Twenty–Seven
It seemed an eternity before we arrived at the Buffalo Police headquarters, then were yanked out of the wagon and dragged inside by armed guards. Once inside the building we were marched down a hallway and thrown into a holding cell. During the wild ride it had been impossible to speak. Now we gazed at each other in horrified disbelief.
“What do you think will happen to us?” I couldn't stop my voice from trembling. “They will listen to us, won't they?”
“The President's just been shot.” Ryan sounded equally shaky. “I don't imagine they'll behave very rationally. They'll want to find scapegoats to satisfy the public outrage. My God, we were nearly torn limb from limb out there.”
I hugged my knees to myself to stop myself from shaking. “If I hadn't been so stupid …”
“You did what you thought was right,” Ryan said. “I'm sorry I got you into this.”
“You didn't get me into it. I got myself into it. I should never have come to Buffalo.”
“You wanted to go to the police. I was the stupid one who wanted to find Leon myself. I blame myself com
pletely. I never thought he'd go through with it. I thought it was all fantasy. I should never have laughed at him. I drove him to it.”
“It won't do any good blaming ourselves,” I said. “We can't undo what's done. I'm sure they'll realize they've made a mistake.” I tried to give Ryan a reassuring smile because he looked even worse than I felt.
He shook his head. “It won't look good for me. They'll find out that Leon was my ex-lover. But I'll make sure they know that you had nothing to do with it.” He reached out and patted my hand.
We sat together on the hard bench, both lost in our own thoughts. Then, much later, the cell door opened and we were led out.
We were taken down a white-tiled hallway, then thrust into a brightly lit room. Several police officers were standing around. A man was sitting slumped over a center table. He turned and lifted his head as we came in. It was Leon, but I hardly recognized him, he was such a sorry sight, so swollen, bleeding and battered was he.
“Take a look at these people,” a policeman shouted. “Do you know them? Were you all in this together? You can make it easier on yourself if you name your accomplices.”
Leon turned the haunted eyes that I remembered so well onto us.
“I never saw either of them before in my life,” he said in a flat voice.
“Come on. Own up. Someone must have put you up to this.”
“I told you, I did it alone,” Leon said in a flat voice. “Nobody was in it with me.”
“Someone must have given you the idea. You don't just wake up one morning deciding you'll go and shoot the President. Come on. Your silence isn't going to help you, you know.”
“Nothing will help me now,” Leon said. “If anyone made me do it, it was …” He turned back to Ryan for a moment and his gaze lingered on Ryan's face before he said in the same flat voice, “… it was Emma Goldman.”
The interrogators looked at each other and nodded. “It figures “ one growled. “What did I tell you. An anarchist plot. Have this Emma Goldman found and brought in before she skips the country.”
“Wait, I didn't say she put me up to it,” Leon pleaded. “I said she inspired me. I told you I did it alone. Nobody helped me. It was all my idea.”
The largest of the police detectives looked at Leon then at us with distaste. “Take them away,” the policeman bellowed.
We were led farther along the hall into another room. Two of the officers followed us into the room.
“Look, officer,” Ryan said as the door closed behind us, leaving us alone with two policemen, “what that man said wasn't true.”
I gasped and gave Ryan a hasty glance.
“I do know Leon Czolgosz,” Ryan said. “In case you don't know me—Fm Ryan O'Hare. I have a worldwide reputation in the theater. Leon was rather infatuated with me last year. He followed me around and he wanted me to join in one of his crazy schemes. Of course I refused. But when I learned that he was at the exposition today, I thought it was my duty to try to stop him. Miss Murphy and myself tried several times to be taken to someone in charge of security. Each time we were ignored and turned away. So we had to try and take matters into our own hands. I'm only sorry that we failed.”
I could see the detective looking with distaste at Ryan's silk cravat and frilled shirt, trying to make up his mind as to whether he believed him.
“And may I ask what you are doing in Buffalo at the same time as Mr. Czolgosz?” he asked.