Alice and the Assassin

by R. J. Koreto

  “It will all come together—you’ll see.” Her chin was high, and her voice was full of absolute confidence. She looked at me, though, and then she spoke more softly. “What’s wrong? Really?”

  I couldn’t say, not entirely. Something didn’t feel right. It was true I didn’t like Preston, but I had to admit I was a little worried about him. Taking those ledgers seemed to be a bit too bold of a move for him. I thought he was in over his head. So was Alice, but at least she had me riding shotgun for her. I didn’t like that we still didn’t have the whole story.

  “What if Preston runs into the Archangel? The Archangel kills anyone who gets in his way. And Preston certainly is treading close to his territory.”

  “That’s true,” said Alice. “But he is a Van Schuyler. They’re paying the Archangel. I think that much is clear. I don’t think he’d turn on his employers. I think the Archangel would be more likely to go into hiding before turning on his powerful employers. Anyway, this is my theory: The Archangel worked for the Van Schuylers. We know Dora was involved with a murderous gentleman with connections to the Van Schuylers. I conclude he was the Archangel. Czolgosz stole the image from him, as Dora’s neighbor at some point, and passed it on to Dunilsky. I also believe the Archangel was making use of the anarchists and was pretending he was their friend rather than a Van Schuyler associate. For example, he could’ve gotten anarchists to help vandalize rivals’ property. They’d think they were attacking the ruling class, as they’d put it, but in reality they were little more than tools of the Van Schuylers. Dunilsky died because he knew, or at least was suspected of knowing, this connection. And Dora Compton as well.”

  “Right, you said it before—and I have to admit, Miss Alice, it looks like you’re right.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “So was the death of McKinley just a sideshow to all the Van Schuyler misdeeds after all? Is it even related?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I admit I haven’t figured out that part yet. Perhaps the Van Schuylers lost control of the Archangel,” she said, “and the Archangel lost control of the anarchists. But I won’t accept that it’s all a coincidence. Let’s not forget how this started—the Van Schuylers, hiding behind the Great Erie, had us followed because we displayed only mild interest in Emma Goldman, one of Leon Czolgosz’s few friends.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. But we still don’t know for sure. There are connections, Miss Alice, but no reason for anyone to kill McKinley.”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  We decided not to discuss that particular aspect of our investigations any more that day. When we got back to the Caledonia, Alice grabbed some pen and paper. We spread out in the breakfast room and started making plans for tomorrow night’s event. Eventually, Dulcie came out with some sandwiches and, making sure Alice didn’t see, gave me a look.

  Alice was pleased enough with the results of our planning but then seemed disappointed that we’d have to wait until tomorrow evening to see what response our advertisement would bring.

  “Oh, well. Patience is a virtue, they keep saying, although I’ve never seemed to manage to cultivate it,” she said with a grin. “I don’t see what else we can do until tomorrow evening. I’m a little tired from all our running around, and we’ll have a big day tomorrow. I think I’ll take a nap. Father will be around after addressing his meeting tonight, and we can talk when he gets back. He has to leave very early tomorrow. I wonder when he’ll want me in Washington?” She looked a little shy for a moment. “You will come to Washington, won’t you, if I decide to live more permanently in the White House?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “What kind of stupid question is that? You’re just fishing for compliments. Actually, it was a silly question on my part. Being my bodyguard is probably the most interesting job you’ve ever had.”

  “Even more than serving in the Rough Riders under your father?”

  “Yes. Even that.” She ended that conversation with a wave of her hand. “Have fun at your card game or whatever you’re doing tonight. I may just join my aunt in whatever she’s doing tomorrow. It will keep her from getting suspicious. Have a good afternoon and evening.”

