The Alienist - Caleb Carr [255]
Sara let out a sudden, uncontrollable laugh, then covered her mouth quickly. “Oh,” she said. “I am sorry, Commissioner. It’s just that—well, I never would have thought of you as a Navy man.”
“Yes, Roosevelt,” I added, “when you come right down to it, what in the world do you know about naval matters?”
“Why,” he answered indignantly, “I wrote a book on the naval war of 1812—it was very well received!”
“Ah, well,” I answered, nodding, “that does make all the difference.”
Theodore’s smile returned. “Yes, Navy’s the place to be. From there we can start planning for a reckoning with those blasted Spaniards! Why—”
“Please,” I cut in, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to know.”
Sara and I moved to the staircase while Theodore stood in the doorway of his office with his hands on his hips. As always his energy seemed not in the least diminished by a long night of activity, and his beacon of a smile was still visible when we reached the end of the dark hall.
“Don’t want to know?” Theodore shouted after us merrily as we started down the stairs. “But you could come along! Why, with the work you people have done, the Spanish empire shouldn’t represent any great challenge! Come to think of it, there’s an idea in that—the psychology of the king of Spain! Yes, bring your chalkboard to Washington and we’ll decide just the right way to thrash him!”
His voice finally became inaudible as we left the building.
Sara and I walked the short block over to Lafayette Place, still in a kind of shock that prevented our going back over the conclusion of the case in any detail. Not that we didn’t want to clarify many of the things that had happened at the reservoir; but we both knew that we didn’t possess enough information to do so on our own. And the hard knowledge that we did possess was going to take time and wisdom to come to grips with. Of nothing was this more true than the fact that Sara had put an end to a man’s life that night.
“I suppose one of us was destined to do it,” she said wearily, after we’d turned onto Lafayette Place and begun to walk north. Her eyes stared blankly at the sidewalk. “Although I never would have thought that it would be me…”
“If anyone ever had it coming, Connor did,” I said, trying to be reassuring without committing the deadly sin (to Sara’s way of thinking) of mollycoddling.
“Oh, I know that, John,” she answered simply. “Honestly I do. Still…” Her voice trailed off, and then she stopped and took a deep breath, looking at the quiet street around her. Her eyes continued to wander from darkened building to darkened building, and finally came to rest on mine—then, in a quick motion that surprised me, she put her arms around me and laid her head on my chest. “It’s really over now, isn’t it, John?”
“You sound sorry,” I said, touching her hair.
“A little,” Sara answered. “Not for anything that’s happened—but I’ve never had an experience like this. And I wonder how many more I’ll be allowed.”
I lifted her head by the chin and looked deep into her green gaze. “Somehow, I get the feeling you’re done with people allowing you to do things. Not that you were ever very good at it, to start with.”
She smiled at that, then walked over to the curb. “Perhaps you’re right.” She turned when she heard a horse’s hooves. “Oh, there’s good luck—a hansom.”
Holding her right hand up to her face, Sara extended her index finger and thumb and, to my consternation, put them in her mouth. She then drew breath and blew hard, producing a whistle that almost split my head open. I clapped my hands to my ears and looked at her in shock, getting another big smile in return.
“I’ve been practicing that,” she said, as the cab clattered over and stopped next to her. “Stevie taught me. It’s fairly good, don’t you think?” She climbed up into the hansom, still smiling. “Good night, John. And thank you.” Rapping on the roof of the cab, she called out “Gramercy Park, driver!” and was gone.
Alone for the first time that night, I took