Assassin of Shadows

by Lawrence Goldstone

  When he once more entered the kitchen, Natasha was better yet.

  “Schnapps,” asserted Mrs. Freundlich. “Makes ze tea better. One for you?”

  “Danke.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m an American, young man.”

  “Sorry. I’d love one. Thank you. I don’t need any more tea.”

  Walter pulled up a chair opposite Natasha. “Were they shooting at me or you?” she asked immediately.

  “I can’t tell,” he replied softly, although the correct answer, he knew, might well have been “both.”

  Walter didn’t want to answer any more questions right away, so he was grateful when he heard a commotion coming from the street. The coppers had arrived. He stood up from the table just as Mrs. Freundlich was entering the room. He took the glass, threw down the brandy, and headed for the front door. The burn in his throat was invigorating.

  About ten coppers were milling about outside, six in uniform, the rest dicks. Walter knew one of the detectives from a counterfeiting investigation, a sergeant named Flaherty, basically a good egg.

  “Who you got taking shots at you this time, Walter?” Flaherty asked after Walter walked up to him. “I’d say it was our guys, but you’d think I meant it.”

  It might well have been your guys, Walter thought. “Dunno, Pat. You never know who’s gonna be sore from an old beef.” Walter had reverted to copper vernacular. The better you spoke in this crowd, the less cooperation you got.

  “So you think they were after you, do you?” Flaherty’s smiled had dropped a bit.

  “Who else? You think somebody has it in for school teachers?”

  “So what were you doing here, then?”

  “Woman inside. Her sister was murdered in Buffalo. Since I knew I was coming back here, I told the Buffalo police I’d look in on her. Make sure she doesn’t need any help getting her sister’s body back.”

  “That her in the window?”

  Walter turned. Natasha was standing in the parlor, looking out.

  “Kinda sweet,” Flaherty observed. “Good of you to volunteer. But you always was gallant like that.”

  Walter shrugged.

  “So what’s the deal about McKinley? I know you’re working on it. It’s the anarchists, right? They been spoiling for something like this since we stretched their pals after the Haymarket.”

  Walter nodded. “Sure looks that way. Hannigan grabbed everybody up. He’ll probably just shake the bunch until a guilty one falls out.”

  “Don’t be so hard on old Mikey, Walter. He’s got a lot of heat under him right now.”

  “Oh c’mon, Pat. You really think a couple of plaster saints are gonna change anything around here? Harrison’s got as much chance of cleaning up this force as me flapping my wings and flying to Moline.”

  “Dunno, Walter. Harrison’s got some big money behind him. Lotta people are sick of Billy Burke running the city. Hannigan might be the price Billy pays to keep his spot. Unless Hannigan uncovers them that conspired to murder our beloved president, of course. Then Mikey’ll probably get made chief.”

  “You don’t like McKinley?”

  “Just another plute. I voted for Bryan.” Flaherty cocked his head toward the window. “She doesn’t have anything to do with any of this, right Walter?”

  “No, Pat. It’s like I said. Errand of mercy.”

  Flaherty considered Walter’s tale for a bit, then patted Walter on the shoulder. “Well, Walter, if you find yourself too busy, give me a call. Maybe I can help out. I’m good at mercy.”

  “No chance, Pat. I was here first.”

  Flaherty sighed. “Oh well. So how do you want to handle this? Revenge attempt on the life of a Secret Service operative? You’re investigating your own? Keep us out of it?”

  “That’s how I’m going to report it.”

  “You gonna mention McKinley?”

  “You ain’t got to worry about that, Pat.”

  “Good enough for me. I sure don’t need the extra work. Been like Deadwood around here the last few weeks. Mikey’s not done. He got the word out to grab up every anarchist who spits on the sidewalk.”

  “Well, Pat, you said it. Best way to get your head out of the noose is to put someone else’s in.”

  “Okay, Walter.” Flaherty placed a hand on Walter’s forearm. “But if there’s anything that comes up . . . more, I mean . . . you tell me first.”

