by Rhys Bowen
“I am concerned about him,” I agreed. “That’s why I asked the doctor to visit again today, although I think I agree with Daniel that he’s an old quack.”
“At least you’ll be free to come and go as you please with his mother watching him like a hawk,” Gus whispered to me.
I shook my head. “I rather think my job will be to give him enough rest and keep her occupied. I wonder how long she’ll stay?”
“We can help too, if you want to go back to New York first thing tomorrow,” Sid said. “Much as I dislike rising before eight, we can make the sacrifice and come here in time for you to catch the six o’clock train.”
“You’re very kind, but you heard what Daniel just said. I really don’t want to upset him now.”
“You want to find out the truth, don’t you?” Sid asked.
“Of course I do, but Daniel is my husband, and he has been very ill. I must think this through and see what the doctor says when he comes.”
A few minutes later a harried-looking Martha came to tell me that Daniel’s mother had taken over the cooking and was there anything else I’d like her to do?
“I think it’s better if we let her keep busy,” I whispered and she grinned. Then she looked up. “Doctor’s here,” she said and went to answer the front door.
“Now what are you doing out of bed?” the doctor asked when he came into the bedroom and saw Daniel in the armchair by the window.
“I thought sea air might be good for him,” I said.
“Ye gods, woman, he’s had an infection of the lungs.” The doctor frowned at me. “A cold wind could do more harm than good. And he’s not strong enough to be sitting up yet. Take his other arm, Mrs. Sullivan, and we’ll get him back to bed where he belongs.”
The doctor’s face was somber and he made tut-tutting noises as he listened to Daniel’s chest with his stethoscope. He looked up at me. “There is still fluid on the lungs,” he said. “Lots of hot broth and hot tea to loosen that fluid and help him to cough it up. Good nourishing broth. Maybe an oxtail. And I’ll write you up a recipe for a tonic, and see if the pharmacist has a cough mixture containing licorice and slippery elm.”
“But he’s going to be all right, isn’t he?” I whispered as soon as I had led him out of the room. “He is on the mend?”
“To that I give a cautious affirmation,” he replied. “As I told you before, I’ve seen enough relapses to know that one can’t always predict the outcome. Plenty of rest, Mrs. Sullivan. Complete quiet. No excitement like letting him read a newspaper. He can be propped up in bed to help him breathe more easily, but no getting out of bed until I say that he’s ready.” He opened the front door. “I’ll be by again tomorrow.”
And then he was gone. I went back up to Daniel’s room. “That man took my newspaper,” he said grumpily. “And I was rather enjoying sitting in the window.”
“I suppose we ought to do what he says,” I said.
“At least give me my newspaper back.”
I handed it to him with a smile. “But if you read anything disturbing you are not to get excited.”
“Old fool,” he muttered. “And now my mother here too. I’ve got to make an instant recovery, Molly, so that we can go home to our own house. When did he say I’ll be well enough to travel?”
“You certainly aren’t up to taking a train yet,” I said. “An automobile would be even worse. No, I’m afraid you’ll just have to do what the doctor says and rest and eat good food to get your strength back.”
He sighed. “With my mother forcing food down my throat.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll tell her what the doctor says you are allowed. And as to that, he’s said oxtail soup and calf’s-foot jelly. So as soon as you’re comfortable, I’d better walk back into town to buy the ingredients and to have your prescription filled.”
He gave me a tired smile. “Nobody can say I don’t have an energetic wife,” he said. “I hate to put you through all this.”
“For better or worse, remember?” I said. “I’m glad to have something to occupy me.”
“An excuse to leave the house, you mean.”
“That too.” We smiled into each other’s eyes.
I went down to the kitchen. “Oh, Mrs. Sullivan, don’t go to too much trouble,” I said. “The doctor wants Daniel to have oxtail soup and calf’s-foot jelly. I’m off to town to buy a calf’s foot and an oxtail.”
