“Then let me ask you one more thing,” I said as he sipped his coffee. “Do you think that such a child, a child whose mentality seems to be frozen at the age of four, could also manage to poison and kill her grandfather?”
“To poison? I think that unlikely. Tell me, was the child known to be devious, sneaky?”
“Not that I heard. Shy, sullen; but not sneaky.”
“I have to say that poison requires a degree of sophistication that would probably be beyond a child such as you have described. How would she know where poison was kept? How would she know the correct amount? And you say it was potassium cyanide? My dear Mrs. Sullivan. It was more likely to have killed her when she handled it. Just to inhale it or to get some inadvertently on her fingertips could be fatal.”
I felt a tremendous wave of relief. I had never believed that Kathleen had killed her grandfather, but to hear this confirmation was wonderful. I don’t know why I was fighting so strongly on her behalf, but I have always been a champion of the underdog. The question now was—had she really killed her sister?
Thirty-two
I left Dr. Birnbaum and went straight to Alderman Hannan’s office. It was on Broad Street, near the new Stock Exchange building. I had found that out easily enough by chatting with Mary Flannery who lived not far away on Water Street. I didn’t know the number but it would be easy enough to ask for directions when I got there. Another ride on the El and I alighted at Hanover Square station. Men in tailed coats hurried up and down the steps between the marble pillars of the Stock Exchange building. I walked along Broad Street, examining the brass plates on nearby walls and found that the office was in another new building, a veritable skyscraper all of twelve stories high. And Alderman Hannan’s office was on the twelfth floor. I rode the elevator with some trepidation. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those things. That creaking, grinding little cage going slowly up a dark shaft inspires in me an unnatural terror and I was breathing hard when the attendant slid open the door for me and said, “Top floor.”
The office was busy in spite of the absence of its owner. Two young men were working away at typewriting machines, making such a clatter that I had to shout when a female receptionist asked me what I wanted. I told her that I had just come from the estate in Newport. Her eyes widened. Typing ceased miraculously. “You were there? Then you know all about it? We’ve only heard what we’ve read in the press.”
“Yes, I was there,” I said. “I took the train down to New York this morning and wondered if I might have a word with Mr. Hannan’s private secretary?”
“Is it true then?” the girl asked. “They are saying that he was poisoned. Is that really true?”
“I’m afraid it is,” I said. “I had to come down to the city so I volunteered to help the local police with their investigations.” I neglected to add that the local police had turned down my offer. “So if I might have a word with Mr. Hannan’s secretary, maybe he could shed some light on this awful business.”
“I hope you can, ma’am,” she said. “We all worshiped Alderman Hannan. We want his killer caught and punished.” She moved closer to me. “Do they think those Tammany boys had anything to do with it? There was an awful ruckus only last week up here in the office, with everyone shouting and Mr. Hannan saying that he couldn’t be bought. And the men stomped out saying that he’d be sorry. So I just wondered. I know how those Tammany thugs work sometimes.”
“Annie, you shouldn’t be talking like that,” one of the typists said, turning away from his machine. “That kind of talk could get you in trouble.”
“I don’t care. It’s the truth, isn’t it?” She looked at him defiantly.
“So men from Tammany Hall were actually up here in this office threatening him, were they?” I said. “Had he received any other threats recently? He was a public figure, after all.”
Before she could say any more a frosted glass door from the inner office opened and a young man stood there. Everything about him was stiff and efficient from his collar to his haughty expression.
“Miss Shaw?” he said. “May I ask what is going on? This person is not from the press, is she? Who let her in? Remember I told you that we speak to nobody until we are given instructions from the family.”
I crossed the room to him, holding out my hand. “I am most certainly not from the press. I am Mrs. Sullivan, wife of Captain Daniel Sullivan. I believe you may have written to us last week on behalf of the alderman to invite us to stay in Newport. I have just come down from the estate and I thought you might have been told very little about the tragedy.”