Shooting For Justice by G. Tilman (top 100 novels txt) 📗

shoot fast and disappear within the crowd. They were going to hide in a fleabag hotel in Washington for several days, then take a train back to New York. The hotel was the Cherry Blossom Hotel on 15th. The plan was simple and would have been effective.

“I’ve told you everything you asked. Now, let me go.”

“Let you go? You are planning an assassination. We can’t let you go. We are going to have to arrest you,” Pope said. “Honey, you can get dressed now.”

She slipped the shift off and stood for a minute before donning the work dress and shoes.

“You really missed out, Roger,” she told the prisoner. Pope just shook his head.

“Bitch! Whore!” he screamed at Sarah.

Pope instinctively throat punched him. He hit too hard and crushed Nelson’s larynx. They were unable to help as Nelson choked to death in front of them.

“The situation is now simplified. I don’t guess he has any rope laying around?” Pope asked.

Sarah looked, but to no avail.

Pope took out the Bowie and cut five two-inch strips from the top sheet. He twisted each and tied them securely. He made a noose in his makeshift rope and slipped it around Nelson’s neck. A hanging would also explain the bruise already starting to form on his throat.

Pope used his height to reach a rafter. The two struggled to lift Nelson’s dead weight and used the sheet rope to loop over the rafter. Sarah slid a kitchen chair under his feet to measure for height, then kicked it aside after Pope tied the rope.

“John, should we have put his robe back on?” she asked.

“Most of the suicides I investigated in San Francisco were naked. I have no idea why people strip to kill themselves or why they slit their wrists in a tub of water. People are weird, honey.

“While I check out the house and empty the tub and put it away, will you see if you can find two things? First is anything incriminating about Thursday. The second is samples of his handwriting. On checks, anything. I need to write a suicide note.”

“For him, I hope. I’ve gotten used to having you around. And, you haven’t even made me an honest woman yet,” Sarah remarked. Pope assumed it was in jest but was never quite sure with his partner.

A half hour later, the crime scene was perfect. The note was written in a hand close enough to Nelson’s.

The two detectives reopened windows and were able to lock the rear door on the way out. It was ten o’clock and nobody was up and about in the back alley. They walked three blocks in the alley, then cut over to the main street and walked to their room.

Since both of their remaining suspects were in New York City, they headed there.

On the way to the platform Pope dropped the text for a telegram to Lincoln stating a suspect had outlined the threat to his boss in detail and it was at the Thursday event.

Perhaps more importantly, he dropped off the text of a telegram to Conkling about the warehouse owner and union chief in New York being involved in a Thursday attack on his friend. Pope said he was on his way to New York and would be there late in the morning to see Conkling for assistance.

The cleaned up, well dressed couple riding the train bore no resemblance to the workers who had been in the rough edge of Scarsdale. They got off the train in the city and took a hansom cab. Sarah went straight to the New York Wells Fargo office with a cypher message to the Washington office, detailing exactly what was scheduled to happen two days hence on Thursday. Pope went directly to Conkling’s office.

He and Conkling met immediately. Conkling knew both the suspects from his days running the Customs House and running New York in general. He told Pope he had men watching both. Neither had departed for Washington. It looked like they planned to leave Wednesday as Nelson had.

“What is this Nelson’s status?” Conkling asked.

“He spoke to us and later committed suicide.”

Conkling smiled.

“He just up and killed himself?” he said.

“Pretty much. He left a brief note about being upset over participating in a plot to assassinate the president and decided to end it all. He finished with a stupid statement about Marxism infiltrating unions.”

“Sounds like a good piece of work,” Conkling said.

“The situation was very clean. No loose ends hanging.”

“Let’s send a note to both, to meet me at ten tonight at Pier 15. It’s largely unused and a good place to have a nice, private chat. I’d like for you to go. There is sure to be a gunfight when you try to make an arrest. You will win, which I suspect would be the case even if we didn’t set it up,” Conkling said.

Conkling outlined how his plan would go down. Pope liked it.

Pope and Sarah spoke about the plan. Both agreed, she would stay in the background out of sight of everyone. If Pope did not appear fairly soon after, she would approach. Each had his function. Conkling was a good Samaritan identifying the two men to be arrested. Pope was the deputy US marshal to arrest them.

Being summoned by the most powerful and perhaps one of the scariest men in New York worked.

Pope, Conkling, and two very big Conkling associates showed up at the pier. Romano and Johnstone were waiting.

“Hi, boys,” Conkling greeted them.

“I understand you have a plan to kill my old friend, Chet Arthur. Some sort of Marxist crap. I cannot allow you to do it. The tall man beside me is a US marshal assigned by the attorney general to interrupt the plan,” Conkling said.

Pope had the silver badge pinned in clear sight in the light shown by a gas streetlamp.

“Romano, Johnstone. You are both under arrest for plotting to kill Chester A. Arthur. Throw up your hands right now!” Pope ordered.

His coat was open and loose. His only doubt was using