Murder on Astor Place (16 page)

“Since when are you concerned about being rude? Please, don’t disillusion me by becoming polite so late in our acquaintance, Detective. You can wash up in the sink. Right this way.”

Frank opened his mouth to show her just how impolite he could be, but his stomach growled again, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since morning. And something did smell awfully good. Well, what could it hurt? He’d eat her food, give her a few unimportant tidbits of information and be on his way. And then he’d never have to see her again.

The middle room of her flat was the kitchen. The light from the front window barely reached here, so.a gas jet on the wall provided most of the illumination. He could see she’d spent some time making the room comfortable. A table and chairs sat on one side, and the stove, sink and icebox took up the other. A picture of a country scene hung on the wall above the table, and a flowered skirt decorated the front of the sink. There was even a bouquet of spring flowers on the table, the kind sold for pennies by ragged, homeless little girls in the street. He could just see Sarah Brandt handing one of them a nickel and telling her to keep the change.

She began to set the table while he washed his hands. At home, he would have removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he didn’t want to be that informal with Sarah Brandt, so he just pushed his sleeves back as far as he could and was very careful not to get them wet in the spray of water from the pump. Only after he was finished did he realize he hadn’t bothered to remove his hat. She must think him a barbarian, although why he should care what she thought of him, he had no idea.

He pulled off his derby and hung it on the ear of the chair she indicated he should use and sat down. He was thinking this was all a terrible mistake in the instant before she set a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. Then he decided that perhaps it wasn’t quite as big a mistake as all that.

“What did you find out from the VanDamms’s servants?” she asked, setting a plate of bread down on the table. It was bakery bread, but Frank had lost his taste for homemade, hardly ever being home to eat any.

“I found out that when she was sent to the house there, the servants weren’t allowed to speak to her. Nobody was, in fact. The housekeeper kept her pretty much a prisoner in her room.”

“That’s understandable, considering her condition, although I don’t imagine they could’ve kept it a secret for long. But surely her maid told you something.”

“Even her maid wasn’t allowed to speak to her. Only the housekeeper.”

Mrs. Brandt was in the process of taking a seat opposite his, and she stopped halfway down in her chair to consider this for a moment. “How strange,” she said, sinking down into the chair at last.

“The maid thought so. But Alicia did go out riding every day. With a groom,” he added, wondering if she would jump to the same conclusion he had.

“A groom?” A crease formed between her eyes as she considered this information.

“Yes,” he remarked casually. “He seems to be the only man she was ever alone with outside of her own family.”

“He’s young? A boy her own age?” From her expression, she thought he’d solved the mystery.

But Frank shook his head, raising a spoonful of stew to his mouth. It was hot, but he blew on it and tasted. Not as good as his mother’s, but the company was better. Which wasn’t saying much, but at least it was something. “No, he’s older than me, I’d guess. Probably near forty. But he’s a nice looking fellow. And he’s known her all her life. She’d be suggestible. If he wanted to take advantage of her, she wouldn’t know—”

“No,” she said decisively. “The groom isn’t the father of her baby.”

Frank swallowed down the automatic prickle of annoyance at her certainty, even though he was inclined to agree. “Why not?” he challenged.

“Because it wouldn’t take long for her family to figure out. And he wouldn’t still be there if it was true. He’d be... I don’t know, gone. Perhaps even dead. I’m not sure how men like Cornelius VanDamm deal with servants who seduce their daughters, but I don’t imagine they show any mercy.”

“How would he find out, though? If the girl didn’t tell him...”

“She would have told him. He’d browbeat her until she did, and believe me, a girl like Alicia wouldn’t be able to hold out long against a man like her father. And he’d suspect the groom first off, if he is indeed the only man she’s ever alone with. I guarantee that Mr. VanDamm knew who the father of the baby was. And if it was a servant, that servant will have vanished.”

“It’s not a servant, then. Lizzie—that’s her maid—told me they’re all still working there.”

“Well, then, who did this Lizzie think it was?” she asked, her fine eyes lighting with interest.

Frank chose not to notice. “She didn’t even know about ... about the girl’s secret. The groom didn’t seem to, either.”

