Still Life With Murder (34 page)

“What if it carries too much?” Will asked, tapping his cigarette ash into an exquisite Japanese bowl. “What if they try him, and he ends up being convicted?”

“Have you met the man?” Jack asked, taking a drink. “I wouldn’t trouble my conscience too much on his account.”

Will shook his head. “If it came to it, I couldn’t allow it. I’d have to confess.”

“It doesn’t have to be Noonan,” Nell said. “There was the other man in the back parlor. Who’s to say he wasn’t the killer? We can argue that he was the man the neighbors saw running away that night.”

“Absolutely not,” Will said. “I won’t have an uninvolved man dragged into this.”

“Those witnesses were drunk, in any event,” Jack said. “That will cast doubt on their testimony.”

“But we know he was there,” she said, sitting up as the idea took form in her mind. “At least two people besides Dr. Hewitt saw him, but he’s still completely anonymous. No one knows who he was, just that he was there that night—drinking heavily, I might add. We can make a case for him being the killer without exposing him to arrest, because no one knows his identity.”

“Yes, but what if they go looking for him?” Will asked. “As you say, two people saw him. He might very well be tracked down and identified.”

“That’s an acceptable risk,” Jack said.

Will shook his head resolutely. “Not to me. Suppose they find him?”

Jack drained his glass in one tilt. “Suppose they do? It’ll be his problem then. Better him than you.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“I wish you’d try to,” Jack said earnestly. “I want to help you, but you make it so blasted difficult.”

“Then stop trying so hard. Learn to accept the situation.”

“Accept your being hanged? Never! Even if I have to—”

“You’re to do nothing without my say-so, Jack, do you understand me?” Will demanded. “As my attorney, you can advise a course of action, but only I can authorize it. We’ve been all through this. I chose my path. I gambled and lost, and now I intend to take my losses like a man, without a lot of humiliating last-ditch efforts from you.” Including Nell in his gaze, he added, “From either of you.”

“Then I don’t suppose you’d be receptive to a plea of insanity,” she said.

“Oh, do spare me,” Will groaned, stabbing out his cigarette.

“You went through some terrible things during the war,” she said. “You wouldn’t be the only man who’s come back a bit… unhinged. And there’s the opium on top of that.”

“Not guilty by virtue of being an opium fiend?” Chuckling, Will stood and started rolling down his sleeves. “It might be worth mounting that defense just for the entertainment value of watching Jack try to argue the case.”

“I considered it, actually,” Jack said as he refilled his glass, rather generously, from a decanter of whiskey, “but it won’t work. Everyone was driven a little mad by the war, and as for the opium, that was voluntarily self-administered. And then there’s the fact that Will displays no overt symptoms of lunacy.”

“Murdering a man by stabbing and choking doesn’t count?” she asked incredulously.

“Not if it’s the only time he’s ever done such a thing. Even if I
could
get him declared
non compos mentis
, he wouldn’t be sent to some nice, progressive hospital like Massachusetts General, or the Friends Asylum. He’d spend the rest of his days in some ghastly public lunatic house, under lock and key.”

“I don’t have to tell you I’d rather be executed—even by hanging—than face that prospect,” Will said. “I do wish you two would just relax and stop trying to clean up a mess that shouldn’t be any of your concern. I know that’s just what I’m going to do.”

What a contrast, Nell thought, to Will’s brother Harry, who was more than happy to let others follow behind him with a mop and pail.
He
wouldn’t have any compunction about Jack pointing the finger at someone else, as long as he got to keep on whoring and drinking and losing at cards night after night.

“Lovely chatting with you two,” Will said as he levered himself out of the chair, “but if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make myself presentable, then head out in my nightly pursuit of riches and intoxication.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Nell said. “Every policeman in the city will be watching for you, starting tonight. Detective Cook knows you’ve been violating your bail conditions. He means to catch you in the act—or at least have you picked up on a nuisance charge. It’s not safe for you out there.”

