Grace and Disgrace (22 page)

Tuohay peered at the burning embers as if they had awakened him from a thought. “Frost told me that Abrams Valentine was the father of Colin Allotrope—the young man who wrote the essay we found in the loft of the law firm; the same essay Inspector Frost was perusing. Its title mentioned something about the restoration of stained glass art.”

“You don’t say,” Eliza murmured. “A priest with a son who wrote an essay, and the essay was in Inspector Frost’s possession. So?”

“If I may,” Eldredge interjected, “I looked up Colin Allotrope as you requested, and have information to share.”

Tuohay nodded. “Excellent. Go on.”

“As I stated in the telegram, Colin Allotrope was an orphan brought up in a Lowell convent, and showed unusual talent by all accounts. He went to Boston College preparatory and Boston College high school, and currently attends Boston College, his skills in oil on canvass and stained glass earning him several accolades in religious and artist circles. To date, he has recently been accepted to seminary at St. John’s in Brighton to become a priest. His parents are unknown, but there are strong indications that he has enjoyed the financial support of an anonymous benefactor.”

“St. John’s in Brighton,” Tuohay mused. “Remarkable coincidence. And he seems to have followed his father’s path into Christian art.”

“And priesthood,” added Eldredge.

“There is the anonymous benefactor as well,” said Tuohay. “Seems to be a trail worth following.”

“Hold on a moment,” Eliza protested. “The boy was brought up in a convent, so it’s not a stretch that it had an impact on his choice of careers. And he was, what—twelve when the diamond was stolen? Are you forgetting your focus? There are only three of us to do the work, don’t forget.”

Eldredge scratched his head. “You have point, Eliza. But I don’t think Jack is connecting Colin to the diamond crime, he’s simply looking for how the background of these individuals fits together.”

“But none of them are even suspects,” Eliza countered. “What’s the point in that?”

“Alright, you two,” Tuohay interrupted, “let’s take a step back for a moment to review all the facts. Set things in order.”

“Good idea.” Eliza took her journal out and found a pencil in her pockets. After a moment she began to write.

“Ready?” Tuohay inquired.

Eliza looked up. “What? Oh, sorry. Don’t wait for me, Jack. I’m not your scribe. I’m jotting down notes of my own here.”

“Right, then.” Tuohay straightened his posture as if preparing to give an address. “The Templar Diamond was stolen in 1896 in Belfast,” he began. “At the time, Father Donnelly was in charge of the logistics for the Church from the North American side of things. That’s his main connection to the affair, which under normal circumstances would be considered minimal. But there is the fact he had access to
Crown Mount
. I would not have thought the RIC would have shared operational information with the Church, but there it is, plain as day.”

Eliza and Eldredge looked at Tuohay with puzzled frowns.

“Ah, sorry.” Tuohay pulled the booklet from his pocket, the leather cover slightly damp. He tapped his finger on the title. “
Crown Mount
. These pages contain the secret operational details and responsibilities of the RIC task force responsible for keeping the diamond safe during its stay in Belfast. The script is encoded.”

“Where did you get it?” Eliza had turned back to her journal and was scribbling as she asked.

“The archbishop gave it to me.”

Eliza arched a curious brow but didn’t press further. She leapt lightly off the windowsill, her eyes still on her journal. “For some reason I am stuck on the nephew…when did he die?”

“Father Abrams Valentine died in 1896,” said Tuohay. “It would have been shortly after the diamond disappeared.” Tuohay paused to think. “If I am not mistaken, Father Donnelly told me that his nephew
came home to die
.”

“From Belfast?”

“Possibly,” said Tuohay. “So if we were to start at the beginning again, and summarize in full—”

“Hold on, Jack,” Eliza interrupted. “Before you get into one of your long-winded soliloquies, let’s work off of this.”

She laid her journal open for Tuohay and Eldredge to see.

Current date, March 1902

Trial against Archbishop, 1897

Diamond Theft, Belfast, 1896

Invitations sent with clues how to find the diamond.

Who sent them? Who received them? Why?

“Right.” Tuohay looked over the journal scratchings with a nod. “Well done. To add to that—”

A thunderous knock at the front door reverberated like a threat. It was followed by a gruff voice. “Open up! I know you’re in there, inspector!”

Tuohay groaned as if he had been punched in the gut. Looking at his companions, he shook his head as Eldredge began a frantic collection of their things.

“It is not worth it, old boy,” said Tuohay. “We cannot run. It seems it is time for me to take my knocks.”