He took a renewed interest in his supper, feeling suddenly awkward to be once again discussing such a delicate subject, this time over dinner, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which it wasn’t, not to Frank.

She must not have shared his discomfort, however. “Did you find out how she got away from the house without being caught?”

“The groom helped her. Hired a fishing boat. He sold her jewelry for her and found her the room at the Higgins’s house.”

Her lips pursed as she considered this information. “Mr. VanDamm certainly doesn’t know all this or the groom wouldn’t still be there.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

He wasn’t sure if she disapproved or not, but he didn’t really care. “Not unless it serves my purpose.” It was the only answer he could give, and he was oddly gratified by her apparent approval.

“So we still don’t know who the father of her child was,” she mused, and Frank felt his hackles rising again.

“Mrs. Brandt, there is no we in this investigation. I’m the detective. You’re, not.” He’d almost said she was nothing, but he’d thought better of it just in time. He figured Sarah Brandt would take offense, and besides, she wasn’t really nothing, no matter how much he might wish it.

“I did find out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him.

He had to give her that. “You’d just better hope he doesn’t come looking for you some dark night.”

She seemed amused at the thought. “So if the groom isn’t the father of her child—and I think we can be rather certain of that—then who was?”

Frank thought he had already reminded her this wasn’t her business, but obviously, she didn’t care. She just kept right on, not even waiting for Frank to respond.

“Mina—her sister—insisted that Alicia didn’t have any gentlemen friends. She hadn’t even entered society yet, so that would eliminate possible suitors.”

Frank merely grunted as he continued to devour his stew.

“What is it?” she demanded.

He looked up in surprise and swallowed a mouthful of meat and potatoes. “What is what?”

“What you aren’t telling me. I said Alicia didn’t have any suitors, and you disagreed.”

“I did not!”

She gave him a pitying look. “You know something you haven’t told me. Don’t try to deny it.”

“You shouldn’t be too surprised at that,” he warned her. “There’s no reason for me to tell you anything at all.”

She obviously couldn’t be insulted. “Alicia did have a suitor, didn’t she? Who was he?”

Frank was beginning to wonder if Sarah Brandt might be a witch. Very deliberately, he took another piece of bread from the plate, tore off a bite and popped it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, he regarded her, marveling at the way she met his stare levelly, not even blinking, when hardened criminals usually flinched. Well, what the hell, maybe she could help him make sense of this.

“Harvey, that’s the groom, he said she ran away because her father wanted her to marry somebody she hated.”

“Good heavens! She was barely sixteen!”

“And six months gone with child,” he reminded her. “Naturally, he’d want to marry her off to somebody.”

“But that man wasn’t necessarily the father, was he?”

Frank shrugged. “There’s only a couple people can tell us that, and the one most likely to is dead.”

“And the rest will probably lie.”

Frank stared at her again. Really, she had missed her calling. Of course, the police didn’t employ female detectives, but if they did, Sarah Brandt would have been pretty good. He saw she was thinking, and he knew that could be dangerous.

“It’s still none of your business, Mrs. Brandt,” he reminded her. “No matter how much you want to see the killer caught, it’s my job to catch him, not yours.”

“But I could—”

“No.” He gave her the glare that stopped felons in their tracks, but she merely frowned.

“Do you think Cornelius VanDamm is going to tell you anything? Or that Mina will? Or Mrs. VanDamm?”

“Do you think they’ll tell you either?” he countered.

“I could find out,” she insisted.

“No,” he said again. “Stay out of it.” He sighed wearily. “I thought you said if I told you what I know, you’d promise not to interfere anymore.”

“I said I’d promise not to bother you anymore. I don’t think it would be a bother if I found out who Alicia’s father wanted her to marry.”

“It will bother me if you don’t stop meddling in my investigation.”

“I found out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him again. “I told you to question the servants to find out more about her.”

“And you might’ve put yourself in danger in the meantime. You’ve done enough. Let the police do their job now, Mrs. Brandt.”

Her face hardened with a bitterness that shocked him, and anger flared in her blue-gray eyes. “I’m fully aware of how the police do their job, Detective Sergeant Malloy, so you’ll forgive me if I’m less than confident in your ability to solve this case.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, angry himself.

