“So, Jaffey ⦠Tom teaching you anything worth knowing?”
Eli hesitated a moment, startled by the question.
“Yes, sir. I'm learning a great deal.”
Byrnes smiled pleasantly behind his mustache, nodding his approval. “Good. Name one thing.”
Jaffey turned the color of one of the tomatoes in his mother's garden as he tried to think of something.
“Anything?” Byrnes prodded.
“Observation, sir,” Jaffey said at last, letting it out as if he'd been holding his breath. “More than anything, I guess I'm starting to learn how to look beyond the surface, sometimes to trust my feelings more than the actual evidence.”
Brynes smiled through the cigar smoke. “If you've learned that, son, you've learned a lot. Looks like you're learning to take care of yourself too. You boys did well to come out of that scrape.”
“That's if you don't count our feet, Chief,” Tom said, wincing.
Byrnes chuckled. “So what did you learn in Richmond?” he asked as he settled behind his desk and proffered them cigars. Braddock took one, handing the other to Eli.
“Nothing and everything,” he said as he lit up.
Tom laid out their dead end in the former capital of the Confederacy with Eli's assistance. In spite of the lack of hard facts, there was a lot to tell and even more to speculate on. Tom finished up by saying, “I'm leaning away from the contract fraud theory. Still believe it has to do with the trains, though. Bucklin left us a map in his own way. It's got to lead to the trains somehow. Nothing else makes sense.”
“Sabotage?” said Byrnes, finishing his thought, but with a note of skepticism and a small shake of his head.
“Could be,” Tom said thoughtfully. He hated to even think it but there it was. “There was a great deal they were hiding from us and on a lot of levels too. Got the feeling the police weren't telling all they knew either. That's not the way of fraud. Fraud is like a magic trick; you watch one hand while the
other does the real work. The magic trick down there was a disappearing act. We need to talk to this fellow Sangree. Turn over his business and house for anything we can find.”
“Do it. You know where to go to get it done. Take Pat and Charlie with you. Bring this gentleman in and squeeze him till he bleeds. I want to know what the hell is going on, and I don't care if he gets bruised in the process,” Byrnes said with an emphatic stab of his cigar. “Can't say I agree with you about sabotage, though. That's just plain crazy. Pretty goddamn ambitious too. Have to see more evidence to convince me of that one.”
Tom shrugged. Byrnes wanted proof, he'd get the proof.
“I wired Pat and Charlie yesterday to pick Sangree up,” Tom said.
Byrnes looked pleased yet perplexed. “That's good, but I haven't heard they brought anybody in.”
Tom and Eli exchanged glances â¦
“We were afraid of that,” Tom said.
Twenty minutes later the four of them stood outside the door to Sangree & Co. When they hooked up Pat told Tom that they'd been there yesterday but found nothing. Sangree's address proved the same, just an empty apartment. Braddock had insisted they go and check again. He needed to see it for himself. Charlie jimmied the door and swung it silently. The place was bare.
“Son of a bitch!” Tom's voice boomed on the empty office. “Shit! We had him, Eli. We had the bastard right here!” Braddock grabbed the back of a chair, tossing it across the room as if it were paper, sending it crashing and splintering against the wall.
“Shit!”
The rest of them were silent. They set about a quick search of the office, which turned up nothing of value.
About ten minutes later, Charlie said, “Let's go see if Lebeau and Emmons are still at work. Any odds on that?”
“Fool's bet, Charlie. We know the answer already,” Tom said, frustration twisting his mouth into a sour grimace.
Nearly an hour after that, Tom and Eli stood before another door. This time they knew they'd find who they were looking for. The knurled brass knocker boomed on the imposing, varnished mahogany. They had only to wait a minute before Hughes pulled open one side of the portal with a deliberate dignity.
“Good morning, gentlemen. Do you have an appointment?” he inquired.
“No, I'm afraid we don't, Hughes,” Tom said. “It is Hughes, isn't it?”
“Quite so, Detective.”
“I would be very grateful if you would inquire if the colonel or Mrs. Roebling could spare a few minutes.”
Hughes raised a disapproving eyebrow. It was obvious that there was a lot
going on in the house today. Flowers were everywhere, bunting hung from the door frames and the windows at the front, and there was a constant bustle of people within the house.
“It's important,” Braddock said apologetically.
Hughes eyed them both skeptically but said, “Certainly. Will you come in? If you'll wait in the parlor, I'll be back directly.”
Hughes was as good as his word, returning to lead them back to the garden a few minutes later. Emily stood on a wide brick patio, the midmorning light making her seem to glow as they approached from the relative darkness of the house. She was supervising the setup of a couple of large tables while caterers saw to the details.
“Tom ⦠what a pleasant surprise. I hadn't hoped to see you again.” She extended a dove-white hand.
Tom took it as if it might fly. Their eyes met and held. “The pleasure is mine, Emily. It's good to see you again, but I'm afraid the reason for my visit isn't so good.”
“Oh?” She took her hand back with an awkward hesitancy.
“Yes, but first, let me congratulate you and the colonel on the completion of the bridge ⦠a magnificent accomplishment. You must be very proud,” he said. He had rehearsed the words coming over on the ferry and thought they came off rather well. Emily thanked him graciously, blushing slightly, he thought. “Oh ⦠I'm sorry, you remember Patrolman Jaffey, don't you?” Jaffey was looking at him strangely, Tom noticed. Jaffey shook Emily's hand with an awkward stiffness.
“So, Tom, what's this about?” she asked with a frown. “Something about bad news?”
“Is the colonel in? I'd like to tell him what I've found out ⦠and ⦠what I suspect. He may have some thoughts on this, which would be useful.”
