Monument to the Dead

by Sheila Connolly

  “I don’t need the publicity, but I can see that it’s a good strategy for you.”

  “We’ll see.” I wondered if I would need to define our relationship for the population of the greater Philadelphia area. Was there a code word for “significant relationship?” I guess I was going to wing it. “How are you feeling?”

  “Stiff. Some bruises that I didn’t notice before. My arm hurts, but not half as much as my head. The last nurse promised me I could walk to the bathroom later today, if I was a good boy.”

  “Sounds promising. When will they turn you loose?”

  “Tomorrow morning, it looks like. They want to be very, very sure that my head will not fall off.”

  A sense of humor was a good sign, wasn’t it? “I’m coming home with you,” I said in a tone that I hoped brooked no argument.

  “What?”

  “You shouldn’t be alone for the next couple of days. I’ll stay at your place.” His eyes searched my face, and I held his gaze. “James, I want to do this,” I said softly. “Please.”

  He finally nodded, and his mouth twitched. “I won’t promise it will be pretty. I’ve already discovered I’m a lousy patient.”

  “You never knew that?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never been a patient in a hospital before. No childhood crises, no broken bones, no bullets. Obviously it was just a matter of time, although the Bowie knife thing kind of surprised me. That should up my reputation at the Agency.” He studied my face again. “You’re sure?”

  “I am.”

  We kind of smiled stupidly at each other for a few moments, until James asked, “Is there more?”

  “Kind of. Nothing awful,” I rushed to add, “but Marty took me home last night and pointed out some basic truths. They weren’t nice to hear, but she was right. What it comes down to is that I’ve been coasting along, getting by on ’good enough’ but not really trying.”

  I plunged on. “I’ve been deluding myself about my relationships—about us. What I thought was being cool and in control was mainly a way to protect myself. If I didn’t invest myself fully in a relationship, it wouldn’t hurt as much when it didn’t work out. I was expecting them to fail from the start, so of course they did.” I stopped and swallowed; I was getting to the difficult part. “I don’t want that with you, James. That became very clear at the Water Works. I didn’t want you to die until we’d figured out what we have. I wasn’t going to let Nicholas or anyone else make that decision for me. If this doesn’t work out, I want it to be because one of us says so, not because we didn’t try.”

  “I wondered when you’d figure it out,” James said, with a half smile.

  “What, you were waiting for me to do the work? You might have given me a shove, you know.”

  “As far as I know—and I’ll admit I’m no expert—that’s not how it works. If I told you what to do, you might have walked away. You have to want it as much as I do.”

  “Oh,” I whispered. “I don’t deserve you.” I swallowed the large lump in my throat. “Well, the old me doesn’t deserve you, but maybe the new me will.” I leaned over, careful to avoid the bandages and miscellaneous attachments, and kissed him gently. Then I pulled back an inch or two and we smiled at each other.

  At which moment, a nurse bustled in and didn’t look the least embarrassed by our behavior. “Sorry, gotta take the vitals, you know.”

  “You go right ahead,” I said, standing up and glancing at my watch. “I’ve got to get back to the Society. You think I should call your boss and give him a heads-up about the article?”

  “Let me do it. He owes me, so now’s the best time to cash in on that. You go and give one hell of an interview.”

  I smiled. “I plan to. And let me know if you come up with a good nickname for me, if I’m going to be Philadelphia’s new protector of the arts. ‘History-Woman’ doesn’t have much of a ring to it. Will you be my sidekick? Because I think we make a good team.”

  “We do.”

  CHAPTER 35

  I was walking back toward the Society when my cell phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number. I answered anyway and was mildly shocked to hear Agent Cooper’s voice.

  “I understand from Agent Morrison that you are planning to speak to the press today?”

  “Yes, I am.” I thought about adding something defensive and then stopped myself. He had called me. What did he want?

  “I’ll assume I can’t dissuade you, but may I ask you to be discreet?”

  “You mean, not make the FBI look like a bunch of idiots for missing this? I wouldn’t do that. I will tell the press that this case was solved through the joint efforts of Agent Morrison and myself. I don’t need to go into details—like the fact that your office refused to get involved until the last minute. My main goal is to cast the Society in the most positive light possible. Do you have a problem with that?”

  I thought I heard him sigh. “Thank you. I appreciate your tact. I was wondering if you’d like to be present when we interview Nicholas Naylor?”

  Would I! I controlled the excitement in my voice when I said, “When will this take place?”

  “Momentarily. He’s still in the hospital at Penn but he’s been medically cleared for this interview.”

  I thought quickly. Marty had set up the Inquirer interview for four, and we couldn’t push it any later or we’d risk missing the deadline for the Sunday edition. But it was important to me to hear what Nicholas had to say, and I might even be able to help out with the right questions. Of course, maybe Agent Cooper was hoping to delay me long enough to miss my own interview. But what the hell—I could make it to Penn by cab, and then be back in time for the interview. “I’m on my way.”

  I hung up, then immediately hit Marty’s number. When she answered, I said quickly, “Small change in plans. The FBI, apparently in exchange for not skewering them in the press, has invited me to sit in when they interview Nicholas, any minute now. I can leave there in time to get back for the interview at the Society.”

