The Titanic Murders - By Max Allan Collins Page 0,69
him down, and… and finally he didn’t struggle no more.”
She began to sob again and he gathered her to him, and patted her back, and said, “He was an evil man, Alice. You were protecting yourself.”
Nodding desperately, she said, “I was protectin’ my honor! I ain’t the best girl in the world, I guess I know that better than anybody, sir… but I ain’t no man’s white slave! So I smothered the son of Satan, and I’d do it again, gladly.”
“You did do it again, didn’t you?”
Her eyes flared. “Pardon?”
“Crafton’s partner-in-crime: Mr. Rood.”
She swallowed. “Don’t know ’im, sir.”
“Alice… I’m your only hope. Either you trust that I have your best interests at heart, or you’d best go back to that rail and jump.”
“I don’t… don’t really wanna die, sir. Will they hang me?”
“I’ve told you: I’m not your judge. I’m your friend—and another victim of that vile pair. What happened with Rood?”
“He told me to meet him on the deck, middle of the night—two A.M., when the ship was asleep. He said if I didn’t meet ’im, he’d tell on me to the Allisons. He knew all about my baby, too. He said he even had the pictures from the papers to show the Allisons. I need that job, sir! I need the chance the Americas give.”
“You’re getting off the subject, Alice. Tell me about that night on deck with Mr. Rood.”
“He… he knew his partner was dead. He said he seen the stewardess come tearin’ out of his friend’s cabin, white as a ghost, and he quicklike slipped in and seen the body. And he knew I done it—or anyways, he figured I done it, ’cause his friend told him what he was goin’ to do to me. I think… I think I was to be both their white slaves, by crossing’s end.”
“Is that what he wanted from you up here, Alice? Your ‘favors’?”
She was staring at the deck. “No. No, he… he wanted the money.”
“What money, Alice?”
“I did somethin’ bad in that room, somethin’ I shouldn’t—and I ain’t talkin’ about riddin’ the world of that blackhearted bastard. But there was this money on his dresser, just sitting there, this great wad of paper money. When Mr. Crafton was dead, when I just stood there catchin’ my breath, I seen it there, sir, that money… and I snatched it up. Took it with me. Figured… I earned it.”
“And Rood wanted that money.”
She nodded. “He started in to get rough with me, sir… he begun to shake me like a doll, till my head was rattlin’… it was right there, it happened.”
She pointed, like a child picking out a toy in a store window; but she was singling out one of the davit-slung lifeboats.
“That’s where it happened, sir… I grabbed him and I shoved him, shoved him hard… didn’t mean to do it so hard, I was just… tryin’ to get loose of him.”
“You’re saying that’s what killed him?”
She nodded. “Caved the back of his head in, it did, sir.”
“There must have been blood.”
“There was, sir. He didn’t have no pulse, sir. So I hid him in the boat.”
“You did that yourself? Slung him up in there?”
“Yes, sir. You said it yourself, sir… I’m a strong girl.”
Something didn’t sit right with the second half of her story; but Futrelle had a feeling this was the only story he’d get out of her. She had calmed down—the hysteria was over, the tears too, and she had gone from the girl unhinged by his manipulated séance to the battle-scarred survivor she innately was.
Still, she was beaten down, a flat-nosed girl in her blue Sunday dress. “What now, sir? See the captain? I’ll turn myself in, if you like. Will they hang me, sir?”
“Let’s find a bench and sit, Alice.”
They did. The deck remained theirs alone; theirs, and the cold night and the glittering stars.
“I’m going to try to help you,” he said.
She gazed at him, puzzled. “Why, sir?”
“Because men like Astor and Guggenheim and the rest… even men like me… can fight the likes of a John Crafton in all sorts of ways, including just throwing money at him. But a girl of your station, you don’t have the same choices. It troubles me that violence follows you, Alice… but I told you I was not your judge.”
“But the captain… ?”
“The captain and Mr. Ismay, well… I’m going to try to keep this from coming out. I can’t promise you I can manage it. But I promise I will try.”