  “If there’s a bust, you get it.”

  Flaherty spread the word and the Chicago coppers packed up and left. After they were gone, Walter returned to Mrs. Freundlich’s kitchen. He asked the landlady to leave them. After a brief protest and Walter’s promise that a glazier would be there before nightfall to repair the window, she withdrew.

  “All right, Miss Kolodkin. I think it’s time you told me the whole truth. If you don’t, you’re going to be caught between the police and whoever took the shots.”

  Natasha Kolodkin had more than recovered. The cup sat empty on the table and her expression fell somewhere between neutral and suspicious. “Unless it was the police who took the shots.”

  “Why would the police have shot at you?”

  “Because the police believe that they decide who is free in their country and who isn’t. Because they’ve used the excuse of the shooting in Buffalo to settle old scores, back from the Haymarket.”

  “Why would that have anything to do with you?”

  “Because I believe as my sister believed . . . to answer your earlier question. As Abe Isaak believes. We are not the ones who advocate violence, Mr. George. We believe in peaceful change, if possible. I cannot say as much for the police.”

  “Your movement can hardly be described as peaceful, Miss Kolodkin. But even if I accept your assertion, it does not explain why the Chicago police would want to murder you in particular. Unless, of course you are a bigger fish than you pretend.”

  “I am not a fish at all, Mr. George. I am school teacher who exercises her rights as an American to believe as I wish.”

  “Then why? Or perhaps it was not the police at all. Perhaps it was the same people who silenced your sister . . .”

  “Why? I don’t see . . . .”

  But Walter saw that she did. He decided not to press, but rather allow the uncertainty to play on her. He stood to leave. “But I’ve got to get back now and report this to my superiors.”

  Natasha Kolodkin stood as well, but continued looking at him, trying to decide whether to trust someone she would generally have considered an enemy. A leap of faith by the faithless.

  “I was at her rooms six months ago when two men came to see her,” she said, before Walter could move for the door. “She knew them. They had obviously been to see her before. She told me later they were members of the movement, but they didn’t look like any socialists I’d ever seen. Big men in long coats and Stetsons with trimmed mustaches. But Esther told me I was being silly. That of course they were genuine. When she first met them, they showed her letters from people in New York. I asked to see them, but she said they were private. I was surprised because Esther and I usually had no secrets from each other. She got very reclusive after that. A week later, she quit her job at the library here and told me she was moving to Buffalo.”

  “And who did you think they were?”

  “To me, they looked more like police agents than our people.”

  “And you told your sister this?”

  She nodded. “Esther told me she had checked them out and they were exactly who they said they were.”

  “Checked them out how?”

  “She wouldn’t say.” She paused for a moment. “All right, Mr. George. I suppose that since I’ve decided to trust you, I might as well do so completely. Esther was a romantic. She read a great deal about silly women who spent their lives pursuing nothing but wealth and social acceptance. Mrs. Humphrey Ward stories. Henry James. Then she read Looking Backward . . .”

  “It’s Czolgosz’s favorite book. He brought a copy to the library in
Buffalo to identify himself to your sister.”

  “Really? Poor Esther. In any event, after she finished the book, she decided she wanted to do something important . . .”

  “Her duty?”

  “If you like.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kolodkin.”

  “There was something else. One of the men . . . the taller of the two, although he was not nearly your size, Mr. George . . . was much friendlier than the other.”

  “Friendlier to Esther you mean?”

  “You know precisely what I mean. And if he had romanced her, I would suspect that he knew in advance with whom he was dealing. Esther, it pains me to say, would be quite capable of acting . . . rashly . . . if a beau had asked her to.”

  “Unlike her sister?” The words were out before Walter could stop them.

  Natasha Kolodkin’s expression turned stony. Walter felt sorry for any student who misbehaved in her classroom. “Most certainly unlike her sister,” she said evenly.

  Walter stifled a cough. “You’ve helped a great deal.”

  “About finding out if there was a conspiracy to murder McKinley.”

