Death and the Running Patterer (37 page)

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Authors: Robin Adair

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“But you spoiled it, and now the bill must be paid. Death is the price. I promised myself
that
when I realized why you must have summoned me here.” Her tone softened. “I more than liked you at first, I really did. You seemed old-fashioned in your manners, and a gentleman. You were nice, if there’s such a thing as that.
“Even when I waited that night to go to the Lumber Yard, with my arms and face blackened and my wig discarded, I even girlishly, foolishly, thought that one day we might become more … intimate …” She broke off. “But it was not to be. And, in the end, you turned out to be like all the others. You couldn’t help touching—no,
pawing
—me. And I knew I could never let myself be soiled again.”
She glared at the men. “How many children did it take to kill your first wife, Dr. Halloran? Was it a dozen?” she asked her old friend, who could only shake his head, stricken.
“Even you, Excellency. Like a rooting dog, you can’t leave Elizabeth alone, can you?”
Darling flushed brick red.
Distract her, thought Dunne; delay her until salvation presents itself. But even the soldiers are paralyzed. Think, damn you! Keep her talking. “Of course,” he said, “there was always one clue staring me in the face right from the beginning. I own that it slipped completely past me.”
“And that was?” prompted Rachel Dormin, distracted.
“Why, your very name.”
He turned to Dr. Halloran. “But this is
your
field, Reverend. Doesn’t Genesis talk about a ‘mighty hunter before the Lord’?” He raised a hand to stop Halloran answering too soon. “And I believe the Targums, those Aramaic interpretations of the Old Testament, say the name in question is that of a ‘sinful hunter of the sons of men.’ More modernly, Mr. Alexander Pope agrees, in his ‘Windsor-Forest, ’ that the name refers to ‘A mighty hunter, and his prey was man.’”
“Get to the point, Dunne,” said the governor testily. “This is not a damned schoolroom.”
“My apologies, Excellency,” murmured Dunne. “Your thoughts, Dr. Halloran?”
The minister nodded. “Your hunter, of course, was Nimrod.”
“Exactly. Nimrod. Which, backward, is Dormin.”
Their Nimrod nodded approvingly, adding, “They say his tomb is in Damascus and that rain never falls on it.”
“So, we have captured the angel of death,” said Mr. Hall sadly.
Miss Dormin looked at him intently. “Yes, sir, but the
zuzim
verse is not quite finished, you know.”
He frowned at her as she continued.
“I’m sure you believe in God, in a higher being?”
He bridled. “Of course!”
“Well then. The last line—I know it comes first, but it is the end of the cycle—the last line of the riddle has the Most Holy killing the angel of death …”
“The hangman will do that job for the Most Holy,” interrupted Darling coldly.
“I won’t hang!” said Miss Dormin fiercely. “I know what would happen. I won’t be forced into canvas underdraws to save my executioner offense as I drop through the trap and lose control of my bladder and bowels. I won’t have any dirty man’s hands pulling at my thighs to finally strangle me if he’s misjudged the drop and failed to break my neck cleanly. I know that happens.” She turned the pistol to her own breast. “I never said
who
would die!”
The patterer’s satchel was beside him. He swooped it up and hurled it at Miss Dormin, to distract her. But his desperate move failed. The bag deflected her aim, but only downward. In reflex, she squeezed the trigger.
The crash of firing echoed through the stone-walled room and battered the eardrums of the shocked witnesses. As the smoke cleared, Rachel Dormin slid to the floor. When Dunne reached her, so much blood was already pumping from the area of her thighs, and so fast, that her blue dress was soaking with a glistening stain. The very fabric seemed to pulse.
The patterer moved in and bent low. Her face was contorted in agony and blood oozed through her fingers as she pressed her hands to her thigh and weakly tore at the dress.
“You could have got away, Rachel,” cried Dunne. “I tried to warn you. Doctor, help her, for God’s sake!”
Owens pushed the patterer aside and knelt beside the dying woman.
Those who were nearest heard her say, “Do you want to save me for the noose?”
The doctor held her hand and looked up. “The ball has hit the femoral artery. It may even have gone right through the thigh, without breaking the bone. But there’s no way of staunching the flow. She’s lost, I’m afraid.”
Only the clock broke the hushed deathwatch.
Dunne took her limp hand from Thomas Owens’s grasp and squeezed it.
She gazed up and smiled crookedly through her pain. “Do you remember my goats? …” Then she fell back and lay still.
The doctor felt for a pulse, shook his head, then gently closed her eyes.
THE GOVERNOR TOOK charge while Shadforth and Crotty stolidly surveyed the scene; they were no strangers to violent death. The civilians, however, were shattered. Even the usually blustering firebrand Wentworth was pale and silent.
“Colonel,” ordered Darling. “You will ensure that there is no record of this matter. Put your heel on any loose talk. It seems that no one has heard the shot—keep it that way. In a moment, put a sentry on the corridor to keep others out. The rest of you—except for Captain Rossi and Dunne—will disperse quietly. The whole matter is now closed. I think you will find it in your best interests to remain silent.”
There was a murmur of agreement, punctuated by nervous nods.
Nicodemus Dunne sat shaking, with his head in his hands, saying brokenly, “I killed her. But I had to do it.”
Captain Rossi at last eased him to his feet.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
For secrets are edged tools,
And must be kept from children and from fools.
—John Dryden,
Sir Martin Mar-All
(1667)
 
