Monday, September 16, 1901
How to find something when you won’t know what it is until you see it? Walter had clues, maybe even too many, but there was almost no way to know which of them were real and which not relevant unless each was tracked through to conclusion, and he did not have nearly enough time for that. To make matters even worse, he might need to clarify or supplement information with one of the players and none of them were now free of suspicion.
Walter got to the library on Michigan Avenue and Washington Street just as it opened, at 9:30. He always loved coming here, this vast and beautiful monument to knowledge, with its dome and hanging lamps designed by the Tiffany Company. He always entered on Washington Street, facing the wide grand staircase, and inscriptions of sixteenth-century printers’ marks and authors’ quotations in praise of learning lining the walls.
He went to the main desk and asked to see the newspapers. Two weeks’ worth were always available for browsing, but the library kept stacks of the Daily Tribune going back six months, with older copies in the basement, which one could peruse on request. Six months would certainly be enough if what he sought was there. He set himself up at a desk in the reading room and fetched one month’s worth at a time. He leafed through one edition after another, hoping some news item would give him the starting point he was hoping for. Even papers as recent as two weeks old had acquired that stiff, crinkly feeling that made them feel antique. By eleven o’clock, he had begun to give up hope.
After he’d gone through the entire six months of news, Walter placed his hand on top of the last stack and fought back frustration. He knew in his soul that he was right, but there seemed no way to even begin to prove it.
He stared at the stack. Maybe to get to the end, he’d have to change the beginning. He started through the stacks again, this time searching for a different entry point to the thicket. He’d gotten about halfway through when a familiar name jumped out in an article about another country, only a part of a country actually, which under normal circumstances, no one would care very much about. But the article seemed to indicate that circumstances might be anything but normal. One hundred million dollars’ worth of anything.
He checked further to see if there was anything that might provide a clear link to the McKinley assassination. There was nothing direct. But Walter had the same feeling when he finished as he had when he knew an ambush lay around a bend in the trail. He spent another hour trying to fill in some blanks, some of the material supplied by a helpful young librarian who favored him with a becoming smile with every query. When he was done, he had his hypothesis. There were a bunch of gaps and a good deal of smoke, but he felt certain he knew what lay behind Leon Czolgosz’s visit to the Pan and the murder of a president.
Walter had arranged to meet Harry at Claude’s, a tavern they both knew on North State Street. Claude himself was an old trail hand who had been smart with his money and bought a run-down bar for peanuts, fixed it up, and acquired a clientele as loyal to him as he was to them. He had no use for coppers and only palled up with Walter and Harry because they had spent some time together riding in the Dakotas. Claude had rooms in the back, with an exit that provided cover to any of his less savory customers who might require it.
It was about a fifteen-minute walk from the library, one that required serious vigilance. Unlike Tillman, Walter cut a figure that couldn’t be disguised by a change of clothes and phony bonhomie. There was no question now that he was marked, especially in Chicago. Still, the word wouldn’t be out to beat coppers, just to select few on the force, of whom Hannigan was certainly one.
When Walter arrived at Claude’s, he looked up and down the street, but didn’t see anyone. That meant that Harry had taken his advice and not gone home, where there were certainly observers stationed at both ends of the block. Lucinda was probably safe as well.
Walter pushed in the front door and checked out Claude behind the bar. He was at least sixty, but could have been forty, tall and lean, with skin as browned and dry as if it had been made of old leather. He had light blue eyes, which always seemed to be peering from behind slits. Gunfighter’s eyes. Claude never talked about his past and Walter had always wondered.
If Claude acknowledged him—a tiny nod was all you’d ever get—the coast was clear; if not, Walter would turn and leave. But the nod was there, and Claude’s blue lights flicked just a bit toward the back room, so Walter knew Harry was waiting for him.
So was Lucinda.
Walter wanted to ask what she was doing there, but one look at Lucinda knocked the words right back in his throat. For just a second, he had the terrible thought that Harry had invited Natasha as well.
Lucinda read his mind. “I thought I might be useful . . . seeing how you were looking for clues at the library.”
Walter nodded and mumbled an almost unintelligible thank you.
“Did you find any?” Harry asked. Walter was still looking at Lucinda. “Clues, Walter. Did you find any?”
“Yeah. I did.” That came out a little better.
“Well?”
Walter turned toward the door to the front, and called out for Claude to bring him a beer. When it arrived, he asked Claude to close the door behind him. Claude would take no offense—riding trail together engendered doing what was asked without a lot of questions.
After he took a pull on the lager, Walter began. “Okay. Let me tell you a story . . .”
When he was done, Lucinda spoke first. “What’s next?”
“We need to know where the money went. Who got paid and for what. Some of it will be impossible to trace, but some of it has got to be findable if we had someone who knew how to look. Too bad Tillman wasn’t really a cost accountant.”
“What’s going to happen to him?” she asked.
“He’s probably already out of the city. The others we saw too. And unless I’ve got this very wrong, there’ll be a whole new crew in their place, but this time they won’t be just keeping watch on us.”
“What about Wilkie?” Harry asked.
“Yeah,” Walter replied. “That is the question. If we can trust him . . .”
“And if we can’t, we’re not going to be around to complain about it.”
Walter had to ask. “Harry, when we were in Buffalo . . .”
“And you thought I might have sold you out?”
Walter rocked back, as if were avoiding a punch. “How did you know?”
“Shit, Walter. I don’t know how many times you need to hear it, but you get yourself in trouble when you think everyone in the room is a dumbass but you.”
“I don’t think that . . . at least not all the time.”
Lucinda chuckled. “Most of the time though.”
What could he say? “Maybe.”
“Like you don’t know that I know all about you and the anarchist woman, and not because anyone told me. I know you’re drawn to her in a way you’re not drawn to me.”
“That’s not . . . I’m not certain, Lucinda. And that’s the truth. I’m not certain how I feel about anyone . . . that way.” How did they end up talking about this?
“All right, Walter. At some point though, you should try to figure it out. Facing a life spent alone isn’t pleasant.”
Walter felt his mouth moving, but nothing was coming out. Harry, yet again, came to his rescue. “But what about Wilkie? Who, by the by, I have no deal, arrangement, or share secret messages with.”
“Sorry, Harry. Truly.”
“Forget it. In fact, you were right to be suspicious. I also got the feeling that someone had been feeding him information . . .” Harry grinned. “Although I didn’t think it was you.” Harry waited, but Walter had nothing to say. “So do we contact him or not?”
“He’d be able to find someone to trace the money,” Lucinda said.
Walter turned to look at her and she smiled back at him. Why couldn’t he? What was wrong with him?
“It’s all right, Walter,” she said, patting his hand. “At this point, we probably know each other too well.”
“I’d never let anything happen to you,” he said.
“I know.”
“This is all very sweet,” Harry interjected, “but can we get back to Wilkie? Are we going to tell him or not?”
“Not yet,” Walter replied. “We need a little more information first. And I’m pretty sure I know where to get it.”
“About the money?” Lucinda asked.
“Some of it.”
After Walter told them what he had it mind, Harry was livid. “I thought you said you wouldn’t let anything happen to my sister?”
“And we won’t, Harry.”