  “You damn well better not leave me holding the bag. I’ll come pick you up. Good luck with the FBI bigwigs. How’s James doing?”

  “Surprisingly well, and he didn’t even argue with me about coming home with him.”

  “Amazing—you’ve turned him to mush. Or maybe it’s the drugs. I might drop by the hospital and say hello to him.”

  “You do that. I’ve got to go. See you later!” I hung up, then picked up my pace toward Broad Street, where I knew there would be taxis. A taxi would definitely be faster than extracting my car and driving over, and now I had a ride back.

  At the hospital, I had to jump through a few hoops to gain access to the floor where Nicholas was being held. I was relieved when I emerged from the elevator and saw Agent Cooper waiting for me.

  “Ms. Pratt? Let me explain how this is going to work.” We began a slow stroll down the hall while he talked. At the end of the hall there was a man standing outside one of the doors. It was all too easy to identify him as an FBI agent, both by the suit and by the way he snapped to attention when he saw Cooper. “We have not spoken to Mr. Naylor at any length yet. We are assured that his wound is not life-threatening, and that the pain relief he has received has not impaired his judgment. Since you know him, you may be able to confirm his mental state.”

  “Are you going to let me talk to him?”

  Agent Cooper cleared his throat. “That would be, uh, highly unusual. I can’t allow you to interview a suspect in the FBI’s custody, but I’ll confess that there are aspects of this case that lie outside our expertise. For example, can you explain who this Edwin Forrest is?”

  I sighed. Poor Edwin. “How long do you have, and how much do you need to know?”

  “Perhaps we could get a cup of coffee and you could give me an outline?”

  “Fair enough.”

  Agent Cooper signaled to another agent who was trying to blend into the woodwork and failing, and asked him to find coffee for us. Then he escorted m
e to a small waiting room on the same floor. “What do I need to know about this Forrest, and why is he so important to Naylor?”

  I launched into a brief history of Edwin Forrest, his Philadelphia origins, his role in theater of the nineteenth century, and his will and the subsequent creation of the trust. Agent Cooper didn’t interrupt but made notes on a small notebook. When I reached the point at which I had entered this story, I said, “I hired Nicholas about three months ago to replace an employee who died unexpectedly. Nicholas had been working at Penn, and he came highly recommended. What I hadn’t realized then was that Penn has an extensive collection of Forrest correspondence and memorabilia, as does the Society. I understand now that Nicholas was mining our collections for evidence to support his claim to whatever is left of the Forrest Trust’s assets.”

  “Does he have any legitimate claim?”

  “I’m not a lawyer so I can’t say, but he claims he’s descended from a woman who was Forrest’s, uh, love child”—that sounded so much better than bastard—“and who was mentioned in his will. In any case, he believes he has a claim and in his mind that justified his actions.”

  “Which were?”

  “According to what he told me when we were at the Water Works, seeking out members of the Forrest Trust and asking them to support his claim. And when they turned him down, he killed them, hoping that their replacements might be more agreeable.”

  “I see. How did the conflict at the Water Works come about?”

  “Nicholas and I went there on Society business, to speak to one of the administrators about an unrelated project I had asked him to do some research for. I called James to tell him that Nicholas was at the Water Works with me.”

  Cooper nodded once. “Thank you. In sum, you’re telling me that Naylor is obsessed with this supposed connection to Forrest, whether it’s true or not, and I take it that there is a substantial financial reward if he can prove it. Correct?”

  “Yes,” I said, “and the trustees he killed were standing in his way, or so he thought.”

  “I am not a profiler, but I’d guess that he’s suffering from some kind of delusional disorder, and he believes that he has the right to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. The trustees who turned him down were no more than inconveniences, in his eyes.”

  “May I talk to him?” I asked again.

  “I suppose you’ve earned that right. I’ll give you a few minutes with him, off the record, and then we’ll proceed with the official interview, which will, of course, be recorded. You may observe that if you choose. And I’d like to ask if we may call on you for clarification of any points that come up, such as the Forrest information.”

  “I will be happy to do that.” I hesitated a moment, but figured I’d never have a better chance to satisfy my curiosity. “Why didn’t you pursue this investigation sooner? You could have saved a couple of lives.”

  “I regret that. When Agent Morrison brought the matter to my attention, I thought the evidence was thin to nonexistent, and I couldn’t afford to allocate any of our resources to it. It was a poor decision on my part, in hindsight. In no way does this reflect poorly on Agent Morrison’s abilities, if that’s your concern. I’m willing to put that in his record. He’s a good agent, and a good man.”

  And that was probably the best we could hope for from the FBI. “I agree. Can I see Nicholas now?”

  “Of course.” He led the way back down the hall and I followed. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for, or why I’d even asked. Maybe I wanted closure. Maybe I wanted one last look at Nicholas, to see if there was any outward evidence of the evil inside him. He could have killed me, and he had nearly succeeded with James.

  Outside the door, Agent Cooper stopped and gestured me toward the room. I took a deep breath and walked in.

