by P. B. Ryan
“So what was your reaction,” Jack asked Castelli, “when Miss Flynn told you what Ernest Tulley had done?”
“How does any man react to somethin’ like that?”
Jack said, “I can tell you how I would have felt. I would have wanted to beat Tulley to a bloody pulp—or worse.”
“Frank didn’t kill him,” Kathleen said quickly.
“I didn’t say he did,” Jack replied mildly. “I just said he might have wanted to.”
“Of course I wanted to,” Castelli said, “but he’d run off already, and there’s no findin’ anybody over by the wharves unless they want to be found.”
“So what did you do?” Nell asked him.
“Wasn’t much to do, not then, anyway. Figured I’d deal with him when he came back. Katie and me, we kind of talked for a while, and then she sent me back down to the pit before her father found us together.”
“I wanted to be alone,” she said. “I went back up to my room, but this time I locked the door.”
Nell said, “I don’t suppose you two arranged to meet in the stable later that night.”
Castelli looked at Kathleen, who shook her head, as if to say, “I didn’t tell them.”
“Your father knows all about it,” Nell said. “He’s the one who told me. What time did you agree to meet?”
Castelli grimaced. “It don’t have nothin’ to do with—”
“We’re trying to save a man from the noose,” Jack said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. “A man we believe to be innocent. In order to do that, we need to reconstruct, in as much detail as possible, everything that happened that night.”
“It’s all right, Frank.” Kathleen took her sweetheart’s hand. “We was supposed to meet at midnight,” she told them.
“So, at midnight,” Nell said to Kathleen, choosing her words carefully, “or a little before, you stepped out through the back door and passed the alley, only to find that Ernest Tulley had come back.”
Kathleen hesitated a moment before saying, “What I seen was him laying there with blood pourin’ outa him. I never seen him alive after he left my room earlier, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
“And William Touchette was there, too?” Nell asked.
“Yeah, he was down on the ground, crouching over Tulley. But I only seen him from the back. I never saw what he was doing.”
“That’s when you screamed?”
Kathleen nodded. “Everyone come runnin’.”
Nell turned to Castelli. “Including you, presumably.”
“Sure. The rest of ‘em scattered, ‘cause ain’t nobody want to be anywheres near a dead body when the coppers show up, but I stuck around for Katie.”
“Where were you when you heard her scream?” Jack asked. “The cellar?”
Castelli shook his head. “The stable. We was gonna meet there, remember?”
“So you’d left the cellar a few minutes earlier, then.”
“I know what you’re gettin’ at,” Castelli said. “You think I could of come upstairs, killed Tulley, then headed over to the stable. Only I didn’t.”
“When you first saw Tulley’s body,” Nell asked Kathleen, “did you have any thought as to who might have killed him?”
Kathleen shot a tell-tale glance at Castelli before lowering her gaze and muttering, “Nope.”
“Whoever did it woulda ended up covered with blood,” Castelli pointed out. “And I didn’t have a spot on me. Neither did Katie.”
“What makes you think we’re considering her?” Nell asked.
“Look, I ain’t stupid,” Castelli said. “I know what you’re fishin’ for, but you ain’t gonna find it. I’m not saying I’m sorry Ernest Tulley got what was coming to him, but Katie and me, we didn’t have nothin’ to do with it.”
“And you don’t think William Touchette did, either,” Jack said.
Kathleen shook her head resolutely. “He couldn’t of.”
“Because he saved you from Tulley?” Nell asked. “I realize you’re grateful to him, but if you know something you’re not telling us—something that may implicate him in Tulley’s murder—we’d rather hear it from you than from the prosecutor.”
Castelli and Kathleen exchanged a look, but kept their mouths shut.
“Why do you suppose Touchette was crouching over Tulley that way?” Jack asked. “What was he doing, if not finishing him off?”
Kathleen shrugged. “Trying to help him, maybe? He would of seen what happened from the parlor windows, and heard it, too. My da keeps them cracked open for air, and the curtains tied back.”
