The Lunatic Fringe: A Novel Wherein Theodore Roosevelt Meets the Pink Angel

by William L. DeAndrea

  Muldoon sat back down on his wooden chair. His trigger finger still itched. “This afternoon—Saturday, I mean, the promises you made; the things you said about Katie—”

  “All true, Muldoon. Look at me. I’m not a bad man; the system you’ve been deceived into protecting is far more wicked than I am. Look at the warmth your family and you showed me. That is what is real. You couldn’t take into your hearts a fiend, could you? Could Kathleen consent to be the wife of a monster? Look at vie, Dennis, and answer. I beseech you.” He even had his hands folded as in prayer.

  “That will be enough, thank you,” Roosevelt said. Muldoon was glad he did, because if Listerdale had been allowed to say two more words, he would be crying, and Muldoon didn’t want to face a crying murderer. He wouldn’t be sure how to handle it.

  “It didn’t occur to me until much later that Baxter needn’t have recognized you at all. In his mad fancy, he might have mistaken you for someone else. But by then, it made no difference, because once I had conceived of you as the Rabbi, so many other indications fell into place almost like a column of soldiers. It was amazing how many there were—none conclusive in itself, but building to a considerable, convincing weight when taken together.

  “First, there was the matter of the paper. Crandall seemed to be buying paper, or a paper, the night he was lulled. And that very night, you had told us you sold him paper! Drawing paper, for his sketch work. Crandall probably placed an order some time before; you pretended to be out of stock, so you could feign delivery and have him admit you to his flat. You probably told us so that we would be ready to accept anything we might find in Crandall’s flat that could lead us to the Emporium. And there was more.

  “Muldoon’s seeing the yellow slip of paper in your safe, so shortly after Crandall had been killed, so shortly before the body was discovered. You were so anxious to get that bill of sale safe—and of course Baxter told you about it; Baxter told you everything that happened in Hand’s house—because it would do for you what Crandall wanted it to do for him—keep Hand in line. That was the same reason you masqueraded as the Rabbi. You were so anxious to get it into your safe that you didn’t even take time to lock the back door of the Emporium.

  “Then there were the bruises on Crandall’s neck. Cleo and Tommy Alb had similar bruises after encounters with Baxter, and we knew Baxter and the Rabbi were in cahoots, or at least Hand’s behavior gave us cause to suspect it. It was a mistake to show Muldoon your skill at jiu-jitsu judo; if a man can pick up one strange fighting technique in the Orient, he can pick up many. I suspect there is a way to press nerves or blood vessels so as to cause unconsciousness.”

  “Blood vessels,” Listerdale said. “I taught Peter to do it.”

  “Of course. You rendered Crandall unconscious, sat him in the chair, and let the gas do its work.

  “Then, last night,” Roosevelt went on, “and even before that, to my knowledge, you never spoke a word that Cleo might hear. Is that correct, Muldoon?”

  “Absolutely, sir.” Muldoon worked his jaw. “He was afraid she might recognize his voice—his real one, not the whisper he used as the Rabbi—from when she heard him killin’ Crandall.”

  “Your aliases gave you away, too, properly understood. A Rabbi is a teacher, in the Hebrew faith; you have nerve, no one but Hand ever took you for a Jew, but ... oh, never mind, it is no use. The word ‘meister’ is simply the German word for ‘master,’ which is an English word, meaning, among other things, a teacher. And you have been the only teacher in the matter.

  “You are the right physical type; and if false whiskers can be used to hide a beard, they can be used to hide side-whiskers, like your own.

  “But it was Muldoon who pointed out the strongest information against you, when he was building a theory against someone else. The timing of the attacks!

  “Ha! That points the finger straight at you. Muldoon began his search for Cleo, and came to you for advice. Just prior to that, he met, coincidentally, Captain Herkimer, which caused a lot of confusion later. But that very day, after talking to you, and telling you specifically what he was about, Muldoon was attacked.”

  “He was supposed to be scared off the case, not thrown off a barge! Can I help it if Hand hired idiots?” Listerdale was more composed, but the pleading note remained in his voice.

