“Mrs. Sullivan. My husband and I are staying in the guest cottage. We were invited by the alderman himself,” I said. “And I have already made the acquaintance of Police Chief Prescott this morning.”
His fair Celtic face flushed. “Very well, ma’am. I’ll ascertain whether he and Mr. Joseph wish to be disturbed. If you’ll just wait here.”
He opened the door. “A Mrs. Sullivan is here and wishes to speak to Chief Prescott,” he said grandly.
“What does she want? We’re busy,” Joseph Hannan said.
I wasn’t going to stand meekly in the passage while they discussed me and what I might want. I walked into the room. It was a gentleman’s study, with leather chairs, a mahogany desk, and a wall of leather-bound books. It looked so perfect that I couldn’t help wondering whether Brian Hannan had purchased the whole thing from an English stately home and had it shipped across. Joseph Hannan and Chief Prescott were sitting across from each other in leather armchairs. They both looked decidedly displeased to see me.
“This won’t take a moment of your time,” I said, addressing myself to the police chief. “But I’ve discovered something that may be important for your investigation.”
“You have? What is it?”
“I was taking a stroll around the grounds,” I said, “and the wind became rather strong so I decided to take refuge in the little gazebo. Imagine my surprise when I saw a tray on the bench. There was a decanter on it, and a glass, half full. I presume your men must have mentioned it to you, but on the off chance that they hadn’t, I thought I’d better.”
“Yes, well thank you, Mrs. Sullivan,” the police chief said. “Good of you.” His expression made it clear that nobody had told him about it but he wasn’t about to lose face by admitting it.
“A tray with a decanter on it, you say?” Joseph Hannan asked.
“And it looks as if it had been placed there recently,” I added.
“And how would you know that?” Joseph Hannan asked in what I took to be a patronizing voice.
I still kept my gaze directed toward the police chief as I answered. “Because there are a good many leaves lying on the bench and none on the tray. So I wondered who might have gone to have a quiet drink alone there, and when that was.”
“Interestingly enough, that ties in with what I was just telling you,” Joseph Hannan said to the police chief. “That would make perfect sense. Brian arrived last evening and the first thing he needed was a drink before he faced us. But he didn’t want any fuss from us so he took it off to the gazebo where he could drink in peace.”
My gaze went from the police chief to Joseph Hannan and back again.
“Mr. Hannan had just this minute mentioned to me that his brother had begun drinking rather heavily and that the family was trying to stop him before it was too late,” Chief Prescott said.
“Nobody enjoys a good Irish whiskey more than I do,” Joseph Hannan said, “but with Brian it was beginning to take over his life. Threatening all he’d worked for all these years—the business, his political ambitions. Naturally we tried to help him. My wife and daughter are part of the temperance movement so you can imagine how they lit into him any time they saw him with a glass. Poor man, they gave him hell.” He gave a wry smile.
“So if he arrived last night and wanted a drink, he must have got it from somewhere,” Chief Prescott said. “Where would he have helped himself to a decanter and glasses without being seen? Or one of the servants must have brought him the tray, which is strange, because none of them mentions having done so. In fact they all swear that they didn’t see him arrive.”
“Ah, well, I think I can shed some light on that,” Joseph said. “Shed being the operative word. Brian knew his drinking wasn’t well received in the house, so he kept a little stash in the shed by the stables. That’s where this probably came from.”
“Thank heavens for that,” Chief Prescott said. “I was fearing we’d be in for an investigation, given that Mr. Hannan was such an important man in New York. But this explains it all, doesn’t it? You say Mr. Hannan drank too much. Didn’t know when to stop. He sat there in the gazebo last night until he was drunk and then in his drunken stupor he walked the wrong way, over the cliff. A sad ending to a great man, but not entirely unexpected would you say, Mr. Hannan?”
“It’s what we’ve all been fearing,” Joseph said. “What a waste. Just when his future had never been brighter.”
Chief Prescott nodded. “Better in a way than the suspicion of a crime hanging over the family.”
“I suppose it is. And that means there is no reason for Mrs. Sullivan and her husbasnd to stay on any longer, is there?” Mr. Joseph put the question to Chief Prescott. “They’d be free to leave now, wouldn’t they?”