The Fall

by Sean Moynihan

  He then walked up to the edge of the opening and looked inside the large, brick and stone room. It was clearly a meeting place of some sort and was lit by the same gaslights that adorned the passageway. At the far end of the room, there was a long, marble table with a large, decorative wooden chair behind it. As Falconer walked into the middle of the space and got closer to the table, he saw a series of painted inscriptions high up on the wall behind the chair. He tried to make out what it said but it appeared to be in Latin.

  Turning, he signaled for Halloran and Waidler to go check out the exits at the far corners of the room. He then realized that there was a second level to the space, with some sort of balcony wrapping around it. “Winter and Kramer,” he said quietly to the two officers, “go find a way up to that balcony and check it out.” The two men nodded and quickly walked off.

  Falconer then turned to Levine, who was standing behind with Riis, Bly, Houllier, and Penwill. “Professor,” he said, “do you see that writing up there on the wall? Any chance you know any Latin?”

  “I have some experience with it,” Levine said, walking forward. “Let me see here…”

  Falconer watched as Levine raised his index finger as if pointing to the words on a page of paper as he read. Then, after a few seconds, Levine turned back to him and the others.

  “Amazing,” he said.

  “What?” Falconer asked.

  “Do you see those two words in Latin up there?” Levine asked, pointing at the wall. “The two larger words that are above the picture of the large Christian cross?”

  “Yes, I do,” Falconer answered. “What does it mean?”

  “Puritas Fortitudinem,” Levine said. “Purity is strength.”

  “Purity is strength?” Bly asked. “What on earth do they mean by that?”

  “It’s their code, Miss Bly,” Falconer answered. “By purifying the racial make-up of the citizenry, the country becomes stronger—becomes more unified and good.”

  “So, purify it by making it completely Caucasian, I suppose?” Bly said.

  “Yes, and wholly Christian, too,” Levine said. “Other religions, like my own Judaism, or Hindus, or Moslems, are regarded as the other…the enemy to be removed and destroyed.”

  “Good heavens,” Riis said as he gazed up on the wall.

  “Why, this is like the Klan that has caused so much trouble and bloodshed in the south,” Bly said.

  “Only they don’t wear hoods,” Falconer said. “Instead, they move about in the open, working their jobs and walking down the street just like you or I, posing as normal citizens, but then they meet in the night and concoct their plans to, as the professor said, destroy those whom they feel threaten their unique vision of the world.”

  “Except they do display this little code on their bodies, it appears,” Levine said.

  “What do you mean, professor?” Falconer asked. “Wait—Puritas Fortitudinem…P.F. It’s the tattoos that we’ve seen on the group’s members.”

  “Yes,” Levine said. “Here is the answer to your mystery.”

  Falconer looked at Bly as she gazed up at the wall again for several seconds, and then turned back to the men. “This is incredibly frightening, gentlemen,” she said. “So, they are committing murders, assassinations, kidnappings?”

  “They are,” Falconer said, stepping up onto the raised platform that served as a base for the marble table and chair. “And they have to be stopped.”

  “But how?” she asked. “If they roam about society with nothing but hidden tattoos, how can you expose them?”

  “There is an old saying in the military, Miss Bly,” Penwill said, stepping forward. “Cut off the head of the snake, and the body will die.”

  “So, the head,” Bly said. “Find out who the leaders are, and remove them, then the organization fails?”

  “Something like that,” Penwill said. “If one can take away the controlling headquarters of a group, oftentimes, the group then becomes muddled and lost, and can be easily surrounded and eliminated.”

  “I like what you’re saying, inspector,” Falconer said. “The question is, how do we find out who runs the headquarters, so to speak?”

  “Well, you yourself said our recently deceased informant had said that the railroad magnate, Walter Bliss, was at the top.”

  “Walter Bliss?” Bly said excitedly. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Unfortunately, we are,” Falconer said. “We had an informant on the inside who told me Bliss is one of the controlling parties, but this informant was just found dead. So, we don’t have much to go on now.”

  “Walter Bliss at the head of a murderous society bent on eliminating all non-white, non-Christian people from the country,” Bly said. “Jacob, this could be the story of the decade, if not the century.”

  “It is truly remarkable,” Riis said. “And horrifying.”

  “Well, don’t get your hopes up for a story at this point,” Falconer said. “They first have to be brought to justice, and I’m counting on you both not to divulge any of this.”

  “Yes, of course,” Bly said.

  “Absolutely,” Riis said. “This is too important.”

  Falconer saw Waidler and Halloran coming back into the room from a corner exit. “All clear, boss,” Waidler said. “Only some locked doors and another long hallway that appears to be headed towards the docks.”

  “Got it,” Falconer said. “Thanks, boys.”

  He then looked up and saw Winter and Kramer exploring the balcony. “Hey, Winter!” he yelled out. “Anything?”

  “No, sir!” Winter yelled back. “Just an empty balcony up here.”

