The Alienist - Caleb Carr [80]
“An ideal plan for the morning,” Kreizler said, making for the staircase. “At the moment, however, escape seems imperative.”
“But this is a crime scene!” Theodore continued indignantly. “I will not have it disturbed by any mob, whatever their complaint!” He glanced about the roof, then picked up a stout section of cut wood. “Doctor, none of you can be found here—take Miss Howard and go. The detective sergeants and I will face these people at the front gate.”
“We will?” It had gotten out of Lucius’s mouth before he quite knew what he was saying.
“Steel yourself,” Roosevelt answered with a grin, grabbing Lucius’s shoulder heartily and then taking a few good cuts at the night air with his piece of wood. “After all, this fort defended us from the British Empire—it can certainly withstand a mob from the Lower East Side!” It was one of those moments when you wanted to slap the man, even if there was sense in his blustering.
In order to conceal completely the nature of our work, it was necessary for the rest of us to take the Isaacsons’ equipment away in the calash. Having made our way back down and through the tanks of fish, we stowed the various boxes on board the carriage, and then I turned to wish the Isaacsons good luck. Marcus seemed to be searching the ground for something, while Lucius was checking a police-issue revolver uncomfortably.
“You may not be able to avoid a fight,” I said to them, with a smile that I hoped was reassuring, “but don’t let Roosevelt force you into one.”
Lucius only groaned a bit, but Marcus smiled bravely and shook my hand. “We’ll meet you at Number 808,” he said.
With that they closed the fort’s rear doors and replaced the chains and locks. I jumped up and grasped the side of the calash—Kreizler and Sara were already in the two seats, and Cyrus was up top with Stevie—and we started with a jolt down a path that took us to the harbor’s edge and then northward along the river. The noise of the crowd outside Castle Garden had continued to grow, but as we passed within sight of the fort’s front gates the angry shouts suddenly subsided. I strained my head around to see Theodore outside the structure’s heavy black portal, calmly holding his club with one hand and pointing toward the edge of the park with the other. The action-crazed fool simply couldn’t stay safely inside. The Isaacsons were in the doorway behind him, ready to rebolt the doors at a moment’s notice. But that didn’t look to be necessary—the crowd actually seemed to be listening to Theodore.
As we approached the northern edge of the park, Stevie picked up speed, and nearly ran us headlong into a phalanx of about twenty cops as they trotted toward Castle Garden. We took a hard left at Battery Place in order to keep to the deserted waterfront, and as we did I got a brief but clear glimpse of an expensive brougham that was parked at a corner which enjoyed a full view of the events at the fort. A hand—well manicured, with a tasteful silver ring on the little finger—appeared at the brougham’s door, followed by the upper part of a man’s body. Even in the dim light of the arc lamps I could see the gleam of an elegant tie stud, and soon a set of handsome Black Irish features: Paul Kelly. I yelled to Kreizler and told him to look, but we were moving too fast for him to catch a glimpse. When I related what I’d seen, however, his face showed that he’d drawn the obvious conclusion.
The crowd, then, had been Kelly’s work, probably in response to Steffens’s remarks about Biff Ellison in the Post. It all fit—Kelly was not known for making idle threats, and whipping up a fury over the murders among a deeply and perpetually disgruntled segment of the populace would have been child’s play for so devious a man. Nevertheless, the move had almost cost our team dearly, indeed I feared it might still do so; and as I continued to cling to the side of the speeding calash, I vowed that, should anything happen to Theodore and the Isaacsons, I would hold the chief