  “Mr. Roosevelt, somethin’ else,” Muldoon said, in a low, flat voice. “After Eagle Jack’s boys had their first go at me, and everyone thought I was dead, that’s when Listerdale came around, actin’ sympathetic, and hardly able to be lookin’ Katie in the face, so the girls tell me. He gave her that bottle of water from the Sea of Galilee.” Muldoon looked at him. “I thought you anarchists didn’t believe in God.”

  “That’s Bolsheviks. And, please, please, please believe me, I wasn’t acting. I did feel terrible. I know how much she cares for you, and I love her, and want whatever makes her happy.”

  “You son of a bitch!” Muldoon said. “She just got the vial back from the priest yesterday! You know what this is goin’ to do to her, you murderin’ scoundrel?”

  “Yes,” Listerdale said. “I know.”

  “It was the murder of Mrs. Le Clerc, Listerdale,” Roosevelt went on. “The Rabbi, or Meister this time, was there waiting for us, and we had formulated the decision to ride up to the home just minutes before we left Muldoon’s flat.

  “But you were there when Brian O’Leary began his report, and you were in the kitchen for the rest, after ‘volunteering’ to leave the room—a very clever maneuver, that one. You wouldn’t have had to listen very hard through the kitchen door to hear the boy speak. Or perhaps, from the first words he said, you knew you had to silence the old woman.

  “That, as my friend Roscoe would say, cinched it. Only you could have known Mrs. Le Clerc was suddenly a danger. It is that simple. Added to the rest, it made almost a mathematical certainty that you were the Rabbi.”

  There was a knock on the downstairs, and Ed Bourke called to the Commissioner that they had arrived.

  Roosevelt rose. “Let’s go, Listerdale, it’s all over for you.”

  “I would appreciate it greatly,” Listerdale said, “if you would let me go into my bedroom. There is something I would like to do before I go to jail.”

  “I forbid it. Now come along.”

  “No!” Muldoon’s voice came so suddenly that Roosevelt and Listerdale both jumped.

  “What has possessed you now, Muldoon?”

  “If we go takin’ him in, there’s goin’ to be a trial. Katie’s name’ll be dragged through all the mud the reservoir would have left behind. She’ll be made a fool. I’m not standin’ by to let that happen.”

  “Muldoon, you’re overwrought. Give me that gun!”

  “No, sir! I’d spit in the devil’s eye for you, but me first duty is to me family. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. Step one step closer, and I’ll shoot you in the leg.”

  “You’ll regret this, Muldoon.”

  “Undoubtedly, sir, but I’ve got to be doin’ it all the same. I hope you can understand.”

  Roosevelt stood still and breathed through his teeth. Muldoon turned to Listerdale. “All right, Hiram. We’ll see how much you meant that vow you made to me in askin’ for Katie’s hand. You go on into your room. I’ll count to twenty, then I’m comin’ in. If you’re still standin’, I’ll drop you in your tracks, so help me Christ, and Katie’ll have a murderer for a brother, as well as for a suitor. If you’ve managed to slip out and get away, well, I’ll hunt you down and find you if I have to skin every anarchist on two continents alive to do it. And Katie will still most likely die of a broken heart.

  “That leaves one thing for you to be doin’. So start doin’ it. I think I might be able to ... well, never mind. Get goin’ if you’re goin’.”

  Listerdale stood, looked at Roosevelt, and whispered, “Do you see? The Common Man. Magnificent.” Then he disappeared into his bedroom.

  The knocking downstairs got louder, and the s
houting more urgent. They started to break down the door.

  Muldoon’s voice was quiet and controlled as he counted off the time, but inside, his heart was in a ferment. He’d put his whole future, and Katie’s too, on the word of a conspirator. Of a murderer!

  Fourteen, fifteen ...

  The door downstairs crashed in. There had been a lot of that, too, last week. The heavy feet of the coppers pounded on the stairs.

  Eighteen, nineteen, twenty.

  Muldoon went to the door, holding the revolver at the ready. He threw the door open and walked carefully inside. A medicinal smell started to drift into the sitting room.

  Muldoon returned a few seconds later. The coppers were in the room with the Commissioner. “It won’t be hard to find the make-up kit,” he told the boys. “He dug it out for you. Drank the ether. Whole bottle, eight or nine ounces. Deader than a doornail.”

  Muldoon walked to the Commissioner, and stood at attention before him. He presented the gun, butt first. “Your prisoner, sir,” Muldoon said.