“If you say so,” she said stiffly. “It’s a pity I didn’t think of it. I’ve a jar of calf’s-foot jelly at home. But that’s no problem. I won’t mind making another one.”
I found Sid and Gus sitting on the bench outside the front door. “I have to go into town again,” I said. “Do you want to join me?”
“Shouldn’t one of us stay with Daniel?” Gus asked.
“His mother is there, and Martha too. And we won’t be long.”
“Then a walk sounds delightful.” Gus got up and slipped her arm through mine. “Poor Daniel. I hope he can cope with a mother and pneumonia at the same time.”
“I left him reading the paper,” I said. “I’m sure we can walk to town and back before he finishes.”
We had a pleasant walk into town, carried out our commissions, and then I took Sid and Gus to the waterfront. The scene looked especially charming in the slanted fall light and Gus immediately wished she had brought her paint box.
“There’s a young man painting over in the dock,” Sid pointed out. “I wonder if he’s any good?” I saw where she was indicating. He was not unlike Daniel—broad, healthy looking with a mop of unruly dark hair. I plucked up courage and went over to him.
“You wouldn’t be Ned Turnbull, would you?” I asked.
“The one and same. What can I do for you ladies?” He gave us a charming smile. “I’ve a variety of paintings of the harbor to sell. Reasonable prices.”
“I wanted to ask you about another painting,” I said. “The little girl with the lamb that had been hanging in the gallery on Farewell street until a few days ago. The man at the gallery said the artist had taken it back so I wondered if you’d found your own buyer for it.”
“Were you wanting to buy it yourself?” he asked.
“It was very charming,” I said noncommittally. “Has someone just bought it?”
“No, I took it back,” he said. “I decided to keep it after all. Sorry, if you were thinking of buying it.”
“Actually I was more interested in the child who is the subject of the painting. Colleen Van Horn, wasn’t it?” I waited for him to say something. The smile had faded and he was staring at me almost belligerently now. I continued, “I was thinking: it must have been painted just before she died. So I wondered if you were commissioned to paint that picture.”
“Not exactly. I saw a likely subject and painted it. She was a natural.”
“So you know the family personally?”
“Used to,” he said. “How about yourself? Are you a friend of the family?”
“In a way,” I said.
“That’s me too. A friend of the family, in a way. And I’m sorry, but the picture is not for sale. Now I must get back to work before I lose the light.”
He went back to his painting, ignoring us completely.
Thirty
We arrived back at the Hannan estate to find chaos. Police were guarding the gate, keeping out men in derby hats and ill-fitting jackets whom I identified instantly as newspaper reporters. Obviously the news of Brian Hannan’s death had now reached New York.
They fell upon us as we approached the gate. “Are you family members? Did you know Brian Hannan well? Is it true that they are calling his death foul play?” The questions flew from all sides, while they stood, pad and pencils ready.
“We’re just visitors,” I said. “No close connection with the family so I’m afraid we can’t answer any questions.”
“Were you staying here when he died?” one asked. “If you were, my newspaper has authorized me to pay one hundred d
ollars for a first person account.”
Tempting as this was I declined politely and indicated that the policeman should open the gate for us. Of course they had not seen Sid and Gus before so I had explaining to do before they would finally let us in. It was only then that alarming suspicions arose.
“Nothing new has happened, has it?” I asked. “No new tragedy while we’ve been out?”
“Not that I know of, miss,” he said. “But my chief can probably set you to rights. He’s in there talking with the family now.”
The gate clanged shut behind us and we walked briskly toward the cottage. I couldn’t shake the worrying thoughts and had to stop myself from breaking into a run.
“Molly, slow down,” Sid called. “I’m sure Daniel is just fine.”
As the cottage came into view I saw someone standing at the front door. It was Chief Prescott and he was facing Daniel’s mother. She was half his size but she was holding the fort admirably.
