Grace and Disgrace (4 page)

“Yes,” Sara responded. “I imagine a clever man like Mr. Tuohay can make use of what I have told you.”

Eldredge appeared at a loss, but Tuohay’s features remained guarded. Sara seemed to take no notice of their reaction as she stood to go. “I can make my own way out by the courtyard. An escort is waiting for me near the gate there, and will take care to hide me from any stray journalists that might be spying the grounds.”

Eldredge stood and bowed awkwardly as Sara withdrew. Tuohay waited a moment before speaking, his voice stopping her cold. “It was thirty-one years ago.”

“Was it, indeed?” she replied, her back to Tuohay.

Tuohay’s voice dropped. “Tell me, Miss Conall, are you familiar with the name of Gregory’s
brother
, the one who pushed him in front of the carriage and crippled him for life? I most assuredly believe that you must be.”

“I am, in fact.”

Tuohay regarded her for several long moments before speaking. “I am sincere in my desire to remedy whatever wrong was afflicted upon the late Father Kearney. Whether or not it is linked to the diamond, I will see to it that your uncle’s killer, if one exists, is brought to justice.”

Sara turned and contemplated him quietly, her gaze lingering on the cane at his side. Slowly, she walked back to Tuohay’s chair. “There is a chill in the air tonight, inspector.”

“Take my coat,” said Tuohay, standing with a grimace and offering it to her. “Perhaps it will hide you from prying eyes, as well.”

“Thank you.” She turned to Eldredge. “Mr. Eldredge, if you would see me out?”

She departed the room without another word, Eldredge following her with a perplexed look on his face.

Tuohay settled back in his chair, listening to the sounds of the house. All was quiet save the fading footsteps of Sara and Eldredge in the back hall. Eldredge returned to the room with Tuohay’s coat over his arm, his puzzled expression deepening as he handed it back. A worn-looking book was wrapped inside it.

“Sara had the most unusual response to me just as she was leaving, and this book— ”

“Lower your voice, please.”

“Hmm? But why? The journalist?” Eldredge peered at the curtained windows. “I highly doubt he can see within, never mind hear us.”

“I maintain, it is important.”

“If you insist,” said Eldredge, his puzzled expression expanding. “As I was saying,” he resumed in a softer tone, “upon her exit Sara removed a soft padding from the doorbell in the hallway. She said nothing of it, but it was evident that the doorbell was not meant to ring when we tried it. And then she handed me this book…which she took from behind a chair in the hall. She wrapped it in your coat and whispered that it was to be viewed in private. Specifically
not
here
, at the law firm.”

“Whispered, you say?”

“Yes, whispered. Like I am doing now.” Far from a whisper, the irritation in his voice was growing.

“Anything else?”

“She also said that her uncle Sean will meet with at you at the Harrington Hotel after she speaks to him tonight.” Eldredge scratched his jaw. “I am not sure how it happened, but it seems you have somehow gained her trust.”

“I hope so.”

“Curious, I say.” Eldredge peered at the book in Tuohay’s hand. “Will you review it now, or wait as she asked?”

“We shall wait.” Tuohay was staring into the cold fireplace.

“Do you—did her testimony have anything of value for you? It was rather…
odd
.”

“It is a beginning.” Tuohay did not elaborate further, but changed the subject. “I will need you or Eliza to contact Sara’s uncle regarding the time for the interview. But more importantly, I have a criminal to catch tomorrow. Would you like to take part?”

“Of course!” Eldredge proclaimed, but quickly dropped his voice again. “Who is it? This Kip Crippen individual you followed from Belfast?”

Tuohay presented an understanding smile. “Yes. I will impart more details when we reconvene tomorrow afternoon. The walls—I fear they have ears. And eyes.”

Eldredge’s own eyes widened. “What do you mean?” he hissed.

“Exactly what I said.” Tuohay exhaled slowly and stood with a grimace. “Come.”

The two men departed the room and walked down the dark hallway to the exit, Eldredge gripping his bowler hat with whitened knuckles. Tuohay pushed the front door open, inviting a cold breeze to brush past them. Raising his left hand to a ribbon of pale moonlight, he captured it in his palm like melted gold. The door clattered shut as they stepped onto the porch.

“The journalist is out there somewhere,” Eldredge remarked. The two men stared into the darkness. Eldredge took a moment to extract a ring of keys from his pocket. Choosing the largest on the ring, he locked the front door. “Sara gave these to me when I walked her out,” he said as way of explanation. He handed them to Tuohay. “They are Mr. Thayer’s, the lawyer. But she asked that you return them to her Uncle Sean tomorrow.”

The keys made a metallic clink as Tuohay dropped them into his coat. “I believe I will return them to Mr. Thayer himself,” he said. He handed the book to Eldredge. “Shall we trade?”