  “Well, if they had a meeting here at eight, it was a short one,” Falconer said to the others gathering around him. “No one’s here.”

  “What do you suggest we do now?” Penwill asked.

  “I don’t know,” Falconer answered. “We’ve apparently found a headquarters of some sort, but there’s not really any evidence of their activities present.”

  “Uh…sir?” Halloran said from behind the marble table.

  “What is it, Jimmy?” Falconer said.

  “I’m seeing some drawers right back here,” Halloran replied, “and you might want to see this.”

  “Drawers?” Falconer said, walking around the table, followed by the others.

  “Right here, sir,” Halloran said, pointing at a set of wooden drawers fastened to the back of the table. “And there’s something inside this one.”

  Falconer looked down and saw inside an open drawer a large binder or book with the title, “Order of Cadere – Meeting Registrar,” printed in fancy calligraphy on its cover. He reached down and picked it up and set it on the marble table.

  “What the devil,” Penwill said, stepping closer. “What is that?”

  “It looks like some sort of record of the meetings that take place here,” Falconer answered as he flipped through the pages. “I’m seeing dates and times and lists of last names of attendees.”

  “Really?” Penwill said. “Good god, this could be a treasure trove of information.”

  “I agree,” Falconer said. “Let’s see…let me just take a look at today’s date.”

  He flipped through several more pages and then peered down at a page. “Yes, looks like we just missed it, folks,” he said. “It says here in fresh ink that they met tonight and adjourned at approximately 8:15 PM.”

  “So, we did just miss them, confound it,” Penwill said.

  “At least I have a bunch of names in attendance,” Falconer said. “Here, everyone, gather around a take a look.”

  The others moved closer to the table and looked at the page as Falconer held the book up.

  “There must be thirty names there,” Penwill said.

  “And I, in fact, recognize some of them,” Levine stated. “Some of th
em are very prominent men in our city.”

  “Incroyable, messieurs et mademoiselle,” Houllier said. “You have found the map to the very heart of this sinister organization.”

  “Yes, Inspector Houllier,” Falconer said, “but I don’t see a listing for Walter Bliss anywhere.”

  “But look there at the top of the list of today’s attendees,” Bly chimed in. “‘G. Bliss.’ You know who that is, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure, honestly,” Falconer said.

  “Wait,” Levine said, “‘G. Bliss’…for George Bliss.”

  “Exactly, professor,” Bly said, smiling. “Bliss’ eldest son who allegedly works for him and is one of the elder Bliss’ fiercest supporters.”

  “Right,” Falconer said. “Now I remember him. I’ve seen him in the papers, always spouting about the latest assault on his father’s golden image.”

  “Well, we, too, know all about Bliss and his sons across the pond, Falconer,” Penwill said. “Indeed, they are regarded as the greatest hornswogglers and humbugs your good country has ever created. Always good for a laugh.”

  “But unfortunately, they’re good for murders now, too, inspector,” Falconer said. “We can’t take this book with us—they’d realize that someone is onto them and then just disappear into the night. We have to leave it and figure out how to take advantage of this knowledge that we’ve gained.”

  “Well, we can focus on the son,” Waidler said. “Maybe tail him.”

  “That’s a good start,” Falconer said. “Let’s all head on out of here, shall we? We’ve done enough for one night.”

  He placed the book back in the drawer and closed it, then pointed the way back to the stairs leading up to the basement of the church. The group then started walking out of the large room and made it to the stairs, where they all ascended to the basement. As Bly and Falconer followed the others and approached the stairs, she touched him on his arm.

  “Thank you for allowing us into this little investigation,” she said. “I appreciate it very much.”

  “Well, you were already here, and I suppose we had to let you into the circle at that point,” Falconer said.

  “I want you to know that I won’t be saying anything about this to anyone,” she reassured him. “Not even to my mother.”

  “Well, I appreciate that, Miss Bly.”

  She stopped him at the bottom of the stairs and let the others move up to the street ahead of them.

  “Just a brief word, detective sergeant,” she said to him.

  “Sure.”

  “I want you to know that this story is very big, and it could be a huge win for a journalist and a newspaper that publishes it first.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “But I want to keep it secret because I know that you want to keep it secret. That’s important to me, detective sergeant.”

  “Well, thank you, Miss Bly.”

  “It’s the least I can do. After all, you did jump off the Brooklyn Bridge last year and saved me from certain drowning.”

  “That’s all right. No need to return any favor. I was—”

  “I know—you were just doing your duty. That’s what impresses me about you, detective sergeant. Not many men would have done that—even if they felt a certain duty.”

  She then turned and started slowly walking up the stairs, but he spoke out and stopped her after a few steps: “It wasn’t just because of my duty.”

  She turned and stood on the steps, staring at him momentarily, and he wasn’t sure if he should say anything more.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “I…I just said that I didn’t jump off the bridge that night just because of my duty as a policeman.”

  “I see,” she said, tugging absently at her hair. “Well…what exactly do you mean?”