  Roosevelt looked up at him. “Ha!” he said. “That is ... hmph. Don’t be so hasty, Muldoon. I think we’ll let the surgeon have a look at you when he arrives. It seems to me, your behavior can be ascribed to the injuries you sustained during this investigation. So keep your ... ah, keep your mouth closed about anything you think you may have heard or seen here.

  “Justice has been done, Muldoon. Hand, Baxter, Listerdale are all dead. Sperling and his men are in custody. There is nothing more ... ah ... a civil servant can do. Franklyn and Libstein will stay untouched, blast them, but they always seem to. Not forever, though. Not forever. I will not use this against Bryan. This campaign has been low enough. He’s not worth your sister’s anguish to stop, anyway.

  “Bourke, take charge here, I shall return in a few moments.”

  Muldoon was trembling. Roosevelt put a strong arm across his back.

  “Here, let me take you to your sister, my boy. Pull yourself together. She’s going to need you. She has lost someone,” the Commissioner said, “very dear to her.” His voice trailed away as if in memory. “Very dear,” he said.

  III.

  So Muldoon didn’t spend the night at Mr. Roosevelt’s house. He spent it at Mrs. Sturdevant’s, trying, along with Cleo, the landlady, Brigid, and Maureen, to console Katie.

  The story was that Listerdale had had an aneurism, and the exertion of the night had caused it to burst. The Police Surgeon would back that up.

  The story appeared in all the newspapers. Practically every one called it “CRIME OF THE CENTURY!!” Baxter was, unanimously, “Worst Fiend Who Ever Threatened Our City”, Muldoon was “Heroic!” “Fearless!” “The Finest of the Finest!”

  Someone at Headquarters had done a marvelous job of giving the story to the press without actually lying. Muldoon had gone undercover to track down rumors of a fiendish Anarchist plot to destroy the city’s water supply.

  Listerdale was not mentioned; nor was Cleo.

  In the Journal, T. Avery Hand had died a hero’s death; the story gave the impression his last words were “Vote for Bryan.” In all the other papers, there was serious doubt over what role T. Avery Hand had played in the drama; whether he was an innocent victim, or an unlucky conspirator. This was not a gentlemanly Presidential campaign.

  William Jennings Bryan had already gone back to the campaign trail. The bride-to-be and her father were contemplating a long cruise.

  Inside pages of all the newspapers featured stories about the retirement of Police Department veteran, Captain Ozias Herkimer, because of “personal matters.”

  Theodore Roosevelt came to call the next morning. He expressed his condolences to Katie, who thanked him. He told her he had known she would face this bravely, and he was right.

  Cleo and Muldoon said they were going to step outside for a few moments to talk to the Commissioner.

  “She’s going to be fine, Muldoon. Grit runs in your family.”

  Muldoon gave a sad little laugh. “Yes, sir. I knew she’d gotten over the worst of it when Brian O’Leary showed up with a bunch of flowers he’d been out pickin’, and Katie commenced makin’ cookies for him. We’ll be seein’ a lot of cookies baked before Mr. Hiram Listerdale is forgotten.”

  Cleo took Muldoon’s arm. He could feel a small shudder run through her. “I’ll never forget,” she said.

  “We’ve tracked Listerdale’s past,” the Commissioner said. “He has indeed been a schoolmaster—he has educated young boys into the ways of anarchism; the promising ones, he has had placed as servants in the homes of the wealthy. Blast it, this particular bunch of anarchists has been doing the Mansion Burglars thefts for years—they merely increased their pace to finance the purchase of the dynamite, and when Hand made himself vulnerable to Crandall, to set up the Emporium. They picked a bookstore for him, because it happened to be the subject Listerdale felt most comfortable about. He became part of the neighborhood, decided he could kill Crandall without jeopardizing the plot—the purpose of which, I infer, was to kill Bryan—and struck.”

  “He was ...” Cleo couldn’t think of the right word to sum up what Listerdale had been.

  “I doubt there has ever been a more tangled skein of misguided passion,” Roosevelt said. “Men whose lusts for power and the pleasures of the flesh, or for so-called spiritual ideals that are beyond our power to attain in this life, working at cross purposes, building crime upon crime, and evil upon evil ...”

  “The ‘Lunatic Fringe,’” Muldoon said.