  “President McKinley. Your sister as well.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

  “So you think it was those same two men.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “But possibly. From what you’ve told me, that’s what I’d think. What will you do now?”

  Walter suddenly felt his clothes prickle at him. He realized he hadn’t changed them in two days. He must look like a saddle tramp. Smell like one too. He got quickly to his feet. “I’ve got to go now, Miss Koldokin. I’m going to ask my boss to assign an operative to watch you.”

  “No thank you, Mr. George. A policeman is the last thing I need in my life.”

  “We’re not pol . . . aren’t you afraid that whoever did this will try again?”

  “When you believe as I do, Mr. George, you are afraid all the time. Don’t worry. I’ll take care.”

  “Very well.” There was no use arguing with her.

  He turned to leave, but she stopped him. “Mr. George?”

  “Yes?”

  “If you wished to come by occasionally . . . to check on my welfare . . . I suppose that would be all right.”

  14

  Pork tenderloins, buttered beets, and mashed potatoes. Thank you, Lucinda. This is glorious.”

  “Thank Harry, Walter. I was going make an omelet.”

  “She’s joshing you,” Harry growled, hurling an angry glance at his sister. “Lucinda insisted on cooking something you liked.”

  “An omelet would have been fine,” Walter asserted without cracking a smile. “Maybe better, in fact.”

  “See, Harry?” Lucinda replied, turning for the kitchen to fetch the rolls.

  “Aw, to hell with both of you.” Harry sawed at his pork as if he wanted to cut through the plate as well.

  “Serves you right,” Walter said softly. The meat, in fact, hardly needed a knife at all. Lucinda cooked well enough for the Palmer House.

  “You’re lucky to be here,” Harry grumbled through half-chewed pork.

  Walter didn’t reply, but Harry was right. He probably was.

  When Walter returned to his rooms, he had immediately taken a bath and sat soaking for almost an hour. Generally, he could not wait to wash and get out, but this time he found the feel of the water luxurious, even long after it had turned cold. Twice, Andrew Swenson from down the hall had pounded on the door. The first time, Walter ignored him; the second, Walter growled at him to beat it. Swenson, a pinched little man, a high-pressure sales clerk at Marshall Field’s who sold eggbeaters and such to Chicago housewives, had slunk on back to his room. He had not dared disturb Walter again.

  Eventually, Walter emerged from the tub and folded himself into his bathrobe, blowing out a contented sigh as he patted himself dry. On the way back down the hall, he had wrapped on Swenson’s door. For some reason, the gesture amused him and he was chuckling as he walked through his door. His valise was waiting for him but everything in there would have to go to the chink’s. And fast too. He only had one clean suit of clothes left. Walter dressed carefully, more carefully than he would have if he had not met Natasha Kolodkin. He liked Lucinda. He truly did.

  Lucinda backed through the swinging door to the kitchen with the basket of rolls covered with a white cloth. Wisps of steam seeped through the linen into the air. After she placed the basket on a trivet, she pivoted smartly and disappeared to fetch the butter. Once that was on the table, she poured wine for herself and Walter from a cut glass carafe that had been a gift from her husband’s parents, and a beer for Harry. Then she sat down.

  “Lucinda,” Walter sighed in genuine admiration, “I’ve seen close order drill that can’t measure up to you.”

  “Army brother, army husband, army father.” She swept an errant lock of hair from her forehead. Walter realized, as he always did after not seeing her for a time, just how beautiful she really was. “Daddy was never quite able to hide his disappointment that he had a girl.”

  “I wouldn’t have been disappointed.” The words were out of Walter’s mouth before he could stop them.

  Lucinda turned to him and smiled. Her posture, of course, was perfect, and her teeth straight and white. She always seemed to have a soft blush to her skin. “Why, Walter George, I do believe that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Harry speared a beet, trying to remain quiet and inconspicuous. But the grin showed through from under his mustache all the same.

  “I’m sure I’ve paid you compliments before,” Walter protested lamely.