“I’m talking about a murder that happened three years ago and still isn’t solved.”

“Was this someone you knew?” he asked skeptically.

“My husband.”

For a full minute, Frank could only stare. He’d known she was a widow, of course, but he’d never troubled himself to wonder what had become of the late Mr. Brandt. “How did it happen?”

“Tom was coming home late one night from a case. I didn’t think it odd when I woke up the next morning and he wasn’t here. He was frequently gone all night. Then the police came and told me he’d been found dead in an alley. His money was gone, and his skull was...” her voice caught, but she swallowed down whatever emotions threatened to choke her and forced herself to go on. “His skull was fractured.”

“It’s almost impossible to solve a case like that,” Frank said, feeling oddly defensive. “A robbery at night, with no witnesses. No connection between the killer and the victim. No clues or evidence.”

“They could have
tried
,” she countered, plainly not interested in reason or logic. “People like that don’t keep secrets. They brag to their friends. Someone knew who killed Tom. A few well-placed bribes, and someone would have—”

“Why didn’t you offer a bribe, then? You offered one to me quick enough,” he recalled with bitterness of his own.

“I didn’t know the rules back then, and I was too grief-stricken to learn them at the time. I thought the police would find the killer because it was the right thing to do. I know better now, and I intend to see that this killer doesn’t get away.”

“Even if it means using yourself as bait?” he asked baldly, but if he’d hoped to shock her, he failed.

“If that’s what it takes, Mr. Malloy. If that’s what it takes.”

7

S
ARAH HAD NEVER CARED FOR BEING ORDERED around. Her father had pretty much ruined her for it before she was out of the nursery, and after Maggie’s death, she’d determined never to do anything a man ordered her to do if it went against her better judgement. Of course, Detective Malloy might be right about her inquiries putting her in danger. Even her better judgment had to bow to common sense, but she wasn’t going to be foolish, no matter what he might think. And certainly, a visit to the VanDamms couldn’t possibly put her in any danger at all.

The windows of the VanDamm town house were draped in black, and a black mourning wreath hung on the door. Alicia’s funeral had been private, probably to avoid the kind of speculation that would only deepen the scandal of her death, and the family was most likely in seclusion for the same reason. Busybodies would be anxious to learn the least tidbit of information, and Cornelius and Mina would be shrewd enough to avoid giving them a chance to gather that tidbit. Still, Sarah had reason to believe she might gain admittance when no one else would.

She lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall. The resounding clunk seemed to echo in the cavernous house, and before long the door opened slightly, enough so she could see Alfred’s familiar face through the crack.

“Miss Decker,” he said in surprise and quickly caught himself. “I mean Mrs.... Mrs. Brandt, is it?”

“Yes, Alfred, and thank you for remembering. I don’t mean to intrude, and I know the family is in mourning, but I was wondering if Miss Mina is receiving visitors. And if she isn’t, if she would receive me anyway.”

Alfred frowned uncertainly, and Sarah realized how very uncharacteristic this was for him. Alfred had been a butler his entire life, and he knew the rules of etiquette better than any seasoned society hostess. On the other hand, those rules didn’t necessarily cover the present situation, since well-mannered people were never supposed to be murdered. The very idea was unthinkable. So unthinkable, in fact, that even Alfred was beginning to doubt the rules by which he had lived his entire life.

Certainly, a family in private mourning, as the VanDamms were, would not be receiving visitors so soon after the funeral. And most certainly, a woman of Sarah’s current social standing wouldn’t ordinarily be received at all, unless she had business here and entered through the service door. But nothing was ordinary about the situation of Alicia VanDamm’s death, which meant that all the conventional rules no longer applied. Or they still might. And Alfred, whose position required him to be certain about everything, was no longer certain about anything at all. And, Sarah realized, he must also be dealing with his own grief. He’d known Alicia since the day she was born, and he most certainly would be feeling her loss. Now that she noticed, he seemed to have aged considerably since her last visit mere days ago. Suddenly, he was an old man whose entire world had been shaken to its foundation.