She cleared her throat. “Mr. Duffy?”
He glanced up, obviously impatient of any interruption. His annoyance faded to surprise, his gaze raking over her. A puzzled frown settled on his brow. Rory had a sudden notion of how odd she must look in the faded sack of a dress, her hair a wild tangle.
She smoothed it self-consciously. “I realize you don’t know me, Mr. Duffy. But I need a moment of your time. My name is Aurora Kavanaugh. I have something of vital importance to discuss with you, about a story you wrote two days ago?—”
She got no further for she realized he wasn’t listening to her. He stroked his chin, musing, “Kavanaugh? Now where have I heard that name before?”
His face lighting with recognition, he came up out of his chair. “Say, I remember now. You are that girl with the runaway balloon from the circus, aren’t you? I did the piece about you crashing onto Morrison’s lawn.”
Rory tried to begin again. “That’s why I am here, to talk to you about?—”
“Look, Miss Kavanaugh, if you are here to complain about the article, if your name got spelled wrong or anything, I’m sorry. I’m always careful. It’s the copy editors that mess everything up.”
“Will you please just listen to me?” Rory exclaimed. “This has nothing to do with the article you wrote about me. I am here to discuss the more recent story you did on Mr. Morrison.”
Duffy perched on the edge of his desk, heedless of the stack of papers that cascaded to the floor. He scowled. “Yeah, poor Morrison. He’s in the deuce of a fix. I wish it had been anyone but him. A little mule-headed, but I rather like the fellow.”
Rory was unable to restrain her indignation. “Then why did you write such terrible lies about him?”
Duffy looked taken aback. “Why, it was all true, though I wish it wasn’t.” He puffed out his chest a little. “I assure you William Michael Duffy always makes sure of his facts. My information came from an unimpeachable source.”
“Indeed? Someone straightforward and honest like Sergeant O’Connell from the warehouse precinct?”
“That grafter? Lord no, it was—” He hesitated, wariness coming into his eyes. “What’s your interest in all this?”
“I am interested because I know the truth. Even as your story appeared on the streets, Zeke Morrison was waking up to find himself a prisoner in a brothel and Mr. Addison dead by someone else’s hand. And that night when Zeke was supposed to be off, committing the murder, he couldn’t have been. He was with me.”
That was stretching the truth a bit perhaps, but Zeke’s case was urgent. Duffy let out a long, low whistle.
“So the wind sits in that quarter, does it?” He subjected her to another appraising stare which caused the heat to flare into her cheeks. “Morrison must have been quick to take the advantage when you dropped out of the skies into his lap. Can’t say as I blame him.”
“My relationship with Mr. Morrison is not important. What matters is that someone fed you that story on purpose to help implicate Mr. Morrison in a crime he didn’t commit. You have been made a fool of, Mr. Duffy.”
Duffy folded his arms over his chest. “How can I believe you? You’ll excuse me for saying so, but my other source is a little more respectable.”
“Perhaps it would help if I told you I know who your other source is—an alderman named Charles Decker.”
Duffy was too cautious to confirm or deny her guess. “You seem to know an awful lot, lady.” His eyes narrowed. “Maybe you also know where Morrison is hiding.”
It was Rory’s turn to be uneasy. She had come here for the express purpose of leading Duffy back to Zeke, but now she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. The man claimed he liked Zeke, but he was a reporter for all that. Zeke’s capture would make excellent front-page copy.
Duffy regarded Rory more hungrily than Tony when he was half-starving and presented with a bowl of his mother’s pasta. She was thinking of retreating when he came off the desk, pressing closer. “What did you really come up here for, Miss Kavanaugh? I don’t think it was just to yell at me because you didn’t like the piece I wrote about Morrison.”
“No. I hoped that you could help him somehow, that if you knew the story wasn’t true, you would want to make it right.”
“So I would. I don’t like making mistakes on my facts. A thing like that could ruin a fellow’s reputation. But I need a little more convincing, perhaps to talk to Morrison himself. It was him who sent you, wasn’t it? Why don’t you take me to him?”
That was exactly what Zeke desired, but Rory hesitated. “I am not sure I should trust you, Mr. Duffy.”
Duffy reached for his jacket, pulling it on. “With Morrison in this much trouble, you haven’t got much choice. Besides, whether I believe you or not, I’m a reporter, not a policeman. I write stories. I don’t try to apprehend desperate men, especially not ones with knuckles the size of Morrison’s.”
Rory gave a reluctant laugh. She found something likable about Bill Duffy, even if he was the author of that dreadful article on Zeke. She had only her instinct to go on, telling her to trust him, but it had to be enough, for Duffy was right in one respect. She didn’t have much choice. Even if she had changed her mindabout taking Duffy to Zeke, she sensed the man would trail her like a bloodhound all over New York.
Returning to the park, Rory noted anxiously that she had been gone longer than she had promised. The sun had dipped lower behind the trees. As it drew closer to the dinner hour, the walkways were nearly deserted. She saw no sign of Zeke. With a thud of her heart, Rory feared that he had gone off to do something rash.
She sighed with relief when she spied him sitting on a park bench, his legs sprawled across the path, a section of newspaper covering his face as though to shield his eyes.
It occurred to Rory he might be asleep, and her relief changed to indignation, appalled that he could be quite that careless when every policeman in New York must be on the lookout for him.
