Patrick’s legal instincts kicked in. What happened tonight was a straightforward case of self-defense, but it was possible the Blackstones had played a role in it, and they might try to twist this.
“I was with Liam and his mother all evening. We were minding our own business when someone came pounding on the door. Liam answered and got stabbed about two seconds later. Two others barged in to finish the job, and I stopped them. I’ve never seen them before.”
“And Liam? Did he know them?”
Patrick shrugged. “You’ll have to ask him that.”
“Does Liam Malone have any enemies?” Sergeant Dittmer asked.
Any leader of a labor union had plenty of enemies, but Patrick doubted this had anything to do with the union. He nodded to the dozens of neighbors loitering in the street. “They could probably answer that better than me. I only met him a few weeks ago.” Had it only been three weeks? It seemed forever now.
“And what is your relationship with Mr. Malone?”
He thought carefully before answering. He had offered Liam a little legal advice, but he wasn’t officially his lawyer. If he identified himself as such, it would get back to the Blackstones, and something warned Patrick against that.
“Just a friend,” he said.
“You must come to the station to file a formal report of what happened here tonight,” Sergeant Dittmer ordered.
The brusque tone worried Patrick. “Am I a suspect?”
“No, but we need a formal statement,” Sergeant Dittmer said.
Patrick glanced pointedly at the officer with the notepad. “I just gave you one. I’m heading to the hospital to check on my friend. His mother may need help.”
He walked around the officer taking notes and headed toward the house. The blanket-covered corpse was being carried out on a stretcher, and Patrick instinctively paused to cross himself. He hated what he’d done tonight, but if he hadn’t been here, Liam would be dead.
“Do you have someone on the force who can stand guard at the hospital?” he asked Sergeant Dittmer. “Whoever ordered this attack on Liam might try again.”
Sergeant Dittmer scoffed. “We don’t have spare men to serve as a private police force.”
That wasn’t a surprise, but Liam was still in danger. If he survived tonight’s attack, he would be frail and defenseless for weeks.
Patrick scanned the bystanders loitering in the street. He recognized some of them as people who’d come to New York for the hearing. They were strong men from the steel mills and factories. They would be his private police force.
He stepped forward. “I could use some people to help stand guard at the hospital.”
Five minutes later he had his volunteers, and now his job was no longer solving the mystery of Liam’s birth, but simply to keep him alive.
20
Gwen had become increasingly confident that she wanted Patrick O’Neill to become a part of her life. He was strong and kind and funny. Thoroughly good. He had gone all the way to Pittsburgh just to help her solve the mystery of Liam Malone. The last, lingering vestiges of her resentment over his representation of Mick Malone evaporated in the face of Patrick’s unstinting generosity. What other man would so selflessly give of himself?
She didn’t give a fig about their class differences, but some of her relatives might look down their noses at him. She couldn’t bear it if they treated Patrick shabbily, and that meant she needed to recruit Uncle Oscar’s wife, the Blackstones’ reigning social maven, to her side. Poppy was the most virulent snob in the family, but Gwen would try to soften her.
Poppy had invited a number of the Blackstone ladies to admire her newly decorated nursery. It would be the perfect opportunity for Gwen to announce that after two years of lonely widowhood, she was ready to begin a formal courtship.
Poppy and Oscar lived in a marble monstrosity on Fifth Avenue. Oscar’s daughter from his first marriage lived there as well, but Gwen didn’t expect Natalia to join the party. The animosity between Poppy and Natalia was palpable, but Gwen had always liked Natalia, even though they couldn’t be more different. While Gwen chose a bohemian life among artists and intellectuals, Natalia was a buttoned-down woman who inherited her father’s skills as a business analyst.
A pair of her aunts arrived at the same time as Gwen, and they exchanged greetings outside the house. Gwen reached out to embrace her favorite aunt. Technically, Martha was her great-aunt, the youngest of her grandfather’s five sisters.
“I’m so glad Poppy could lure you away from campus,” Aunt Martha said. “I know you don’t care for the city.”
“I couldn’t resist the chance to see Poppy’s nursery,” Gwen said, feeling only a twinge of jealousy. She’d always wanted children, but Jasper’s disinterest in her made it almost impossible to conceive. Maybe she would soon have children of her own. Patrick would be a wonderful father. Perhaps she was getting ahead of herself, but the longing to have Patrick’s dependable strength and humor in her world was becoming increasingly hard to deny.
Oscar’s home was made of white marble, gilt furniture, and had murals painted on every soaring ceiling. To her surprise, Natalia waited for them in the hallway. It was a Monday, and Natalia had dressed for work in a tailored indigo suit with a nipped-in jacket and wore her dark hair coiled into a sleek chignon.
Gwen kissed Natalia’s cheek in greeting. “I gather I have you to thank for your father’s decision to extend funding on the college for another year.”