“Would he want to help him, do you think?” Nell asked. “After the way they’d fought earlier?” Even as she broached the question, she knew the answer. Physicians worked at saving lives. It was what they were trained to do, what they’d taken oaths to do, what they were driven to do, regardless of the circumstances. William Hewitt’s protestations notwithstanding, and despite his dependence on opium, no former battle surgeon was likely to stand by and watch a man bleed to death.
“She’s just guessing,” Castelli said. “She don’t know nothin’. Neither do I, and I’m getting pretty fed up with some of these questions.”
“Mr. Castelli,” Nell said, “why did you lie the other evening when I came here with Detective Cook and he asked if Tulley and Touchette had exchanged words the night of the murder?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You said they’d never spoken. But you knew that wasn’t true. You knew they’d fought. And, Kathleen, you didn’t tell the police about Tulley assaulting you, and Touchette coming to your rescue and pursuing him down the back stairs.”
Castelli and Kathleen glanced at each other.
“We know you’re trying to protect him,” Jack said gently. “We are, too. All we’re saying is, it’s important that you don’t hold anything back.”
Castelli said, “You should be talkin’ to Noonan, not us. Try squeezin’ the truth out of him.”
“We intend to,” Jack assured him.
o0o
“Hell no, I didn’t lend Ernest Tulley any money!” Roy Noonan bellowed when they cornered him alone in one of the dormitory rooms upstairs. “I wouldn’t have handed over a Bungtown copper to that stinkin’ goober grabber.”
The big, bearded sailor was sitting at the foot of his cot cleaning his revolver. A navy blue Union Army haversack on the floor next to him had R. NOONAN, 14th N.J. INF. stenciled in black letters across the flap.
“We’ve been informed otherwise,” Jack said.
“By who?”
Not wanting to make Seamus Flynn a target of Noonan’s famously vengeful wrath, Nell said, “That’s not important. What’s important is if it’s true, and if it’s also true that Mr. Tulley refused to pay you back.”
“‘Cause that may have led me to kill him?” Noonan snorted. “Hate to ruin your little theory, sweet pea, but dead men are even worse at payin’ off their debts than live ones.”
Tossing aside his cleaning rag, he rummaged around in the haversack and produced a small book bound in oxblood leather, which he handed to Nell. “See if you can find Ernest Tulley’s name in there. If you can, then you lead me off to lockup right now, and I’ll go along like a lamb. Otherwise,” he said, raising the gun and squinting through the barrel with one flat black eye, “I’d appreciate it if you folks would mind your own business, and I’ll mind mine, and we’ll all get along just fine.”
The book was a ledger neatly inked—in surprisingly good penmanship—with the names of every one of Roy Noonan’s debtors, the amounts owed, interest charged, and dates of payment. Ernest Tulley’s name was nowhere to be seen.
o0o
“Jaysus, it was just a rumor, is all,” Flynn said when they interrupted his ratcatching in the stable—clearly a favorite pastime of his—to ask why he’d fed them that tale about Tulley refusing to pay Noonan the money he owed him. “It ain’t as if I swore to it on a Bible.”
&nb
sp; “You made it sound like the God’s truth,” Nell said.
Flynn grinned as he scratched his great, soft belly with his curling tongs. “Us silver-tongued micks, we’ve got a gift for that. Don’t we now...Miss Chapel?”
They always knew... Ignoring the jibe, Nell said, “I don’t think it was a rumor at all. I think you made it up, about Tulley owing Noonan money.”
“And why would I have done a thing like that?”
“No mystery there,” she said. “He’s been a thorn in your side for a long time. You told us so yourself. You couldn’t keep him from staying at your boardinghouse, or preying on your other customers, or threatening you with his knife, but you could get him convicted of murder and let the commonwealth take him off your hands.”
“Well, now, that’s right clever. Wish I’d of thought of it.”
A slight rustle from the corner of the stall drew Flynn’s attention. He kicked the straw; a rat darted out, only to be snatched up in a blur by the Irishman’s tongs. “Oh, you poor, scrawny little thing. My Flossie’ll make short work of you.”
Jack stared in wordless fascination as Flynn dropped his latest catch into the squirming sack and cinched it tight.
Nell said, “I believe you did think of it, Mr. Flynn. I believe you were trying to get an innocent man hanged for murder.”
