Grace and Disgrace (18 page)

“What time did you say the wake started?” Frost asked McNamara.

“One o’clock,” was the terse reply.

After a pause, Frost asked, “Is it true what they say you did in the war?”

“And what might that be?”

“You were a gunner in the Union navy, and a few years into the war found yourself on a sinking ship—it had been blown to smithereens by the iron-clad
Merrimac
.”

“So. What of it?”

“Legend among the Boston brass is that you were the last man to leave the boat.
The last bloody man
. Waited for all the rest of the men to get off, or as many could ably do so.  Then it was into the water for you, for the rescue boat was full.”

“I’m no hero, if that’s your meaning,” McNamara growled.

Frost continued, bringing Tuohay into the telling. “So there he was, good ol’ Mac, floating beside entrails and body parts like a man in a flooded cemetery. And not a
scratch
on him. He got through it rightly enough, the old fellow did. And then what’s he do?
Re-enlists
as a scout, and became one of the best.” Frost’s voice grew reverent. “And he showed his mettle more than once on the streets of Boston, he did. Could track a criminal like no one before or since. Not one lost hour of time in twenty years on the beat, either.”

“If you think praise is going to change my opinion of you, Frost, you’re dead wrong,” McNamara said.

“
Inspector
Frost. I earned it rightly enough.”

McNamara cast Frost a sidelong glance. “Did you, now?”

Further conversation was cut short by their arrival onto the parish grounds. A crowd was gathered in front of the stone church, waiting for the doors to open. It was a sea of black, a loyal congregation come to pay its respects to the celebrated priest. Tuohay glanced at his companions, but their eyes were riveted on the crowd.

Tuohay sifted through the gathering at the base of the parish, ascending the steps to look for Miss Hart. A gust of icy wind rose from the bluff and spiraled through the courtyard, gnawing at exposed flesh. It wailed like a tormented soul, clawing at Tuohay with frozen fingers.

Tuohay hunkered down, his eyes watering painfully as he scanned the crowd. Catching sight of a red haired woman with a black coat thrown over a matching gown and boots, he grinned, but it was erased a as a man in an olive trench coat caught his attention. The man was at the edge of the crowd, away from most of the gatherers. He seemed to be looking in Tuohay’s direction.

“I do not see her,” Tuohay called to McNamara and Frost, turning his attention away from the olive-clad stranger.

“Inspector Tuohay?” A handsome man with a friendly smile peered at Tuohay from the bottom of the steps, his sky-blue eyes expectant. He held a silk hat under the crook of his arm, and his rich blonde hair blew freely in the wind. He was attired in the black of mourning, evidenced by his three-piece suit and long coat.

“Yes. And you are?”

The man, closer to thirty than not, reached up and took Tuohay’s hand with a firm grip. He was nearly of Tuohay’s height, demonstrated as he joined him on the steps. “Vestor Thayer, of McBarronThayer. Pleased to meet you, inspector.”

“Pleased as well,” Tuohay returned. “How did you locate me?”

“Miss Hart’s description of you was more than sufficient,” said Thayer. “I accompanied her to Plymouth,” he added by way of explanation. A faint lemony musk emanated from his skin.

“Yes, of course. Where is she now?”

Thayer pointed over the crowd to the distant cemetery. A few individuals were roaming about the scattered old gravestones. “There.”

“Splendid,” said Tuohay. McNamara and Frost closed ranks on the pair, and Thayer met the former with a warm handshake. His demeanor cooled considerably at the sight of Frost, who offered his hand.

“I remember you well enough,” Thayer said, ill-concealed repugnance in his voice. He clasped his hands behind his back. “I cannot shake, sir.”

“So you’re takin’ it personally too,” Frost muttered, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “It’s not my fault that Miss Hart and the others kept Aiden Kearney’s bed warm. They was concubines, after all. I merely uncovered the truth of it.”

“You
fabricated
the truth and made those poor girls falsely testify at trial,” Thayer replied, meeting Frost’s gaze. “Why are you here, if I may be so bold as to inquire?”