“I don’t care who you are. The doctor said no visitors and no excitement and I’m going to make sure he gets his peace and quiet,” I heard her say as we went up the path. Chief Prescott turned to see us coming and I saw relief flood over his face.
“Mrs. Sullivan. How good to see you. I had wanted a word with your husband but this lady doesn’t seem to understand that this is a crime investigation and that I have to speak with people, even if they are sick.”
“I’m sorry, Chief Prescott,” I said, “but my mother-in-law is quite right. The doctor did forbid any kind of excitement or stimulation. My husband is still very weak and not out of danger yet. Is there anything I can help you with? Would you care to come inside?”
“I don’t believe so, Mrs. Sullivan. Actually I wanted your husband’s opinion on the latest developments—policeman to policeman, so to speak.”
“He may have recovered enough to speak with you tomorrow,” I said. “Has something else occurred? I saw that the place is crawling with your men.”
“They are just to keep the newshounds at bay,” he said. “I’m afraid word got out to New York that the alderman had been poisoned. I’m not sure who spilled the beans. My men were instructed to remain silent. It must have been one of the family.”
He was looking at me in a way that indicated he thought maybe I was the one who squealed. “These things have a way of leaking out, don’t they?” I said, eyeing him coldly. “I can’t shed any light, I’m afraid. I’ve hardly spoken with the family,” I said.
“I have just come from interviewing them and I have the impression that they are deliberately being unhelpful. They are very good at claiming to know nothing and providing the alibi for each other. It’s like facing a brick wall.”
“So what are the latest developments?” I asked. “Not another death?”
“Nothing like that. But we’ve ascertained that the prussic acid we found in the shed was used for the crime. At least we can surmise that it was because both the packet and jar were wiped clear of fingerprints. Somebody didn’t have time to put on gloves and had to make sure there was no incriminating evidence. So I would have to surmise that it must have been a family member or one of their staff—because what outsider would know that there was prussic acid in a shed?”
“I agree,” I said. “Unless he went into an outbuilding to hide until dark and noticed the jar containing the prussic acid on the shelf.”
“Rather a long shot, don’t you think?” His smile was condescending. “A man comes here with the intention of killing Brian Hannan but hasn’t thought out the method until he spots the prussic acid on a shelf? I don’t think I could go with that.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “It is a long shot.”
“So if I could just speak with your husband for a few minutes. He’d want to be apprised of this, I know.” He was now attempting to open the front door.
He was beginning to annoy me. I suppose it was the condescending smile that did it. “I will pass along this information to my husband as soon as he seems well enough,” I said.
He hesitated. “I had hoped he might share a little expertise, you know. He’s obviously faced murders more frequently than I have. I can only remember two other deaths since I’ve been police chief and one of those was a drunken fight between sailors. I’m going to have to play one family member against another to extract a confession, Mrs. Sullivan. I think they must know more than they are telling me. But they are remaining stubbornly close-lipped and I can’t keep them all here indefinitely. I got an earful from Joseph Hannan about how I’m wrecking his business by keeping him here.”
“If you like,” I said cautiously, “I was thinking of going to New York myself tomorrow. I’d be happy to visit Brian Hannan’s office on your behalf—not officially, I realize. But I could ask some questions and see if Brian Hannan had confided in his secretary any concerns about his family.”
“Mrs. Sullivan, I couldn’t possibly…” he blustered, completely off guard. “I mean to say that kind of thing … if word got out…” He was grinning now. “I’m sorry, but I can’t ask a woman to do this kind of work. I’m sure it’s very good of you to want to help, but your place is looking after your husband.” He touched his cap to me. “I will return tomorrow then, and hope your husband will be well enough to speak with me. In the meantime please understand that it is not your place to interfere in a police investigation.”
I swallowed back what I wanted to say to him. He was happy to use my husband but not me. I found my gaze going up to the tower. Now I was even less inclined to spill the beans about Kathleen. The thought went through my mind that I might find myself in trouble for withholding evidence and keeping what I knew about Kathleen from the family and the police. I wondered if I was letting my impulses rule my head again for no valid reason other than my pride had been wounded. It wasn’t as if I was any nearer to solving this murder than Chief Prescott.
