Murder at Ford's Theatre - Margaret Truman [109]
Klayman arrived at the Star Saloon, across the street from the theatre, a few minutes before six, and took a seat at the bar. He would have ordered a Coke but decided at the last minute to have something alcoholic to indicate he was off-duty. A white wine was placed in front of him.
Bancroft arrived twenty minutes late.
“So sorry, dear chap, but I had to run home for something before coming here.” He wore the tan safari jacket usually reserved for when he traveled, jeans, and a blue button-down shirt open at the neck. Theatrical makeup had been heavily applied, giving his face the color of a gnarled tree trunk. A well-worn leather satchel hung from his shoulder, which he placed on an empty stool next to the one he took at Klayman’s side.
“The usual, Sydney?” the bartender asked.
“Yes, yes, please.”
The restaurant was sparsely populated. The cancellation of tours at Ford’s Theatre because of preparations for Thursday’s Festival at Ford’s had been bad for business in the area, the Star no exception.
Bancroft lifted his glass: “To my new friend,” he said. Klayman touched rims with him. “I assume you know the historic meaning of where we sit, Detective.”
“I think so,” Klayman said. “And please, it’s Rick.”
“Of course. And I am Sydney.”
Bancroft took in the room with a sweep of his head. “The infamous Star Saloon,” he said. “It was originally across the street, you know, where the box office now stands. Owned by a chap named Taltavul. After the president had been shot, it was suggested he be carried into Taltavul’s saloon, but the barkeep said it wouldn’t be fitting for the president of the United States to die in such surroundings.”
Klayman nodded and took a tiny sip of wine.
Bancroft took a healthy swig of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned and looked Klayman in the eye. “Historians have it all wrong, Rick. They say John Wilkes Booth had a few drinks before shooting Lincoln in order to fortify himself, to fill him with needed confidence. The truth is, young man, he went into Taltavul’s establishment to enjoy celebratory drinks for the heroic act he was about to engage in. Whiskey and water, unusual for him. He generally drank brandy.”
“Heroic? Booth was demented.”
Bancroft finished his drink and ordered another. “No, my new friend, he was not demented.” He placed his hand on his chest. “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.”
Klayman looked quizzically at him.
“Hamlet. Do you know what he said at the bar that night?”
“I’ve read various accounts.”
“A drunk said to Booth, ‘You’ll never be the actor your father was.’ And Booth smiled”—Bancroft adopted what Klayman assumed was a facsimile of that smile—“and said, ‘When I leave the stage, I will be the most famous man in America.’”
A second scotch in front of him, Bancroft continued to lecture Klayman on Booth and his actions leading up to the assassination. He had a few facts wrong, Klayman knew, but didn’t bother to correct him. Bancroft claimed that a German named Atzerodt, one of two conspirators working with Booth, had been assigned to assassinate Secretary of State William Seward, but Klayman knew that Atzerodt’s target was Vice President Andrew Johnson. Seward was to be killed by a brawny, violent man, Lewis Paine. Booth reserved Lincoln for himself. All three assassinations were to occur simultaneously, at 10:15 P.M.
“You haven’t touched your wine,” Bancroft said, taking a break from his sermon.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” Klayman said, “but I am hungry. Can I buy you dinner?”
“That’s very generous of you,” Bancroft said. “Yes, much obliged.”
They took a table and placed their orders, a shrimp cocktail, onion soup, broiled bay scallops, salad, side orders of French fries and spinach, and custard pie for Bancroft, pasta and a salad for Klayman.
“Let me pick your brain a little about the Nadia Zarinski murder,” Klayman said. “Why do you think she would go out with a lowlife like Jeremiah Lerner?”
Bancroft seemed pleased to be asked his opinion. He replied, “Who can ever determine why pretty young