The Assassin

“Did he say anything?”

“He said he was in love.”

“In love? And he killed himself? Are you going to talk to her?”

“I couldn’t hear her name.”

—

Like most upper-crust brothels, Miss Dee’s ten-dollar parlor house on North Wichita Street was a hangout for politicians and prosperous business men. Compared to New York or Chicago, its setting was less than glamorous, on a street bordered by a lumberyard, a blacksmith, a foundry, gas storage tanks, and tenements.

Wichita, thought Archie, where expectations were modest.

“Come right in,” the madam greeted him warmly. Wealthily dressed men made good customers. Handsome, wealthy customers with exquisite ma

“Would it be possible to make the acquaintance of a young lady named Jane?”

“Very possible, we have several Janes.”

Archie drew on Mack and Wally’s description. “Jane of hair as red as mine and eyes like lapis lazuli.”

“That Jane.”

“Is she still here?”

“Still here,” the madam said grimly.

“You don’t sound pleased,” said Archie.

“She’s tough on the business. The old geezers fall hard for her. One of these days, fisticuffs in my parlor will end in a heart attack.”

“I hope I’ll be immune,” said Archie.

“Frankly,” said the madam, “I hope you fall so hard, you take her home with you . . .”

—

Archie popped the question on the train to Chicago, a city that the round and bright-eyed Jane told him she had always wanted to visit. Archie had promised a paid vacation and a shopping trip (at Van Dorn expense). If Mr. Van Dorn balked, he would hit Isaac up for the dough. Any luck, Jane’s gratitude would materialize as the name of her dead admirer’s blackmail victim. Best of all, while in Chicago he could sink his teeth back into the Rosania case.

Archie waited until they were highballing out of St. Louis before he asked about Reed Riggs. Jane’s lapis lazuli eyes darkened, turning a sad, stony blue.

“Reed was a good man. A gent like you, Archie. Not fancy like you, but a gent in his heart. That’s why he couldn’t follow through. He was no blackmailer. It just seemed like a good idea to save his refinery, but when push came to shove he couldn’t do it.”

“Did he ever actually approach the victim?”

“He told me he went to New York and talked to him.”

“At 26 Broadway?” Archie asked casually.

Jane laid a plump hand on the back of Archie’s. “Stay a gent, Archie. Don’t try to trick me.”

Archie said, “I understand that you would never dishonor Reed Riggs’ memory by betraying the name of the man he decided not to blackmail. But what if I told you that the man we think it was just tried to kill John D. Rockefeller?”

Jane said, “Most people would think he had a pretty good idea.”

“And if I told you that we suspect he killed Mr. Riggs?”

“Reed died in an accident.”

“It is possible it was not an accident.”

“Can you prove that?”

“I ca

Jane looked out the window. Her beautiful eyes had recovered their natural color and her spirits had risen. It was cheerfulness that the geezers fell for, Archie guessed, as much as her round shape. “Archie, what you just said rings true. When Reed died, he left me the only thing he possessed. His decency. I hate to think of the poor man dying in fear. When they told me he fell under the train, I decided he had fainted.”

Archie said, “If he was killed the way we believe he was, he never knew what hit him, or even saw it coming. One moment he was alive, the next he was not.”

“How can you know that?”

Archie described in detail the assassin’s shooting perch that he and Isaac Bell had discovered in a Fort Scott train yard.

Jane turned from the window and touched Archie’s cheek. The conductor passing through the car noted their red hair and his stern face broke into a smile as he wondered, mother and son off to Chicago? More likely, maiden aunt and her favorite nephew.

“I will speak one name aloud,” said Archie. “Only one. Can you please nod if he’s the man Reed changed his mind about blackmailing?”

“Part of me wants to cover my ears.”

“No need,” said Archie. “I won’t say his name until you agree.”

“I still want to cover them.”

“I will say this. If it is who I think it is, then I can guarantee that Reed died just as I described and never felt a thing.”

She looked at him and believed him and Archie exulted. Jackpot!

34

Bet you a duck I can hit four in a row.”

“Bet a duck? What are you talking about?”

“If I hit four ducks,” said the assassin, “you give me one.”

It was too hot to stroll at the Hudson County Fair—ninety-five degrees even after dark. The midway was deserted except for ice cream stands and an enterprising kid selling chips of ice to press to sweaty foreheads. The heat made people cranky, and the owner of the shooting gallery, whose parade of moving ducks had attracted no gunfire for hours, was in no mood for jokers.

“You hit the duck, you win a prize. You win a cigar—if you’re old enough to smoke ’em.” He peered dubiously at the short, slight boyish figure leaning on the counter. “Or you get a dog.” He pointed at a plaster bulldog painted blue. “You hit the duck four times, you win a teddy bear for your girl—if you got one. The duck’s the target. You don’t win the target.”

“Afraid I’ll hit four?”

“You won’t hit three.”

“For the duck.”

The assassin dropped a nickel on the counter for five shots and fired three so quickly, the rifle bolt seemed to blur. Three moving ducks fell down and popped up. The owner nudged a hidden lever and the parade speeded up.

The assassin smiled, “Faster won’t save you,” fired again, and hit a fourth, then shifted slightly so that the barrel angled in the general direction of the man who owned the stand. “Do I have any left?”

“One.”

“Give me my duck.”

—

A butler wearing the uniform of a United States Army orderly showed Isaac Bell into a reception room off the front foyer of the Mills mansion on Dupont Circle. Brigadier Mills’ daughter, Helen, was every bit “the looker” Archie had made her out to be—a tall, lean brunette with long arms, demanding brown eyes, and an intriguingly low voice.

Bell went straight at her. “It is a pleasure to meet a lady with a famous left hook.”

A puzzled Helen Mills arched both her eyebrows.

“Should I duck?” asked Bell. “I’m a friend of Archie Abbott.”

She looked Isaac Bell over, inspecting him closely. “Only if the louse sent you to apologize.”

“I came on my own.”

“Are you on Mr. Abbott’s mission?”

“Mr. Abbott was on my mission. And to be straight with you, it’s your father, Brigadier Mills, I must meet.”

“What is the matter with you men from New York? Why don’t you just call at my father’s office? His bark is worse than his bite. He is actually quite approachable.”

“Not on this subject. It is deeply personal.”

“At least you’re honest about it. Archie was misleading.”

“To be fair to my old, old friend,” said Bell, “we must assume that when Archie laid eyes on you, he was swept off his feet and therefore not operating at his best.”

She did not appear to dislike compliments. She inspected Bell some more and smiled as if she liked what she saw. “I’ll make you a deal, Detective Bell. Stay for lunch. If you’re still here when my father gets home, I’ll introduce you.”