“Innocent?” Flynn barked. “Roy Noonan’s about as innocent as Old Scratch himself. He may not have murdered Ernest Tulley, but I know in my gut he’s done in others. Problem is, he’s slick as goose shit—never gets pinched.”
“Have a care, old man,” Jack said. “There is a lady present.”
“How could I forget, the way she rides me? Way I see it, if there was any justice in the world, Roy Noonan would of died jerkin’ at the end of a rope years ago.”
“Did you ever consider taking justice into your own hands?” Nell asked. “A summary execution, as it were?”
Flynn knelt to tie off the sack. “Killing’s a sin. Bible says so.”
“It also says ‘an eye for an eye,’” Nell reminded him.
“Even if I was tempted, and I ain’t sayin’ I was, Roy Noonan’s still alive, ain’t he? It was Ernest Tulley took that knife in the throat. Not that I’m weepin’ into my pillow. For my money, he was just another good-for nothin’ water rat like the rest of ‘em. He won’t be missed.”
“But William Touchette may hang for his murder,” Jack said, “even though he didn’t do it.”
“Mistakes happen,” Flynn grunted as he stood, joints popping. “But there’s a reason for everything. I firmly believe that.”
Livid color mottled Jack’s neck. “You’re saying there could be some justice in an innocent man being executed for murder?”
“Maybe he ain’t so innocent,” Flynn suggested. “Just like Noonan ain’t so innocent. This Touchette—he may not of killed Ernest Tulley, but maybe he done somethin’ else, somethin’ just as bad. He is a pipe fiend. The good Lord has His ways—that’s all I’m sayin’.”
“You’ve got a lot of damn—” Jack broke off, reddening. “Excuse me, Miss Sweeney. You’ve got some nerve, Flynn, using the Lord to rationalize your cavalier disregard for the life of an innocent man. You may think it’s all well and good if one man dies for the sins of another, but I hardly think God sees it that way. You may not comprehend His plan—I daresay a worm like you has never even tried to—but don’t you dare drag His name—”
“A worm, am I?” Flynn dropped the bag of rats, stretched his fingers, and was in the process of curling them into fists when he paused, his gaze fixed on Jack. His wrath seemed to evaporate, supplanted by a slow, keen-eyed smile. “What the hell. You want to know what really happened that night?”
Jack, who had no doubt been anticipating a fistfight—if not a savage drubbing—took a moment to respond. “It’s what we’ve wanted all along.”
Flynn shook his head, cracked his knuckles. “It’s what you thought you wanted. You may change your mind when you hear what I have to say.”
Nell said, “Out with it, please, Mr. Flynn.”
“I came upstairs around midnight to check on them gowsters, like I said, but I looked out the window before Kathleen screamed—before she even got there. I saw the whole thing.”
“You saw Ernest Tulley murdered?” Nell asked.
“Yeah, and I saw who done it.” He grinned at Jack. “Sorry to break it to you, but it was your client.”
“Liar!” Jack spat out, taking a menacing step toward the Irishman.
“Jack,” Nell murmured with a small shake of her head.
“He’s lying! You son of a bitch, tell the truth!” Blood rushed to Jack’s face; a distended vein bisected his forehead.
Flynn said, “It was William Touchette I saw cutting Ernest Tulley’s throat, and I’ll swear to it in a court of law, so put that in your pipe and smoke it.”
“That’s a pretty vicious lie,” Nell said, “just to get back at someone for calling you a worm.”
“Ain’t no lie. I seen what I seen.”
“If that’s true,” she began as Jack seethed and muttered, “why didn’t you tell us before?”
“It was like you said. I figured if Noonan took the pinch, he’d be the one to get hanged and I’d be left in peace—me and everybody that walks into this place. That’s why I made up that tale about Tulley not payin’ Noonan what he owed him, so’s Noonan would have a reason for doin’ murder. The cops, they’re big on reasons, but me, I don’t think your ne’er-do-well types always needs ‘em, or at least not real good ones. I seen too much in my time.” He spat into the straw.
“So you just stood there and watched through the window while a man’s throat was hacked open?” Nell asked.
