He had no more than five minutes to review what he planned to say to her before she slipped into place across the table from him. She was dressed as any proper, young woman might for a morning church service—a fine outfit of alternating grays and a matching hat that somehow managed to highlight the subdued red of her hair. She gave him a small smile, her face otherwise watchful, wary.
The waiter rushed over to pour her coffee from the silver coffeepot. She shook her head at the proffered sugar, then placed her large gray handbag on the table, near at hand. De Bruijn eyed it, remembering the handgun he’d glimpsed inside a different handbag at their previous meeting.
“On your way to early confession, Miss O’Connell?” The words slipped out, unbidden, unexamined, not part of the script he had fashioned beforehand.
She picked up her cup and studied him over the rim. “How are you, Mr. de Bruijn? Recovering from your very unfortunate accident?”
“I am improving, thank you. As you know, I have had much time to ponder and have found myself wondering: just how accidental was it, Miss O’Connell? Being that it was unfortunate for me but not for you?”
She set her cup down on the saucer so gently, it made not the slightest sound. “Forgive me for stating the obvious, Mr. de Bruijn, but it seems you are slipping. You would never have been caught in such a situation back when we first made our professional acquaintance. What has happened to you since then?”
She was right. And he knew exactly what had happened to change him, to cause his focus in this investigation to falter. Drina happened. And Antonia.
But he refused to be sidetracked in the conversation he’d prepared. “When did Mr. Gallagher hire you? Was it before he left? Or after, through telegram?”
She toyed with the drawstring on her bag. “I am always open to freelance opportunities. You know that, Mr. de Bruijn. I saw no conflict with a parallel request to provide support to your efforts.”
“I instructed you to follow Mrs. Stannert, Mr. Hee, and Mr. Donato,” de Bruijn said through gritted teeth. “Not to kill anyone.”
“Mr. Gallagher’s instructions were quite clear, Mr. de Bruijn. I would think you’d be pleased with the results.”
“Pleased that you set a trap and murdered Donato in cold blood? You do me no honor.” He sat back, glared at her.
“Temper, temper, Mr. de Bruijn.” She lifted her napkin from her lap, refolded it into its original configuration, and set it by her half-empty cup.
“Before you leave, you owe me something.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“A report, Miss O’Connell. On your activities.” He kept his voice as hard and cold as steel.
“I reported to the client, as is proper. Honestly, Mr. de Bruijn, I cannot believe you have not worked out the full scope of my actions. But as you wish.” She folded her hands on top of her bag, an exasperated schoolteacher forced to explain a simple arithmetic problem to a deliberately obtuse student.
“You authorized me to hire associates to help me carry out my tasks. I did so. I assigned them to watch Mr. Hee and Mr. Donato, and report on their findings. I kept Mrs. Stannert for myself. Mr. Hee spent most of his time in the warehouse, in his room in Chinatown, and at the store. Nothing to report of note there. Mr. Donato, on the other hand, was very busy. He bought a one-way ticket on a ship bound for Paris.” She added, “France.”
“I know my geography, Miss O’Connell.”
“He also visited his bank, his lawyer, and the warehouse. He had a large trunk sent to the ship. Meanwhile, I trailed around after Mrs. Stannert, who made stops connected with the past union. That was her idea, you know, that young Gallagher’s interest in the disbanded musicians union was somehow tied to his demise. You and I were wrong in thinking the illegal trade in artifacts was the key. But that is water under the bridge now.” She shifted in her chair. “At the end of the day, she went home. You can imagine my surprise when I saw the associate I had hired to follow Mr. Donato outside the building. He explained that at that very moment, Mr. Donato was also in the apartment.”
She unfolded her hands and straightened a glove seam. “I sent him up to reconnoiter while I waited in the street. He overheard Mr. Donato confess to Mrs. Stannert. The words used were unambiguous. Mr. Donato exited the apartment and entered the store. My associate exited soon thereafter and told me what he had heard. I believe you can deduce the rest. Have you any questions?”
“No questions, but an observation.” He leaned forward, giving weight and emphasis to his next words. “Mrs. Stannert and Antonia were inside that building. He could have killed them both.”
She didn’t flinch or change her expression. “He could have. But he did not.”
De Bruijn realized she had thought of the possibility, taken it into consideration, and decided it was worth the risk.
His hand clenched on the tablecloth.
Her matter-of-fact tone did not waver in the least as she added, “I was given a job, and I did it. Robert Gallagher’s killer was identified and dealt with. Mr. Gallagher is satisfied that justice was served. You will be paid. I will be paid. It is over.”
“Not over for Mr. Donato’s sister. Not over for the young man who has been falsely accused of Jamie’s—” he shook his head, distressed at the slip— “Robert’s murder. What of him?”
“Oh, it will all work out. And now, I have an observation for you, Mr. de Bruijn. You underestimated Mrs. Stannert completely. She determined the who and why for this case. She put the pieces together, and all I had to do was follow her lead. You should thank her for all her hard work. Speaking of work,” she checked her pendant watch, “I must be going. Mass to attend.
