Robert Walker - Titanic 2012

“Then you can put up bail for them well enough. Sergeant Quinlan! Do your duty, man. I’ve been up all night, and I’m in no mood for pleasantries among you… you gentry.”

If he weren’t in serious trouble himself, Ransom would have laughed to see the poor sergeant going back and forth at the interns with irons in hand, going forth one step, back two depending on who was speaking. Whenever the dean or Bellingham took exception, he backed off; when Reahall spoke, he stepped to it. In the meantime, the young interns were struggling to get their hands free of the long leather gloves. At the same time, a second uniformed officer clamped irons on Alastair—hands and feet.

“It’s not Mr. Wyland’s doing, Dr. B., Dean Goodfriar, please, I mean… Thomas and I pushed him into this business, but please, whatever you do with us, you must examine our findings. I’ve kept exact notes on our findings, please, sir… please it is a serious disease we’re faced with, one without a name! And we need your help… we all need to work together—as a team, sir—like you always say ‘we men of science must work together’—remember?”

Thomas lifted his hands to Dr. Bellingham, hands in chains now, and said, “Sirs, this disease could be of great importance to you both; in fact, it may even be named after you. Goodfriar’s disease… or Bellinghamitis. Look as interns at the university, Declan and I have no claim to it, and besides, we need your backing, sirs… please.”

Goodfriar considered this argument, tugged at his whiskers as if considering the import of what the boys were saying, but then he took command, saying, “Yes, you’re right, Constable Reahall—shackle them and take them away! After all, we’ve heard the confession. Don’t you agree, Bellingham? We’ve heard enough.”

Ransom saw the old dean’s devious eyes had lit up with this last suggestion coming from Thomas. He could almost see the phrase alight in the man’s mind reading: Goodfriar’s disease. One for the ages. Immortality of a sick kind, literally speaking.

“You can place bail tomorrow at court if you want them back,” Reahall said to Bellingham, “but to get the lesson across, you shouldn’t be rushing to their defense or to place bail without exacting time behind bars—in my humble opinion—sirs.”

Ransom knew that Reahall wanted only him, and that he also wanted to question the lads, especially his paid informant, Thomas, to determine if Ransom had given anything away. The constable now stepped to within inches of Ransom and stared into his steely gray eyes and said, “I don’t suppose anyone will be bailing you out, Detective ahh… Wyland.”

“Constable,” Ransom calmly replied, “tell me you’ve located Tuttle, the Pinkerton agent.”

“That’s naught to do with you now, Mr. Wwwyland.” The exaggeration of Ransom’s alias told him once again that Reahall believed him to be the escapee from the hangman in Chicago. What Reahall hoped to do with that knowledge, Ransom hadn’t a clue, but he knew human nature only too well, and he suspected the constable, up in years himself, was most likely thinking of how he might turn it into ready cash. After all, the Chicago style of politics was born in Ireland.

“Take ’em away, Sergeant, and see that you and your men keep a sharp eye out for this sly fox; I believe he’s escaped justice many times. Take nothing for granted with him; do you understand? If he so much as asks about your health or family, gag the man.”

“But Dr. Belligham, Dean Goodfriar–” cried out Declan—“we’re all in danger of the plague! Not only Belfast but quite possibly Southampton where Titanic ’s going next. If this agent is aboard—whether alive or dead—he’ll be spreadin’ the disease!”

“The ship must be quarantined and now!” added Thomas at the top of his lungs.

Ransom joined in as he was led out, “Fools! Damn fools, all of you! You’ve got to listen to the lads!”

“Look at the records I’ve kept, Dr. B, like you’ve taught us—please!” poured forth Declan’s final plea.

Ransom fought his handler, Sergeant Quinlan, long enough to stand before Dr. Bellingham and Goodfriar to add, “This situation needs you men to step up. You’ve a pair of bloody smart doctors in those two lads, and you best heed them! I implore you!”

Reahall had snatched out a bandana, and he now gagged and silenced Ransom. He then gave Ransom a shove and shouted at his subordinates, “Get a-moving, you men!”

In the court yard outside the building Ransom saw the dreaded paddy wagon awaiting him and the young internists, as they made their way down the long walkway past nurses and doctors coming on duty for the morning shift at the hospital proper, many stopping to stare and wonder at the commotion. Ransom took in the last breaths of a breeze, sorry for the boys who must feel the heat of anxiety welling up from within them. Their lives could well be ruined by the night’s work, he imagined. On the other hand, he faced a rope should Reahall discover his true identity.

The two young interns appeared despondent and defeated. But there was a bounce in Constable Reahall’s step as he ushered Ransom along. From just behind Ransom, Reahall whispered in Alastair’s ear, “You’re the bloody fool now aren’t you? Man, you could’ve been away—out of my jurisdiction. Why did you linger?”

Ransom’s answer came as a garbled sound like a dying goose, until Reahall loosened the gag which fell about Ransom’s chin. “Let us say I had an itch needing scratching and an arse needing kissing, and I chose you to take care of it, Constable.”

“You’re sure to feel most at home in a Belfast cell.” Reahall had come around to walk alongside him, and Ransom saw a glint of absolute gleeful satisfaction in his green eyes.

“How much?” Ransom asked.

“A hundred fifty pounds. I’m not a greedy man.”

“You’ll release me then?”

“Aside from myself, no one knows your history; I’ve made it my study of late. But for all anyone knows, you’re arrested for breaking and entering… and this could remain the only charge before the judge. One I can nullify… if you get my drift.”

“I don’t have that much coin,” replied Ransom. “What then?”

“Then I contact your friends in America; you must know someone there who could forward funds. It is, after all, the country where the streets are paved with gold.”

Ransom laughed. “There’re no golden streets in Chicago; golden properties waiting to be developed, yes, but I have no friends back there with deep pockets.”

“Then you are confessing to being Inspector Alastair Ransom here and now?”

“No, not in the least.”

“But you just said you have no friends in Chicago.”

“Correct as I have never lived in that city, although I did visit it once for the World’s Fair. You have me confused with someone else, Constable.”

“Stubborn fool.”

Ransom reiterated his cover story: “As I’ve told ya, Constable, I’ve no friends back there—meaning America and Chicago in particular. I’ve only visited Chicago. I’m Boston born and bred. A seaman at heart, really—hoping to get a berth here in time.”

“Visited Chicago, yes, for the fair… the World’s Fair, so you’ve said.”

“It’s true. I went up on Mr. Ferris’ wheel—a hundred seventy feet into the sky. Terrifying.”

“Liar; you’ve been lying so long, I suspect you think it the truth.”

“Truth be known, you are a common thief, aren’t you Reahall?”

“Not so common, not really.”

“You hold all the cards, sir.”

Reahall smiled. “That much I know… and I know you are a card player—poker, yes? They tell me that’s your game.”