Hush Now, Don't You Cry(60)

“Oh, but Papa,” Alex complained. “We’re old enough to hear this. And just when it’s getting exciting.”

“Now, young man.” Archie pointed dramatically at the door. “Where is that nursemaid of yours? Why does she never seem to be around when she’s needed? Go on. Go.”

The two boys shuffled off reluctantly with a few backward glances.

As they retreated there was silence. Nobody moved. The tableau had resumed, with each person staring down, wrapped up in their own thoughts.

“You mean Brian was deliberately poisoned?” Mary Flannery asked at last.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

“And the poison was in the whiskey?” Archie asked.

“No, there was no trace of poison in either the glass or the decanter,” Prescott said.

“But cyanide is a fast-acting poison,” I pointed out, making them look at me suspiciously.

“Precisely. The amount of cyanide he had ingested would have killed him immediately.”

“Then how and when was it administered?” Joseph asked.

Chief Prescott turned to me. “Thanks to Mrs. Sullivan we found shards of a shattered glass at the bottom of the cliff, matching the one on the tray. One has to surmise that Brian Hannan was planning a quiet drink with someone. A tray with two glasses on it. The other person came prepared.”

“But if Mr. Hannan had drunk from the glass containing cyanide, he’d have keeled over and died right there in the gazebo,” I pointed out, “and there are no signs of a body having been dragged to the cliff.”

Prescott nodded. “Which must mean one of two things. Either the two people were actually drinking together somewhere near the cliff and the tray was carried to the gazebo later to make it look as if Brian Hannan had been drinking there alone, or Hannan was lured by some pretext close to the cliff edge once he had consumed a drink or two. His attention was drawn to something on the shore, or out to sea, maybe, and the moment he looked away, the cyanide was dropped into his glass. A bold and daring move. A person prepared to take great risks. That’s who we’re looking for.”

“Do you have any idea who that could be?” Archie Van Horn asked. “What about the fellow Mrs. Sullivan spotted, standing at the gate and asking if Mr. Hannan had arrived yet. Has he been tracked down?”

“No, sir. We’ve had no luck with him. Any number of men matching his description were seen boarding trains back to New York. He doesn’t appear to be staying anywhere in town, that’s all I can say. Naturally I’ll speak with the New York police and ask them to take this matter further, but I’m not prepared to speculate until we hear what the servants have to say on this matter.”

“Fingerprints,” I said, waving my own finger at him. “Did anybody test the tray and glass for fingerprints?”

“They did, and you know what? They discovered something interesting. Brian Hannan’s prints on the tray and decanter, but nobody else’s. And those prints were smudged as if someone had attempted to wipe the items clean.”

“My betting is on one of the gangs,” Joseph said.

“Gangs, sir?”

Joseph folded his arms. “In our business we are subject to constant demands for protection money, and threats if we don’t pay up. Brian refused to be intimidated. In fact this accident, the tunnel cave in a few weeks ago, was highly suspect, in my opinion. The police were investigating and it’s possible that Brian named names. Gang leaders don’t like squealers. This might have been payback.”

“Interesting, sir.” Prescott scribbled in his notebook. “I’ll definitely bear that in mind. Because if it’s not someone convenient like a gang member, then it has to be someone highly inconvenient—like a family member, for instance.” He looked around us—deliberately, slowly. “So if any one of you knows the real reason that Brian Hannan assembled you here at this time, it would be wise to tell me right away, because I will find out eventually.”

Silence. Again the family members looked down, not wishing to meet another’s eye. I studied them, noticing Father Patrick’s gaze go from Joseph to Terrence and back again. Maybe Daniel had been correct in his supposition that this gathering had something to do with money, squandering of funds. Had Joseph and his son been cooking the books, or in some way betrayed Brian’s trust, so that he was about to announce he was cutting them out of the family business? Joseph knew about Brian’s fondness for drink. Had he placed the tray where he knew Brian would find it?

And Terrence—someone who resembled Terrence in stature had crept out of those French doors at about the right time for a rendezvous with his uncle in the gazebo. Terrence who was clearly considered to be a black sheep in this family. It was Joseph who spoke first.