Death of Riley (30 page)

I had no choice but to tell him the truth. “Leon is a very dangerous man,” I said.

A smile crossed his face. “Leon dangerous? Deluded yes, but—”

“I work—used to work for a private detective. He was killed—I'm certain he was murdered by your friend Leon.”

Before Ryan could say anything, I opened my purse and produced the postcard, now pasted together. “I went to the boardinghouse where he had been staying and I found this in his wastebasket. He was going to send it to you, but obviously changed his mind.”

Ryan examined the postcard and the smile faded. “Oh, God,” he said quietly.

“Do you know what he means?”

Ryan sighed. “He took it rather hard when I left him— they usually do. He told me he'd do something to make me notice him. Then he launched into this grand plan to do something spectacular at the exposition. He tried to persuade me to be his partner in crime. I laughed, I'm afraid. Leon always had big ideas, but I thought he was all talk. He was melodramatic to the point of being boring.”

“He's in Buffalo,” I said. “He left his lodgings and asked the landlady for a railway timetable. He looked up trains to Buffalo.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph.” It was the first time I'd heard an Irish expression escape from his lips.

“What do you think he was planning to do?” I asked.

“I really don't know. He lived in a fantasy world, actually, and talked a lot of nonsense.” He pushed back his hair in a gesture of futility. “Lucky he wasn't here today, wasn't it? The President toured the exposition and then went out to the new power plant at Niagara Falls. Leon was all for assassinating heads of state.”

“We should go to the police,” I said.

“It might be the wisest thing.” He leaned back against the peeling paint of the wall. “This would happen when I have my opening night tomorrow.”

A thought struck me. “You don't think he might try to disrupt your opening night?”

Ryan looked startled. “Now that's a thought. Punish me by bombing my theater? Yes, I suppose that could be why he's here.”

“Then we must go to the police right away.”

“The problem is, what can they do? Do you know how many people are in this town? Leon could be wearing a disguise, have registered in a hotel under a false name— there is no way they'll find him if he doesn't want to be found.”

“But we must stop him, Ryan. He killed my employer. He tried to kill me.”

“Tried to kill you? When?” Ryan gave me a startled look.

“A few nights ago. He broke into the house and came at me with a knife.”

“Act Two, beginners on stage in two minutes,” came the call down the hallway. Ryan moved toward the door. “I have to go back. The second act is starting.” He took my arm again. “Come on. We'll go looking for him tomorrow,” he said as he led me back to our seats. “If he knows I'm in town, it's just possible that he will be tailing me. We'll lure him to us and make him see reason.”

I watched the second act feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. Ryan was not involved in the plot himself. He was going to make everything all right.

“Where are you staying tonight?” he whispered as the curtain fell. I told him I hadn't found a hotel room yet. He shook his head.‘There's no point in trying to find a bed in the city. Every hotel and boardinghouse is chockablock full. Half my crew are slumming in the green room. You'd better join them.”

So I spent the night in the theater green room, lying on old cloths that smelled of paint. Again safety in numbers, I told myself, even though I had nothing to fear.

In the morning I waited impatiently while Ryan went through last-minute instructions in the theater, then talked to a bevy of news reporters waiting for him outside. It was past noon by the time we joined the human tide heading toward the main gates of the exposition. Then we had to wait in the hot sun as the line inched forward toward the turnstiles. Ryan paid for both of us, the turnstile swung and we were through.

I had been concentrating so hard on my task that I hadn't given much thought to the exposition itself. But as we passed through the entrance gates and crossed a beautiful lake by means of a triumphal causeway, I caught my first glimpse of that majestic tower rising at the end of a wide boulevard. It was like a tower from a fairy tale, and I let out a gasp.

“If you think it's impressive in the daytime, you should see it at night,” Ryan said, smiling at my excited face. “That whole tower is one mass of electric lights. And a great beam at the top of it. You can see it shining out for miles away.”

“I saw it last night,” I said. “It lit up the whole sky. I've never imagined anything as magical as this in my entire life. This is how I pictured Rome and Florence and Paris all rolled into one.”

