Hush Now, Don't You Cry(94)

The office was busy in spite of the absence of its owner. Two young men were working away at typewriting machines, making such a clatter that I had to shout when a female receptionist asked me what I wanted. I told her that I had just come from the estate in Newport. Her eyes widened. Typing ceased miraculously. “You were there? Then you know all about it? We’ve only heard what we’ve read in the press.”

“Yes, I was there,” I said. “I took the train down to New York this morning and wondered if I might have a word with Mr. Hannan’s private secretary?”

“Is it true then?” the girl asked. “They are saying that he was poisoned. Is that really true?”

“I’m afraid it is,” I said. “I had to come down to the city so I volunteered to help the local police with their investigations.” I neglected to add that the local police had turned down my offer. “So if I might have a word with Mr. Hannan’s secretary, maybe he could shed some light on this awful business.”

“I hope you can, ma’am,” she said. “We all worshiped Alderman Hannan. We want his killer caught and punished.” She moved closer to me. “Do they think those Tammany boys had anything to do with it? There was an awful ruckus only last week up here in the office, with everyone shouting and Mr. Hannan saying that he couldn’t be bought. And the men stomped out saying that he’d be sorry. So I just wondered. I know how those Tammany thugs work sometimes.”

“Annie, you shouldn’t be talking like that,” one of the typists said, turning away from his machine. “That kind of talk could get you in trouble.”

“I don’t care. It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She looked at him defiantly.

“So men from Tammany Hall were actually up here in this office threatening him, were they?” I said. “Had he received any other threats recently? He was a public figure, after all.”

Before she could say any more a frosted glass door from the inner office opened and a young man stood there. Everything about him was stiff and efficient from his collar to his haughty expression.

“Miss Shaw?” he said. “May I ask what is going on? This person is not from the press, is she? Who let her in? Remember I told you that we speak to nobody until we are given instructions from the family.”

I crossed the room to him, holding out my hand. “I am most certainly not from the press. I am Mrs. Sullivan, wife of Captain Daniel Sullivan. I believe you may have written to us last week on behalf of the alderman to invite us to stay in Newport. I have just come down from the estate and I thought you might have been told very little about the tragedy.”

“Mrs. Sullivan.” The haughty look melted from his face and he looked absurdly young and embarrassed. “I am Donald Brady, Alderman Hannan’s secretary. It was good of you to think of us. Frankly we have heard absolutely nothing except for the scant information in the newspapers,” he said. “Would you care to step into my office?”

He held the door open for me and I went inside. The room was sparely furnished with an oak desk and filing cabinets. Clearly Alderman Hannan did not believe in spending unnecessary money. Mr. Brady pulled out a straight-backed chair for me. “Do sit down. Can I have Annie bring you anything? Coffee, water?”

“No thank you. I have just had coffee and I have a lot of business to cram into today. But I wanted to talk with you first.” I pulled my chair closer to his desk. “I don’t know if you have heard yet but it has been determined that the alderman was poisoned, with cyanide taken from his own garden shed.”

“We heard a rumor.” His face was white and shocked. “But it’s too terrible for words. Who would want to do such a thing? He was a good man, good for the city of New York. Look how many men he employed building the new subway.”

“I would like to find out who did this as much as you,” I said. “The police chief seems to think it was a family member. They, of course, are saying nothing and all seem shocked by the death. My husband and I think the alderman must have suspected something, or he would not have invited a well-known New York police detective to be present at the same time as his family. So I wondered—did Alderman Hannan ever mention to you why he was inviting my husband up to Newport?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. Sullivan. I am merely his secretary. He dictates to me. I write the letters and he signs them. He does not discuss his business with me.”

“Pity,” I said. “So you would have no way of knowing if anything was worrying him?”

“Something was,” he said. “He was quite out of sorts for the past couple of weeks. I took it that his anger might have had something to do with the subway tunnel collapse. You heard about that, did you? A sad occurrence—and several men were killed. Mr. Hannan was furious. He thought that maybe someone had been using substandard materials. He and his brother had an argument right here in the office. He said, ‘If I find out you’ve been cheating the company, lining your own pockets at the expense of mens’ lives…’”