Harry, this just doesn’t make sense.”
Harry took a pull on his lager. O’Brian’s was his favorite tavern in Chicago because they poured cold, clear beer in iced mugs and didn’t make him pay.
“It is odd, Walter.” Harry seemed in fine spirits. Much as he liked Walter, it didn’t bother him much to see his balloon popped every once in while.
“Fuck you, Harry.”
Harry chuckled, then got serious. “Okay, but actually it is. Are these guys professionals or amateurs? They seem a little of each.”
“Right. That’s what I’m saying. They clearly had a role in setting this all up, picked Czolgosz who would ‘do his duty’ and keep his mouth shut, and then were slick enough to get rid of Esther Kolodkin in a way not easy to trace. Then they leave a trail a mile wide until the telegraph office, when all of a sudden it goes dead. All the records for February were gone. Which is just like at the hotel. Somebody must have done it afterwards.”
“Which means this is bigger than what we’re seeing.”
“Bigger and stranger. I walked into that telegraph office like they meant me to find it. The big fuss at the hotel. The twenty dollar gold piece. Then making such a stink about the telegrams at the front desk. Even making sure the clerk knew they were from Washington. Then no records, no one remembers anything, no way to trace them.”
“Maybe they were just having some fun. Maybe they didn’t care about the trail they left because they knew it ended in a blind alley.”
“Does that sound right to you?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“But it could mean that whoever was watching us in Buffalo is connected to Smith and Jones.”
“Yeah. And that leads to the question of connected how?” Walter grunted and tossed down his Pabst. “Doesn’t seem like any anarchists I’ve ever heard of.”
“Yeah, but maybe there are anarchists out there that we haven’t heard of. A bunch that’s smart enough not to leave calling cards wherever they go.”
“Maybe,” Walter agreed. “But let’s do it your way. Say they weren’t going to let anyone outside their movement find them so easily. After all, if Czolgosz did what he was supposed to, they’d hang for sure, and they picked someone who they didn’t think would talk first. But why were they so secretive with their own? They never do that.”
“We don’t know they were secretive with their own.”
“Certainly seems that way. And the way they looked and talked? No accents? Long coats? Phony names? Have you ever seen anarchists behave like that before? They always want to make sure everybody knows what they did.”
“Yeah, but there’s a first time for everything, Walter. Maybe this was a big enough deal that they used some brains instead of a megaphone. Maybe this was one time when they didn’t want to announce what they was up to.”
“Maybe,” Walter muttered. “But to me, they sound more like a couple of Pinkertons than some Russian or German fanatics.”
“Whoa, Walter, you’re not going back to that, are you? If it was Pinkertons, it could just as easily been our guys.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m dumb, Walter. Once it ain’t anarchists, then it could be anyone . . . and I know you’re still on Foster and Ireland in your head.”
“Well, you may hate to admit it, Harry, but until we either figure out why they messed up so bad, or we find someone else to hang it on, they’ve got to stay in the mix.”
Harry knew it was true, but wasn’t going to make it more true by admitting Walter was right. Instead, he changed the subject. “By the way, what did you say to Lucinda when I went down to smoke the cigar?”
Walter’s head snapped up. “Lucinda? Nothing, Harry. I swear. Why? Was she mad at me?”
Harry shook his head. “Just the reverse.” His eyes narrowed. “I know she can be a pain, Walter, but she’s still my little sister.”
“I know, Harry. I’d never do anything . . . what’d she say?”
Harry shook his head. “Forget it. Probably just making stuff up in her head.”
“Making what up?”
“I said forget it, Walter.”
“Hey, wait a minute, Harry. What are you complaining about? This was your idea. Weren’t you the one who threw her at me?”
Harry’s gaze darkened. “Watch yourself, Walter.”
Walter heaved a sigh. “Harry, I’ll tell you for the last time. If I was thinking about getting involved, Lucinda would be at the top of my list. But I’m not. And she knows I’m not.”
“Planning on questioning the dead girl’s sister again?”
Walter turned to order another beer, although the one in front of him was not quite empty.
“That’s what I thought,” Harry muttered.
“It’s nothing, Harry,” Walter protested lamely.
“As long as it stays nothing.”
Now Walter needed the change of subject. “Didn’t Hannigan say that Isaak thought Czolgosz was a police agent?” He glanced to Harry to see if it took. Harry was staring down at the bar and, from the glower on his face, he was not thinking good thoughts.
“Maybe I’ll go chat with him,” Walter continued.
“Can’t hurt.”
“You set it up with Hannigan?”
Harry lifted his head. “You don’t need me, Walter. Just use your charm.”