We were swept by the human tide up the grand esplanade, lined with columns and dotted with fountains. Each fountain was grander than the one in Central Park. Elegant Spanish or Renaissance-style buildings stood on either side. Some of them had great domes, some of them were adorned with Greek pillars. I'd have loved to see inside each of them, but we were borne forward by the surge around us toward the tower, and by a sense of urgency. A brass band was playing on an outdoor stage. Flags of all nations fluttered in the morning breeze. Even the signs were intriguing, TO THE PLANTATION, TO THE AFRICAN VILLAGE, TO THE WILD WEST SHOW, TO THE TEMPLE OF SCIENCE. How wonderful it would have been to be a visitor here, with time to explore and no worries.

“Where do you think we should start?” I asked Ryan. We had reached the base of the tower and stood beside yet another pool with fountains playing. A breefce sprang up and the spray felt wonderful, as the day had become quite warm. Around us, men were mopping at foreheads with handkerchiefs and women were fanning themselves.

He shook his head. “I have no idea. This whole thing is futile, Molly. How can we possibly find him among these crowds? And I should be back at my theater. There are so many things to do before we open tonight.”

“But we can't just give up and go home,” I said. “What exactly did he tell you he was going to do? Do you remember his exact words?”

Ryan wrinkled his forehead. “He said he was going to make the damned capitalists sit up and take notice, pardon the language, and what better way than destroying that monument to capitalism, the Pan American Exposition. I asked him just how he planned to destroy a whole exhibition, single-handedly. I teased him that he'd need large pockets to carry in enough explosives to bring down even one of the buildings. And he said he'd find a way.”

“Why didn't you tell someone?” I was shocked.

Ryan pushed back a lock of hair in a gesture of annoyance. “My dear girl, I've told you before, I didn't take him seriously. He was always making wild threats and wild promises. He was going to kill the King of England, he was going to blow up the Eiffel Tower in Paris. All talk, Molly. His family thinks he's crazy, you know. He is penniless and quite dependent on them. So why should this fantasy be any different from the others?”

“We have to assume that it is,” I said quietly.

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose we do. Not a comforting thought.”

“So he was planning to blow up one of the buildings,” I said.‘Then it would have to be the tower, wouldn't it?”

“That or the new electricity power plant they've built beside the Niagara Falls,” Ryan said, thinking out loud, “Or my theater. Take your pick. All good targets.”

We walked around the tower, then stood by the fountain, examining the crowd for any sign of Leon. As Ryan had said, it was hopeless. A hundred thousand people must have been at the exposition that day, and there was no reason that Leon would have picked this very day to carry out his plan.

“Let's at least go to the police and give them a description of him. Then we'll have done all we can do,” I said.

Ryan nodded. “I don't see what other option there is. We can't station ourselves everywhere. I hate the idea of turning poor Leon over to the police, but what else can I do?”

“Why poor Leon? The man is a murderer, Ryan.”

“Yes, but also a very troubled person, Molly. I told you his family thinks he is crazy. His father wanted to have him locked away.”

“And do you think he's crazy?”

“Obsessed, I suppose, sums it up. He was obsessed with me for a while. Now he seems to be obsessed with anarchism.”

“I imagine most anarchists must be crazy,” I said.

“Leon isn't a true anarchist,” Ryan said. “As I said, he is obsessed with anarchism at the moment, although he was very good at spending capitalist money when I was paying. He even developed a taste for Havana cigars.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “True anarchists are good at concealing their identity. They behave like you and me until the time comes.” He jumped aside as he was almost mowed down by a group of children who rushed, screaming, toward a clown on stilts.

“Oh, this is ridiculous, Molly. Why on earth did I allow you to talk me into this? It's worse than looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. I've got to get back to the theater. The opening-night curtain goes up in”—he consulted his pocket watch—”in four hours.”

As we made our way back down the grand esplanade, we found that cordons were being set up. Men in uniforms were stationed along the cordons, channeling the crowds to either side. People were starting to line the route, many of them clutching American flags.

“What's this in aid of?” Ryan asked one of the soldiers. “More dignitaries coming today?”

