Today's Reading
The man with the gray fedora and ice-cold blue eyes had pushed past her, jostling her shoulder, and almost sent her tumbling into the crowd. James had caught her as the man headed toward the stairs. She shouted, "Stop him!" But she only confused people. Some grabbed at the man, but he broke free and took off running.
Until he was deep into the crowd, then he stopped. Once he wasn't sprinting, her cries meant nothing. No one could tell who she was talking about. If she had shouted, "Grab the man in the gray fedora!" about half the men on the platform would have been gripped by the other half.
She had acted without thinking. If he was the murderer, he knew she suspected him. And he knew what she looked like.
But just because he saw her, he didn't know who she was. Except the press would know Mrs. Roosevelt was here and if Kay was hustling Mrs. Roosevelt away from reporters, her photograph would get snapped.
Had her impulsive cry of "Stop him!" put Mrs. Roosevelt in danger? She was making everything worse.
Mrs. Roosevelt had faced down obstructive Soviet delegates to achieve the adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by the United Nations. Kay could not return to Mrs. Roosevelt and tell her that she'd failed to contact the police.
She needed this job.
The buzzing sound of the disconnected telephone startled her, and she placed the receiver back on the cradle.
Kay was seated in the stationmaster's office. The wooden chair that predated the Great War pressed painfully against her spine. Blinds were pulled down over the windows. Timetables covered the walls. Stale smoke slightly overpowered the lingering sweaty odor of a male occupant who obviously never bothered with cologne, expensive or from the five-and-dime. The chair on which she sat suddenly tilted backward. Old springs squeaked so loud her heart almost stopped. Kay grabbed the edge of the oak desk in a panic before she toppled over.
She couldn't give up. A Hitchcock heroine—or hero—was never believed.
Perseverance was the key.
She picked up the receiver and dialed the number of the Washington police once more.
The now-familiar voice bellowed, "Sergeant Willis. First Station."
Kay barked in equally commanding tones, "This is Miss Thompson, secretary to Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt. Mrs. Roosevelt is waiting for the police with a murder victim on the Royal Blue train at Union Station. This is not a prank. The murderer—I mean a suspect—escaped in the enormous crowd on the platform. He is at large."
Willis was able to sift through a conversation and find the one kernel that was important to him—because it could make his life difficult. "'What' crowd?"
Now she knew the way to keep Willis attentive.
"There are hundreds of people on the platform at the station who heard a murder occurred. They are all squeezing to the edge of the platform. Someone is going to get trampled. You may think this is amusing, but Mrs. Roosevelt does not. Not when there is a murderer on the loose."
"And you know who this murderer is?"
"I don't know who he is. But I know what he smelled like."
A long pause.
Oh no. She was losing Sergeant Willis.
"A reporter is already here," Kay added quickly. "It will be a great story for the newspapers if the police do nothing. The man at the top of your police force"—she had no idea what he was called—"will be embarrassed in the press. I would suggest you send officers to the train station. Right 'now'."
"Hold your horses, young woman."
"Miss Thompson," she said, as imperiously as possible. "Union Station, you said?"
"Yes, the Royal Blue train."
"We will be right there, Miss Thompson. There's no need for the press."
"The press is already here, Sergeant Willis."
"Damn it," Willis muttered.
She agreed.
Willis disconnected and Kay returned the receiver to the cradle. Minutes later, sirens wailed outside. Sergeant Willis had done something after all.
Kay pulled her compact out of her small handbag. She ensured her false eyelashes were in place and touched up her lipstick. She couldn't go out in public looking like a disaster.
She would meet the police and take them to the train. Mrs. Roosevelt wanted to speak to the police, but she had to get Mrs. Roosevelt out of the station without being hounded by the press.
The question was how.
* * *
This excerpt ends on page 14 of the hardcover edition.
Monday we begin the book Knife Skills for Beginners by Orlando Murrin.
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