Secret of the White Rose (28 page)

“You’re telling me that the path of the bullet alone indicates that it wasn’t suicide? Since when did you become an expert on ballistics, Doctor?”

“I’ve learned a thing or two from doing hundreds of autopsies on gunshot victims.” There was a pause. “It wasn’t suicide, Mulvaney,” Dr. Jennings said, his tone emphatic. “Ziele is right about this one.”

I took a breath, made a loud rap on the door, and opened it before the invitation to come in could be issued.

“Speak of the devil,” Dr. Jennings said with a broad smile. His eyes rested on Isabella. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure, Miss…?” He half rose out of his seat to greet her.

“Mrs. Sinclair. Professor Sinclair’s daughter-in-law.”

“Ah.” His eyes lit with recognition. “And where is the professor? I’d have thought he’d be eager to help out with a high-profile case like this.”

“Unfortunately, he’s not.”

My response was short, and Jennings interpreted it the wrong way—as I intended him to.

“You need my help, then,” he said, self-satisfied. “Take a seat.” He motioned for us to pull over two chairs from the corner of his office. “And if you have the stomach for it, help yourselves to something to eat.”

A pile of tired, soggy turkey sandwiches rested on a plate between them—right next to several pages of what appeared to be Allan Hartt’s autopsy report. I helped myself to one. Despite the subject matter we were about to discuss—not to mention the two skulls that stared down at me from the bookshelf next to the coroner’s desk—I was famished.

“I believe you were saying that the bullet trajectory clearly rules out suicide,” I said.

“And he doubted me.” Jennings passed me a section of his report. “But if bullets don’t fall within the expertise of a pathologist like myself, then I don’t know what does. No one is more expert at evaluating the damage bullets do to the body—and the trajectories they take when they snuff out a life. And the great city of New York has given me ample opportunity to study the subject.”

He waved his left hand toward a glass jar at the top of his bookshelf, filled to its top with small, shiny gold pellets.

“Bullets?” Isabella asked. “There must be at least fifty in that jar.”

“Each one is from a victim I autopsied. And I’ve got two more jars just like it in the lab.”

Of course, his lab also contained specimen jars of the sort I’d learned to avoid examining too closely. He collected it all for his research, from tissue samples to liver extracts.

I scanned his autopsy report. “So it was the lack of tattooing around the bullet wound that led you to believe suicide was inconsistent?”

“Exactly.” Dr. Jennings pointed to the relevant section of the autopsy with his pen. “If Allan Hartt had committed suicide, then the gun would have discharged within inches of his head. That leaves powder marks that we describe as ‘tattooing’ around the wound. But Hartt’s wound showed no sign of that, nor did the pillowcase on his head, indicating that the gun was fired from at least a foot away—physically impossible.”

I let Isabella explain the details of what we had discovered at Barnard this morning.

“So blackmail is involved—and Alistair is somehow mixed up in it. Why am I not surprised?” Mulvaney asked with a roll of his eyes.

“The four men are connected. Now three of them are dead,” I said simply.

“Have you spoken with Alistair?” Mulvaney asked.

Isabella shook her head. “I can’t reach him. I have contacted all of his close friends and colleagues. No one knows where he is, including those friends with whom he often stays while in Boston.”

“You’ve got to try harder,” Mulvaney said, sitting up in alarm. “Not just for this case; for his own good.”

“We plan to look through the papers in his study. He may have left a record of his itinerary,” I said. Not to mention anything else that would help me figure out what he was mixed up in.

“Perhaps Mrs. Sinclair can do that, without your help. I need you back on Drayson,” Mulvaney said.

“No one has reported seeing him?” I asked.

Mulvaney shook his head. “Plenty of other developments, though. We located the print shop that created the pink flyer found in the aftermath of the Tombs bombing. And guess who had the flyer made up?” He grinned. “China Rose. We had her picked up yesterday for questioning. And while Funke hasn’t yet made a positive identification, I’m guessing that she’s also the exotic-looking woman with our Swedish friend the day he bought the Browning pistol used to kill Angus Porter. Looks like the commissioner was right: it’s one large conspiracy.”

“A large conspiracy where the pieces don’t fit together,” I said.

“And where the murders of these other three men are playing a role we don’t understand,” Isabella added.

“I gave you a morning. It’s all I can spare.” Mulvaney made a hard square of his jaw.

“And in just hours,” I countered, “we found compelling evidence linking Allan Hartt to both murdered judges. All three men were in the same Harvard Law class. All three were being blackmailed.”

Isabella interrupted me. “And probably Alistair, too—though both of you are too polite to say so in front of me. He’s like a father to me and I’m worried about him. I need Simon to solve this case, or Alistair will never be safe.”

A flash of sympathy crossed Mulvaney’s face, for he genuinely liked Isabella. “I guess we can spare a little more time. Ziele, why don’t you put together a comprehensive evidence chart? Maybe organizing our evidence will help us to see the gaps in our knowledge.”