“What’s a nocturnal adventure without a bit of risk?” he asked as he crossed to the door.

“Fine,” she countered, “but don’t expect any Black Drop if you end up behind bars before your trial. That offer was only for after your conviction.”

Pausing in the doorway, he said, “You’ve got a streak of pure, cold-blooded venom in you, Miss Sweeney. I find that devastating in a woman.”

“If I were cold-blooded, would I be willing to supply you with opium at all, under any circumstances? You know how I feel about it.”

Suddenly thoughtful, he said, “Yes. I do.”

“Please don’t go out,” she implored. “I’ll be sick with worry.”

“Will you?” he asked. “I’d rather like that.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“She’s right, Will,” Jack said. “You’d be taking a foolish chance, leaving the house tonight. Stay here.”

“And what? Sit by the fire with my knitting?”

“Is that any worse than convulsing and hallucinating in some jail cell?” Nell asked.

He actually seemed to be thinking about it. “No, Miss Sweeney. Nothing is worse than that. You rescued me from that fate once, with bribes and paregoric, despite your misgivings. It would be ungentlemanly of me to ask it of you again—even on death row, regardless of your kind offer.”

“I wouldn’t let you go through opium withdrawal in a situation like that.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“But—”

“Tell you what,” Will said. “Just so neither of you has to fret on my account, I hereby promise to steer well clear of all gaming hells and hop joints tonight.”

“Or any night until your trial,” Nell amended.

“So sworn.”

“And you won’t leave the house,” Jack added.

Will rolled his eyes. “All right. Fine. I won’t leave the house.” He ran a hand through his still-uncombed hair. “You’re very irritating, Jack, and a great deal of trouble. But you’re a good friend, to care what becomes of a wretch like me. As for you, Miss Sweeney…”

He bowed slowly, almost gravely, smiling at her as he straightened. “It has been a very real pleasure,” he said quietly, then turned and went upstairs.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“D
ID YOU NOTICE HOW DISTRAUGHT
he became,” Nell asked Jack as she pulled on her coat, “when I brought up that other man, the one he’d been talking to in the back parlor?”

She’d stayed behind after Will’s departure in order to discuss the case outside of his hearing—and his persistent attempts to hamstring their efforts. Unfortunately, Jack, who’d been tossing back whiskeys like water, was no longer in any condition to formulate legal strategies. He stood facing the library fireplace, arms braced on the mantel, staring into the flames with glazed, wavering eyes; hence Nell’s decision to head home and finish this discussion some other time.

“Distraught?” Jack said thickly. “You think so?”

“For him. He’s normally so self-contained.” She withdrew from her chatelaine the leather case housing the photograph she’d been showing to witnesses—the portrait of Will, Jack, Robbie and Harry in white tie before the Children’s Aid Ball. Flipping it open, she studied Will’s urbane, flawlessly groomed image. He seemed almost to be holding in a chuckle, as if something about being photographed had amused him. Try as she might to imagine him slashing a man’s throat, regardless of the circumstances or motivation, the picture would not come.

She shifted her gaze to Harry, with his careless grin and his garish waistcoat.
I saw something of myself in him
, Will had said.
Those of us with an appetite for sin always recognize it in others…. But I was too preoccupied, too disgusted by him, and by myself, to offer him any meaningful guidance
.

Viola shared Will’s guilt at having failed Harry, and his concern over his excesses.
When he heard about Robbie’s death, he went a little mad…. I just worry that someday he’ll do something money can’t put right
.

“Jack,” she asked, “do you know anything about your father’s personal legal work for August Hewitt? The, um, private family matters that he attends to?”

Jack shook his head as he lifted his glass from the mantel. “That’s all confidential, even from me. Very hush hush.” He pressed a finger to his lips, swaying slightly now that he wasn’t holding onto the mantel. “Nothing in writing, ever.” Gulping down the last ounce or so of whiskey in his glass, he headed unsteadily to the liquor cabinet for more.