“President McKinley's coming in a few minutes,” the uniformed man said, not looking up.

“But I thought he toured the exposition yesterday,” I blurted out.

“He did, but he liked it so well that he's decided to come back.”

“He'll be driving around in his automobile, will he?” I asked.

“No, ma'am—he'll be in the Temple of Music over there, shaking hands,” the man said. “Going to give the ordinary folks a chance to meet him. That's the kind of guy he is.”

T
wenty
–S
ix

I looked at Ryan to see if he was thinking the same thing I was. His face had also gone pale.

“Who would be in charge of the President's sec urity?” I asked. “We need to speak to him.”

The man laughed. “Don't worry yourselves about that. They've got enough National Guardsmen and Marines and Secret Service here to start a small war.”

The crowd enveloped us and moved us on. It seemed that everyone else was heading in the same direction—to an ornate domed building halfway along the grand esplanade. It was the most magnificently decorated of all, with pillars rising to that great dome and the whole edifice adorned with statues and flags.

I grabbed Ryan's arm. “We have to tell someone,” I said.

“Who?”

“We'll go up to the door and find out who is in charge. They can stop Leon from going in.” Ryan nodded.

But as we approached the temple, we saw that it was going to be impossible to get anywhere close. A long line had already formed, snaking its way between cordons and armed guards toward the entrance. Another line of guards stood around the perimeter to stop people from cutting into the line. Ryan took my hand and we forced our way through the crowd until we reached the nearest soldiers.

“We need to speak to someone in charge,” Ryan said. “We have reason to believe that a dangerous anarchist is among this crowd.”

“Anarchist, uh?” The soldier looked amused, if anything.

“He's of slight build, big dark eyes, probably dressed all in black,” I said. “He likes to wear a black cap.”

“Sounds like a regular good anarchist to me,” the soldier said, still grinning.

“If you'd let us in, we could identify him for you,” Ryan added.

“Oh, so that's your game, is it?” the soldier sneered. “Trying to cut the line? Go on, get to the end and wait your turn like everyone else.”

“But we need to talk to someone in charge,” I insisted. “Don't you realize the President could be in danger?”

“If that's what you're worrying about, little lady, then there's no need,” the man said. “Anyone who goes into that theater has to pass a rigorous inspection. If we don't like the look of someone, he doesn't get in. The President will be safer than in Fort Knox.”

He moved us away.

“I wish I could believe him,” I said. “See if you can spot Leon in the line.”

Ryan strained to peer through the crowd. “Too many people in the way.”

“Hopeless,” I said. “Maybe if we made a fuss, we'd get taken straight to the man in charge. He'd listen to us.”

“We could also find ourselves thrown into jail,” Ryan

said. “Which would seriously disturb my opening tonight.”

“Then what do you suggest?” I snapped. The heat and the enormity of the moment were getting to me.

“If we could find a way into the building”—Ryan was staring up at the dome above us— “then we could spot Leon the moment he entered, before he got anywhere close to the President.”

“We'd have to make ourselves invisible.” The temple was surrounded by a great throng, half of whom seemed to be armed guards.

“Let's see what happens round at the back of the building.”

We forced our way back through the crowd still making for the end of the line. As we came around to the other side of the building, a great cheer went up, getting closer and closer. A band played a fanfare. We got a glimpse of the black roof of an automobile. The President had arrived. The far side of the temple was no better than the other. Here was the exit door where those who had shaken the President's hand would leave the building. It, too, was heavily guarded and there was a second perimeter of soldiers to stop anyone from getting too close.

“I wonder if they've locked the stage door,” Ryan said. “It's a theater, isn't it? There has to be a performers' entrance.” We went around to the back and, sure enough, there was a little door, half-hidden behind a pillar. We tried it and of course it was locked. Ryan glanced at the back of the armed guards who formed a circle around the pavilion. “Do you happen to have a hairpin, Molly, my dearest?”

“Yes, but…” I tugged one out of my hair. “You can't think of—”

“I have acquired some extremely useful skills during my long and checkered career, and picking a lock was one of them,” Ryan said, kneeling down before the lock. “Keep guard for me.”