From This Moment (19 page)

The two men crossed to him, one of them handing him a document. “Sir, we have an injunction against the further distribution of
Scientific World
. All publication of your magazine must stop until a complete investigation can be conducted.”

“On what charge?” he demanded, flabbergasted.

Evelyn answered. “They claim the articles we have been running about electricity are full of errors. That they are dangerous and inaccurate.”

“Our articles are written by leading engineers and vetted by college professors,” he protested. “I don’t publish ‘dangerous and inaccurate’ information.”

One of the men, wearing a badge from the Suffolk County Superior Court, had an oily, supercilious look on his face. “We hear your upcoming issue carries another article extolling the virtues of electricity as a heating element. Something women can use in their kitchens! We cannot permit its circulation until all doubts about your magazine have been put to rest. Until then, you are ordered by the court to cease distribution.”

This was a nightmare. He’d never heard of a magazine being
ordered to stop publication, but the court document looked official. He blanched at the sight of his magazine’s name, the only thing in the world of which he was truly proud, typed onto a form that smeared its credibility. The document was signed and notarized. He was going to need a lawyer. Fast.

“What about the First Amendment? It’s called freedom of the press, perhaps you read about it in school.”

The court clerk smirked. “We’ve also read about judges who arrest people who ignore court orders.”

He watched in stunned disbelief as the two men left the office.

“What are we going to do?” Evelyn asked, her voice trembling. “The next issue is due to ship in ten days. If we can’t ship it, we can’t collect our advertising revenue.” She swallowed hard. “And we’d have to issue refunds to all our subscribers. We can’t afford . . .”

He knew they couldn’t afford it. They made a fortune with each issue, but their expenses were high.

A white-hot anger began building inside him. Their articles were solid, vetted, and legitimate. Whoever was behind this was merely grasping at straws. Beside him, Roy Tanner clutched the box of new type in his hands. His eyes were panicked.

“Roy, send a message to our attorney. Get him here immediately. Tell him it is an emergency.”

Roy handed him the box of type. “Yes, sir.”

The door slammed behind Roy, and the office went eerily silent. Everyone had heard what had just happened. The worst thing was, he didn’t know what to do. This magazine was his only success in the world, yet he hadn’t a clue about how to save it. The only sound in the office was from the construction noise in the street below.

Clyde!

Clyde Brixton was one of the nation’s leading experts on
electricity. It was his knowledge of electricity that had made him so valuable to the Transit Commission, for the subway was going to be powered by electricity.

Romulus turned to look at Evelyn, whose dark eyes were wide. “Evelyn, I’m going to send someone down to the street to ask Clyde to come up here. We need his help. If there is anything in the series of articles we’ve published that is wrong, he’ll be able to spot it.”

Mercifully, Evelyn nodded in agreement.

Clyde arrived ten minutes later. He wore a laborer’s coveralls, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, but concern was carved onto his features. He seemed bewildered as he scanned the legal document that had just brought Romulus’s world crashing down.

Clyde and Evelyn joined Romulus in his office, but through his window, he could see the other employees clustered in groups, their heads leaning close together in hushed discussion. How was he going to pay them? There was some money in the reserves, but without incoming revenue, it would evaporate quickly.

“What do you need from me?” Clyde asked as soon as they all were seated.

“Our last three issues have featured articles on the various applications for electricity. I need you to read those articles and let me know if there is anything questionable in them.”

“There isn’t,” Clyde said. “I’ve already read them.”

“You did?” Evelyn asked, her voice astounded.

Clyde’s face softened. “I’ve always read each issue. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Evelyn glanced away. The last thing Romulus wanted to deal
with was the endless turmoil between Evelyn and Clyde, and he dragged the conversation back to the task at hand.

“Are you certain?” he pressed. “The injunction specifically noted the articles on electricity. If there is anything that is in the least bit questionable . . .”

“If there was, I would have notified you immediately.” Clyde’s voice was full of the confidence that came from a West Point education and work in some of the most prestigious research laboratories in the world.

That was the difference between Clyde and him. From the time Clyde was a boy, he knew exactly what he wanted and chased after it with single-minded zeal. Romulus was the opposite. He spent his years at Harvard dithering at one course of study after another, and he hadn’t been able to find gainful employment until the magazine had come along. From the moment he and Clyde bought
Scientific World
, the magazine had been his whole universe. And it was about to come crashing down unless he could lift this injunction.

His lawyer arrived within the hour. Everett Wilcox worked only a few blocks away. He was a fine attorney who handled their basic legal matters, but Romulus had no idea if he was up for the pitched battle this injunction was going to cause.

Everett looked through the paperwork, still flushed and breathless from the run to this office. “It looks as if they’ve scheduled a hearing for three weeks from now,” Everett said. “I expect we’ll learn more about their concerns at that time.”

Romulus nearly exploded. “I’m not waiting three weeks!” They were to start printing in two days, and the magazine was scheduled to ship in ten days. If news of this injunction got out, the prestige of their magazine would plummet. He needed this addressed now, not in three weeks.

