“If he doesn’t do the job himself?”
“He may well,” said Bell. “But for the sake of covering all bases, who would he hire?”
“He’s got a choice of Black Hand gorillas or radical Italian anarchists,” said Petrosino. “Pray it’s gorillas.”
“Why’s that?”
“Criminals trip themselves up worrying about getting away. The crazy anarchists don’t mind dying in the act. They don’t even think about getting away, which makes them so dangerous.”
“Do you have a line on Italian anarchists?” Bell asked.
“Most of them.”
“Could you take them out of commission when the President goes to Storm King?”
“The lawyers will howl. The newspapers will howl. The Progressives will howl.”
“How loudly?”
Petrosino grinned. “I been a cop so long, so many gunfights, my ears are deaf.”
“Thank you,” said Bell. “I hope the Van Dorn Agency can return the favor one day. What about the gorillas?”
“Too many. I’ll never find them all. But like I say, they’re not as dangerous as anarchists.”
“Well done on the anarchists!” Joseph Van Dorn said when Bell reported. “But the assurance that ‘gorillas’ are not as dangerous as radicals doesn’t exactly make me rest easy. Particularly as the President has decided to make your ‘one speech only’ open to all. He wired me this morning that he’s going to lead the workmen in a parade.”
“A parade,” said Bell with a sinking heart. What if he was wrong about Branco killing in close? A parade was an invitation to a sniper, and a criminal as freewheeling as Branco could change tactics in an instant.
Van Dorn echoed his thoughts. “The parade is madness. He intends to lead it in the Steamer. I asked, would he at least put up the automobile’s top? Look what he wired back.”
Van Dorn thrust a telegram across his desk.
SNOW ON LABOR
SNOW ON PRESIDENT
Bell asked, “Who’s marching in the parade?”
“Everyone.”
“Even the Italians?”
“Especially the Italians. Last we spoke in Washington, he had a bee in his bonnet about immigrants learning English to facilitate fair dealings between classes of citizens. He was tickled pink when I told him that the Italian White Hand Society is our client and what fine English Vella and LaCava speak.”
“Why don’t you invite Vella and LaCava to the parade?”
“Excellent idea! I’ll bet TR shakes their hands.”
“Invite Caruso and Tetrazzini, while you’re at it.”
“I wouldn’t call either sterling pronunciators of the King’s English.”
“Any hand the President shakes that is not a stranger’s hand will make me happy,” said Bell. “Along with a snowstorm to blind the snipers.”
Van Dorn turned grave. “But in the event that a providential snowstorm doesn’t blind a sniper, how else are you closing the vise around Branco?”
“My operators are watching Culp’s gates and his boat landing round the clock.”
“I thought you told the President the river was frozen.”
“I put a man on an ice yacht.”
“Where’d you get an ice yacht?”
“Bought myself one in Poughkeepsie.”
“Who other than you knows how to sail it?”
“Archie Abbott.”
“I wondered where that fool had gotten to. What else are you doing?”
“I have a tapper up a pole listening to the Raven’s Eyrie telephone.”
“Outside the walls?” asked Van Dorn.
“Yes, sir. Outside.”
“What about telegraph?”
“It’s all in cipher.”
“I would lay off the telegraph wire. Culp conducts business from the estate. Telephone tapping is one thing; the law’s so murky. But we don’t want to be liable to charges of telegraph tapping for inside knowledge of Culp’s stock market trades. What else?”
“What else would the Chief Investigator recommend?” Bell asked his old mentor.
Van Dorn sat behind his desk silently for a while. He gazed into the middle distance, then made a tent with his fingers and stared inside it. At last he spoke. “Go back to that woman.”
“Francesca?”
“Find out what she didn’t tell you.”
Bell was itching to return to his detectives watching Raven’s Eyrie and guarding the siphon tunnel dig. “She already admitted to every crime in the book.”
Van Dorn said, “She knew she was headed to prison, at best, and more likely the hangman. She may have talked your ear off, but she’s drowning, Isaac. She had to hold on to something, something for herself.”
Archie Abbott woke before dawn in a cold bed in a cold room. He pulled on heavy underclothing and over it a snug suit of linen. Then he donned thick woolen hose, trousers, and waistcoat. He encased his feet in high felt boots. Finally, he buttoned a fur jacket over the woolen waistcoat and a pea jacket over the fur. He covered his head and ears with a fur hat and pulled goggles over his eyes.