Suspension Page 19

Tom slept again, while a mile away the seven men planned. It was an uneasy rest. Venkman stalked through his dreams, rumbling like an avalanche, about to bury him. Finney was there too. He was the coroner now, with a white lab coat smeared with blood, a crooked grin on his ratlike face. Music played in the background. Tom stared up in horror as Finney’s face leered down at him, his shattered arm hanging loose, head twisted at an impossible angle. Finney’s six-inch scalpel started at his ribs, cutting deep, reaching in.

  Tom’s own cry woke him. After a moment’s panic, he realized it was just his stitches pulling. He felt foolish, but he was sweating just the same. The next time he woke it was much later. The sun stealing in through the blinds slanted across the room at a more acute angle, painting the floor in zebralike blacks and whites. He thought he heard a commotion somewhere in the house, voices raised and tense. A door slammed, echoing through the house and his head. He drifted off in a haze that was not sleep, but near enough. Tom tried not to think about things but they kept swimming to the surface for his inspection, like floaters in the East River, bobbing on the waves, full of gas. What would Coffin say about Tom’s handiwork? The possibilities seemed mostly bad. Venkman and Finney floated by. Tom wouldn’t talk to them. He was afraid they’d answer back. Bucklin put in an appearance too, but his head was half gone, and he asked Tom what Doc Thomas had done with it. Tom asked Terrence who killed him, but he spat tobacco juice and faded away. Then Sam came. He looked down from a great height, his chin disappearing into his collar. He spoke to Tom, and it was so clear he could swear Sam was in the room, right there with him. But then he spoke again, and he could feel Sam’s hand on his arm.

  “Tommy? Tommy, it’s Sam, c’mon, fella, give us a nod if you can hear me.”

  Tom looked up at him and wondered what he was standing on to make him seem so tall. Maybe he had grown. “You’re taller, Sam,” Tom mumbled, looking up at him appraisingly.

  “Taller? You’re a funny one. That’s all you can think to say?”

  Tom screwed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. “Give me a minute, I’ll do better.”

  “I hope so. You’ve given everyone a scare, Thomas,” Sam said, sitting on the side of the bed.

  “Didn’t mean to.”

  “I suppose not, but what the hell were you thinking goin’ up against Finney and Venkman alone?”

  Tom’s eyes jacked open in a hurry. “Don’t worry, the papers are callin’ it like they killed each other,” Sam said, laying a hand on Tom’s shoulder.

  “The papers! Oh, Christ.” Tom rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. His head was pounding.

  “It’s all over today’s papers, sure. And wouldn’t you know it, they’re quoting Coffin on the need to clean up the gaming parlors. Let’s see if I can remember the exact quote. It went something like,”The vilest elements of society are sucking the life blood from the heart of this city. Together we will stamp out this scourge and make the streets safe for our women and children,” or something like that. Very high minded, very noble, very Coffin. You’ll get a chuckle out of it. The Trib carried the whole thing. Him and Coogan are doing their best to keep a lid on and keep the press from gettin’ too inquisitive. Very inspiring.”

  “But, Sam, why do you think I had—”

  Sam held up a hand, giving Tom a stern look that said he wasn’t buying a word. “Stop right there, Tommy. This is your old pal. Don’t be shovelin’ shit on my shoes,” he said gruffly. “Just shut your yap. I’m on your side, remember?”

  “Sorry, Sam. Not thinkin’ straight.”

  “I’ll say. It’s not Byrnes you’re talkin’ to. By the way, you look like shit, so I forgive ya.” Sam patted Tom’s shoulder.

  “Damn! My cats. I got to feed ’em. It’s been two days.” Tom started to throw a leg over the side of the bed and raise himself up.

  “Hold on there, cowboy. Relax, I fed ’em this morning. Mrs. Aurelio let me in. Seemed real happy to see me, I can tell you. They’re fine, the furballs.”

  Tom seemed genuinely relieved. Sam almost laughed out loud; here Tom was, all busted up, in a world of hurt, and he’s worried about his cats.

  “Thanks, Sam,” Tom said gratefully. “Seems I’m doin’ that a lot lately.”

