“She talked to these damn cats and made up voices for ’em. She was completely daft, mad as a hatter!”
“I’m sorry, but if your uncle had wanted to protect you, he should have had a proviso written.” Then Lester Hackel Jr. wiped his nose with his handkerchief. He was allergic to cats and couldn’t wait until this piece of business was over and the cats were gone.
“I’m the only living relative, and I get nothing?”
“You do or you wouldn’t be here. Mrs. Evans wanted you to have her King James Bible.” At the moment, Vicky was perched on top of the Bible. As he struggled to get her off of it, sniffling all the time, he continued. “It’s a nice memento, Mr. Riley, a very fine—”
“What happens to everything after the cats are gone?”
“Ah, yes, interesting.” He turned and read from the paper in front of him, “ ‘When my dear Vicky and Albert pass, and I hope that never happens and they live forever—’ ”
“Just get to it, please.”
“All the assets left in my estate will be liquidated and used to create a home for the care of stray animals. It’s to be called Vicky and Albert’s Place.”
“This can’t stand! I’m telling you, that woman was a lunatic!”
“That’s one man’s opinion, and you can contest it if you wish, Mr. Riley. But my father prepared this trust and when a Hackel prepares a document, it is ironclad. Ironclad, I assure you. Now, if you don’t mind, as you can see, I am allergic to cats and there are specific instructions I have to give Miss Amundsen about the care of Vicky and Albert before they can leave and I can stop sneezing.” As if on cue, he sneezed.
Still livid, Liam put on his trench coat, grabbed his umbrella, and headed for the door.
“Mr. Riley, aren’t you forgetting something?” Lester Hackel Jr. held up the Bible.
“Give it to the cats. Maybe one of them’ll become a priest.”
With that, Liam marched out into the rain.
THE NOISE FROM the dripping water was unnerving. The constant plop distracted McLaughlin, preventing him from discerning why Mary Handley’s behavior had changed so radically.
“Helen,” he screamed, “did ya get that roofer yet?”
“Liam hasn’t checked in, sir.”
Annoyed and antsy, McLaughlin decided to find the roofer by himself. He charged into Liam’s office and started rifling through his desk. After searching through several drawers, he found the roofer’s address.
On his way out, he glanced at the letter from Abraham Lincoln that was hanging on the wall. It had been there for a long time and he had never paid much attention to it. But now certain words stood out as if they were magnified. It explained why Mary Handley had been so anxious to leave, and now he also knew exactly what he had to do.
GEORGE WOKE UP in an alley not far from Lester Hackel Jr.’s office with the rain pouring down on him. It was now dark outside, he was soaking wet through and through, and his head was throbbing. His first instinct was to go to the office to see if he could peek inside and determine who had entered, but after a few steps, he thought better of it. He was woozy and stumbling, and then he touched his head. He was bleeding. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere, and so he sat down in the street about ten yards from Lester Hackel Jr.’s door. He thought of his plight: a Vanderbilt found lying in the street bleeding. His brother Cornelius would be mortified. Just thinking of Cornelius coping with the family scandal put a smile on his face.
George had to decide what his next move would be. His driver was in a saloon blocks away, and he was sure he couldn’t make it that far. If he were in Manhattan, he’d know where the nearest doctor’s office or hospital was. But he was in Brooklyn, and Brooklyn was a strange land to him. He felt completely lost, but he knew he had to get up and keep moving. It was either that or stay put and catch pneumonia. He’d try to get up soon. He just needed a minute to gather his strength.
“WHAT DID THE letter say?” asked Superintendent Campbell as he and Mary sat in his carriage.
“It was addressed to Major Thomas Evans, to whom President Lincoln had just presented the Medal of Honor at the White House. Besides once again thanking him for his bravery and service to the country, the president mentioned what a pleasure it was to meet his wife, Gabrielle, and his son, Paul. He then went on to write that his son Tad hadn’t enjoyed himself so much since Tad’s brother William had passed away. He asked Major Evans to commend his nephew Liam for playing so well with Tad.”