“Not alone, you won’t,” said Eliza. She plucked the last of the cigarette from Tuohay’s mouth and finished it with a long drag. Dropping the remnants, she ground it to ash with a twist of her foot. “I’ll go see what the ruckus is about.”

Tuohay chuckled with dry humor. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Perhaps I should go instead,” Eldredge cut in.

There was a second knock, and Eliza squeezed Eldredge’s shoulder reassuringly. “Not this time, Johnny. If anyone’s going out there alone, it’s me. Be harder for them to enter uninvited if it appears to be a woman’s chamber, especially one who seems to be on her own.” She fought off the protests of her partners and slipped from the room with a wink.

Eldredge turned to Tuohay. “She’s something else.”

“That’s one way to put it.” The two listened to the click of the bolt at the front door, followed by the squeak of the hinges. There was an exchange of muffled words, trailed by a brief silence. Tuohay and Eldredge exchanged glances.

Eldredge stepped towards the office door. “Should I see what is going on?”

At that moment, the uneven clod of heavy boots against the floorboards echoed from the parlor. The door to the office swung open with Eliza in the lead, a giant of man shadowing her. Wet strings of white hair were plastered across his wrinkled forehead wildly. He was cloaked in a heavy trench coat, his collar pulled up. A dripping newspaper was tucked under his arm.

Tuohay’s brows raised in puzzlement. “McNamara! What are you doing here? How did you find us?”

McNamara took a long look at Tuohay before responding. “There’s a lot of people lookin’ for you, inspector. And most don’t have pleasantries in mind.”

“And you?”

“I ain’t bearin’ a wreath of goodwill, if that’s your question. I come from Boston with information.”

Eldredge’s surprise registered on his face. “You came all the way back from Boston? Didn’t you just arrive there this morning with Miss Hart?”

“So I did,” McNamara growled in response. “And now I’m back. There have been grander accomplishments in the world than a roundtrip.”

“Information.” Tuohay spoke the words with the delicacy of a skater crossing a thinly frozen lake.

“Aye.” McNamara turned to Tuohay with a black look. “Mary Hart is dead.”

The room stilled.

“Sorry to be the one to give you the news,” McNamara continued. “Figured it needed to be told to you in person, ‘specially before the papers got a hold of it. It was the poison, of course.”

“She didn’t make it,” said Tuohay, his voice marred with anger. He offered McNamara a composed nod of appreciation. “I am indebted to you, coming as you have.”

“I’ll get straight to the details.” McNamara took on an official business-like tone, setting his newspaper aside. “Doctor Kearney, Mr. Thayer, and I accompanied Miss Hart in an ambulatory wagon from Plymouth to the Boston City Hospital this morning, along with an officer. The ride did not do her well, but the doctor insisted on it. His status on the staff got her immediate treatment by some of the best doctors in the city, the country maybe. But it weren’t enough, in the end.”

“Will there be an autopsy?” Tuohay asked, trying to control the heat rising in his throat.

“The Boston commissioner wants one of their own to perform it. It’s likely to take place in the morning at the BCH, under close supervision.”

“And Doctor Kearney?”

“Returned to his apartment after they declared her. I went along with him for a spell, he lives close to the hospital. Him and I go back, you see, so he was willin’ to talk. I told him I had heard the Boston brass was lookin’ at a getting a warrant against him, and I wanted to feel him out.”

Eldredge expressed disbelief. “A warrant?”

“Word is, some of the coppers think the doctor persuaded Mary Hart and Kathryn Dwyer to fabricate lies so his brother Aiden could have affidavits for his appeal. In exchange, Doctor Kearney signed some papers releasing them from the Danvers lunacy asylum. From what I’ve heard of the place, anyone would have done that and more just to get free. Poor girls.” McNamara’s face darkened. “Then the coppers say the doctor got rid of them—Katy Dwyer, who had second thoughts about the whole thing, and poor Mary Hart with a poisoned tincture of the doctor’s making. He did it so the women couldn’t speak the truth after the fact ‘bout his plan, and all that sort of rubbish.”

“Not too convincing,” said Eliza.

Eldredge shrugged. “It’s as good as any theory I have heard so far. Not saying it’s anywhere near right, though.”

McNamara reflected. “You know what they say about two evils. Nothing good comes from combining ‘em, and that’s the truth of it. So if it
were
true about the doctor’s intentions, which seems improbable, all he got in the end for his troubles was two dead brothers.”

“And what did he say to all of that when you brought it to his attention?” Tuohay asked.

“He said
Frost
is behind the whole thing.” McNamara rubbed his eyes, leaving them raw and red. “If I may, I could use a drink—”

“I’ll make you some tea,” Eliza offered.