  “What?”

  “Saying thanks.” Tom was quiet for a moment. He looked at his swollen hand; turning it this way and that, like a piece of evidence. “Sam, does Mary know?”

  “If yer askin’ me if I told her, the answer is no. Not my place to get between you on something like this. She’s no fool, Tom. She’ll put it together if she hasn’t already.” Tom seemed to chew on that, so Sam ventured on.

  “Tom, I know you didn’t ask … but if you was to ask my advice, I’d say to be straight with her. She’s too good a woman to risk tellin’ tales to.”

  “Yeah. I know … but I’m worried about her. If it gets ugly with Coffin, I don’t want anything to blow back on her,” Tom said with a frown. This was a real concern. Coffin wouldn’t hesitate to strike at Mary if he thought it would serve his purposes.

  “Tom, what Coffin does or don’t do is his affair. Not much you can do about it. But bein’ straight with Mary … well, that’s all you.”

  “I suppose. Hell, I know you’re right. Mary deserves the truth.”

  “Tommy, ah … I got to tell you, Coffin ain’t happy.”

  Tom laughed with a sarcastic twist to his mouth, his stitches pulling. Tom could imagine just how unhappy Coffin was.

  “No shit? What’d he say?”

  “Just wanted to know where you was.” Sam shrugged. “Told him I didn’t know. Held him for a while, but not long. He turned up here an hour or so ago. Mary wouldn’t let him see you.”

  Tom nodded, putting the pieces together. “That was the commotion downstairs.”

  “Yeah. I was here, but I hid out till he was gone. I gotta tell you, Tom, that Mary’s somethin’.” Sam’s voice was full of admiration. “Stood up to Coffin like he was no more’n a night-soiler. Told him you weren’t well enough and that’s that.”

  “That’s Mary. She’s hard when she has to be … soft when she wants to be,” Tom said with his eyes closed, but there was a big grin on his face. “Damndest woman I ever knew. She’s got her own mind and a tongue like a rasp when she’s crossed, but … she can be as sweet as new butter.”

  “Well, she let him have it.” Sam gave a low whistle. “Don’t think he liked it much.”

  “I’ve seen her get her back up,” Tom said with a knowing smile.

  Sam looked at Tom appraisingly. “He’ll be back, you know.”

  Tom just nodded, the smile leaving his lips.

  “Oh, ah … did you cover for me with Byrnes?” Tom asked hopefully, realizing suddenly that he’d have some awkward explaining to do if Sam hadn’t.

  “Yeah. Told him you was sick. Had the doctor write up a note that said you’re dyin’.”

  Tom nodded his thanks. He knew he could always count on Sam. “Great. I’ll be back in a week, good as new. Got to deal with Coffin first. Put a lid on that situation.”

  Sam grinned. “You’re gonna keep a lid on Coffin. You’re a funny one.”

  “Like to close the goddamn lid on him.” Tom growled. “You know Finney and Venkman were crazy bastards, but I don’t think they would’ve come at me unless … well …”

  “Unless they had Coffin’s blessing.” Sam finished the sentence for him. “Thought crossed my mind.”

  “They were already paying Coogan,” Tom said, watching Sam closely for his reaction. Sam knew as well as anyone how the system worked.

  The surprise was clear on Sam’s face. “No shit? Don’t like the sound of that. That don’t add up. You think Coffin would really set you up? Didn’t think things were that bad between you and him.”

  “I didn’t either. He was laying it on a bit heavy that morning, but I didn’t think … Hell, I don’t know.” Tom thought for a moment, but his brain still felt fuzzy, and his brain felt like it was slopping around in
side his skull when he moved. “He put me in that situation … I know that. He knew damn well what the score was, and he must have known the Dutchman would be there. Maybe Coffin wanted me to get taught a little lesson. Let the Dutchman do the dirty work. Maybe it just got out of hand, and they went farther than Coffin wanted. I’d like to believe that, but …”

  “Any light you shine on it puts Coffin in the shadows, Tommy,” Sam said with an appraising twist of his mouth.

  Tom sighed. He was starting to tire and his stomach needed something in it more substantial than tea and toast.