For the next hour or so, Tom went over what he knew with Emily and Washington. By the time Braddock had finished, a deep frown furrowed the colonel's brow. For the fifth time, Tom apologized for bringing this to them on the day before the opening, “But I thought you should know, Colonel. The events of the last few days ⦠the attempt on our lives ⦠the disappearance of Sangree and the othersâ”
Roebling interrupted Braddock. “Yes, I see, Tom. But what are
we
to do? You know my opinions about your sabotage theory. In spite of what you've told me, I still find the idea far-fetched.”
Tom wasn't entirely sure what to do either, but there were two things that could be done. He stood in an instant of awkward silence before suggesting the obvious. “An inspection would be wise.”
Roebling nodded quickly, almost dismissively. “I'll have a talk with Mr. Martin. We'll keep it very quiet, though. No need to alarm anyone at this point.”
“An increase in the patrol schedule of the bridge police too, sir,” Tom said. The bridge police were not under the jurisdiction of the New York City Police. The only thing Tom could do was suggest a stepped-up vigilance. “Beyond that, I'm not sure there's more we can do. The investigation is continuing, of course.”
“Emily and I were to go to Newport after the opening,” Wash said, looking at his wife. “I'm not so sure I can leave just yet in light of this. What do you think, Em?”
She sighed almost inaudibly. “We can't stay here past the thirty-first, Wash. It's rented as of June,” she reminded him. “You see, Tom, we won't be returning, now that the bridge is finished. We'll be going back to Trenton.”
Tom nodded. “It occurs to me,” he said, thinking out loud, “that it might be best if these men think you've left the city. I don't want you to be targets. If you feel you have to stay, why not send Hughes and your maid in your place? I have a friend at the
Tribune
who could be persuaded to report that you've left. You'd have to confine yourselves to the house, though. It wouldn't do to be seen.” He looked from one to the other. Washington was looking at Emily. They communicated without words, Tom saw.
The colonel turned back to him. “Just for the week, Tom. Then we'll see.”
Emily walked them out. Eli had gone out the big front doors when Tom turned to say good-bye. As he did, he took something from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.
“What's this?” she asked, feeling its compact weight.
“You may need this,” Tom said, quickly seeking to head off her refusal. “I pray you don't, but I'd feel a lot better if you took it.”
“Tom, I don'tâ” she started to say, but he cut her off.
“Emily, these men are dangerous. Take it ⦠please, for my sake if not your own. I'd feel better,” he ended awkwardly, unable to say how worried he was for her.
Emily looked down at the double-barrel Remington derringer, its ivory grips shining in her delicate hand. She closed her fingers around it. “All right, Tom.”
Braddock breathed a sigh of relief. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you.”
“You don't think she'll really need that, do you?” Eli asked as they went down the front steps.
Tom turned at the last step to look back up at the bunting-festooned house. “I hope not, Eli.”
T
om and August sat in the captain's office late that same day.
“No luck finding those three yet?” Coffin seemed just a little smug. Maybe it was the feet on the desk.
“Not yet,” Tom said. “Cleared out. Disappeared! Quit their jobs, left the business, left their apartments bare. Everything that might point to who these men really are and what they were about is wiped clean.” Tom shook his head. “These are professionals, August. They knew I'd be back from Richmond with a head of steam and they just melted away. Byrnes is madder than hell. He wants these men found no matter what it takes,” Tom stated grimly, knowing how difficult that might be. “Needless to say, they didn't leave a forwarding address. Well, that's not exactly true. They told a clerk at the bridge office they were going back to TexasâLebeau and Emmons, that is. Sangree we don't know about.”
“And you believe that?” Coffin asked.
“It's something we followed up on but to me it's a waste of time. Tickets were bought in their names, but that doesn't fit with the rest of what they've done; too careless. They won't be found on any train to Texas.”
“You wired ahead?”
“Got a marshal waiting at the next stop. Wired ahead to search the train. They won't be on it.” Tom was certain. “Nobody that thorough could make a mistake like that. Just want us to chase our tails. They're still here ⦠right here in New York. I can almost feel it.”
“Interesting case, Tom, but that's not why you're here,” Coffin said, twirling his pencil.
“Nope.” Tom took a deep breath like a diver taking a plunge. “Had a talk with Sung Chow. The old man wants to meet tomorrow night.”
“Shit. What time?” Coffin asked irritably. “I have to be down at the bridge. Most of the precinct is on duty for the opening, all day and through till ten o'clock, after the fireworks are over.”
Tom nodded “Yeah, I thought so. Fireworks start at eight, right?” Tom knew very well when the fireworks started; in fact, he was counting on it.
“Yeah, but I'm there all day, from around eleven. Going to be a long day.”
“Sung Chow wanted to meet at eight,” Tom said. “I'm supposed to be on duty too. Byrnes has everyone working the crowds for pickpockets.”
Coffin nodded. “He's right to. Sounds like a pickpocket's dream come true.
Supposed to be the biggest event this city has seen since the opening of the Erie Canal. I was looking forward to seeing it.”
“Well, the Chinese like fireworks as much as anyone, but old sack-face doesn't seem to give a damn. I was thinking that among all those people, it might be pretty easy to slip away for a while,” Tom said, knowing that timing was essential to what they were about. “I don't know, what do you think?” His casual tone hid his nervousness.
“I think I want a piece of the opium trade. That's what I think,” Coffin said firmly. “I don't want to get off on the wrong foot either. Would it offend him if we didn't come?”
“It might,” Tom warned. “Every move, everything we say, body language, tone of speech, everything is important. Nothing is insignificant to the Chinese.”