The Alienist

terror.

“Japheth!” Kreizler said once more; but he knew it was too late. Lucius reached up and closed Beecham’s eyes, at which Kreizler finally lowered the dead man’s head back down to the cold stone beneath it.

No one spoke for a minute or two, and then there was a sound: another whistle from below. I stood up, moved to the outer promenade fence, and looked down to Cyrus and Stevie, who were pointing toward the West Side urgently. I waved to them in acknowledgment and then went to Kreizler.

“Laszlo,” I said carefully, “offhand I’d say Roosevelt’s on his way. You’d better get ready to explain—”

“No.” Though Kreizler did not lift his head, his voice was firm. “I won’t be here.” When he finally sat up straight and looked around, I could see that his eyes were red and moist. He looked from me to Sara, then at Marcus, and finally to Lucius, nodding as he did. “You have all given me your help and your friendship—perhaps more of each than I’ve been entitled to. But I must ask that you continue to do so for just a little while longer.” Standing up, Kreizler spoke to Lucius and Marcus. “Detective Sergeants? I’ll need your assistance in removing Beecham’s body. You say Roosevelt’s coming by way of Fortieth Street, John?”

“I’d say so,” I answered, “based on the way those two are carrying on down there.”

“Very well, then,” Kreizler went on. “When he arrives, Cyrus will direct him up here. The detective sergeants and I will take the body out through the Fifth Avenue gate”—Laszlo walked to the street-side fence and issued a command by waving one hand—“where Stevie will be waiting.” He stepped over to Sara and took her by the shoulders. “I wouldn’t blame you if you refused to be any part of this, Sara.”

She looked for a moment as if she were about to erupt with a spiteful indictment—but then she simply shrugged and put her pistol away in a fold of her dress. “You haven’t been honest with us about this part of it, Doctor,” she said. Her hard look softened. “But if it hadn’t been for you we never would have had the chance in the first place. I’m prepared to call it even.”

Laszlo pulled her close and embraced her. “Thank you for that,” he murmured, and then stepped back. “Now, then—in the control house you will find a rather terrified boy wrapped in a fairly decent cloak of mine. Go to him, would you, and see to it that Roosevelt asks him no questions before we’ve had time to get downtown.”

“Downtown?” I said, as Sara moved toward the control house doorway. “Wait a minute, Kreizler—”

“There’s no time, John,” Laszlo said, moving toward Marcus and speaking to both him and Lucius. “Detective Sergeants? The commissioner is your superior, and I will understand if—”

“You don’t have to ask, Doctor,” Lucius answered before Laszlo could finish. “I think I know what you’ve got in mind. I’ll be curious to see how it turns out.”

“You shall see for yourself,” Kreizler answered. “I intend that you shall assist me.” He turned to the taller Isaacson. “Marcus? If you wish to exempt yourself, I shall more than understand.”

Marcus weighed Kreizler’s words for a moment. “It’s really the only riddle left to solve, isn’t it, Doctor?” he asked.

Kreizler nodded. “Perhaps the most important.”

Marcus took a moment more, then gave a nod of his own. “All right. What’s a little departmental insubordination against the interests of science?”

Laszlo clasped his shoulder. “Good man.” Returning to Beecham’s body, Kreizler grabbed one of the dead arms. “All right, then—let’s proceed, and quickly.”

Marcus got hold of Beecham’s feet, and Lucius draped some of the dead man’s clothes over the torso before taking hold of the remaining limb. Then they lifted the body, Kreizler wincing in some pain as he did, and started down the promenade toward Fifth Avenue.

The prospect of being left up on those walls with no one but two unconscious thugs and Connor’s body to keep me company put new life into my movements and my mouth. “Wait a minute,” I said, following the others. “Wait just a goddamned minute! Kreizler! I know what you’re up to! But you can’t leave me here and expect me to—”

“No time, John!” Kreizler answered, as he and the laboring Isaacsons picked up speed. “I’ll need six hours or so—all will become clear then!”

“But I—”

“You are a true stalwart, Moore!” Kreizler called.

At that I stopped, watching them fade into the deep blue of the promenade and then vanish into the blackness of the Fifth Avenue staircase. “Stalwart,” I mumbled, kicking at the ground and turning back around. “Stalwarts don’t get left behind to explain this kind of mess—”

I ceased my little monologue when I heard a commotion inside the control house: Sara’s voice, followed by Theodore’s. They exchanged a few heated words, and then Roosevelt burst out onto the promenade, followed by Sara and several men in uniform.

“So!” Theodore boomed when he caught sight of me. He began to approach, holding up a thick, accusatory finger. “This is my payment for entering into an agreement with what I mistakenly took to be gentlemen! By thunder, I ought to—”

He stopped suddenly when he saw the two bound thugs and the one corpse. Glancing from the ground to me twice in bewilderment, Theodore directed his finger downward. “Is that Connor?”

I nodded and approached, quickly putting my anger with Kreizler aside and then feigning great anxiety. “Yes, and you’re just in time, Roosevelt. We came here looking for Beecham—”

Righteous indignation came back into Theodore for a moment. “Yes, I know,” he bellowed, “and if a pair of my best men hadn’t followed Kreizler’s servants—”

“But Beecham never showed,” I went on. “It was a trap, set by Connor. He was out to—to kill Stevie, actually.”

“Stevie?” Roosevelt echoed incredulously. “Kreizler’s boy?”

I looked at him with deep earnestness. “Roosevelt, Stevie was the only witness to Connor’s murder of Mary Palmer.”

Theodore’s face opened up with comprehension, his eyes going wide behind the spectacles. “Ah!” he noised, now pointing his finger upward. “Of course!” The brow wrinkled again. “But what happened?”

“Fortunately, Commissioner,” Sara said, having correctly perceived that my powers of invention were weakening, “the detective sergeants and I arrived in time.” She indicated the body with more confidence and certainty than I knew she felt. “That’s a bullet of mine you’ll find in Connor’s back.”

“Yours, Sara?” Theodore said incredulously. “But I don’t understand.”

“Neither did we,” Sara said, “until you brought us wind of what John and the doctor were up to. Although by the time we figured out where they were likely to be, you’d already left High Bridge Tower. But if I were you, Commissioner, I’d get back up there—the rest of your detectives are still on watch, and the killer hasn’t struck yet.”

“Yes,” Theodore said, considering it all. “Yes, I suppose you’re right about—” He suddenly stood up straight, smelling the ruse. “Just a moment. I see what we have here. If all that’s true, then kindly tell me this—who is that boy in there?” He pointed his finger at the control house.

“Honestly, Roosevelt,” I insisted, “you’d better—”

“And where are the rest of them—Kreizler and the Isaacsons?”

“Commissioner,” Sara said, “I can tell you—”

“Oh, yes,” Roosevelt answered, waving us off. “I can see what sort of thing’s happening here. Conspiracy, is it? That’ll be fine! I’m delighted to oblige! Sergeant!” One of the men in uniform snapped to and approached. “Have one of your men take charge of that boy in there—and then place both of these people under arrest! I want them taken to Mulberry Street immediately!” Before Sara and I could say anything in response, Theodore brought the finger around once more and wagged it in our faces. “I’m going to give you two a very unpleasant reminder of just who’s in charge of the Police Department in this city!”

CHAPTER 46