  * * *

  I got up early the next morning anyway. I didn’t mind eating in the kitchen, nevermind what Dulcie thought, but Alice seemed to expect me in the breakfast room, and it seemed odd to go back at this point. She said she’d be sleeping late, so I figured I could show up after the president had left but before Alice and Mrs. Cowles were at the table. The worst outcome from my point of view was being alone with Mrs. Cowles, without Alice, but that’s exactly what happened. I wasn’t sure how excited Mrs. Cowles was about my becoming a regular feature at the breakfast table, especially without Alice present.

  I was halfway through pancakes and coffee when she walked in. She hid any trace of surprise. I stood.

  “Good morning, ma’am. If you want some privacy, I can easily take myself into the kitchen.”

  “Not at all, Mr. St. Clair. No reason for you to leave just because Alice isn’t ready yet. I was up early to see my brother off. Please sit.”

  She had her plate and her copy of the Tribune, but she didn’t open it.

  “My niece seems very attached to you, Mr. St. Clair.”

  “I am pleased to hear that, ma’am.”

  “Are you pretending to be stupid? I don’t think it’s possible to be as stupid as you’re pretending. But nevermind. It isn’t your behavior I’m worried about right now. It’s Alice’s. What do you know about her feelings?”

  “I know nothing about her feelings, ma’am,” I said. I was watching her carefully.

  “Don’t you, Mr. St. Clair? Oh, very well. I will not hold you responsible for them anyway. But I will hold you responsible for her actions.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “I’m glad. And by the way, although I appreciate your help, believe me, if you let Alice get involved in something else inappropriate, I truly will see you on the next train to San Francisco, and I don’t care if she locks herself in her bedroom for the rest of her life.”

  I was saved from responding to this by Alice’s arrival.

  “Good morning, Aunt Anna, Mr. St. Clair. What are we up to today? I think I may take in a show tonight.” So that’s how she was planning to cover up the evening’s activities. I just hoped Mrs. Cowles wouldn’t ask for a review later on.

  The rest of the day was fairly dull. Mrs. Cowles and Alice called on other wealthy Republican families, and I usually managed to wheedle food and coffee from obliging cooks and maids. In one household, for lunch, they gave me some preserved meat called pastrami, and they told me I could probably find more in the Lower East Side. All in all, I had to admit it was pretty boring after all we had done in recent days. Being honest, I realized we had done things we shouldn’t, and I let Alice get away with it because of the excitement, and I felt a little bad. Not too bad, though—just a little.

  Alice and I weren’t alone until late afternoon, when Mrs. Cowles went to change for a dinner engagement, and we settled around the breakfast table.

  “Fun day?” I asked. She wrinkled her nose.

  “Mixed. A few interesting people, a few dull ones. When I’m a Washington hostess, I’m only going to surround myself with interesting people.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know if you’re going to have that choice.”

  “Yes, I will,” she said. “Now I’m going to change, and then we’ll go downtown and have dinner at the hotel while we’re waiting for the men to arrive.”

  She came back a little later in a simpler, more businesslike dress, fetched her fur, and said, “Let’s be on our way.” She sailed out the front door without even looking back to see if I was following. I ran my fingers through my hair, got my Stetson, and headed out behind her.

  Traffic was light going downtown, and I was able to park near the hotel. Alice strode right in, and the manager was happy to lead us to the rooms. In the larg
er room, about fifty chairs were arranged in rows with a lectern at the front. A sideboard contained an urn of coffee, cheap cups, and sandwiches. The crowd would expect some kind of refreshment for attending. I was glad it wasn’t beer; things could get out of control pretty quickly.

  An adjoining room contained a table with paper and pen and several more wooden chairs.

  “Can I send in some food for you before the crowd arrives?” asked the manager.

  “Thank you, that would be most kind,” said Alice.

  He cleared his throat. “Will you have more, ah, staff members arriving?” he asked. Usually, events like this included men with sharp eyes, checked coats, and cigars organizing and leading the events on behalf of someone in a black suit with a gold chain across his vest. Alice and I didn’t fit into either of those categories.