“So Liam Riley is Gabrielle Evans’s nephew.”
“And probably in line to inherit her estate, which would be significantly reduced if she refused the Long Island Water Supply Company buyout. It all fits. He’s McLaughlin’s right-hand man and has probably been making telephone calls in his name all along.”
“Good work, Mary. How I wish I could hire you.” Superintendent Campbell pulled a folded paper out of his jacket pocket, opened it, then called out the window to his driver and gave him an address.
Mary looked at him strangely. “What is that?”
“Liam Riley’s address. McLaughlin said he wouldn’t be in the office until tomorrow.”
“I figured as much, but—”
“Oh, this,” Superintendent Campbell said, holding up the paper. “I always research and write down all pertinent information about people involved in a case, so I can have it at my fingertips at a time like this. You should try it, Mary. It comes in very handy.”
“I’m sure it does,” said Mary as the carriage took off and started gaining speed.
LIAM FUMED AS he walked to the stable. He had rented a horse and carriage to go to the lawyer’s office and back even though it was a short distance from his apartment. Now he wished he hadn’t. He could no longer afford the luxury.
The question that he couldn’t avoid was: what now? He had planned out in detail what to do once he had the money. It involved moving far away from Brooklyn, going out west to San Francisco. He had already purchased the train ticket. There would be mansions and fine dining and beautiful women at his beck and call. But he didn’t have the money. He could go back to work for McLaughlin, hoping that he’d come through with his promise that Liam would eventually take his place, but he just found out how empty those promises can be. Besides, he was tired of kissing McLaughlin’s ass, and he was sure that if the police ever got any real evidence, McLaughlin would sacrifice him in an instant. These thoughts were rumbling around in his head when a hand shot out of a dark storefront and yanked him inside.
“Well, well,” said Shorty, “if it isn’t little Liam Riley.”
“I’m not so little anymore.”
“You’re not, but I bet I can still kick your arse like I used to.”
Liam and his mother had lived in a shanty on the poor side of Brooklyn in Young Dublin, not far from the shanty where Shorty lived, while their rich relatives resided in Clinton Hill. Countless childhood memories of being beaten and terrorized by Shorty immediately came back to him like the nightmare that they were. “What do you want, Shorty?”
“Did you really think you could fool Shorty?”
The obvious answer was yes, but it would anger Shorty, and Liam knew all too well what happened when Shorty got angry.
“Not really, but I had to try.”
“All I did was bark a little at that kid and he gave up his contact, who gave you up even faster.” Shorty let go of Liam, but there was no chance of running. Shorty had blocked him in.
“What do you want?”
“Sean Handley’s sister won’t stop. I need to get out of Brooklyn for a while, and three hundred is all I need to do that.”
Liam didn’t have the money. He had spent almost everything he had paying Shorty for the other three jobs. He also knew he was in for a lot of pain if he answered anything less than yes. “Sure. I have to get it from my boss. You know I work for Hugh McLaughlin, don’t you?”
“I shoulda known he was the guy. A little twit like you couldn’t pull this off by yourse
lf.”
“Me? I’m just an errand boy. Give me a few hours to get it from him.”
Shorty thought for a moment, then said, “Okay, but don’t try anything. I’m watching.”
“I wouldn’t dare cross you, Shorty. Certainly you know that.”
Shorty stepped aside, and Liam took off back into the street, glad that he had already purchased his ticket to San Francisco and even happier that Shorty was just as stupid as he had remembered.
AFTER LIAM HAD left his office, Lester Hackel Jr. droned on to Miss Amundsen about the care of Vicky and Albert. They had been staying with someone else who could no longer care for them, and the instructions in Miss Evans’s will were very detailed. By now his nose was red, his eyes were tearing, and Miss Amundsen was yawning. Somehow sensing that he was allergic, Vicky sat on his lap, rubbing against him, making it worse. But Lester Hackel Jr. was not one to give up.
“And at five o’clock every day, not a minute before or after, you feed them their second meal. Now, about the second meal—”
A light, intermittent knock at the door interrupted them, but he kept going. The next knock was still intermittent but much louder.