“What was I supposed to do, step in front of a blade for the likes of Ernest Tulley?”
“Did your daughter and Frank Castelli see the murder take place?”
“Naw, it was over by the time she came out the back door and screamed. Then all of ‘em come runnin’, including the dago.”
Nell said, “You seem awfully sure of who and what you saw, considering there was almost no moon that night, and it’s an unlit alley. And that window is filthy. Touchette could have been any man in a dark coat. He could have been the other man from the back parlor, the one who was drinking whiskey while Touchette was smoking opium. Even Tulley would have been hard to recognize. He could have...” It struck her then. “He could have been Roy Noonan. Didn’t they look alike, Tulley and Noonan?”
Flynn scratched the back of his neck with the curling tongs. “Not to my way of thinking.”
“They did,” she said. “Even dead, Tulley resembles him. Did you think the man being attacked was Noonan? Was that why you didn’t try to intervene?”
“I didn’t try to intervene ‘cause Tulley wasn’t worth it. Not that I’d have lifted a finger for Noonan either, God knows, but him and Tulley, they was easy to tell apart.”
“Even in that alley at night?” Nell asked. “If I were to encounter one of those men under those circumstances, I’m not sure I’d know which one I was seeing.”
Somewhat testily he said, “Yeah, well, I got good eyes. Always have.”
“Good enough to see in the dark?”
“I’m like a cat. Speakin’ of which...” Flynn bent to heft the thrumming sack over his shoulder. “If there’s one thing cats know, it’s rats. Can’t keep these little buggers in the sack for too long, or they’ll take to tearin’ each other apart before Flossie gets a go at ‘em. I’ve even known ‘em to gobble each other up, like them African what-do-you-call-em...cannibals.”
Jack eyed the sack uneasily as Flynn headed out of the barn.
Flynn turned to wink at him as he walked away. “Way I figure, it’s all part of the good Lord’s plan.”
Chapter 13
It was almost four o’clock the following afternoon before Nell could take a respite from her duties to pay a visit to William Hewitt, Gracie having been truculent about going down
for her daily nap and Nurse Parrish having yet to awaken from hers. Nell relished the walk from Colonnade Row to Commonwealth Avenue, which took her past the Common and adjacent Public Gardens, transformed by last night’s freezing rain into a glittering fairyland of ice.
Carefully mounting the slippery front steps of Jack Thorpe’s townhouse, Nell knocked loudly—in case Will was upstairs in his guest room—and waited. The lace curtains on the glass-paned double doors were tied back, affording her a clear view into Jack’s foyer and down the hallway that led to the library and dining room. Nothing hung from the hooks on the ornately carved, mirrored hallstand; the crystal calling card tray was empty and gleaming, as was the porcelain urn meant to hold umbrellas.
Nell listened for footsteps, but didn’t hear any. She chafed her arms through her overcoat, chilled now that she wasn’t moving—or perhaps it wasn’t the cold making her shiver so much as the prospect of demanding, at long last, some straight answers from Will about the night of Ernest Tulley’s murder.
Kathleen’s account of Will’s altercation with Tulley suggested that it wasn’t jealousy, after all, that had provoked his fury toward the merchant sailor, but outrage over an attempted rape. It had been fairly early in the evening—too early for him to have lapsed into an opiated stupor—and he did appear to have a history of protectiveness toward women; there was that girl in Shanghai, and the beating he’d dealt to Mathilde’s assailant. But would his rage have incited him to murder four hours later, especially after smoking opium all night?
Nell knocked again, muttering, “Come on, you must be home. You probably just woke up.”
What had begun as a task undertaken grudgingly on Viola’s behalf—to ferret out the truth of Ernest Tulley’s murder and save Will from the noose—was turning into a rather more heartfelt mission. Notwithstanding Seamus Flynn’s dubious eyewitness account, the more Nell learned of Dr. William Hewitt, the more she doubted his capacity for murder—especially such a brutal murder. Yes, he was a flawed man, but there was a spark of civility—perhaps even honor—that flickered stubbornly within the dissipated creature he’d allowed himself to become.