“Use my chalkboard,” Dr. Jennings urged. “You can erase my own notations.”

I walked to the board and picked up an eraser and piece of chalk. After I cleaned the space, I wrote at the top:

VICTIMS

Judge Hugo Jackson, presiding over Drayson trial

Killed by knife; throat slit

White rose and Bible by body; hand posed on Bible as though taking oath

Judge Angus Porter, expected to take over Drayson trial

Killed by gunshot, specifically a Browning pistol

White rose and Bible nearby

Hands bound

Professor Allan Hartt

Killed by gunshot, weapon unknown, no bullet found

White rose and Bible nearby

Head covered by pillowcase

“These are important differences between the victims,” I said, sounding like Alistair. “We’ve spoken before about how most criminals don’t vary their behavior from crime to crime. We’re in agreement on that point, so I’ll only remark that it’s odd that this killer switched from a knife to a gun. And given the likelihood of anarchist involvement, it may simply indicate that more than one person was involved.”

“In which case, someone who was comfortable with a knife might have killed Jackson, but someone who preferred guns may have killed Porter and Hartt,” Dr. Jennings said. “Makes sense.”

“There are other differences besides weapon,” Isabella said, studying what I had written. “Each victim was posed—whether with a hand on a Bible, hands bound, or head covered. I believe that has significance, as well.”

“And we think the Bible and the flowers are a message from the anarchists?” Mulvaney asked.

“Or something else. It’s the blackmail that makes me think of it, since blackmail implies some wrongdoing,” Isabella said, her voice becoming animated. “Alistair spoke earlier about how the white rose has often been used to signify betrayal. So since Judge Jackson was posed as though taking an oath, with the rose beside him, it could suggest he broke his oath.”

“From his killer’s point of view, yes,” I said. “Go on.”

“Judge Porter’s hands were tied. So he may have known about this wrongdoing but done nothing to stop it. So literally, he may have been killed because his hands were tied.”

I followed her train of thought. “Hartt was involved, as well, but he didn’t—or wouldn’t—see the wrongdoing. So whereas I first thought the covering over his head was the act of a suicidal man, trying to spare his wife the sight of his wound, it was actually a message from the killer.”

“Sort of like ‘see no evil,’” Mulvaney said. “Maybe our killer has a sense of humor.”

“Then what was Alistair’s role?” I asked.

No one could answer me, not even Isabella.

After some moments, I wrote:
“The Killer—what we know.”

“He likely has anarchist connections,” Mulvaney said. “Certainly the judicial murders suggest it.”

“Agreed,” I said, continuing to write.

POSSIBLE ANARCHIST CONNECTIONS

Timing of Jackson (eve of Drayson jury deliberations)

Timing of Porter (verge of taking over case)

Timing of Hartt (day of Drayson escape)

POSSIBLE SUSPECTS

The Swede at the Breslin and Funke’s gun shop

He posed as elevator attendant at the Breslin Hotel

He bought and returned a nickel Browning at Funke’s

He was seen with an “exotic-looking” woman, possibly Mei Lin
(
China Rose
)

Paul Hlad, anarchist leader

Jonathan Strupp

Drayson himself, if masterminding it all from jail

China Rose

An unknown with anarchist leanings …

Any combination of the above

“You’ve mentioned how angry Jonathan was with the directors of the Knickerbocker Company,” Mulvaney said. “Were either Judge Jackson or Porter slated to play any role in future
Slocum
trials?”

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean
if
there are to be additional
Slocum
trials, which I doubt. And to my knowledge, neither judge played—or was expected to play—any role in Captain Van Schaick’s trial or appeal.”

“Don’t forget the repeated references to Leroy Sanders,” Isabella instructed me.

I added to the board:

“LEROY SANDERS”

Name referenced in musical cipher

Name signed in register at Breslin Hotel, where Judge Porter was killed

Name signed in registry at Funke’s gun shop, when second murder weapon was bought and returned

PROBLEMS

What do different weapons and crime scene choices indicate?

More than one killer at work?

A message about each victim’s role in some wrongdoing

No witnesses

No indication how victims were connected, other than Harvard Law 1877

Leroy Sanders is unknown. Is he an anarchist or in any way related to their cause? Or is he in some way connected to the three victims? Or both?

How is Alistair involved?

“I just thought of something,” Isabella said, suddenly animated. “What if Professor Hartt didn’t turn to history because he preferred it, as Barnard’s dean believed? What if something happened that soured him on the law? Something related to these blackmail ciphers.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Alistair maintained that he and the judges had grown apart in recent years. If there were reasons for that…”

“It’s a mess,” Mulvaney said, tapping his cane against the floor. “And I’m telling you now: what the commissioner wants is a clean solution that will yield solid convictions.
That’s
our job. Not this endless speculation.”