “What about Amos B-Baker?”
“Mr. Baker was released from the Tombs earlier today. His ship is out of impound, and he will continue his work—work that is legal under federal law, by the way.”
“Slaving.”
“Tsk, tsk. It is the law, and you are a lawman—as am I. It’s not our place to legislate, my lord. We are but the instrument of justice.”
“I suppose B-Baker will now be w-working for you?”
Again, Anderson just smiled.
“And Hoyle?”
“Mr. Hoyle is the recent beneficiary of a lucrative contract with the United States Army. He’ll be too busy making us side arms and rifles to fill any outside orders.”
“And who is r-responsible for the murder of G-Gamble?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean.” Anderson sounded bored.
“And what about J-Jemmy Hart—did Ryan kill him too? Or haven’t you heard of him either?”
This time Anderson’s expression really was blank. “I’ve never heard of a Jemmy Hart.”