“My job, which is to investigate,” said Frost.

“Investigate what?”

“I don’t have to explain it to you, sir,” said Frost. “Mary Hart is not your client.”

Thayer’s blue eyes clouded with anger. “No, but I care for her. And for Sara and Anna as well. Those who march on after the battle has been lost.”

Frost turned to Tuohay. “I don’t have to listen to this rubbish. We have an investigation to run—”

The clang of the parish bell interrupted Frost’s declaration, quieting him and the crowd at large. Again the bell sounded, its eerie, metallic voice settling upon the crowd like a blanket. As it rang, the front doors of the parish opened, and a priest beckoned those gathered to enter.

Tuohay strode towards the graveyard, walking against the crush of people. His companions checked their gaits to stay at his heels, but Thayer pressed forward to speak with him.

“Inspector Frost will make Mary terribly anxious,” he said. “She is frightened of the man, and likely has good reason to be.”

“She will have to bear it,” Tuohay replied. “He is running an investigation, and there is little any of us can do to prevent him from doing so.” He glanced at Thayer. “I have to say, I am a bit perplexed by your reaction to Inspector Frost.”

“Why is that?”

Tuohay reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys.

“My keys,” said Thayer.

“Yes, Sara gave them to me after our interview.” He handed them to Thayer. “You are certainly aware that the inspector used your premises, the offices of McBarronThayer, to spy on my recent interview with Sara Conall. In fact, the authorities would have had to obtain permission for him to do so. That seems more like
cooperation
than antagonism to me, Mr. Thayer.”

Thayer’s face darkened. “I had no part in that. The decision to allow Inspector Frost’s surveillance was given by McBarron, not me. I was against it.”

“Tell me, what is your interest in this affair?”

They reached a lichgate of black iron and stepped through the archway into the cemetery. A smattering of weather-beaten gravestones lay dispersed on the grounds before them.

Thayer replied, “I have been a part of this since I was signed on as one of Aiden Kearney’s lawyers against Archbishop Walsh.”

“But the lawsuit was lost in 1897, and the appeal closed with Aiden Kearney’s death a few months ago,” Tuohay pointed out. “You are separating from the firm of McBarronThayer as well, as I understand it.”

“There is truth in that,” Thayer admitted. “And the
Thayer
in McBarronThayer is my grandfather, for clarity.” He said the last with a rueful smile. “Haven’t quite lived up to the old family name, I suppose.”

“You have not answered my question, Mr. Thayer.” As Tuohay spoke, his eyes fell upon a willowy young woman, elegantly but mournfully attired, in conversation with a stout man. They were hovering beside a marble obelisk decorated with impressive scrawling. “I say, is that Doctor Kearney speaking with Miss Hart?”

“Yes,” Thayer said. “He arrived for the wake only minutes after Miss Hart and I did.”

“But to answer your question,” Thayer continued, “I grew to greatly respect Father Aiden Kearney, and what he stood for. Truth, justice. Right over wrong, even in the face of powerful odds. Reminded me of Teddy Roosevelt’s work in New York against Tammany Hall, to be frank.” He brushed his wayward hair from his eyes. “I suppose I have always been a terrible optimist, and less of a pragmatist. Even after the trial was lost, I remained in contact with Aiden and his nieces. It had become more than just the case, I suppose. It was about righteousness.” He caught Tuohay’s eye. “That is what this all means to you as well, is that not true?”

They were coming upon Miss Hart and the doctor, and Tuohay slowed his gait momentarily. “Truer than you know, Mr. Thayer. But tell me this. Did you receive a black letter with silver ink in recent months? It would have had to do with the Templar Diamond.”

Thayer shook his head. “No, of course not. Why would such a correspondence be addressed to me? I am aware of what you reference, however. Sara Conall shared the letter she received with me, as did Father Aiden Kearney.” Thayer took a moment to regard Tuohay. “Do you think I am somehow tied up with the diamond affair?”