“Aren’t you going to answer that, Mr. Hackel?” asked Miss Amundsen.
“Jr., Mr. Hackel Jr., and no, I’m not going to answer it. Whoever it is doesn’t have an appointment, and I’m in the middle of important business.”
As he returned to his paper, there was another knock.
“Well, I’m going to answer it,” said Miss Amundsen. “It’s miserable outside and somebody might need shelter or help.” She got up and opened the door.
Propping himself up in the doorway was George, drenched and bleeding. “Do you know where the nearest hospital is?” he asked, then collapsed into her arms.
“Oh, you poor man,” Miss Amundsen exclaimed, then helped George inside and placed him on the couch. He was conscious but weak from everything that had happened.
Lester Hackel Jr. protested, “Not on my couch. He’ll ruin it.”
“Can I use your phone, please?” George asked.
“Absolutely not. Do you know how much each phone call costs me?”
“I’ll pay you back. In fact I’ll pay your whole phone bill.”
“That’s not the point. It’s the principle of the thing.”
“I’ll take you,” Miss Amundsen said. “Brooklyn Hospital is only a few blocks away.”
As she helped George up, Lester Hackel Jr. objected. “Where do you think you’re going, Miss Amundsen? We haven’t finished yet.”
“We have as far as I am concerned. I could never work for a man like you.” And she left with George.
Lester Hackel Jr. wanted to stop her. He wanted to apologize, though he didn’t know for what. His pride prevented him from doing so, and he was left alone, helplessly staring at Vicky and Albert. Outside, in spite of the pounding of the pouring rain, George and Miss Amundsen could still hear his loud sneeze.
IT WAS CONVENIENT investigating a crime with the superintendent of police. In a pinch, he could always gain immediate access to almost any place, and Liam Riley’s apartment was no exception. The landlady gladly opened the door for Superintendent Campbell and Mary, then left them alone.
Liam wasn’t there, and to say his apartment was a mess would be a gross understatement. It looked like a hurricane had just blown through. As Mary and Superintendent Campbell searched, hoping for some clue to his whereabouts, Mary called out to Superintendent Campbell, “You realize, of course, we don’t have a search warrant and are breaking the law?”
“Really?” Superintendent Campbell responded slyly. “I could’ve sworn I heard screams coming from inside the apartment, signaling someone was in danger.”
Mary had a better idea, having already come to a quick decision.
“Use pursuit of a felon as an excuse,” she said. “He’s left town or is leaving.”
“How do you know that?”
“Several things. Clothes have been tossed around, hanging out of drawers, left on the floor of the closet, as if he never intends to wear them again.”
“Maybe he’s just a messy person.”
“That is possible, but it’s what’s not here that convinces me. He may not own a suitcase, but there’s none here. There’s also no comb, no hairbrush, no razor, and no toothbrush. It’s highly unlikely all of those items would be missing unless—”
“Liam Riley is taking a trip.”
“Exactly. Let’s hope his train hasn’t left yet.”
And the two of them hurried out the door on their way to Grand Central Depot.
37
IN THE SUMMER of 1869, Liam Riley’s wealthier relatives had taken one of the first trips in history on the transcontinental railroad. He had always wanted to take a trip like that, and here he was, twenty-one years later, finally doing it. Before he found out that he was not about to inherit a fortune, he had bought a first-class ticket to San Francisco with most of the money he had left. It was a simple matter to change the date, and he was excited about putting Brooklyn behind him and finally setting out.
The train hadn’t departed yet, and Liam was sitting at a table in the dining car. No food would be served until they were on their way, but Liam wanted to be the first. Because of all the activity that day, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, his pangs of hunger confirming it. He had very little money, but with what he had, he was determined to treat himself to a good meal. Liam had already gotten a menu and was perusing it.
“You should order the steak, Liam. There’s nothin’ like the steak in first class.”
