Front Page Affair (21 page)

Chapter Thirty-Three

“Are you sure you will be able to recognize Mrs. Cole?” Soames asked as the Bearcat sped toward the Bronx.

Kitty kept her hands firmly on the wheel. “And here I was thinking you wanted me along for my excellent investigative abilities, or even my chauffeuring skills.”

“This is no time for humor, Miss Weeks.”

Kitty looked over at him. “I can see that.”

The Secret Service man had telephoned his headquarters and spoken to Booth. They had left Kitty's sample for Tuttle to examine and gone to look for Mrs. Cole, who, they hoped, would know about the missing vials.

“Van Cortlandt Park is huge, you know,” Kitty said to Soames. “Maybe it would be better to wait until she comes home.”

“By then it might be too late.”

“Too late for what?”

Soames stared at the road ahead. “I'd just rather not take any chances.”

“And one question still troubles me,” Kitty went on. “If it is glanders, why would Mr. Cole or Dr. Albert want to spread the disease at a country club?”

“There's a time for questions and a time for answers,” Soames replied. “But this isn't the time for either one.”

“I should drop you off on the street,” Kitty said. She was tired and hungry and hadn't even eaten lunch. “You go find Mrs. Cole and tell me all about it.”

“I'm sorry.” He cracked his knuckles. “I really can't talk.”

They drove along in silence.

Kitty crossed Mosholu Parkway. Van Cortlandt Park stretched out into the distance, acres of green against a cloudless blue sky. She brought the car to a halt and brushed off her sense of foreboding. “Where do we begin?”

“Let's walk and see.” Soames stepped out of the car and offered his arm, but Kitty felt too shy to accept and pretended she hadn't noticed.

On one side of the path, boys played football; on the other, families picnicked on the grass. A couple of children ran along, their kites soaring in the air.

“Are you watching for Mrs. Cole?” Soames said.

“I'm doing my best.” Kitty thought she saw Aimee everywhere: in the woman strolling arm in arm with her companion, walking her dog, riding her bicycle, or pushing her baby along in a baby carriage.

“She's here with a friend,” Soames reminded Kitty.

“As if I could forget,” she replied with a touch of annoyance. Some of the ladies had their parasols open to shield their faces from the sun, while others took refuge under broad-brimmed hats. What if Aimee Cole was wearing one of her many wigs—how would Kitty recognize her then?

“You should be looking too,” Kitty told Soames and tried to describe the widow. “She's about my height. Not too fat, not too thin. Medium-brown hair and medium-brown eyes.”

“Middle of the road?” he said.

“Exactly. Then again, there's something about her.” Kitty pictured Aimee in the brilliant red wig. “She can change. When she wants, she looks terribly attractive. I suppose that's what one should expect from an actress.”

The sun beat down on them, and Soames bought Kitty a bottle of Coca-Cola to cool her off. She drank it quickly and returned the empty bottle to the vendor.

“We're never going to find her,” she said.

“Never is a strong word.”

“How can you be so confident?” Kitty heard the tinny sound of fairground music in the distance. The music grew louder as they walked on. Children bobbed up and down, spinning around and around, faster and faster on a carousel of gaily painted horses.

A couple trotted by on horseback. Kitty sidestepped a pile of manure. The children shrieked with joy as they clung to their wooden mounts.

Horses. It always came back to horses.

She stopped in her tracks. Why was Mrs. Cole here? Why had she come to a park in the Bronx, of all places, on her last day in New York?

What was here? A golf course, a parade ground, the former Van Cortlandt residence.

She stopped a passing stranger. “Excuse me, sir. Would you know whether there are stables or riding facilities nearby?”

“I don't know about stables, miss. Are you looking for a ride?”

“I'm looking for horses,” Kitty said. “Any place here that might have horses.”

“Ah.” He threw Soames a sympathetic glance, as if to say one never could tell with the ladies, and pointed to a corner of the park. “There's a herd corralled in the meadows back there. If it's horses that you want, there must be at least two hundred.”

