Death of Riley (31 page)

I moved away from the door. The stage door was in deep shade and blocked from view by the pillar. If Ryan was quick, we might have a chance to get inside undetected.

Then I looked up to see one of the guards turning in my direction.

“Hey, you,” he called. “What are you doing?”

I picked up my skirts, revealing a good expanse of ankle, and ran straight toward him, looking suitably distressed. “I'm sorry, sir, but it's my little sister.” I gazed up at him and fluttered my eyelashes. “She's become separated from our party and my mother is fit to be tied. She sent me to look for her. You haven't seen her yourself, have you? She's the family beauty, you know. Only sixteen, but she has the biggest blue eyes and hair like spun gold, and she's so dainty, not like big, clodhopping me. You'd know her if you'd seen her. All the men swoon over our Eileen.”

“I can't say that I have seen her, miss,” the soldier said. “But I'd certainly like to if she's anything like you describe.”

“Oh, she is. Even more so. All the boys are crazy for our Eileen,” I said. “That's her name. Eileen Donovan. So if you'd be good enough to keep an eye out for her … Tell her that the family are waiting for her in line to see the President and if she doesn't hurry up, she'll miss her chance.”

The soldier gave me a friendly wink as he tipped his cap. “Right you are, miss. I'll keep my eye out for her.”

“I'd better get back to my poor mother in the line, then,” I said. “I'm much obliged to you, officer. I'm so relieved to know you'll spot her if she comes this way.” I fluttered my eyelashes yet again, then ran back, as if I were going around to the front of the building. Once the soldier had turned away, hoping no doubt to catch a glimpse of the ravishing Eileen, I dodged into the shadow of a pillar and crept back to Ryan. The door now swung open and Ryan was standing just inside it, looking very pleased with himself.

“What did I tell you? There is no end to the man's talents.” He gave me an excited grin as we stepped inside to complete darkness.

I held my breath as we tiptoed along a dark passageway. At every step I expected to be confronted by an armed guard, but nothing stirred. At last we found ourselves behind the stage. The curtains were drawn, but through the gaps we could see the shapes of yet more men standing guard.

“We could alert one of them,” I whispered.

“And if we took them by surprise they might shoot first and ask questions afterward,” Ryan said. “This is America, land of the gun. No, we have to get to a position where we can see for ourselves.”

He led on, following the back wall of the theater past the stage and into another passage. We were now in almost total darkness again. Then we came to a stair in the wall. Ryan turned and gave me a thumbs-up sign.

“Watch your step, it's narrow,” he said and started to climb. I picked up my skirts and followed. The door at the top opened onto an elegant hallway. Below us rose the echoing murmur of voices. We pulled back a red velvet curtain and stepped out onto a balcony. We stood in the shadow of the velvet curtains looking down on a vast auditorium. Around the walls were brightly painted pillars and archways, and above our heads the most amazing dome, decorated in the same brilliant red and gold. It was enough to take your breath away. To our right was the stage we had just passed and to our left, a pipe organ as big as a house, with pipes rising right up to the dome.

What a noise that would make when it was played. Both the stage and the organ were still, however. The action was happening on the floor below us. Most of the seats in the auditorium had been moved to create a lane down which a solid line of humanity had begun to file. And there, almost directly below us, was an area draped with giant American flags and potted plants. A large grayhaired man in a dark suit was seated there, surrounded by dignitaries and flanked by an armed escort.

“Serious breach in security, wouldn't you say?” Ryan whispered. “He'd be a sitting duck from up here.”

The first of the line of well-wishers was now approaching the President. Excited faces poked out of the crowd, craning to get their first view of the great man. My, but it was hot in that auditorium. Men were wiping their foreheads. I saw one woman dabbing eau de cologne on her forehead, another fanning herself with her program. I could feel the sweat trickling down my own neck, although whether that was from the heat or from fear, I couldn't tell.

We waited and watched. The line went on and on—an endless procession coiling across the auditorium like a giant snake, in one door and out the other. The President obviously had handshaking down to a fine art. While he shook hands with his right, his left was already motioning the person to move along.

Suddenly Ryan grabbed my arm. “There he is,” he hissed.

“Where?”