  Nicholas was seated in a hospital bed, its top half slanted up. Even though his leg was swathed with bandages, there was a handcuff attached to one of his wrists and to the side rail of the bed. He looked surprised to see me. “Nell? What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve been filling in the FBI about Edwin Forrest. And you.”

  “Oh. Of course. I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to hurt that agent, but I was startled, and I guess I overreacted. Is he all right?”

  “He will be.” I perched on a chair. “Nicholas, why was this so important to you? Is it the money?”

  He looked at me with no expression. “The money was part of it. But there was a matter of honor. Elizabeth Welsh bore an illegitimate child, at a time when that meant something. She may well have loved Edwin Forrest, and she may have been content with what little he chose to give her. But the man had a monstrous ego. He wanted to be remembered, and that’s why he funded the Edwin Forrest Home rather than leaving his estate to his only child. I was trying to right that wrong. And I think I put together a good case. I was ready to go to the courts, and I think I would have won. And then I learned that the trustees wanted to dissolve the trust, and I knew I had to act quickly.”

  “Nicholas, you murdered six people,” I whispered.

  His expression didn’t change. I looked at the moderately handsome, demonstrably intelligent man in front of me. He should have had a rich life ahead of him. Instead, out of a warped sense of entitlement, he had killed several innocent people. Worse, he didn’t see anything wrong with that. There was no way he could ever explain that to me. I stood up again. “Good-bye, Nicholas.” I turned and walked out, and he didn’t call out after me.

  “I’m done here,” I told Agent Cooper.

  “Give James my best wishes,” he called out after my retreating back. I kept going.

  I called Marty on my way down the elevator. She said she was already circling the block and she would meet me at the main entrance.

  “That was fast. How’d it go?” she asked, as she pulled out of the hospital driveway.

  “As well as I could hope, I guess. I talked to Nicholas.”

  “Really? And?”

  “He makes me sad. All that ability and potential, wasted because of an obsession. And he still doesn’t understand why what he did was wrong. There’s something missing inside him.”

  CHAPTER 36

  The interview with the Inquirer went well, or at least I thought so, and I’d taped a couple of short segments for the news broadcasts. I had been as open as I could be, given the constraints on what I could say. I hadn’t ducked talking about any of the Society’s recent messes—there was no point anyway, since they’d gotten plenty of media attention. I was upbeat, positive, and forward-looking. I said in every possible way that the Society had hit a few bumps in the road lately, but we’d survived over a hundred years and we were aiming for at least a hundred more. I came away feeling like I had aced the big exam. Marty and I had a quick dinner, and I went home and crashed.

  Of course, the proof was in the pudding, or the printing, or something like that, so I waited with bated breath until my Sunday paper arrived at dawn, hitting my front door with a solid thunk. I picked it up, but before I could bring myself to strip off the plastic bag and look at it, I sent up a silent prayer. We deserved a break, didn’t we? At least I thought so.

  Inside, I moved with silent deliberation to pour myself a second cup of coffee. I sat down at the table, awash in bright sunshine, and carefully laid out the paper, section by section. I finally pulled out the local news section, smoothing it with my hand.

  Yes, there was the article, front page below the fold, four columns wide, with a picture of me, as well as one of the facade of the Society, with a large headline “Museum Administrator Caught in Gun Battle.” I read the article slowly, word by word, and at the end I sighed with relief. It was accurate, on point, and fair. Nobody had been slandered or misrepresented, or even sensationalized. I came across as serious and responsible, and I sounded reasonably intelligent. James’s role and that of the FBI were mentioned only in passing. It was all I could have asked for, all things considered.

  Of co
urse the phone rang the minute I finished reading. Marty. When I picked up, she said without preamble, “What did you think?”

  “I thought it was well done. I should send that relative of yours a box of candy or flowers or something.”

  “Already did. In case you’re wondering, it’s not a close relative, and we’ve had our differences in the past. So you’re the one who pulled this off. I was just the go-between. You should feel proud.”

  “I do. And grateful.”

  “What’s the plan for today?”

  “I’m going to go sit with James until they discharge him, and then I’m taking him home.”

  “Need any help?”

  I didn’t need to think about that. “Thanks for offering, but I’m doing this by myself.”

  “You do know he’s going to be pretty wiped out? Even if he doesn’t realize that?”

  “I do. Don’t worry, Marty—I know this may be difficult. But if you . . . care about somebody, that shouldn’t change just because they’re sick or cranky, or both.” Still ducking the L word, eh, Nell?

  Marty chuckled. “I think you’re catching on. How about this: I’ll stock his refrigerator so you won’t have to go out again, once you get there. He may sleep a lot, so take a book along.”

  I had trouble picturing Marty nurturing anybody, but her heart was in the right place. “The food is a good idea, and thank you. You have a key?”

  “I do—I’ll leave mine there for you. I won’t be needing it anymore.”

  “Thanks for everything, Marty.” Starting with introducing me to James.

  “You’ll be at work tomorrow?”

  “All things willing, yes.”

  “So I’ll see you then. Don’t rush—I’ll alert Eric to what’s going on, if he hasn’t already figured it out, and I’ll tell him to set up a staff meeting.”