Liam turned to see Hugh McLaughlin standing by his table. McLaughlin had called Liam’s apartment, and when there was no answer, he had called Liam’s landlady, with whom he knew Liam was friendly. Liam had told her he was leaving for San Francisco, so she could rent out his apartment. He had also asked her not to tell anyone, but McLaughlin wasn’t just anyone.
Standing next to McLaughlin was Sean Callahan. Liam knew Callahan all too well. He was a six-foot-four-inch mountain of a man who was made of solid muscle. Callahan was McLaughlin’s enforcer and part-time bodyguard. He sat down next to Liam, and McLaughlin took the chair across from him.
Liam was scared. “Hugh, I know this looks strange, but I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can, Liam.” McLaughlin took out his pocket watch and looked at it. “The train takes off in thirteen minutes….I’m waitin’.” McLaughlin stared at Liam with a hard look. Callahan edged closer to Liam, blocking him in.
Liam knew McLaughlin had already made up his mind. What he had to say at this point was insignificant, but Liam had to try, if for no other reason than to stay alive those extra few minutes.
MARY AND SUPERINTENDENT Campbell were at a meeting of ticket agents at Grand Central Depot. Campbell had convinced their supervisor to temporarily pull them all off duty. If any of the agents had remembered a Liam Riley purchasing a ticket, it would be a lot faster than painstakingly going through the list of passengers departing the depot that evening.
Luck was on their side. One of the agents remembered that a Liam Riley had changed the departure date on his ticket.
“He originally was supposed to leave this Friday but changed it to this evening. I explained to him that Friday’s train was more modern than tonight’s, but—”
“What train, where, and when?” Mary hastily interrupted.
The agent explained that his eventual destination was San Francisco and that the train was leaving from track eight in a little over ten minutes.
Mary and Superintendent Campbell charged out of there as fast as they could. The agents stared after them, wondering what it was all about, until their supervisor screamed at them and they begrudgingly returned to work to deal with the irate customers who had been kept waiting.
LIAM WAS BEGINNING to sweat as he told McLaughlin and Callahan his woeful tale. He knew he was talking for his life.
“Just as you asked me, Hugh, I paid
a woman to impersonate Emily Worsham in order to hire Mary Handley to investigate John Worsham’s death. And it worked like you thought it would. Andrew Green got rid of Collis Huntington, and it weakened their consolidation bid.”
“The problem is, Liam, even after takin’ ya under my wing and all the tutorin’ I gave ya, ya still don’t understand what I do. Ya ruined a plan that was twenty years in the makin’.”
“Twenty years? The water shortage hasn’t been that long.”
“Twenty years ago, Ryan Gleason, a lovely fella who’s long gone now, got soused with me over ales at O’Hara’s saloon and told me a doozy of a tale. He worked in the cemetery, and he was loadin’ a coffin inta a carriage when it slipped and opened up. There was nothin’ but rocks in there. But ol’ Ryan didn’t give a hoot. The rich people were payin’. As far as he was concerned, they could bury whatever the hell they wanted.”
“You’ve known for twenty years that John Worsham wasn’t in that grave?”
“The rest of the information was just the usual highfalutin society rumors about Arabella Huntington, but the coffin was different. I keep information like that, waitin’ for the time it’ll benefit me the most. Twenty years, Liam. This was the time.”
If it was possible, Liam was getting more scared than he had been earlier. “I didn’t know, Hugh. I—”
“Of course ya didn’t know. I was the only one who knew. But ya need to do what I tell ya, and I didn’t tell ya to have that woman killed. Ya screwed up, Liam.”
“Abigail Corday was a starving actress who lived in my neighborhood. I didn’t know she was crazy. She got a part in a play and all of a sudden she thought she was that person and…she was going to tell everything, Hugh. Ruin your plan, and everything we worked for.”
“We?”
“I mean you, but I do help. I do.”
“No, Liam, I’m pretty sure yer meanin’ we with a decided emphasis on you. Yer the one who suggested the Long Island Water Supply Company after what ya called exhaustive research. Yer the one who had Gabrielle Evans killed, didn’t ya?”
Brooklyn on Fire Page 24