  “Gonna be more trouble. Coffin won’t let it lie.”

  Sam nodded. “I’ll back you as far as I can. You might need some backin’ if this gets out of hand.”

  The door opened, and Mary came in with a tray.

  “Praise God. You must have read my mind,” Tom said.

  Mary looked at him straight and serious. “Of course, Tom, that’s what I do. In fact, I know your every thought. I can peer around inside that banged-up head of yours anytime I please and read what’s in there like chalk on slate.” A little smile started at the corners of her mouth. “Of course, there’s usually not much to read.”

  Tom groaned but couldn’t hide the grin sneaking around the corners of his mouth. “You just wait. Makin’ fun of an injured man, staring at death’s door … you should be ashamed of yourself. When my head stops pounding, I’ll get you.”

  “And I intend to be got, Tom Braddock.” Mary’s smile lit the room.

  God, she was beautiful, Tom thought.

  Sam got up. “Well, got to get going. I’ll stop in tomorrow.” He stuck out his hand and they shook. “Glad to see you’re doin’ better, Tommy.”

  “Sam … thanks and … thanks for taking care of Grant and Lee.”

  “No trouble. You saved my bacon once or twice. Least I can do is feed your cats. Grant and Lee.” Sam shook his head. “You are a pip, Tommy. I’ll see ya.” He gave them an awkward little wave, kissed Mary a quick good-bye, and said something to her that Tom didn’t catch.

  “He’s a good friend,” Mary said as Sam clumped down the stairs. She was getting to like Sam almost as much as Tom did, especially during the last two days.

  “Yeah. Like brothers sometimes. It’s a little strange, not another man in the city I can count on more.”

  Mary set the tray down on a table near the bed and lifted the cover from a soup bowl. The steam rose, filling the room with a wonderful air of rich broth, chicken, vegetables, and spices. Tom’s stomach growled, but his mind wasn’t on his stomach.

  “Mary, you know I killed those two men,” he said abruptly.

  Mary looked at him with soft, sad eyes, eyes that had seen more than their share of sadness. “I know, Tommy.”

  Tom rushed on trying to explain where no explanation was necessary. His temples throbbed. He tried to tell he didn’t have a choice, that it was their lives or his.

  Mary hung her head, her long raven hair covering her face. After a time she raised her face to him, her sad eyes shining. “Tommy, don’t.” It was almost as if his words had hurt her. “You don’t need to explain, not to me.”

  “But you deserve to know I’m not—”

  “Tommy, don’t you understand? You don’t have to explain to me. I know what you are and what you’re not. You’re not a man that could take a life without cause.” She paused, looking into his eyes. “It hurts me to think you don’t know that.”

  Tom was about as puzzled as he had ever been. Mary had a way of doing that to him.

  “Tommy, I’ve watched you when you don’t know I’m watching. I’ve seen you sitting in the moonlight with Grant on your lap. I know how you are with your friends. I know how you are with women. Remember that squirrel you nursed when it fell from its nest in front of your house?”

  Tom nodded with a small childish kind of smile.

  “A squirrel, for God’s sake. You’re a gentle man … a man that wouldn’t hurt anyone if it could be helped. I know you’re no saint, and I know you can be hard when you have to be, but you’re not a bad man. You’re not a murderer. You aren’t capable of that. I may as well ask you to live at the bottom of the ocean and breathe like the fishes. You couldn’t do it.”

  Tom was surprised that in some ways she knew him better than he knew himself.

  “I just wanted to be sure you knew,” Tom said softly. “I needed to tell you … how it happened, so you didn’t hear it from someone else. And how I felt … you know … about what happened.”

  Looking at his hand held in hers, Mary said simply, “I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ah, how skillful is the hand,

  That obeyeth Love’s command!

  It is the heart, and not the brain,

  That to the highest doth attain,

  And he who followeth Love’s behest

  Far excelleth all the rest

  —HENRY WADSWORTH

  LONGFELLOW

  Washington Roebling’s study was cluttered. Piles of documents, plans, and correspondence littered his desk. Emily was starting to pack things away. Most of it wasn’t needed, now that the work was nearing completion. She was sorting through the correspondence, when she suddenly remembered.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, Wash, I met the most interesting man the other day on the bridge.”