 
 
 
 
 
“
L
ET US ALL GO OUTSIDE FOR A WHILE,” SAID ROSSI. “DR. OWENS will attend to Miss Dormin.” He gently ushered the patterer out of sight of her body.
“I want her, Rossi,” said Dunne. “At least I can see that she’s not shoveled like a dog into a pauper’s hole at the Sandhills. Or buried in a lime pit.” He seized the captain’s shoulder. “And Owens—or any other surgeon—can’t have her to rip open on the anatomizing table.”
Rossi shrugged him off. “You shall have her. Intact. Never fear.” He turned as the governor called him into another room. “Wait here for me.”
The patterer did as he was told. All other members of the party had drifted off, shaken and mindful of Darling’s stern admonition to hold their tongues about the day’s events.
The barracks hallway was silent. Only the armed soldier standing warily at one end and the fading smell of burnt gunpowder in the air testified to the fact that anything out of the ordinary had happened.
After some time, the governor bustled back into the corridor, alone. He gave Dunne a grim glance, nodded curtly and marched off past the watchful soldier, who stiffened to attention.
IN THE ROOM, Darling had been sharp with Rossi.
“Does he know?”
“Dunne?”
“Of course, Dunne!”
“If you mean what I think you do, Excellency, then the answer is that he doesn’t. I’m sure of it.”
“Doesn’t he wonder where the money comes from, why he was given the status of a Special, why I haven’t taken away his ticket—even had him flogged—for his disrespect?”
“It seems not.”
“The question now is, can he be trusted to keep his mouth shut about this business—in particular, the business of all our private affairs? Not that we have anything nefarious to hide.”
The captain nodded sagely.
“However.” The governor waved a manicured hand. “It is better for all if a veil is drawn over some events in the past. I think that is already understood by the gentlemen who were here today—and you can reinforce the concept, I’m sure. All except Dunne. He can be silenced on two fronts, I believe. First, tell him he can have the girl’s body in exchange for silence.”
Rossi did not think it wise to mention that he had already given away that advantage, so he simply nodded. “And the second front, sir?”
“Tell him the darkness in his own past. See how he likes the idea of people knowing
his
family secrets!”
“Do you think that wise?”
“I do.” The governor rose. “You can keep me out of it, of course.”
Of course, thought Rossi. That’s how Darling keeps his hands so clean. But he said nothing, just bowed slightly.
“Oh, and Rossi.” Darling paused. “See if you can track down the man from the 45th who talked out of turn.”
With that he was gone. He missed Rossi’s small smile.
CAPTAIN ROSSI BECKONED the patterer into the side room from which the governor had just stormed. He motioned him to a chair and sat down opposite him.
“You’ve made some bad enemies here today.”
“It had to be done.” Dunne shrugged and looked bleakly ahead, with the thousand-mile stare of the dying or the hopelessly distressed. I gave her the chance to escape, you know. Yesterday, when we talked. I made it clear to her that the game was up. I asked her here today, but she didn’t have to come. There are plenty of ships a pretty girl could have slipped away on. The others—even you—think I lured her here to her final exposure. But I think she really did just get sick and tired of the whole sorry business. Perhaps she simply came to the end of her madness and anger. She genuinely did regret killing Elsie and Muller, I’m sure.” He rubbed a hand wearily across his face. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. There are too many unhappy memories here. I’m going home. To England.”
Rossi sighed. “Ah, well. Strangely enough, that’s what the—what I want to talk to you about. The truth is that you can’t go home, lad.”
The words penetrated Dunne’s mind after a moment. “Why the devil not?”
“Because,” replied Rossi, “home doesn’t want you.”

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