The Alienist - Caleb Carr [30]
“It wasn’t what I’d call pleasant,” I answered. “But Sara stood her ground like a trooper.”
Theodore breathed relief. “Thank God. Though, confidentially, I still sometimes wonder if that was a wise choice.” He was referring to his decision to hire Sara, who, along with another departmental secretary, was one of the first two women ever to work for the New York City police force. Roosevelt had taken a lot of jibes and criticism for those hirings, both in and out of the press; but he had as little patience with the way women were treated in American society as any man I’ve ever known, and he was determined to give the two a chance.
“Kelly,” Theodore went on, “has threatened to create great trouble among the immigrant communities if I try to connect Ellison or him to this case. He says he can whip up all sorts of agitation around the notion that the Police Department allows poor foreign children to be slaughtered with impunity.”
Kreizler nodded. “It wouldn’t be difficult. Since it’s basically true.” Roosevelt looked sharply at Kreizler for a moment, but then softened, knowing he was right. “Tell me, Moore,” Laszlo asked, “what’s your opinion of Ellison? Is there any chance he is involved?”
“Biff?” I sat back, stretched my legs out, and weighed it. “He is, without question, one of the worst men in this city. Most of the gangsters who run things now have some kind of human spark in them somewhere, however hidden. Even Monk Eastman has his cats and birds. But Biff—for all I can tell, nothing touches him. Cruelty is really his only sport, the only thing that seems to give him any pleasure. And if I hadn’t seen that body, if this were just a hypothetical question about a dead boy who worked out of Paresis Hall, I wouldn’t hesitate to say he’s a suspect. Motive? He would have had a few, the most likely being to keep the other boys in line, make sure they pay their full cut to him. But there’s just one problem with it—style. Biff is a stiletto man, if you know what I mean. He kills quietly, neatly, and a lot of the people he’s supposed to have killed have never been found. He’s all flash in his clothes, but not in his work. So, much as I’d like to, I can’t say as I see him involved in this. It’s just not his—style.”
I glanced up to find Laszlo giving me a very puzzled look. “John, that is the most intelligent thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he finally announced. “And to think that you wondered why you’d been brought along.” He turned to Theodore. “Roosevelt, I shall require Moore as my assistant. His knowledge of this city’s criminal activities, and of the locales in which those activities take place, will make him invaluable.”
“Assistant?” I echoed. But they were back to ignoring me. Theodore’s teeth and narrowing eyes showed that he was quite absorbed in, and pleased with, Kreizler’s remark.
“Then you wish to take part in the investigation,” he said. “I sensed you would.”
“Take part in the investigation?” I said, dumbfounded. “Roosevelt, have you lost your Dutch mind? An alienist? A psychologist? You’ve already made an enemy of every senior officer on the force, and half the Board of Commissioners, to boot. They’re taking odds in half the gambling hells in town that you’ll be fired by Independence Day! If word gets out that you’ve brought someone like Kreizler in—why, you’d be better off hiring an African witch doctor!”
Laszlo chuckled. “Which is approximately what most of our respectable citizens consider me. Moore’s right, Roosevelt. The project would have to be undertaken in absolute secrecy.”
Roosevelt nodded. “I’m aware of the realities of the situation, gentlemen, believe me. Secrecy it would be.”
“And there is,” Kreizler continued, making another careful attempt at diplomacy, “the matter of terms…”
“If you mean salary,” Roosevelt said, “since you will be acting in an advisory capacity, naturally—”
“I’m afraid that salary is not what I had in mind. Neither is an advisory capacity. Good lord, Roosevelt, the detectives