“I hope they are more competent than that Prescott fellow,” Daniel grunted. “The problem is that most police forces outside of New York are hopelessly antiquated in their methods. No scientific approach to speak of. They rather try the witch trial approach—set fire to the suspect and if he doesn’t burn he’s a witch.” He lay back and closed his eyes. “You could see that the idea of fingerprints was a novelty to Prescott. He probably will have no idea how to lift them from a surface and to preserve them as evidence. Of course, most of the judges in this country are no better. They’ve never yet been admissible in court. But that will have to change.” He coughed again—a rasping, rattling cough that shook his body.
“Stop talking and rest now,” I said. “You heard Chief Prescott. He made it quite clear that he doesn’t want your help with his case. You get better and then we’ll go home.”
“He’ll just bungle everything and a murderer will walk away a free man.”
“Or woman,” I said.
He opened his eyes in surprise. “You yourself said that poisoning was a woman’s crime,” I pointed out. Then I tiptoed out of the room.
A little later the stew was warming on the stove and I finally had time to write my letter to Sid and Gus. The wind had dropped and the sky was bathed in pink light. I sat at the open window of the sitting room, enjoying the tangy ocean breeze and the gentle thump and hiss of waves. Birds were calling from the treetops. It was a peaceful scene and I tried to blot out the disturbing events of the day. I started my letter by telling my friends of the alderman’s death.
I know you are no friends of his, I wrote. Nor of his politics. I remember when he was elected you were disgusted that Tammany Hall should wield such power and that yet another man had come to power who was only out to feather his own pocket and had no sense of justice.
I paused, thinking about what I had written. It was funny, but I had forgotten all about that particular conversation until I started writing. Now it came back to me quite clearly. Sid and Gus sitting out in their lovely little conservatory, surrounded by potted palms, drinking their morning coffee while Gus read from The New York Times of the election results. They had hoped a more moderate candidate would win a seat on the city council. But Brian Hannan had used the normal dubious Tammany Hall voting methods to bring himself and Tammany Hall to power. Sid and Gus had been angry.
“If only the laws were not so stupidly archaic, I’d have run for the office myself,” Sid said. “And I would actually have done something for the working men and women of this city. I’d have improved the conditions in the sweatshops. I’d have made sure that newsboys got proper food and an education.”
“And all he will do is to award his own company more contracts, take kickbacks from all and sundry and make sure it’s more jobs for the boys,” Gus said indignantly.
“You’d have been brilliant,” I agreed. “Too bad half of us have no say in the running of this city.”
I went back to my writing, finding that I was unable to speculate in writing as to whether it was a murder or an accident. If they picked up any hint that I might be looking into a suspicious death myself, they’d be down on me like a ton of bricks. They had long being trying to persuade me that I was running unnecessary risks. A full autopsy is being conducted, I wrote, and we should know more soon. In the meantime my time is fully occupied in looking after Daniel. No, he is not demanding that I become the little wife and attend to his every need. But he has come down with a nasty chill or grippe and I’m a little concerned about him. Still, I expect a good night’s sleep will do wonders and he’ll be better in the morning. How is life in the city? I expect—
I broke off as I heard voices coming through the trees. I couldn’t see the speakers but the voice that came to me was male.
“It’s a rum do, and that’s for sure.”
“You know who’d come to mind instantly if circumstances were different, don’t you?” another male voice said softly.
“You mean they are suspiciously similar?”
“Of course. Exact same spot, if you ask me.”
“She’s safely far away, isn’t she? Of course she’d be the most convenient. Tie the whole thing up nicely.”
They drifted away without my ever being able to see them, but they left me wondering—“she”? Which she could they mean? The only family members I knew of who were not present were Joseph’s wife, Mary Flannery’s daughter—the one with the loutish husband and all the children—and the two sisters who had been in the convent for years.