Kitty quickened her pace. Soames followed. She picked up her skirts and broke into a run. The horses wouldn't disappear, but if Mrs. Cole wasn't with the animals, then Kitty would tell Soames that she had no idea where to find her, that they may as well sit in one spot and hope Aimee strolled by or wait until this evening and try to catch her at her apartment.

A good two hundred animals milled behind the pen. “Excuse me.” Kitty approached a wiry lad hefting two buckets of water. “Why are all these horses here?”

“They're resting for a couple of days before they're shipped off,” he replied.

Soames and Kitty exchanged a glance.

“Don't you know?” He put down his pails. “Our breeders send horses by the dozen to Europe. They come by rail from out west, then we put them on boats for the long journey. These beauties will be charging into battle next month.”

“On whose side?” Kitty said.

“Oh.” He grinned. “They're going to fight the Huns.”

• • •

“It's absurd,” Mr. Weeks responded when Kitty returned home and told him what she had discovered. “Desperate though they may be, I cannot believe that the German government has a
plan
to inject glanders into horses bound for France.”

“Don't you see?” Kitty said. “It follows the same principle as what they're doing with the phenol. They can't get it for themselves, so they want to make sure that the enemy can't have it.”

“But spreading disease among horses?” His face screwed up with distaste. “That's fiendish.”

“It's brilliant,” Kitty said. “It kills the animals and spreads the sickness to the troops at the same time.”

“I won't hear any more of this.” Julian Weeks stood behind his desk. “And I will not allow you to spend the night with two men in Van Cortlandt Park.”

“They're Secret Service agents,” Kitty said. “And I won't be sleeping there.”

“Oh yes.” His tone was acerbic. “You will be hiding, waiting for this Aimee Cole woman. And what will you do when she arrives?”

“I won't do anything, Papa. The agents will handle it. I'll just be watching.”

“And these are the same agents who, until this morning, were investigating my business affairs?” He came out from behind his desk and sat in his armchair. “You know, I think I've given you too much freedom.”

Kitty couldn't take it. She had thought asking his permission would be a formality. “So it's fine for me to go out on my own for your sake but not for mine?”

“Have you lost your marbles, Capability?” her father said. “When you met them today, it was daytime, and you were gone for twenty minutes a block away from our home.”

“And now I'm meeting them farther away and for longer.”

“That's exactly what bothers me. I may be lax, Capability, but I'm not stupid. I know how to take care of my own child.”

Kitty put her hands to her head. “This is my life. The agents wouldn't have known about Mrs. Cole or the vials if I hadn't alerted them.”

Mr. Weeks went to pour himself a drink but remained standing, his empty glass in his hands. “It could be dangerous.”

“Agent Booth and Agent Soames both agree, which is why they didn't want me to stay on in the first place, but I insisted.” Booth had arrived at the park shortly before Kitty had left for home. “They've selected a spot where I am to wait. I won't move until they tell me that it's all right.”

He twirled the glass between his fingers. “You remind me of myself when I was a young man.”

“So you'll let me go?” Kitty brightened.

“Against my better judgment.”

She stood and kissed him on the cheek. “Don't worry about me. I'll be back.”

• • •

Kitty changed into her darkest riding skirt and a dark shirt. She put on a pair of sturdy walking boots and asked Mrs. Codd to pack three sandwiches.

“You're certain you want to do this?” Mr. Weeks asked when Kitty looked in to say good-bye. “Let Rao drive you.”

“What, and arrive at the scene of the potential crime in my Packard with my chauffeur?”

He gripped her hand tightly. “Then tell one of those men to come back with you. I don't want you in the car on your own at night.”

Much as she wanted to do this alone, Kitty didn't look forward to driving back from the Bronx unaccompanied. “That's a good idea.” And before he could give her any further instructions or change his mind, she hurried out.

• • •

Once at the park, Kitty handed Soames and Booth each a sandwich. She'd been worried that Aimee Cole might arrive while she was away, but fortunately that hadn't happened.

“This is excellent.” Booth wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Do you think Mrs. Cole will come?” Kitty said.