“It appears to be a generic codebook.” Eldredge accepted the book and raised it out of the shadows just enough to read the title. “An old copy of the Goldman’s Cable Codex.” He sounded slightly disappointed.

The two men alighted from the porch onto the walkway, eyeing the shadows warily.

“It may not be as banal you think.”

Eldredge tucked it into his coat as he walked. “Is the codex linked to the letter? Perhaps the codex referred to in Aiden’s letter?”

“Possibly.”

Eldredge’s interest was renewed. “I will examine your letter and the codex tonight.”

“Good.”

The men struck onto the cobblestone footpath beside the road. “What was all that talk about the crippled brother, I wonder,” Eldredge said as he navigated the cobbles. “Her entire interview…there was no correlation to the diamond whatsoever.”

“It was a test of sorts.”

“Test? What do you mean?”

Tuohay grew thoughtful. “Memories are like shadows, Eldredge. Light may cast them aside momentarily, but the darkness will not be refused forever. Not by a thousand candles, nor by a city of electric lights. It is always there, waiting for its time to return. And return it shall, despite any attempt to prevent it.”

“Sorry?”

“An act of wickedness cannot be undone by a thousand subsequent acts of good. It stands on its own accord.”

“I still do not follow.”

“Her uncle’s account about the two boys. Gregory, the younger brother, was pushed into the road by his older brother.”

“Yes, yes. Though what that recollection has to do with anything is beyond me. And why did you make that remark about “thirty-one” years?”

“The account of the two brothers is one of my ties to her uncle, the deceased priest. It is the reason he contacted me in Belfast about his findings several months ago—and the reason he
first
contacted me for assistance so many years ago when we were in the Sleuthhound Club. Even then he knew me, and trusted me. And if Sara knows that, which she clearly does, it means she was told by him. But she needed to see it for herself before offering more…she needed to meet us, judge our intentions.”

“Judge our intentions?” Eldredge peered up at his companion. “And what “tie” to her uncle are you referring to? What does Sara know of?”

“In her telling of the two brothers,” Tuohay prompted.

“What of it?”

“After the accident but before sailing for America, the older brother went to confession. He admitted to the fledgling priest—young Father Kearney—that he
knew
the carriage was coming, that in the heat of the moment he
meant
for his younger brother to be struck. Sara failed to mention that in her telling, but she identified everything else correctly.”

“Hold on a moment. How could you
possibly
know the details about the older brother’s confession?” Eldredge was incredulous. “In fact, how could you know
anything
about him at all? The event took place years ago.”

“Thirty-one years ago, to be precise.”

Eldredge grew silent as the meaning dawned on him.

“Yes, old friend,” Tuohay said, his voice a hoarse whisper, “the older brother responsible for crippling young Gregory was—is—
me
.”

The afternoon was as gray as a tombstone. A damp mist gnawed at the bones, impervious to all manner of cloaks and coats, furs, caps, scalding coffee, or Highland whiskey. Tuohay and Eldredge huddled beneath a lamppost dripping with nature’s tears, the flame within the dewy globe coughing forth a spidery web of light.

Both men chewed on the rewarding end of burning tobacco; Tuohay, in the form of a pungent clove cigarette, Eldredge a squat, academic pipe. Anticipation hung in the air like a noose, full of warning and dire expectation.

“My nerves are a jumble,” Eldredge cursed, frowning around his pipe, “being in close proximity with this fellow Kip Crippen and all.”

“Rest easy, old chap,” said Tuohay. “The Boston jacks are on it. They will have our man straight from the boat. We are just here to make sure they nab the right man.”

“It must be the atmosphere. It betokens a sense of dread.” Eldredge tapped the remainder of his pipe onto the ground as he peered uncertainly at his surroundings. A long row of warehouses stretching through the mist faced each like a ragged rugby line, graceless edifices the shape of coffins perched along the dock’s edges. The pungent odors of salt, brine, and seaweed were heavy in the air.

“Fear not! Here comes our Jack-o-lantern to brighten the gloom,” said Tuohay, a smile in his voice. Eldredge followed his gaze to a woman approaching along the dockside. She walked with a spirited confidence, her smile warming the two men far more than their artificial methods of smoke and coffee.

“I would recognize that saunter anywhere,” said Eldredge. “I have not seen Eliza since she moved to New York six years ago. Where is she staying?”

“I understand that she still owns an apartment in Boston,” said Tuohay. He stepped forward to greet the woman as she arrived at the lamppost, a fragrance of rose and lavender arriving with her. “Eliza.”

“How’s tricks, boys?” Eliza Wilding lifted the straw hat from her head, revealing an energetic, humored and exquisite face of forty years framed by loose burgundy curls. 

