Hush Now, Don't You Cry(95)

“And what did his brother say?”

“He said, ‘You can’t threaten me. You forget I’m a partner in the company. You have no right to speak to me like that.’ And he stormed out. But right after, Mr. Hannan had me set up an appointment with his accountant.”

“I see,” I said. “And where might I find this accountant?”

His face became immediately guarded again. “Mrs. Sullivan, this is private company business. I couldn’t let outsiders be privy to what Mr. Hannan did or said.”

“Mr. Brady,” I said carefully. “From what I’ve observed I don’t believe the local police have a chance in hell of finding out who killed Alderman Hannan.” I saw him visibly flinch at the use of such strong language coming from a woman’s lips. I didn’t care. If he needed jolting a little to make him reveal things to me, then I’d jolt. I continued. “I’m sure he invited my husband there for a reason. My husband is now on the spot and the local police can use his expertise. Unfortunately he has been quite sick and is still unable to travel, so I volunteered to undertake this journey for him. I realize all this is unofficial and the New York police really can’t get involved, but Captain Sullivan is your best chance at seeing justice done for your employer.”

It was a good speech. I was rather proud of it myself, even if it did stretch the truth a little. I saw Donald Brady’s Adam’s apple going up and down above his stiff collar.

“Of course I would like justice for Alderman Hannan,” he said. “I’d like to do anything I could to help. I’ll give you the accountant’s name, but I can’t guarantee he will divulge any company secrets to you.”

“I understand.” I watched as he wrote an address on a piece of paper in fine fluid penmanship, and then blotted it dry.

“Would you happen to know if the alderman changed his will recently?” I asked.

He reacted to this with surprise. “I have no idea. If he did, he did not ask me to contact his attorney.”

“If you would be good enough to add his attorney’s name,” I said, pointing to the piece of paper, “at least I could speak with him. If the police chief thinks a family member responsible there has to be a good reason.”

He was looking more and more uncomfortable and wrote grudgingly.

“One last thing,” I said. “Would you know if the alderman has received any threats at all recently? I understand that there has been a falling out at Tammany Hall. The alderman was against the choice for the new leader.”

“He was,” Brady said. “He thought this Murphy was prone to corruption and would want to feather his own nest. Clearly Murphy has paid off enough men to get himself elected.”

“Do you think it’s possible that someone from Tammany Hall might want the alderman out of the way?”

I could see he hadn’t considered this possibility. Then he shook his head. “I think that Charlie Murphy would be elected with or without the alderman. And poisoning wouldn’t be their style either.”

“Any other threats?”

“No. The alderman was well liked. Who would want to…” He broke off suddenly and I saw his expression change. “There was a young man came in here a couple of weeks ago. Very angry he was, because his brother had been killed in the subway cave-in. Apparently the brother had left four small children and a widow. Alderman Hannan offered him money as compensation and the young man flung it back in his face. Then the alderman had him escorted out. The man yelled that he’d get even some way and people like Hannan Construction could not think they were above the law.”

“What did this young man look like?”

He thought for a moment. “Ordinary looking. Skinny. Dark hair. Little mustache.”

“Did he wear a derby and a rather ill-fitting coat?”

“He did.” Mr. Brady nodded.

“Then I’d wager he was the same one who showed up outside the estate in Newport right about the time the alderman arrived,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to know his name, would you?”

“I think I would.” Mr. Brady went over to a filing cabinet and extracted a file. “We have the names of all those killed in the subway accident. Let me see…” He ran his finger down the page. “Hermann. That was it. He said his name was Joshua Hermann.”

“And his address?”

“I couldn’t tell you his address but the man who was killed in the cave-in was Frederick Hermann and he lived at Thirty-eight Hester Street.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I shall pass along this information to the authorities.”