“There. Behind the woman with the baby.”

I stared at the person he was indicating and then looked up at Ryan in surprise. If this was Leon, I never would have recognized him. Gone were the black clothing and the cap. He was dressed conservatively in a brown jacket, shirt and tie. He looked like any other visitor—a serious young clerk or college student. And, more strangely still, I saw for the first time that his hair was light brown, parted in the middle and slicked down neatly. I had never noticed his hair, because he had always been wearing that black cap, so he had always given me the impression of being dark. Of course, I was too far away to see his eyes. I would have remembered them anywhere.

“What should we do now?” I whispered.

As I turned to Ryan, I saw him reach into his pocket. At that moment the world stood still. I saw how stupidly naive I had been. Ryan must have planned this whole charade. What had he just said about real anarchists not looking the part? Was he not a brilliant actor who had played his part perfectly? I realized how cleverly he had kept me in his sight and not let me go to the police, even to the point of making sure I slept in his theater. He had tricked me into thinking he wanted to prevent Leon from committing the crime, when he was the mastermind behind this plot, now poised in a perfect position in case Leon somehow missed his target. And I—I had become the accomplice, the hostage, trapped up here with someone who was a ruthless killer. I looked around wildly, but help was quite out of reach. Well, I wasn't going to let him carry out his deed if I could help it.

His hand came out of his pocket and I saw that the object he held was not a gun, but a white handkerchief. At that moment I noticed that Leon, like several other men, was holding a handkerchief in his hand. It had to be used for a signal.

As Ryan went to raise his arm I flung myself onto him. We staggered sideways together, and almost went over the railing.

“What the devil?” Ryan shouted, grabbing on to me to steady us both. “Have you gone mad?”

At that moment we heard the shot. It echoed back from that great dome, sounding just like the popping of a large firecracker. Then all hell broke loose. Women were screaming. Men were wrestling below us. Others had clustered around a fallen man.

“He's done it!” Ryan gasped. “He's really done it!” He spun around, grabbing my shoulders. “I could have stopped him! Who are you? Are you one of them? Did you wish the President dead?”

He was shaking me violently.

“I thought you did.” I felt as if I was about to burst into tears and fought to master myself. “You got out that handkerchief. I thought it was a signal.”

“The sweat was running into my eyes, you stupid girl!” We stood glaring at each other. “I was about to call out his name. He'd have panicked and they could have grabbed him. What on earth made you think I was in on it with him?”

“Paddy Riley, the detective that Leon killed—he snapped a photo of you and Leon the day before he was murdered. I've never truly known whether I could trust you or not.”

He looked at me quite tenderly now. “Then you're a brave little colleen to come up here with me. I could easily have thrown you over.”

“I know,” I said. “I was well aware of that.”

“It doesn't matter now,” Ryan said. “We're too late. We failed.” He gave a big sigh and turned to leave the balcony.

“Maybe he didn't hit his mark. Maybe the President is just wounded,” I said.

At that moment there were shouts and the clatter of boots coming up the stairs. Before we could move, guns were trained on us.

“We've got them. More of the gang,” a voice shouted.

Hands grabbed us and we were manhandled down the steps.

“Let go,” I yelled in fright as my hands were wrenched behind my back. “We're not his accomplices. We were trying to stop him, you fools.” But nobody listened to me as we were dragged out of the building.

“Do you know who I am? I'm Ryan O'Hare, the famous playwright,” Ryan shouted. “We thought this man might do something and we tried to stop him.”

“We tried to get into the building. We tried to talk to someone in charge, but nobody would listen to us!” I yelled. “You're making a big mistake. Get your hands off me!”

“Take them down to headquarters for questioning,” a voice commanded. “Quick. Get them out of here before the crowd tears them to pieces.”

The next moments passed in a blur. A crowd of angry faces surged toward us as I was dragged toward a waiting police wagon. The wagon door opened and Ryan was flung inside.

“She's the one. She shot the President! String her up, boys. Don't let them take her away,” voices shouted in my ear. Hands grabbed at my skirt. I heard a ripping sound, someone fired a warning shot and I was thrown into the wagon after Ryan. Then whips were cracked and we were galloped away.