Tuohay took her hand and bowed, a thin rivulet of water tricking from the brim of his hat. Eldredge appeared as one struck unawares, his breath on hold. His eyes followed Eliza’s movements as she pulled the strap of a copper-beaded purse up her shoulder. A tight-fitting white shirt fitted with a silver brooch was tucked into an ornate black blouse of fine embroidery that ran to charcoal bicycle boots. Eliza’s figure pressed rather too pleasantly against the Gibson Girl outfit and Eldredge smoothed his tie against his chest. He took his place beside Tuohay with a bow.

“It is good to see you,” said Tuohay.

“Truly,” added Eldredge.

“The old schoolboys,” Eliza said, regarding each of them in turn. “Goodness, the pair of you added some gray to the temples.”

“Too true,” Tuohay replied. “But you look like the decade never passed. New York has been good to you.”

“I would use a few different adjectives than
good
for New York,” Eliza commented, “but it
has
been an experience.”

“Your plays are on Broadway,” Eldredge gushed, “and that is nothing to sneeze at.
Parlous
came to Boston, and it was just magnificent—”

“Thanks, Johnny,” Eliza interrupted, “I appreciate it, I really do. But I’m here to get away from all that for a spell.” She elbowed Tuohay playfully. “I couldn’t refuse
Inspector
Tuohay’s request for assistance, after all. Reading the telegram from the Royal Irish Constabulary gave me goose bumps.”

Tuohay looked skeptical. “Goosebumps?”

“Hey. Things have been dry, alright? This was just what I needed.” She sidled up to Tuohay. “An inspector in the Royal Irish Constabulary is one thing, but Scotland Yard? How did that happen?”

“Simply a consultant for the Yard. The case officially belongs to the RIC, but Scotland Yard is…interested, let us say.”

“I am not surprised, considering how much the diamond is worth,” said Eliza, “and the fact that it was stolen from British soil.”

“It is all very exciting,” Eldredge interjected, though he looked more queasy than exhilarated.

Tuohay flicked the remains of his clove cigarette onto the wet cobblestones. “Well, now that I have dragged you both from the drudgery of your everyday lives to the thrill of official police work, shall we proceed?”

“Let’s have at it,” said Eliza.

“Onward,” said Eldredge, tugging bravely at his bowler cap, which released a stream of water past his face. “Ah, gads.” 

Tuohay pulled his collar up against the misting rain. “Follow me.”

Stepping onto a narrow cobblestone lane bordered by rows of long, sea-bitten warehouses, Tuohay led his companions onto Long Wharf. It jutted out before them like the branches of an old, twisted New England oak, the interlocked docksides and warehouses a web of spindly subdivisions reaching into the misty sea.

Passing a lamplighter in the gloom, Tuohay nodded respectfully at the man representing a dying breed. They passed covered horse-carts bursting with crated goods, their owners flagging down dockhands for assistance. A surly looking group of black-capped sailors bearing canvas bags and nets materialized from the gray mists and bounded past with collective purpose.

Tuohay led the way down a narrow alley between warehouses. A series of planks marked an artificial crossing point between two docks, causing a temporary pause. With a nod to the others, Tuohay crossed the trembling planks with care and followed the ensuing alleyway to the wayside of a court. Eliza and Eldredge followed suit. At their right was a brick edifice displaying a weather-bitten sign: WINE, LIQUOR and CIGARS.

Standing under it was a stocky man in a gray trench coat and matching fedora. His ruddy complexion was complemented by a fiery red goatee and mutton chops stretching to the jaw line, completing the fashionably authoritative appearance. In his middling fifties, his stance was one of a steam engine ready to depart the station; a man in a hurry yet still tethered to his post. He looked up from the polished gold watch in his hand as Tuohay reached him.

“Good afternoon,” Tuohay said. “Are you waiting for a ship to dock?”

“The Queen Victoria.”

“Long live the Queen.”

The two men shook hands. “Inspector Jack Tuohay,” said Tuohay.

“Inspector Dennis Frost of the 4
th
precinct,” Frost replied in a no-nonsense manner. “Your man will be disembarking in a few minutes.”

“Is everyone in place?”

“Six constables linin’ the docks with every conceivable exit covered. We could do without the blasted fog, though.” He glanced at Eliza and Eldredge standing a few feet back. “These them?”

“Local partners assigned to me for the case,” Tuohay confirmed.

Frost frowned in their general vicinity.

“What’s with the sour look?” Eliza said, peering from under her sagging hat. “You got a problem work’n with dames?”

“Private citizens in general, actually,” Frost scowled. “The docks usually ain’t the safest of locations. And certainly not while a surveillance operation is in place. Even for members of the illustrious Sleuthhound club.” He smiled at their look of surprise. “Aye, I did my research on you lot.” He turned back to Tuohay. “You recruited members of a defunct
collegiate investigation club
?” The emphasis was not delivered in a kindly voice.

A smile flickered across Tuohay’s face. “Inspector, I take full accountability for my partners.”

