Murder on Astor Place (21 page)

“I told you, it was a rumor, but my ... my mother told me about it. She didn’t really believe it, but everyone had heard it. Everyone in her social circle, that is,” she clarified when he frowned at her.

Things were starting to fall into place. “All right, this is what happened: The girl found out her father was going to marry her off to an old geezer—somebody she hated, according to Harvey the groom, who knew her pretty well—so she runs away and hides, hoping her father will change his mind. No wonder Mattingly didn’t tell me anything. Not many men would want a story like that going around.”

“Maybe it’s even worse than that,” she said, surprising him.

“What could be worse?”

“Have you forgotten Alicia was with child? Who was the father of that child?”

Frank hadn’t forgotten. Well, maybe just for a second. “Probably the groom, Harvey. It has to be. Nobody else ever got near her.”

“What about her fiancé?”

“Mattingly?”
Frank was incredulous. “Why would he...?”

“To force her to marry him,” she said. “It wouldn’t be the first time a reluctant woman has been persuaded to marry a man she wouldn’t otherwise choose. He ruins her and makes her believe no other man will ever have her. And if she conceives a child, she has no choice but to accept him.”

“But she
did
conceive a child,” Malloy said, forgetting in the heat of the moment to be embarrassed by the subject. “And her family knew it. If that’s what happened, why didn’t she marry Mattingly?”

“Perhaps she kept it a secret until it was too late. By the time she ran away, she was too far along to pretend the child was conceived in wedlock, so her family had sent her to the country until after it was born. They could dispose of the child and still marry her to Mattingly. She’d be even more compliant, knowing the price she’d already paid.”

“That’s crazy,” Frank protested. “Why would they be that eager for her to marry that old son of a...” He caught himself just in time, although he doubted Sarah Brandt would be too shocked to hear him swear.

“I suspect it’s some kind of a debt. A debt of honor, perhaps, that would be even more binding than a financial debt. Or it might even be some type of blackmail. If Mattingly handles Mr. VanDamm’s business affairs, he would know things that might better be kept secret. Powerful men have been using their daughters to settle business arrangements for centuries, Mr. Malloy.”

Frank pushed his hat back on his head and took a few more paces, wishing he had some room to really walk. He needed to walk to figure this out. None of it was making any sense, at least to him.

“But it’s useless to think about it now,” she said after a moment.

He looked up in surprise, pausing in mid-stride. “Why?”

She looked just as surprised. “Because you’ve been taken off the case. I guess this means that no one else will be investigating it, either.”

“No one in the department,” he said, watching her closely to see if she would get the implication.

Another woman would have looked away, but Sarah Brandt met his gaze steadily, her blue-gray eyes dark with questions. She did not disappoint him. “Who else would be investigating it, then?”

“Maybe somebody who has a personal interest in finding Alicia VanDamm’s killer. Somebody who wants to see justice done and who maybe wants a little revenge, too. Somebody who knew her when she was a kid.”

Her eyes grew wide with surprise. “I’m not a detective!”

Frank couldn’t hide his disgust. “You’ve been working as hard on this case as I have,” he reminded her. “Finding out a lot of information, too.” He was amazed to realize that admitting this caused him no discomfort at all.

And she wasn’t as difficult to convince as he had thought. In fact, she seemed pleased. “Do you really think... ? I mean, what could I do?”

That was the question, of course. Frank scratched his head, then settled his hat more firmly. “You could keep asking questions, just like you have been. You could go back to the VanDamms and find out what they’re saying. Tell them how distressed you are that the police aren’t looking for Alicia’s killer anymore. You could even go to some of the abortionists and see if they’ll tell you anything they wouldn’t tell me.”

She was staring at him now. Not merely listening intently to what he was saying but openly staring, as if she’d suddenly noticed something about him she’d never seen before. Somehow resisting the urge to make sure he was all buttoned up properly, he glared at her. “What’s the matter?”

She smiled like a cat with its head in the cream pitcher, setting Frank’s teeth on edge. “I just realized that you must want to see Alicia’s murder solved as much as I do.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Frank hated the tone of defensiveness he heard in his own voice.

“I already told you, I know how the police work, Mr. Malloy. They aren’t interested in solving crimes unless there’s something in it for them. I’m not accusing you of anything,” she said quickly, when he would have protested. “I’m just stating a fact. I even understand it. Police officers aren’t paid very handsomely, so naturally, ambitious men will always be eager to improve their lot. Didn’t you say something about making Captain?”

What did she know about it? Frank wished he could afford the luxury of simple ambition. His motivations for gaining advancement were far more ordinary. She didn’t need to know that, though.