Nell considered and swiftly rejected the notion of sharing her speculations with Jack; that could wait until he was sober. “You probably shouldn’t be drinking so much,” she said as she checked her pendant watch. Half past six. Would Detective Cook still be at the station house?

“Just one more,” he said as he twisted the glass stopper out of the decanter.

Crossing to him, she said, “It would be best if you remained sober tonight, so you can keep an eye on Dr. Hewitt and make sure he doesn’t leave the house.”

“He told us he wouldn’t.”

“But he’s low on opium, so I know he’ll be tempted.” Perhaps she should bring him some laudanum or Black Drop later, after she met with Detective Cook, so that he’d be less likely to head out in search of gong.

Jack hesitated, his gaze on the decanter’s amber contents, shimmering in the firelight, then pushed the stopper back in. “What did you mean when you said the offer about the Black Drop was only good for death row?”

“Dr. Hewitt asked me if I would smuggle in opium tonics when he was waiting to be executed.”

“Christ,” Jack whispered, gripping the edge of the liquor cabinet. “I can’t…I can’t let him…”

“I know,” she soothed. She reached out to pat his back, then, for some reason, withdrew her hand.

“If he hangs, I’ll have lost both of them, him and Robbie. And it’ll be my fault.”

“Even the best lawyer can’t work miracles,” she said. “Especially when their clients are as difficult as—”

“It doesn’t matter!” He wheeled to face her, that vein rising on his forehead, his eyes red-rimmed. “It doesn’t matter how difficult he is. He’s my friend, the only real friend I have left, and I can’t…I can’t…”

“You’re upset because you’ve been drinking,” she said evenly. “But we haven’t exhausted all our options. When you’re more yourself, we’ll talk about—”

“More
myself
?” He laughed, but his eyes shone damply. “Oh, yes, I’m so terribly capable when I’m
myself
. You think that because of who
you
are, so clever, so imperturbable. I’m not like you, Miss Sweeney. God, I wish I was, but I’m not.” Tears welled in his eyes; he scrubbed them away before they could fall. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what
you
would do.”

“I…I can’t. I’m not a lawyer. Please, Mr. Thorpe, just—”

“Help me,”
he pleaded, seizing her by the arms. “Help me to not fail him. I can’t do it on my own. I don’t trust myself. I’ll miss something…”

“You won’t,” she assured him as calmly as she could. “Of course I’ll help you, but—”

“That’s all I ask,” he rasped, his hands tightening on her. “You don’t know how much it helps, having your insight. I need that. I need you. You see so much. You see everything.”

“Mr. Thorpe…” Nell tried to squirm away from him, but he was surprisingly strong.

“It’s meant so much to me, your perception, your…” He looked down at his hands clutching her upper arms. Easing his grip, he stroked her through her coat sleeve. “You’re wise beyond your years, and so…”

“Mr. Thorpe.” She pried his hands loose and stepped back. He teetered, but managed to remain upright. “I really must be going.”

Jack started to move toward her, seemed to reconsider that, and retreated awkwardly to lean against the liquor cabinet. “Yes, of course.” He raked an errant lock of hair off his forehead, his gaze bleary and sad. “Of course.”

“It’s just that I want to catch Detective Cook before he—”

“No need to explain,” he said, grabbing onto the edge of the cabinet as he turned to face it. “Go on. You’ve got things to do.”

She hesitated, wondering if she should caution him again about drinking.

“Go,”
he said.

She did.

A
N HOUR LATER, HAVING CONVINCED
Detective Cook to bring her with him tomorrow when he served the subpoena on Pearl Stauber, Nell stepped out of a hack at the corner of Arlington and Commonwealth. Joseph Maynard & Co. was the only business still open on the darkened block, its windows radiant with the glow of a battery of pendant lamps hanging from the ceiling. Regardless that it violated her principles to provide Will Hewitt with opium—a qualm he seemed, surprisingly, to respect—there was nothing to be gained right now from condemning him to withdrawal sickness.