Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [87]
His back to Hylan, Commissioner Enright rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry to say it, Littlemore,” said Enright, “but your conduct merits an immediate suspension. Releasing from jail a personal friend charged with attempted murder. Imprisoning his victim without probable cause. Really. You should know better.” The Commissioner was one of those men who, when standing, like to bob up and down on the balls of their feet, hands behind the back. “However, Mr. McAdoo happened to be in my office at the very same time Mayor Hylan came in. As fate would have it, McAdoo was also speaking to me about you. He gave me this.” The Commissioner picked up from his desk several pieces of typed stationery. “It’s a copy of a letter delivered today to President Wilson and every member of his Cabinet in Washington, D.C. The letter is from Senator Fall of New Mexico. Do you know Senator Fall?”
“No, sir.”
“A very powerful man,” said Enright. “He sits on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee and will soon be Secretary of State, in all likelihood, under Mr. Harding.”
“What’s that got to do with me, sir?” asked Littlemore.
“Can you enlighten Captain Littlemore, McAdoo?” said Enright.
“Certainly,” said McAdoo, putting his fingertips together. His calm demeanor, smooth-backed hair, fine features, and long elegant face contrasted sharply with the uncombed, frowning, and overanxious Mayor. McAdoo spoke with a distinctly Eastern, well-educated accent, with only the occasional twang giving away his Tennessee roots. “Fall’s a fire-breather—and a very effective one. He’s been denouncing us—the Wilson Administration, that is—for our failure to respond to the outrage on Wall Street. Fall says that an attack of this magnitude can only have been organized and carried out by a foreign power intent on our destruction—a reference, I assume, to Lenin and his Bolsheviks. He says the bombing was an act of war plainly targeting one of America’s most important financial houses, while we in the Administration, far from preparing for war, proclaim that it was the work of a few disorganized Italian malcontents. And then, Captain Littlemore, Senator Fall names you.”
“Me?”
“You. He says that the New York Police Captain closest to the investigation—naming you personally—has in private advised Mr. Thomas Lamont of J. P. Morgan and Company that the evidence refutes Flynn’s theory of the case and demonstrates a purposeful attack against the Morgan firm.”
“I didn’t say demonstrates. I said it was a possibility.”
“You are to be congratulated, Captain Littlemore,” said McAdoo.
“I am?”
“Yes. I share Senator Fall’s views in every respect.”
“If you’ll excuse me, Mr. McAdoo,” said Littlemore, “I don’t get it. I thought Senator Fall was criticizing President Wilson, and I thought you were the President’s man.”
“I don’t know if I’m his man, Captain,” said McAdoo, “but I’m certainly in his camp. The President wants this bombing solved. That’s all he wants. And he doesn’t, to speak frankly, have perfect confidence in Chief Flynn. Flynn works for Attorney General Palmer; together they see a cabal of Italian and Hebrew anarchists lurking everywhere, or at least so they want our citizens to believe. If you, Captain Littlemore, are willing to pursue avenues that Flynn can’t or won’t, the President is entirely in favor. Many of us agree with Senator Fall that this attack was of a magnitude too great for a handful of impoverished anarchists.”
“Whoever did it wasn’t impoverished—I’m pretty sure about that,” said Littlemore.
“Why?” asked Commissioner Enright.
“The horseshoe, sir,” said Littlemore. “It was brand-new. You could tell from the union mark on it. Shoeing a horse isn’t cheap. Nobody poor would ever put brand-new shoes on a horse they’re about to blow to pieces. I’d say these guys had plenty of cash behind them.”
“Excellent, Captain,” replied