  “Precisely,” said Mr. Roosevelt.

  The three of them stood silent for a while on Mrs. Sturdevant’s stoop, watching the normal Sunday-morning pedestrian traffic.

  “Ha!” the Commissioner said at last. “I think they mean to give you a medal, Muldoon.”

  “It’s an honor, sir, but ...” Muldoon was still feeling guilty about pointing a revolver at the Commissioner.

  “I agreed wholeheartedly. Special session, this morning.”

  “But, sir,” Muldoon said, “how could you go agreein’ to a medal for me when you know how I acted ... Unless ...”

  “Unless what, Dennis?” Cleo wanted to know.

  “Unless you went through that whole business, the drawin’ out of Listerdale just to get me to do what I did. Once you accused him, you’d committed yourself. You could’ve just as easily seen to takin’ him to the precinct and arrestin’ him along with Tommy Alb, then searchin’ his place at leisure. Of course, Katie would have suffered somethin’ awful, that way.

  “So maybe you figured as long as you’d dipped a toe into deception, you’d might as well swim the whole river before you got out for good ...”

  “Nonsense, Muldoon. Dismiss it from your mind.”

  “Yes, sir. Is that an order?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Roosevelt wiped his glasses. “Tell me, what are your plans, Miss Cleo?”

  “Oh, Dennis is going to see if he can prevail on Mr. Pulitzer to try me for a job.”

  Muldoon blushed. “He did take a liking to me.”

  “It will be a lark, in any case, to look for honest work,” Cleo said.

  “Yes, but have you any personal plans?”

  “I’m goin’ to court her,” Muldoon said.

  “Like a regular lady,” Cleo said. “Chaperones, and everything.”

  “The sooner we start actin’ respectable, the sooner everyone’s goin’ to know we’re respectable. That’s how we see it.”

  Mr. Roosevelt laughed. “Bully for you. Bully for both of you.”

  IV.

  In the election of 1896, William McKinley defeated William Jennings Bryan. McKinley was assassinated during his second term in office; Bryan was twice more defeated for the Presidency. The highest government office he ever attained was that of Secretary of State in the administration of Woodrow Wilson. He died in 1925.

  William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer continued publishing their respective newspapers in some form for the rest of their lives. Pul
itzer died in 1911; Hearst in 1951. Had Evan Crandall lived, Hearst would still have lost the services of E. Noon.

  The Reverend Lewis Burley did not survive the cruise he took with his daughter, Essie May. Upon her return to the United States, Essie May liquidated all her father’s holdings and moved to Paris, where she wrote novels of passion and was in the middle of several scandals.

  Franklyn and Libstein died in London in 1904, when a dynamite blast destroyed their hotel room. Authorities guessed they had somehow set off the explosion themselves.

  Captain Herkimer lived in quiet retirement.

  General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., died in France during the D-Day invasion in 1944.

  Roscoe Heath spent the rest of his life working with the youth of the streets of New York City. In 1899, then-Governor Theodore Roosevelt granted him a full pardon for past offenses.

  Tommy Alb died in Sing Sing Prison. Eagle Jack Sperling, confined to a wheelchair, sold pencils on the Bowery.

  Brigid Muldoon parted amicably from Claude, and later became a nun of the Order of Saint Ursula.

  Brian O’Leary became a cub reporter for the Journal, and worked his way to higher positions on the paper. As a foreign correspondent, he was gassed while covering the First World War in France, suffering lung damage. He moved to Arizona, where he commenced a correspondence with Maureen Muldoon that led to marriage.

  Kathleen Muldoon never learned the truth about Hiram Listerdale. She mourned for a while, then one day in church met a man, whom she married a year later. The man patented no less than sixteen industrial cooking appliances, and became many times a millionaire. Katie bore him four happy children.

  Theodore Roosevelt left the Police Department of the City of New York in 1897, and became Assistant Secretary of the Navy, bringing Muldoon to Washington with him as his aide. When war with Spain broke out, he quit that job and joined the Army, where he became a hero at the head of the “Rough Riders.” Again, Muldoon accompanied him. He was elected Governor of New York, then became McKinley’s Vice-President in 1900. He succeeded to the Presidency on McKinley’s assassination. He was elected on his own ticket in 1904. He died, much loved and much respected, in 1919.