T
wenty
–S
even

It seemed an eternity before we arrived at the Buffalo Police headquarters, then were yanked out of the wagon and dragged inside by armed guards. Once inside the building we were marched down a hallway and thrown into a holding cell. During the wild ride it had been impossible to speak. Now we gazed at each other in horrified disbelief.

“What do you think will happen to us?” I couldn't stop my voice from trembling. “They will listen to us, won't they?”

“The President's just been shot.” Ryan sounded equally shaky. “I don't imagine they'll behave very rationally. They'll want to find scapegoats to satisfy the public outrage. My God, we were nearly torn limb from limb out there.”

I hugged my knees to myself to stop myself from shaking. “If I hadn't been so stupid …”

“You did what you thought was right,” Ryan said. “I'm sorry I got you into this.”

“You didn't get me into it. I got myself into it. I should never have come to Buffalo.”

“You wanted to go to the police. I was the stupid one who wanted to find Leon myself. I blame myself com

pletely. I never thought he'd go through with it. I thought it was all fantasy. I should never have laughed at him. I drove him to it.”

“It won't do any good blaming ourselves,” I said. “We can't undo what's done. I'm sure they'll realize they've made a mistake.” I tried to give Ryan a reassuring smile because he looked even worse than I felt.

He shook his head. “It won't look good for me. They'll find out that Leon was my ex-lover. But I'll make sure they know that you had nothing to do with it.” He reached out and patted my hand.

We sat together on the hard bench, both lost in our own thoughts. Then, much later, the cell door opened and we were led out.

We were taken down a white-tiled hallway, then thrust into a brightly lit room. Several police officers were standing around. A man was sitting slumped over a center table. He turned and lifted his head as we came in. It was Leon, but I hardly recognized him, he was such a sorry sight, so swollen, bleeding and battered was he.

“Take a look at these people,” a policeman shouted. “Do you know them? Were you all in this together? You can make it easier on yourself if you name your accomplices.”

Leon turned the haunted eyes that I remembered so well onto us.

“I never saw either of them before in my life,” he said in a flat voice.

“Come on. Own up. Someone must have put you up to this.”

“I told you, I did it alone,” Leon said in a flat voice. “Nobody was in it with me.”

“Someone must have given you the idea. You don't just wake up one morning deciding you'll go and shoot the President. Come on. Your silence isn't going to help you, you know.”

“Nothing will help me now,” Leon said. “If anyone made me do it, it was …” He turned back to Ryan for a moment and his gaze lingered on Ryan's face before he said in the same flat voice, “… it was Emma Goldman.”

The interrogators looked at each other and nodded. “It figures “ one growled. “What did I tell you. An anarchist plot. Have this Emma Goldman found and brought in before she skips the country.”

“Wait, I didn't say she put me up to it,” Leon pleaded. “I said she inspired me. I told you I did it alone. Nobody helped me. It was all my idea.”

The largest of the police detectives looked at Leon then at us with distaste. “Take them away,” the policeman bellowed.

We were led farther along the hall into another room. Two of the officers followed us into the room.

“Look, officer,” Ryan said as the door closed behind us, leaving us alone with two policemen, “what that man said wasn't true.”

I gasped and gave Ryan a hasty glance.

“I do know Leon Czolgosz,” Ryan said. “In case you don't know me—Fm Ryan O'Hare. I have a worldwide reputation in the theater. Leon was rather infatuated with me last year. He followed me around and he wanted me to join in one of his crazy schemes. Of course I refused. But when I learned that he was at the exposition today, I thought it was my duty to try to stop him. Miss Murphy and myself tried several times to be taken to someone in charge of security. Each time we were ignored and turned away. So we had to try and take matters into our own hands. I'm only sorry that we failed.”

I could see the detective looking with distaste at Ryan's silk cravat and frilled shirt, trying to make up his mind as to whether he believed him.

“And may I ask what you are doing in Buffalo at the same time as Mr. Czolgosz?” he asked.

“My dear man, I can tell you are not a theatergoer. My new play opens tonight at the Pfeiffer Theater, in precisely one hour and forty minutes. So if you'd be good enough to let me get back to my company before the curtain goes up—”