  “Thank you, but Mr. St. Clair and I can handle everything ourselves.”

  The manager’s eyes briefly landed on my revolver, just visible with my coat open, and decided we could handle whatever came our way. He smiled again. “Very good, Miss Roosevelt. Dinner will be sent in momentarily, and if you need anything else, I can be reached through the front desk.”

  Roast beef and potatoes arrived shortly, and we made ourselves at home by the table in the small room. The food wasn’t great, just competent, but Alice was too excited to care and happily consumed it.

  “I’ve never given a speech before. I think it’s going to be fun, everyone getting to listen to me. Where do you think you should stand?”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” I said.

  “Must you? You’re going to look awfully threatening.”

  “That’s the idea,” I said, and Alice rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, very well. You know, I didn’t realize how hungry I was. This beef is awful, really, but I’m craving it.” She cleaned her plate. “They’ll be arriving soon . . . but before the place starts filling up, I just want to say thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “I know you don’t want to be here, doing this, but you’re doing it anyway. So thank you.” She gave my hand a squeeze—and then we heard the first of the attendees arrive.

  Three men in workingmen’s clothes wandered in, looking a little suspicious, and then made their way over to the coffee and sandwiches. A few more followed them. Some were dressed like clerks, and I thought they might be a good source of confidential papers. They all seemed a little surprised to see Alice there, as if the advertisement had been a joke. None of them seemed dangerous, and they clearly weren’t armed, so I let Alice approach them. She cheerfully greeted them.

  “Good evening. I’m Alice Roosevelt, the president’s daughter. I’m so glad you took the time to come this evening.”

  “Glad to come, miss,” they said a little solemnly, surprised and perhaps a little overawed that this girl was there to greet them.

  “I want you to know that the Republican Party is a friend of workingmen. I represent my father, the president, in this. He wants you to know that even though there is not an election coming up, he has your needs close to his heart.”

  “Well, thank you, then,” said one of them. I could see he was hoping for beer, but hot coffee on a cold night was better than nothing.

  More men started coming, and some women as well, all of them working people. Alice greeted them all and seemed to be really enjoying herself and enjoying the attention. I had my work cut out for me, looking out for troublemakers, but a warm room, coffee and sandwiches, and a chance for some amusement seemed to be enough for anyone who came.

  Around half past seven, Alice clapped her hands and asked everyone to take a seat. She would briefly speak. No one looked like they would dispute her, and they dutifully took their chairs. Alice took her place behind the lectern and began to talk.

  I stood behind her to keep an eye on the audience, but I did leave half an ear open for Alice. I had to give it to her. For all that I work for the president, I’ve never been one for politics, but she had the patter down perfectly. I guess she had listened to enough politicians over the years. Her voice rang clear and went up and down for all the key points, and best of all, she kept everyone interested. These were people who didn’t go to theaters or concerts, so this was the best entertainment going, and I think that Alice gave them a reason to be happy they came, a reason to think someone was listening. And for a town controlled by the Democratic machine out of Tammany Hall, that was pretty good. I think the president would’ve been proud.

  I was curious to see how Alice was going to follow up with the various people there, some of whom might be Van Schuyler workers. But then we both got a surprise. About fifteen minutes into her talk, I saw Compton enter the room. He looked just as frightened as when I’d chased him from the loading dock. Maybe worse.

  During a pause, Alice quickly turned and gave me a wink. She saw Compton, too.

  A few minutes later, she wound down. “I started by mentioning our state’s important shipping history. We will have more to announce shortly that will show you the Republican Party will not let any employer, no matter how big, crush the workingman. The Roosevelts have always been New Yorkers, employing the workers of New York, and if anyone has anything to say, I will bring the message to my father.”

  There was some polite applause, and a few stayed after to talk to Alice. They didn’t seem threatening, so I kept my eye on Compton, who looked a little wild, like he could slip out of control at any moment. He was looking at us and looking around the room as if he wasn’t sure where the attack would come from.