“Did you telephone her apartment from home, like I asked?” he replied.

“I did, and she wasn't there.”

Soames had been leaning against a tree, eating his sandwich. Now he finished it and tossed away the newspaper wrapper. He stood up straight, brushing the crumbs from his jacket. “We don't know anything about this Mrs. Cole or what she might do. I know I had said it was all right, but I'd really prefer it if you went home, Miss Weeks.”

A chill stole over Kitty. She wouldn't have expected Soames, of all people, to forsake her.

“Let her be, Soames.” To Kitty's surprise, it was Booth who came to her defense. “It's her doing that has brought us this far, and she understands that she can't write about or even talk about anything that happens tonight. Don't you, Miss Weeks?”

Kitty nodded.

“So far, all we've got to go on is guesswork,” the big man went on. “A warning to you, Miss Weeks, before you go off and hide. You're on your own until we call for you.”

“Yes.”

“I have a family at home.” His thuggish features softened for a moment. “I should be spending this evening with them, but instead, I'm here. And while Soames may be gallant, I don't throw myself in front of a bus for anyone.”

“I understand.”

The sun would set after eight. The park began to clear. Picnickers folded their blankets, sportsmen gathered their equipment, and children cried tears of exhaustion as their parents pulled them away from their games. The lads looking after the horses left shortly before closing time.

Kitty took up her position in a copse of trees and watched as the sky went dark. This wasn't Manhattan, with its blur of electric lights creating an eternal day. Here in the Bronx, in the midst of the park, she could see the stars clearly. She had forgotten how much she missed them since coming to the city, but even the glories of the night sky couldn't distract her for long.

Kitty's legs ached from crouching, and she was being bitten by mosquitoes. There was nothing remotely exciting or romantic about waiting for something to happen. She must remember that for the future. Kitty stood up slowly to stretch her legs.

It must be past ten by now. It looked like Pequeñita Mary wouldn't be arriving with a syringe loaded with glanders to finish the work that her husband had started. Mrs. Cole wanted to be an actress. Perhaps there was a mundane explanation for all of this—that, like many actresses, she was having an affair and had come to the park, a remote place where no one would recognize her, to spend one last day and night with her paramour.

Kitty wished Aimee luck. She felt guilty about suspecting her and speculating on her private life. Whatever Hunter Cole's involvement with Dr. Albert had been would remain a secret. The dead man couldn't tell Kitty, the diplomat wouldn't tell her, and the widow would be on her way to Mexico tomorrow.

Kitty caught a glimpse of light from the direction of the carousel. She blinked, and it disappeared. A few moments later, she saw it again: a yellow halo bobbing around at the far end of the meadow.

Slowly, it made its way toward the pen. At first, it was so far off that Kitty couldn't be sure of the direction. But it soon grew brighter, and the person carrying it became clearer until she could make out a hooded figure approaching the enclosure.

The lantern lowered, and the figure extracted something from a satchel and whistled softly. One of the horses ambled over to the fence.

Kitty's hand flew to her mouth as Booth and Soames rushed from their hiding places. “Don't move. Arms up,” Booth bellowed.

The figure swung around, and the hood fell back. Soames raised the lantern. Even from a distance, Kitty could tell that whomever they had caught wasn't a woman, and it certainly wasn't Mrs. Hunter Cole. It was the small, slight stable hand she had met at the Tombs—Marcus Lupone.

Booth slapped a pair of handcuffs on the Sicilian's wrists. Soames grabbed the satchel from his shoulders and bent to reach for something that had fallen from his hands.

Kitty remained glued in place. A featherweight mosquito landed on the side of her neck, and she brought up her hand to swat it away—but instead of delicate flesh crumpling beneath her fingers, she felt a steel needle's cold, hard resistance.

“Don't move,” a girlish voice whispered in her ear.

“Aimee,” Kitty breathed.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice that nice yellow car?” She tugged at Kitty's arms. “On your feet.” She slid one arm behind Kitty's elbows, pinning them behind her back. “Come along.” She pushed her captive forward.