  “Oh yes. But all of those were quite formal. This one sounds like you actually meant it.”

  “I did. I meant the others too.”

  Harry sensed the conversation was about to get awkward, so he jumped in. “Walter got shot at today. Amazing they missed . . . big as he is. I wouldn’t have.”

  Lucinda blanched. She wasn’t that much of an army wife. “Are you all right, Walter?”

  “I’m fine.” He told her of the incident, trying to avoid dwelling on his presence in Natasha Kolodkin’s parlor. Harry noted the evasion with satisfaction.

  “Maybe you might think about not going around alone for a while,” he suggested, before Lucinda thought to press the matter.

  “No. I think I’m safe enough.”

  “How can you say that, Walter?” Lucinda leaned toward Walter, caught herself, then pulled back. “Whoever shot at you will likely try again.”

  “I don’t think so, Lucinda. Whichever of us was the target . . . me or the murdered woman’s sister . . . was a lot easier target on the street. The sister . . .” He avoided the name, glancing to see if Lucinda noticed. “The sister is a school teacher. An easy mark anytime. And me . . .” Walter chuckled. “Well, I’m pretty hard to miss.”

  “So what was going on then?”

  “A message maybe. Someone’s way of suggesting I stop nosing around.”

  “Then you are in danger. You’ll never stop nosing around.”

  “So, did you get a line on the murdered woman?” Harry interrupted.

  “Maybe.” He told Harry of the visit Esther Kolodkin had received from the two men and her subsequent emigration to Buffalo. He left out the part about one of them romancing the murdered woman.

  “Six months? You think whoever set this up sent the girl to Buffalo six months ago? That’s quite a bit of anticipation. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Harry,” Lucinda interjected. “President McKinley was certain to be at the fair at some point.” She glanced at Walter for affirmation.

  “That’s true, Harry,” Walter agreed.

  “You’ve sure changed your tune, Walter,” Harry grumbled. “First you’re all het up that you’re being forced to chase a phony conspiracy and now you’re saying not only was there a plot but that it was months in the planning.”
/>   “At least Walter knows enough to change his mind when the facts warrant,” Lucinda muttered.

  “As opposed to me, you mean?”

  “Take that any way you like, Harry,” she said.

  Harry turned back to Walter. Lucinda always made mincemeat of him. “But Czolgosz only met Emma Goldman for the first time a few weeks ago.”

  “So he says.”

  “Well, I’d hate to have Hannigan be right, but if the Goldman woman’s in on it, then the rest the crew probably is too.”

  “Whoa, Harry. I didn’t say Goldman or old man Isaak or anyone else was in on anything. I’m just following clues and the clues say that there may be a link between Czolgosz, the murdered Kolodkin girl, and some peculiar visitors she had half a year ago.”

  “Have it your way, Walter,” Harry said. He stuffed some potatoes in his mouth and swallowed them instantly. Harry had never gotten over eating in the saddle. “I spoke with Wilkie,” he added, the moment the potatoes had passed his windpipe. “McKinley sat up in bed today. Asked for eggs and bacon, but the doctors said not yet. Tough bird, no matter what TR says. McBurney’s gonna head back to New York.”

  “How wonderful,” Lucinda said.

  “You said it,” Harry agreed. “Couple of inches either way and he’s a former president. TR’s gonna leave too.”

  “Bet he can’t wait.”

  “True enough. Wilkie said that publicly TR is all full of vinegar about how we have to deal with these foreigners who don’t respect our values. Privately though . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, Wilkie said TR seems, well, a little disappointed.”

  Walter grinned.

  “Disappointed in what?” Lucinda asked.

  “Whaddaya think he’s disappointed in, sis? He got there from Vermont and jumped out of the car looking like he was ready to lead a charge. Then he found out that McKinley was going to be fine. Wilkie said TR nodded, took off his glasses, polished them, then asked if the docs were sure. When Wilkie said they seemed sure, TR said how happy he was. I’ll bet.”