Gus and Sid moved closer to me as he walked away.
“I don’t think that man is likely to be solving anything in the near future, do you?” Sid said.
“But you heard what he told you, Molly. He warned you against going to New York and asking questions,” Gus muttered.
“When has that ever deterred Molly in the past?” Sid grinned. “My thoughts are that if you don’t get to the bottom of this, then no one will. You have to prove beyond a doubt that the girl is not responsible.”
“Easier said than done,” I said. “I really don’t know what to do. I don’t like to leave Daniel and I expect he’ll be furious when he finds out.”
“So you’re going to sit back and watch them drag off a child to a mental institution, are you?” Sid demanded.
“You’re right. Somebody needs to find out more and the only way of doing that is to speak to people who know the family. And it would also be helpful if Dr. Birnbaum took a look at Kathleen. So I’ll go. But what on earth can I tell Daniel so that he’s not suspicious?”
“We’ll think of something,” Sid said. She stared out across the lawns. “Ah, there is one of the suspects right now, skulking through the bushes—now she’s bending down. Probably burying some evidence. Go and find out, Molly. The suspense is killing me.”
I could see a dark shape among the bushes. As I got closer I was surprised to find that it was Eliza. She was on her hands and knees.
“Hello,” I said. “What are you doing?”
She jumped at the sound of my voice. “Goodness, you startled me, Mrs. Sullivan. If you want to know, I’m burying a dead bird. It flew into the window and died. The gardeners were about to throw it on a bonfire but I thought it deserved a proper burial.” She smiled up at me. “We always used to bury dead pets in this part of the grounds when we were children. Terrence was always killing things—” she paused when she saw my face. “Not on purpose, you understand, but he would have mice and rats and things as pets and then he’d lose them or hug them too hard and there would be another funeral And I have to confess that the funerals were as muc
h fun as the pets had been.”
She straightened up and brushed earth from her skirts. “Such a disturbing time, isn’t it? It suddenly made sense to revert to childhood.” She looked up at me. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard but they say it was the prussic acid sitting on the shelf in our shed that was used. That could only mean one of us, couldn’t it? I can’t bear to think about it.”
I nodded. “It is horrible, isn’t it? You don’t have any suspicions yourself, do you?”
“None at all. My father and Uncle Brian didn’t always get along, but poison wouldn’t be my father’s modus operandi. If he wanted to get rid of his brother, he’d hire a gangster to do it on a New York street. Besides, for all their disagreements I think my father realized how much he needed Uncle Brian. Brian was the levelheaded, practical one.”
“My husband says you always have to ask the question, ‘Who benefits?’”
“And the answer to that would be nobody, I’d say—unless he’s left all his money to one person, which I’m sure wasn’t the case. Uncle Brian was extremely generous to all of us—especially to Irene and Archie of course. But he was trying to groom Terrence to take over the firm, he hired young Sam in the hopes of making something of him. He was even generous to my mother’s charities.”
“But he ran the family like a dictator, didn’t he? He expected you to live up to his standards from what I’ve noticed.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed.
“So if someone was not behaving in a way he thought fit, might he have threatened to cut off that person?”
“I suppose so,” she said, frowning now. “It’s hard to say because money has never meant much to me. But Terrence needs a good deal of it. So does my father. And Irene and Archie. But none of them would have poisoned him. It’s too grotesque to think about.”
“And you didn’t see anyone leaving the house around seven-thirty the night Mr. Hannan was killed?”
“We were all together, waiting for dinner. Irene went up to check on the children at one stage, I believe. Terrence went to find a bottle of wine. But that was all.” She shook her head again. “I can’t believe it. There must be another explanation. Somebody knew the poison was there. Somebody sneaked in. But not one of us.”