The Last Days of Night(44)

“Why?”

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” The weather was turning. It was time to go inside.

—

By the time George Westinghouse visited again a week later, Paul had graduated from his rickety wheelchair to a wooden cane. Its squat nub thumped satisfyingly against the dirt as the two men walked in the chill of Bellevue’s rear gardens. Just below lay the wind-chopped East River. Paul had almost been weaned off his morning cocaine, but looking at the water still made him slightly dizzy.

Paul wore the brown hospital overcoat that comprised his uniform for outdoor walks. He hadn’t worn any of his own clothes in a month. He’d never imagined that he’d find himself missing his few suits so much.

“So you are confident that one of Edison’s hatchet men set the fire?” asked Westinghouse.

Paul was relieved to finally be able to confide in his client in person. He and Westinghouse had exchanged cables in the past weeks, after he had achieved lucidity, but he hadn’t dared risk revealing his suspicions until they were face-to-face.

“Yes,” said Paul. “You know Charles Batchelor. What wouldn’t he do for his boss?”

“I’m sorry,” said Westinghouse suddenly. Paul was startled to hear the words from his client. He didn’t get the impression that Westinghouse said them frequently. Certainly not to a subordinate like Paul. “I led you onto the battlefield. And now you’re the one with the war wounds.”

“Sir,” said Paul as he pressed his cane hard into the dirt and turned to face his companion, “this is not your fault. I chose to go up against Edison. If you’re feeling scared, you’ve every reason to be. If you’re feeling uncertain, that only means you understand the complexity of our situation. But if you’re feeling guilty, that won’t help us a bit. You want to apologize to someone? Apologize to Tesla. He’s the innocent in all of this. But in order for you to have such a conversation, we’ll need to find him first.”

Westinghouse looked away as Paul delivered this speech. He seemed uncomfortable with any display of sentiment. His gesture of apology could not have been easily offered.

“If he is alive, God willing, how will you find him?” asked Westinghouse. “I can call on the Pinkertons.”

“No.”

“You don’t trust them?”

“Do you?”

The Pinkerton Detective Agency was the preeminent investigative force in the United States. And yet the Pinkertons had a reputation for committing their allegiance according to the generosity of their employers. If Edison had been able to exert enough pressure to control the police force, then to do the same to the Pinkertons would be a trifle.

“It’s just us, then,” replied Westinghouse finally.

“Yes.”

“And your partners. They came to me a few weeks back. While you’ve been incapacitated, someone had to continue our defense on the light-bulb suit.”

Paul was well aware. It was only proper for Carter and Hughes to take the reins. Yet it still stung that his injuries had only furthered his demotion.

“Good,” replied Paul. “Carter and Hughes can handle the lion’s share of legal strategy for a bit. They’re quite…experienced.” Paul gazed out at the East River. He steadied his vision on a pair of boatmen paddling a tiny craft on the icy water. Across the river lay the city of Brooklyn, a vast metropolis of Irish, Germans, Negroes, Jews, Italians, Danes, Finns, and a few well-to-do old families. Brooklyn was the third-largest city in America, and it was largely inhabited by people who had not been born there. Behind Paul, the immense stone construction of Bellevue occupied the entire western skyline. The hospital’s oversized American flag with its thirty-eight stars and thirteen stripes flapped in the breeze from the roof of the building. Paul could see more different worlds in one glance than in the entire town in which he’d been raised.

“When do they let you out of here?” asked Westinghouse.

“Two more days, they’re saying.”

“I want you to be careful. No more nighttime expeditions. This is not worth dying over.”

Paul was touched by the concern, and yet he didn’t feel the warning was necessary. “What would killing me get anyone? I can see Edison attempting to frighten me off. He tried as much the first time he met me. But actually murdering me? It might delay the case, but it wouldn’t eliminate our defense. And frankly, a delay would benefit our side, since he’s the one asking for an injunction against your continued production of light bulbs.”

Westinghouse appeared unsure about where Paul was headed with this argument.

“Which leaves the only possibility remaining: The arsonist was trying to kill Tesla.”

“Why?” asked Westinghouse.

“Because it’s the only way to guarantee that he could never help us. Edison knows how difficult it will be to create a new, non-infringing light bulb without Tesla’s gifts.”

“And you just happened to be there? That’s rotten luck, kid.”

“I’m not saying it was an accident that I was there.”

“How do you mean?”

“How do you think they found Tesla?”

“Christ,” said Westinghouse. “He had you followed.”

The two men looked around at the churning East River. “As soon as you leave here,” said Westinghouse, “you’ll likely be followed again.”