Eliza crossed her arms. “
You
take full accountability? How about
I
take full accountability.”

Frost shrugged. “It’s your show.”

“Thank you, inspector.”

Frost checked his watch again. “So this man you’re after, Kip Crippen. A confessed jewel thief. Sounds like a good fit, except for the fact that you’re lookin’ to collar him based on what—word of mouth? Do you really believe he can lead you to the lost diamond?”

“What I believe does not matter; what he can tell us does. We will see once we question him.”

“
Interrogation
is the proper term for it.” Frost struck a match against a light post and lit a snub-nosed cigarette.

“Call it what you will.”

A flash of light appeared from a nearby rooftop, the small beacon quickly swallowed up by the thick fog. It reappeared in three successive blinks. Frost turned to the others. “There’s the signal.”

Eldredge tensed. “So what is the plan?”

“Your lot waits here,” said Frost. “Not worth the bother of you gettin’ in the way.”

“If you think it is best,” Eldredge said, a note of relief in his voice.

Frost smiled around his cigarette. “Don’t worry. My men know this area like the back of their hands. We’ll have Mr. Crippen in custody before he sets foot on the shore. Just sit tight.”

With a tip of his hat, Frost departed. The embers of his cigarette disappeared into the fog like a fading star.

Eliza frowned at Tuohay. “We just wait, then?”             

“Yes.”

“Not quite as exciting as you promised.”

“But exciting enough,” Eldredge broke in, tapping the water from the brim of his hat. “We are here as observers, Eliza. I do not think our purpose is to tackle alleged criminals to the ground.”

Eliza smirked. “Leave all the fun to the professionals, huh?”

The black canvas of a nearby wagon slapped in the wind, the cold gust shredding a portion of the fog into wispy vapors. Tuohay attempted to light a match, but after the third attempt gave up on the flawed operation.

Eldredge stepped forward with a burning match cupped in his hand, and Tuohay leaned in with his cigarette. “Good show, Eldredge.”

“I am useful for more than numbers, you know.”

Eliza plucked the burning cigarette from Tuohay’s fingers and took a long draw. Coughing slightly, she handed it back. “So you have time to explain who this Crippen fellow is, and how he ties to the diamond?”

“He is believed to be one of three suspects in the crime.”

“Why three?”

“Three crowns,” said Tuohay. “A crown etched into each of the three glass-diamond decoys discovered in
each
of the three safes meant to house the Templar Diamond during its stay in Belfast. The three medieval crowns—all of which were slightly different in design—could be a ruse, but most of the analysts that have worked the case agree that the heist was coordinated by three individuals—a master jeweler, a man on the inside, and a logistics coordinator. The crowns act as their collective signature, if you will.”

“Braggarts too clever for their own good.” Eliza twisted her mouth into a thoughtful frown. “So which one is Crippen supposed to be?”

“The master jeweler,” replied Tuohay. “Kip Crippen grew up as an orphan at Sacredwood Priory in North Belfast. The priory was known for its emphasis on artistry, especially in colored and stained glass.”

“I hope that’s not the only evidence you have,” Eliza remarked, exhaling smoke through the corner of her mouth.

“No, of course not,” Tuohay replied. “Crippen showed promising gifts, but ran away from the orphanage as an adolescent and disappeared from the public eye for years. He resurfaced as a master craftsman working for the Ocean Steam Navigation Company, otherwise known as the White Star Line. Primarily a glassblower, he also dabbled in mechanical work with intricate skill—they had him working on their high end products ranging from chandeliers to navigation tools to personal wrist watches sold on the ships.” Tuohay shrugged. “But that was his day job, as it turned out. His propensity for high-end jewel thievery, primarily from Protestant churches and rectories across the countryside, was uncovered by the RIC. By me, specifically. Once taken in, his skill—and
passion
—as a gem cutter was uncovered through interrogation. He was an exhibitionist at heart, an artist. He wanted his work to be recognized.”

“Another braggart,” Eliza scoffed. “Don’t they know that the most successful criminals keep a tight lip?”

Tuohay nodded in agreement. “There are attention seekers in every field. He was unparalleled in the artistry of gem cutting, and several unsolved crimes fell into his lap, which he happily confessed to. He spilled information on his partners in exchange for an abbreviated sentence, and spent four years in the clink. He was out a year prior to the disappearance of the Templar Diamond.”  

“That is all very intriguing, but what about
hard
evidence?” Eldredge inquired.

“The deceased priest, Father Kearney, wired me at the RIC several months ago. He said that he had uncovered details about the Templar Diamond. His contact with me was close to the time that I received my anonymous invitation in silver ink, predicting that Kip Crippen would sail for America in search of the diamond.”

Eldredge scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Not exactly hard evidence…”

“True. But Kip Crippen
did
sail for America, as predicted,” said Tuohay.