  After the meeting, I got the pleasure of watching Alice work the room as Compton sat in a corner and looked miserable. She invited the attendees to give her their names and employers, promising she would speak again soon. She wrote everything down in a little notebook. Who knew, some of them probably thought maybe they’d get a nice patronage job courtesy of Miss Alice Roosevelt, the president’s daughter. Eventually, everyone drifted away after making sure the food and drink were gone, leaving us alone with Compton.

  “Mr. Compton, I can’t tell you how flattered I am that you came to my little political meeting despite all your troubles, braving the open streets of the city just to hear me speak. How kind. Do have a nice evening. Mr. St. Clair, let’s be on our way.”

  “Wait—” said Compton. “I need to talk to you.”

  “But I don’t need to talk to you. I was able to get much of the information I needed, and I’m sure more will follow from this meeting. This meeting was full of Van Schuyler workers, and you’d be surprised at how many of them will be willing to give information to me for a favor from the daughter of the president. You’re not the only one who can get me confidential documents, now that I know how easy it is to steal them.”

  “All right, I understand. You might be able to get something from them, but they can’t give you what I have. You’re still better off making a deal with me—just listen.”

  CHAPTER 27

  “Let’s go into the inner room,” I said. “It’s a little more private. I’ll just close the door here.” I closed and locked the main room doors, which led from the lobby, and led us into the inner room, where we all sat.

  “And what do you propose?” demanded Alice. She folded her arms across her chest. “Speak quickly. I don’t want to spend a minute longer than I have to in this place.”

  He licked his lips. “I need $1,000. I’ll need to get out of town, find a new job.”

  “I have a list of your coworkers who will give me the information for half that. I can get you $500. That’s all,” said Alice.

  “Miss Roosevelt—I need more than that. Can you make it $800?”

  “Just $750. Not a penny more.”

  “Oh, all right,” he said with a sigh. “But it has to be cash. How fast can you get it?”

  “Do you have the papers?”

  “In my apartment in Brooklyn.”

  “It will take me two days to get that much cash together. Write down your address, a
nd prepare to be there the day after tomorrow at this time. I will tell no one. You will tell no one. And then you can leave New York.” She provided him with pen and paper, and after a brief pause, he wrote out his address.

  “I’ll head there now. I should be safe for the next two days—they can’t find me that quickly.”

  Alice looked at it, then folded the paper and pocketed it.

  That’s when I heard the banging on the outer door. It seemed insistent, like someone who wanted in badly, instead of someone who was running late and hoped the party was still going.

  The little office we sat in had two doors: the one we’d just used from the meeting room and the other leading to a hallway behind the lobby.

  “Just be quiet. I’ll see who’s there,” I said. Alice looked merely irritated at the interruption, but Compton was on the edge of falling apart. I pushed him back into his chair.

  I went into the meeting room, closing the office door behind me, and opened the main door at the rear. It was my old friend Mac Bolton, the Van Schuyler henchman.

  “I figured you’d be here,” he said. “Funny how we keep running into each other.”

  “Yeah, in such a big city. The meeting is over, unfortunately.”

  “Unfortunately for me. I’m not an idiot. You throw around the name of the Great Erie, go to the trouble of smuggling Elsie de Maine out of town, and all of a sudden the two of you are organizing a political meeting on your own and advertising where Van Schuyler workers are sure to see it. You even mention shipping. You’re up to something, even if I don’t know what it is. You’re damn lucky we didn’t find out about this earlier.”

  “Your masters read the wrong papers. You’re damn lucky you didn’t interrupt an official party meeting, or you’d be sitting in the Tombs right now. Now what do you want?”

  “I want to know what Van Schuyler employees may have told Miss Roosevelt.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “We’re being blackmailed. And that’s a crime—something you should know if you carry a badge. So what’s it going to be? Are you going to let me in?”