  “Huh? Ah … what was that, darling?” Washington had been bent low over the plans for the Brooklyn train terminal. Even though he had not designed it, he still insisted on an intimate knowledge of everything connected with his bridge. His poor eyesight made it difficult to make anything out of the plans before him. For years Emily had done all his reading for him. Though it seemed he could hardly breathe without her, that didn’t stop him from trying to do things on his own.

  “I said I met an interesting man on the bridge, a New York City detective by the name of Braddock.”

  “What was a detective doing on our bridge?” Wash asked, looking up from his plans with a frown.

  “Well … it seems that one of the laborers was murdered,” Emily said with the hint of an apology for not having remembered to tell him sooner.

  “Oh? Wouldn’t think there was anything extraordinary about that,” Wash said, turning back to his work. “Thousands of men have worked on the bridge over the years. Most have been from poorer circumstances, from neighborhoods where crime is epidemic. This can’t be the first time one of our men has met with foul play.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, dear, but this had a peculiar aspect to it. It seems the family of this man claims that there’s something not right with the bridge.”

  That got her husband’s attention, and his head snapped up to stare at Emily. “Something not right?” His brows knit. “Whatever can he mean by that? The bridge is as sound as the U.S. Treasury.”

  “Well, he really wasn’t sure himself,” Emily said with a deprecating gesture. “It’s just that this man died under somewhat unusual circumstances. With the father of the dead man telling him there was something untoward going on at the bridge, he felt he should investigate.”

  More dubious than ever, Roebling scratched his head with the end of his pencil. “This detective, you mean. That’s it? On the strength of some rumor? Seems a little thin. He wasn’t disrupting things, was he?” Wash was more concerned with keeping to his schedule than with some far-fetched rumors of anything not being right about the bridge. He was the chief engineer. If anything wasn’t right with the bridge, he’d know it, and what he knew was that the East River Bridge was perfection itself.

  “Not that I could see,” she lied. Of course Braddock had disrupted things, but not in the way her husband meant. “Charles invited him to lunch with us at the Astor House. We had a lively discussion of the criminal mind. He seemed quite capable.”

  “Hm. So you were rather taken with him then,” Washington said with a knowing look. Emily started to protest, but her husband stopped her. “Em. It’s all right. You’re a beautiful woman. It
’s only natural.”

  “Wash, it’s not like that,” she said, blushing slightly. “You know I’m totally devoted to you.”

  Her husband smiled warmly. “Oh, I know that Em.” His tone told her she was being silly. He came to her and wrapped her in his arms. “I’m a believer in you, you see, a truster as well,” he murmured. “I know I haven’t been a husband to you in the … well … in the way we’d like. It’s just that I can understand if you were attracted to this man, that’s all. It’s natural, all things considered, and I’m stunned it hasn’t happened sooner.”

  Emily opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again without a word. Color rose in her cheeks.

  “Don’t worry about it, Em. Not another word on the subject. And as to his investigation, I don’t think he’ll find anything going on here except bridge-building.” With that Wash turned back to his work.

  Emily wanted to say more. A part of her felt very guilty for finding Tom attractive. She knew it was bad to think that way. Even thinking that way was a betrayal, and she felt the dirt of it on her like sand in her shoes. No matter how she tried to shake the sand out, it seemed to stick, a gritty reminder of her innermost desires.

  “If you see this detective again,” Wash said, looking up, “tell him we’ll cooperate in any way we can, but if he has any information of malfeasance or fraud, or anything unsavory for that matter, he’s to come to you first.” Wash shook a finger at her. “I don’t want to hear about it in the papers, or from the board.”

  Emily rolled her eyes in agreement.

  “That bunch of political vultures have been circling my corpse for years. If anything is going on, I want to know about it before them. No point getting them in another dither at this late date.”

  “Couldn’t agree more, darling.” Emily knew very well the politics of the board. It was only because of her work and influence that her husband was still the chief engineer. “Even now I think some of them would grasp at any straw to erase the name of Roebling from the bridge. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell him if I see him.”