Cue turned to fill a tumbler with whiskey. Francis dropped two coins into his hand and downed his drink. Cue refilled the glass, sipped delicately from a china coffee cup. He said, “That was a very unfortunate event occurred yesterday in your park, Mr. Bacon.”

Francis winced. “You’ve heard, then.”

“A Polack girl, I was told, from St. Hedwig’s parish.”

Francis gestured at the newspaper. “It’s in there?”

“Not yet.” Cue took another sip of coffee. “I was told they’re holding it from the morning editions. So as not to interfere with Mr. Deneen’s visit with his sister in Wisconsin.”

“What else were you told?”

Cue’s voice dropped. “That the child was interfered with, and her clothes taken. And they arrested a colored man who works at the park.”

Francis nodded. “Clyde Smithson. I know the man—he couldn’t have done such a thing.”

“I’ve known of one who did.”

Francis eyed him skeptically. “When?”

“Four years ago, in Wonderland. Before I came to this city.”

“Wonderland?”

“An amusement park. Like yours, Mr. Bacon. With the Hell Gate and the roller coasters and the freaks. Deirdre Monahan—I knew her sister’s husband, Joseph. Joe Neely, we worked together at the docks. A wee girl. She was twelve years old and they found her in the Hell Gate.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Defiled and her little dress stolen. Joe went off his head with drink, couldn’t see the hole in a ladder after that. I won’t take a step into your park, Mr. Bacon, and now you know why.”

Francis set down his empty tumbler. “How do you know this?”

“Joe Neeley worked beside me for three years, Mr. Bacon, how would I not know? It was in the papers for a month. Anyone with eyes and ears knew her name. Deirdre Monahan,” he repeated, and fixed Francis with an iron stare.

“Did they find him? The man who killed her?”

“If they had, I’d be telling you his name.”

Cue glanced at the empty whiskey glass, but Francis shook his head. He asked, “This park, it’s in Boston?”

“Revere. Was. It closed after that. You can understand why.”

“Does anyone know of this? Have you spoken to anyone?”

Cue picked up the china cup. He stared at Francis as he drank the rest of his coffee. Setting the cup back on the counter he continued, “I live a quiet life in this city and do not care to have any more doings with the Chicago police if I can help it.

“But I speak to you as one who values your trade, Mr. Bacon. And I have heard of your own circumstances. I will appreciate you not bringing my name into any conversation you may have about that Polack girl. Deirdre Monahan,” he added as he closed the panel. “A name to remember, Mr. Bacon.”

Chapter 41

Chapter 41