  He walked forward to the bottom step, and they appeared to be almost looking eye-to-eye because she was standing several steps up. He looked down at his shoes and wrestled with the words that were swimming in his brain, and he became acutely aware that she was staring at him.

  “I…well…I…”

  “Yes, detective sergeant?”

  “The truth is, by that time,” he said haltingly, “I think I had taken a liking to you, Miss Bly. I liked your liveliness, your drive, and your concern for the safety of the citizens in the city. When that man threw you off the bridge all tied up like that, I just couldn’t let you go without trying to do something to save you. I just couldn’t.”

  She stared at him for several seconds and he wasn’t sure if he had offended or alarmed her, and he almost wished he hadn’t said anything. “Well, maybe we should just head up with the others here,” he said awkwardly as he moved to walk up the steps.

  “No,” she said, stopping him with a hand on his chest. “I actually appreciate you very much for telling me that. We have not seen much of each other since you last visited me in the hospital after that terrible ordeal in the river, and frankly, I’ve missed your presence.”

  “Well, thank you,” he said, looking at her again. “I’ve wondered about you, too. I’ve wondered what you’ve been doing these past several months, and…how your mother is doing—that sort of thing.”

  “I’ve wondered about you, as well,” she said, smiling, and he suddenly felt a weight lift off his shoulders, and he wanted then and there to walk off with her, back into the caverns and passageways, and talk into the night. But then he remembered that they had to leave, and that the men were waiting up on the street above, so he smiled back slightly and pointed at the top of the stairs.

  “I…think we’d better catch up to the men,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” she said. “How very rude of me to keep you here while they are waiting.”

  She turned and quickly bounded up the stairs, and he watched her from below, and he realized that he was smiling slightly again. He took a deep breath and chuckled to himself. “Oh, boy,” he said, still smiling.

  83

  Falconer sat at his desk the morning after he and his companions had explored the tunnels beneath the Saint Veronica Church. Before him was the just-released coroner’s report on the death of the mysterious informant who had met him in Central Park. He gazed down at the pages and looked for the coroner’s ultimate conclusions concerning the cause of death. After skimming through several pages, he arrived at the final page, read through it, and then sat back in frustration. He looked down at the page again and read the final couple of paragraphs once more, just to be sure.

  “Morning, boss.”

  He looked up and saw Waidler and Halloran entering the room with coffee mugs in hand. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said to them. “I’m just looking through the coroner’s report on the death of our informant, and it’s not good.”

  “Oh?” Waidler said. “Why not?”

  “Well, it says here that they can’t find any external cause of death,” Falconer answered. “They only conclude that our guy died from apparent heart failure—basically, an undetected congenital problem that suddenly reared its head.”

  “But we know that that suspect up on the roof had something to do with it,” Waidler said. “There’s no doubt.”

  “Yes, I agree, James,” Falconer said, “but apparently, they just couldn’t find any sign of a struggle, no external cause of death, which is troubling. Except…”

  “Yes?” Waidler said.

  “Except there’s this other doctor—Doctor Albright—who writes in a little footnote at the bottom of the page that he disagrees and believes there is some evidence of poisoning. I guess this was overruled by the coroner and the other docs, who weren’t convinced.”

  “That’s odd,” Waidler said.

  “Yes, it is,” Falconer said, “and I think we need to go pay this Doctor Albright a visit and find out what he’s talking about.”
r />   “Sounds good,” Waidler said. “When should we go?”

  “How about right now?” Falconer said. “Finish your coffee, boys—we’re going to go ask this doc a few questions about poison.”

  84

  Falconer walked up to the front desk of the city morgue in Bellevue Hospital, followed by Waidler and Halloran. A young woman sat behind the desk arranging papers and folders, and Falconer coughed slightly, getting her attention. “Yes, sir?” she asked.

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Falconer from police headquarters,” he said, showing his badge, “and these are two of my men. We’re working on a case involving an unidentified decedent whose body was found at 55 West 37th Street on September 16. We’ve reviewed the coroner’s report on this individual, and we’d just like to speak with one of the doctors if possible—a Doctor K. Albright?”

  “Yes, certainly, sir,” the receptionist said. “Doctor Albright is just in the back. If you’ll give me a moment, please.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Falconer replied.

  The receptionist then exited through a door behind the desk and Falconer turned to the other men. “Well, that was easy enough,” he said.

  “Strange that this doc identified some evidence of a poisoning, but the others didn’t see it,” Waidler said.

  “Yeah, well, you know docs,” Falconer said. “They all think that they’re right and there can’t be an opposing view.”

  Waidler and Halloran chuckled momentarily, and then composed themselves quickly when another young woman—pretty with wavy brown hair pulled up into a bun and wearing eyeglasses—suddenly entered through the doorway behind the desk. “Yes?” she said, with no sign of a smile. “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  “Um, yes, miss,” Falconer replied. “We’re detectives from police headquarters and one of your receptionists just went to get Doctor Albright for us. Could you please see if he’s available?”