“I suppose I could request an emergency hearing,” Everett said.

Romulus was tempted to break something. He didn’t want a timid attorney who would politely ask for expedited service. He wanted a gladiator to hurl fire at whomever was threatening his magazine. For the first time in days, he had sympathy for Stella West’s sense of outrage at bureaucratic hurdles, but he still believed that holding on to the threads of self-control was the best way to cut through the red tape that threatened to strangle the life from his magazine. “Please do so.”

And in the meantime, he’d work behind the scenes to speed up the process, for the court system was infamously slow. Romulus had spent years glad-handing and accumulating goodwill among men of power in Boston. It was time to start calling in some of those favors. Tomorrow morning, he had a standing boxing match at his club with Michael Townsend, the highest-ranking attorney in all of Massachusetts.

That boxing appointment was his best shot at cutting straight to the heart of this matter.

Stella snapped awake in the darkness, rearing upright and clutching the sheets to her chest. It was pitch-black in her room, but someone banged on her door loud enough to rattle the furniture.

“Open up, lady! Boston Police Department.”

She scrambled to pull on a robe. Could there be a fire in the boardinghouse? Or an intruder? The banging continued while she rushed to turn on the single electric lamp.

“Open up, lady, or we’re kicking the door down!” The voice was impatient, and she didn’t know what to do. At least her door had a chain. Her fingers trembled as she struggled to get it into place before she twisted the bolted lock and cracked the door open.

“What’s wrong?”

Two men wearing police uniforms stood in the hallway, one of them thrusting his badge up to the crack in the door. “Open the door unless you want to be charged with interfering in a police investigation.”

She was still groggy as she slid the chain free and opened the door, staring in confusion at the two officers. Her room seemed dwarfed as the two men pushed inside, filling the tiny space. She didn’t even have anywhere for them to sit. Aside from her bed and a chest of drawers, the room contained only a modest desk and a single chair.

They didn’t seem to care as they inched forward until her legs backed up against the mattress of her bed.

“We hear you’re unhappy with the way the police handled your sister’s drowning,” an officer with a thick neck and heavy whiskers growled. “That you’re threatening to register a complaint with the city. What’s that all about?” he demanded.

“Our guys risked frostbite to pull her out of that river,” the other said.

Stella was not a timid person, but she felt weak and disoriented as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. “I—I still have questions . . .” she stammered.

“And you’ve asked for your sister’s body to be exhumed!” one of the officers roared.

It was true. After learning that Gwendolyn’s safe-deposit box had been robbed, she was more convinced than ever that there was foul play involved. She didn’t like the thought of having her sister’s rest disturbed for yet another autopsy, but she didn’t trust Dr. Lentz. It must have been her official request to have Gwendolyn exhumed that had set off this new flurry of resentment from the police.

“It is my right to request another postmortem,” she insisted. “I still have questions.”

“And we’ve answered them,” the thick-necked man said. “Detective Tillis met with you in February and answered everything you asked him. Just because you don’t like his answers . . .”

“Hey, Smith,” the other said in an artificially bright voice. “Maybe we should reopen the case, after all. Detective Tillis said he did the girl a favor by declaring it an accident instead of a suicide. The little piece of fluff was running around in the middle of the night, probably meeting strange men. Girls like that usually come to a bad end.”

The thick-necked officer leaned in closer. “Would that be a good idea? Spread the word around that your sister was walking the streets at night, meeting strange men, and probably jumped to her death? We’d be happy to do that for you.”

“My sister did not commit suicide,” she insisted. But if they thought she’d overlook foul play simply to avoid having Gwendolyn’s reputation smeared, they were in for disappointment. She and Gwendolyn were both made of stronger stuff than that.

The officers growled and stamped and threatened, but she refused to back down. She would keep hounding the police with regular visits until she could talk to someone higher up than the original investigating detective.

The officers finally left after twenty minutes, letting her know they’d return with more
updates
in the future if she didn’t stand down and let them do their job.

It was three o’clock in the morning, but her entire body was tense and shaking. It would be impossible to sleep again. Each time the old building creaked, she startled anew, and she resigned herself to waiting for dawn.

She paced the room, her mind awhirl. Her plan for finding A.G. through the newspapers would take a few days. In the meantime, she needed to move quickly on getting a second autopsy of Gwendolyn’s body. The more time that passed . . .
and as the weather got warmer . . . she hated even thinking of it, but that autopsy needed to be done as soon as possible.

Dr. Lentz had promised to deliver a copy of the original autopsy report to Romulus by today. She would need that report if she was to hire another physician to perform a private autopsy. After what had happened at the bank, it seemed Romulus was coming to believe her about the suspicious circumstances of Gwendolyn’s death, and she needed his help now more than ever.

The thought of seeing Romulus again brought vast relief. His easy manner and irreverent way of deflecting problems helped her put everything into perspective. He’d been like a mischievous angel of mercy, alternately making her laugh and saving her at the next turn.

As much as she liked to consider herself independent, sometimes she simply needed another person to lean on. And she needed Romulus now.