Walter told Natasha to stay where she was and went back to the front room. He was taking a risk, leaving her, but he didn’t think she was foolish enough to duck through the window and try to scurry down the scaffold before he was on her. And besides, yeah, he believed her.
Harry and Torrence/Taft/Tillman were sitting in chairs opposite each other, about six feet apart, far enough that Tillman would be dead before he could leap across and close the distance. When Walter took him in this time, he realized that while their captive might have had a round face, he was anything but fat. He was, instead, thick, with a wide chest and shoulders, and arms that totally filled out his shirt. Walter couldn’t help but respect the man’s ability to pull off the charades he had.
“So what do we call you?” Walter asked.
“Whatever you like.”
“Let’s use Tillman. You being in the division and all. Don’t suppose you’d like to show me the badge you flashed at her?”
Tillman grinned, but his eyes didn’t move. They were taking in the room, sizing up any possibility of turning the tables. “She said I flashed a badge? She’s mistaken.”
“Harry’s sister mistaken too? Care to quote me some biblical passages? Or maybe we should go back to Cleveland and share a meal at Emilio’s?”
“I don’t think you’re gonna be seeing Cleveland any time soon, George. You either Swayne.”
“Tough talk from someone on the wrong end of a Colt.”
Tillman shrugged. “Ends can change.”
“So you gonna tell us about what you’re really doing?”
Tillman grinned. His teeth were uneven, which made it seem like a leer. “Protecting the president. Exactly what you boys thought you were doing.”
“Which president?”
“We only got one, far as I can tell.”
“Different than a couple of days ago though.”
“No matter.”
“Unless you had something to do with that.”
“Ain’t you guys read the papers? An anarchist killed McKinley. And every right-thinking American believes other anarchists were involved. The Goldman whore might have been let go, but other ones are being arrested. If you got a different theory, you’re gonna need some proof.”
“We’ve got you.”
“Ha. I’m nobody. What are going to charge me with? Impersonating a salesman? Taking Lucinda Swayne to tea? By the way, Swayne, she’s a terrific woman. Deserves better than you for a brother.”
Harry was already halfway across the space before Walter stopped him. Harry sat back down, but the veins in his neck were throbbing so hard, Walter thought one of them might burst.
Tillman seemed unperturbed. “And now that you’ve got me, what do you intend to do with me? Can’t very well just march me off to the coppers. I think you know I got friends in some pretty high places. About as high as you can get these days. And you ain’t got shit.”
He was right, of course. What could they do with him? In order to get anything done officially, they’d have to get word to Wilkie. And Wilkie wasn’t totally above suspicion either.
“You’re right, Tillman,” Walter said, moving around behind him. “We can’t just march you off.” And with that, Walter brought down the butt end of his Colt against the side of Tillman’s head, hard enough to put him out, but not hard enough to kill him.
“Let’s truss him up,” Walter said to Harry. “We can use the curtain sashes.”
The curtains were in the back room. Would Natasha still be there?
She was. She watched as Walter and Harry used their knives to cut up the curtains and sashes into lengths of rope to bind Tillman’s wrists and ankles to the chair and tie another strip around his waist.
Harry was already at the door. “Come on, Walter. We don’t have much time. We’ve got to find a telegraph office and tell Wilkie.” He smirked. “I’d rather have this mess in his lap than ours.” He pointed at Natasha. “We do have to decide what to do with her.”
But Walter put up his hand. “Not yet, Harry. There’s something wrong.”
Harry reached for the doorknob. “There’s a lot wrong, Walter.”
“No. Something else.” He pointed at Natasha. “She’s still alive.”
Harry’s hand dropped to his side. When Walter got like this, there was no moving him. Besides, that Natasha was still breathing after two days with Tillman had surprised him as well. “Okay, but can we make this fast?”
“Was everything you told us totally true?” Walter asked Natasha. “That Tillman made a point of telling you that Roosevelt sent him to protect McKinley from us? Did you leave anything out?”
Natasha shook her head.
“He was going to let her loose,” Walter said, turning to Harry. “And tell her to warn her friends about us.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Natasha said quickly. “He told me how Roosevelt was a fair man and even though he hated our politics didn’t want anyone persecuted. But that you two and everyone you were working with were going to make sure we were blamed, dead or alive. He definitely implied dead was better.”
“I don’t get it, Walter,” Harry muttered. “If the idea here is that TR arranged all of this to become president, what’s the point of painting him as McKinley’s savior? Trying to pin it on us I get.”
Walter waved that off. “Trying to pin it on us wouldn’t hold up for ten . . .”
Then he had it.
“Harry, we can’t call Wilkie just yet.” He gestured at Tillman. “And we’re going to need a place to stash him for a couple of days. Can’t be with the coppers or any of our people.” He turned to Natasha. “How about it? Want to help solve the murder of a president you hated?”