John Miller - The First Assassin

As the omnibus crossed Fourteenth Street, Hamilton made a show of looking at Willard’s, on the north side of the street, as if he were admiring its architecture. Instead of concentrating on the hotel, however, he tried to spot Tabard peripherally. He still could not see her. A couple of riders obstructed his view of the other end of the omnibus. A wave of anxiety swept over Hamilton, but it was gone in a flash. He was certain that she was there. How could she be anywhere else? He had seen her climb aboard. She could not possibly have gotten off. Besides, only a ridiculous spendthrift would give up an entire nickel to ride less than a few blocks. People who boarded at Seventh Street usually were traveling all the way to Georgetown. He would spot her soon. He was certain of it.

Half an hour had passed since Rook’s arrival at the intersection of Seventh and H Street, and the colonel was finally becoming satisfied with his surveillance of Tabard’s boardinghouse. Men were positioned at key street corners within several blocks of where he stood, and most of them were now out of uniform. Behind a third-floor window, in a building directly across the street from Tabard’s, three soldiers sat and watched the front of the boardinghouse. In an alleyway behind it, another had assumed the appearance of a drunkard. With a ratty coat covering his body and a half-empty bottle in his hand, he sat against a wall and kept an eye on Tabard’s back door.

Rook was confident that nobody could enter or exit the boardinghouse without at least one of his men knowing it. He was also aware that surveillance could be tedious business-it might take hours of watching the most mundane activity before something happened. Boredom posed the biggest threat. It dulled senses that need to stay sharp, and the problem of sleep always loomed. Long stretches of idleness could lead to napping on the job. Rook had seen it plenty of times in the military with troops posted to the watch.

Because it was daytime rather than evening and the surveillance was young rather than old, Rook knew that he could let some time pass before he worried about these problems. Yet he knew that he might have to confront them eventually. He was already giving orders to prepare second and third shifts of men who could relieve those currently on duty. And at some point, he assumed, Mazorca would make a move. He would not stay caged in Tabard’s forever. For now, however, Rook was content to wait-and remain alert.

He had just dispatched a courier to the Winder Building, to inform Scott of the situation, when Hamilton came dashing in his direction. He was almost out of breath when he stopped in front of Rook.

“She lost me,” gasped the lieutenant.

“Mrs. Tabard?”

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

“I followed her down to the Avenue, where she boarded a bus. I followed right behind. It was crowded, so I didn’t have a good view of her. But I know she got on, and I never saw her get off. Halfway to Georgetown, though, I realized she wasn’t there. She just vanished.”

Hamilton’s eyes dropped to the ground. Rook could tell the lieutenant was ashamed. But then, he deserved to be.

“She didn’t vanish. You lost sight of her,” scolded Rook.

“She must have gotten off the bus just as I was getting on. That’s the only thing that makes sense. But that would mean that she knew I was following her, and I was certain that she didn’t know. She never even looked in my direction.”

Rook pondered this. He knew nothing about Hamilton’s skills at shadowing subjects. He assumed they were unexceptional. But he knew that Tabard was a middle-aged woman who ran a boardinghouse. She was no savvy spy either. It was reasonable to suppose that Hamilton could keep tabs on her, as well as to suppose that even if she were to become aware of him, she would have trouble shaking him. Yet it sounded as if she had not only lost Hamilton but also that she had lost him with speed and efficiency.

“Very well, Lieutenant. Get some rest and report back here at midnight.” That would be Hamilton’s punishment: the late shift. Rook would find a role for him that did not involve following anybody.

As Hamilton loped away, Rook decided to get a better view of the boardinghouse. He walked to Eighth Street, almost two full blocks away from Tabard’s, and crossed H Street. He allowed himself to steal a quick look in the direction of the boardinghouse. The distance was too great to see much of anything. He merely confirmed what he already knew: in the middle of the afternoon, Tabard’s was no beehive of activity. The tenants would be at their jobs around the city.

Once Tabard’s slipped from sight, Rook maneuvered around the city block and entered an alleyway. He passed the back side of several narrow buildings, finally entering one close to Sixth Street. It was an apothecary’s shop. A sign on the wall promised “Remedies for All Ailments!” The shelves contained bottles of strengthening cordials for general heartiness, packages of cephalic pills for headaches, and something called “volcanic oil liniment” that guaranteed instant relief for painful sores. The proprietor waved as Rook charged up two flights of stairs.

He reached the third floor and stepped into a small room. The soldiers were seated. Two were positioned near a pair of windows while the third smoked a pipe behind them. All three rose when Rook entered.

“Nothing stirring, sir,” said the smoker. “We haven’t spotted anything since we got up here.”

“Sit down,” said the colonel. Through a window he could see Tabard’s across the street, and looking downward he had a good view of the front door and the window to Mazorca’s room-the one he had stood in just a day earlier. The curtains were shut, just as Grimsley had reported.

“Have you had your eyes on those closed curtains the entire time?”

“Yes, we have,” said one by the window. “If there’s a person in that room, he hasn’t touched the curtains.”

Rook continued looking out even though he did not see anything in particular. “Don’t get your faces too close to the window or you might be seen,” he said, mostly because he wanted to fill the silence. He had already warned the soldiers about this.

“Yes, sir. We know.”

A few more moments passed quietly.

“What do we know about the druggist downstairs?” asked Rook.

“He’s a Union man,” said the soldier with a pipe. “We made sure of that before we came up here.”

“Does he know Mrs. Tabard?”

“We didn’t ask because we didn’t want to give away our purpose. We just told him we needed to watch the street for a few hours. He was agreeable, but I think he’s curious to know what we’re doing.”

“That’s understandable,” said the colonel. “I’ll try to have a few words with him later.”

Rook considered the situation. The disappearance of Tabard troubled him. It suggested that despite appearances, she was no ordinary keeper of a boardinghouse. Perhaps she was in league with Mazorca. This led to another troubling idea. If Rook and his men couldn’t keep track of Tabard, then how could they hope to monitor Mazorca? He might slip from their grasp just as easily as Tabard, even though he was striving to prevent this. Rook reviewed the possibilities. Mazorca could be in Tabard’s right now. If he left, Rook’s men could try to pursue him, but they might fail and it would be difficult to locate him again. On the other hand, they could try to seize him in the boardinghouse. This could hurt their chances of breaking up a wider conspiracy. Mazorca nevertheless appeared to be at the center of everything. He was the man in the photo. The notion of capturing him and putting an end to his machinations, while it was still possible, was appealing.