“It is my job to inquire,” said Tuohay. “The trial and the diamond should have nothing to do with one another, and yet I cannot disentangle one from the other.”

“I cannot help you there, I am afraid.”

“Perhaps you can with this—do you have access to the affidavits that Miss Hart and Kathryn Dwyer presented to McBarronThayer? It is my understanding that they contain vital confessions by the women. Confessions damaging to the Church and some of its more prominent members. And to Inspector Frost as well.”

“Under normal circumstances, I would not be able to speak of them, even to you. They are sealed.”

“Not Kathryn Dwyer’s,” Tuohay argued. “Her death, and its potential meaning to the case, will allow me to file an injunction.”

“Be that as it may, and I would add that I would personally prefer to see the evidence in your hands, the affidavits are gone.”

Tuohay stopped cold. “What do you mean,
gone
?”

“They were discovered to have been stolen from the safe in the law firm the day after your interview with Sara Conall. No sign of forced entry.”

“Who had access?”

“To the building, many people. To the safe, only my former mentor McBarron and myself, I am afraid.”

Tuohay’s face registered disbelief, and it was not until several moments passed that he took stock of his immediate environment. They had reached Miss Hart and Doctor Kearney, and the forming assemblage was no less disquieting than an ocean wave smashing against an immovable bluff, the chaotic spray of its impact reflected in the various faces surrounding him.

Miss Hart’s gentle visage was flushed, streaked with dried tears. Her arms were crossed, the apparent argument with the doctor overcome by a look of trepidation at the sight of Inspector Frost. For his part, the inspector had lit a pipe and was eyeing the group with a mixture of dark humor and impatience. McNamara had a permanent scowl on his face, matched only by that of Doctor Kearney, who bettered him with a purpled flush at the cheeks. Even Thayer seemed grim faced, but it was softened by evident remorse for Miss Hart.

“Inspector Tuohay,” Miss Hart began, her voice barely a whisper. “What is… what is
he
doing here?”

“I am investigating the death of Father Donnelly,” Frost broke in, keeping his pipe tightly clamped in the corner of his mouth as he spoke. “And, when you are ready, I have a few questions for you.”

“Of all the damnable business!” Doctor Kearney exploded, taking a step in Frost’s direction.

“Doctor, please!” Thayer stepped between them, his hands raised in a placating manner. “Angry words will get us nowhere.”

“And where
exactly
is it that we are going?” Doctor Kearney growled. He faced Tuohay. “I thought
you
were working this case. If I had known you were going to partner up with Inspector Frost, I would have—”

“You would have
what
, exactly?” Tuohay’s voice was ice. “Would have withheld evidence from me? Would have failed to help me dig for the truth? Would have actively obstructed me? Would have
what
, Doctor Kearney?”

  The doctor took a moment to answer, his voice steady. “I would have reconsidered trusting you and your intentions.”

“They remain unchanged.” Tuohay turned to Mary. “However, the fact of the matter is that Father Donnelly is dead, and there are questions that I need to ask Mary. Personal questions, I am afraid.”

“I understand,” Mary whispered, her gaze falling upon the church. “The wake. It has started.”

“We can talk afterwards, of course.”

“Of course.” She stared at the distant church with dread and sorrow in her eyes. “A smoke, anyone? Or better yet, I could use some of the good doctor’s laudanum.”

“Perhaps you should wait on that,” Doctor Kearney suggested.

Mary ignored him and pulled a vial of crimson liquid from her purse. “Joy from a bottle.” She swallowed the contents, the alcohol strong on the breeze, and exhaled softly with satisfaction. “Shall we pay our respects?”

“After you, Miss Hart,” said Tuohay.

Mary made it three steps before her eyes widened in shock. With abrupt ferocity, her hands grasped at her throat, her fingers ripping her scarf free from her neck. Her breathing grew heavy, her exhalations a shrill wail of obstructed air. The men looked on in astonishment at the sudden transformation, transfixed with horror. Suddenly she crumpled to her knees, a gurgling sound rising from her throat as her face, the slightest tint of blue, contorted in pain.