“That’s right,” he said. “I want to be a captain, and I’m improving my chances by not investigating this case anymore.”

“Yet you still want to see it solved. May I ask you why?”

Frank didn’t have to tell her a thing, he knew, but if he didn’t, she might not want to do what he was asking. And he very much wanted her to, although he didn’t allow himself to consider his real motives too closely. “Probably for the same reason you do, Mrs. Brandt. As far as I can tell, Alicia VanDamm was a nice girl who deserved a chance in life. She never got that chance, and I want to find out why. I’d also like to see the person who killed her get punished, especially if it’s any of the people I’ve met so far.”

His answer seemed to please her. “I’d like to see them
all
punished,” she admitted. “I think when we find her killer, we’ll discover that more than one person was involved in her death, even if it was just because their selfishness put her in danger in the first place. But suppose I do find out who killed her or at least find some information that would help. What good will it do if the police won’t arrest the killer?”

“I’ve been thinking about this, and I guess there’s only one thing you can do. You can take your story to Commissioner Roosevelt.”

“Roosevelt? Why?”

“Because he’s determined to clean up the department. He’d love a scandal like this, and he’d love forcing the superintendent to investigate the murder of a poor, innocent girl, especially if he didn’t want to. The press would love it, too.”

“The newspapers?” Plainly, this did not please her. “Why would we have to involve them?”

“Because Roosevelt loves publicity. Why do you think he travels around the city at night with a newspaper reporter?” he asked, referring to Roosevelt’s habit of prowling in the darkness accompanied by Jacob Riis, checking to make sure policemen were at their posts. “Not only is he trying to find cops neglecting their duty, he wants to have his own personal reporter with him to put the story in the paper. Alicia’s story would rouse public opinion like nothing else he’s done so far, so the police couldn’t ignore Roosevelt, even if they wanted to. They’d have to take some action, and Roosevelt would look like some kind of champion.”

“And justice will be done.”

Frank only wished he believed in justice. Then he remembered what Conlin had said, and he knew what he really wanted was revenge. “Alicia’s killer will be punished,” he corrected her.

She nodded, understanding his unspoken message. “Alicia will still be dead, so there can be no true justice. But at least there can be some punishment.”

Frank fervently hoped so. He could think of so many people who deserved it. “Then you’ll do it?”

She looked surprised that he would even ask. “Of course I will. I just... I’m not sure I know where to start.”

“You’ve already started, Mrs. Brandt. You just have to keep on.”

9

S
ARAH READILY ADMITTED SHE WAS FLATTERED BY Frank Malloy’s request that she investigate Alicia’s murder. She would never admit it to
him,
of course, but she was, nonetheless. She was almost as flattered as she was outraged by Malloy’s news that his superiors had taken him off the case. She could understand if he wasn’t doing a good job or if they were merely assigning such an important case to someone with more seniority or some such thing. But to simply tell him the case was closed without any intention of ever finding Alicia’s killer was more than she could bear. What choice did she have but to accept the challenge of solving Alicia’s murder herself?

She hadn’t mentioned to Malloy how she had fantasized about being a detective. She also hadn’t mentioned how she had once questioned his dedication to finding Alicia’s killer. Whatever she might have thought of him before, he had vindicated himself by his request. And she wasn’t even counting the fact that he had entrusted a “mere” female with the task, but if she had, it would have counted heavily in his favor. If she wasn’t careful, she might start to think well of Malloy. Or at least not quite so badly.

But all of that could wait for another day when she had the time and energy to think about such things at her leisure. In the meantime she had a murderer to catch. She and Malloy had discussed possible courses of action, and the one that seemed most logical to Sarah was a return to the Higgins house where it had all started.

Today was going to be even hotter than yesterday, and the newspaper was starting to talk about a heat wave. If this was only April, what would July be like? In spite of the building heat, she found Mrs. Higgins in the kitchen preparing the noon meal for her lodgers. She would’ve preferred finding the new mother still in bed, but a quick examination of mother and child showed they were doing fine.

“I see you’ve got all your rooms rented,” Sarah remarked as she sat at the kitchen table, cradling the baby, while his mother worked at the stove.

“Yes, but for how long?” Mrs. Higgins asked plaintively. “Good lodgers is so hard to find, and the ones we’ve got now don’t fit that description. I’d reckon they’ll be gone before the month is out, owing rent into the bargain.”

“Then you’ll find some better lodgers,” Sarah said reasonably. “Of course, when the police catch the man who killed Miss VanDamm, you’d have a much easier time renting your rooms.”

“That’s certain,” Mrs. Higgins agreed, lifting a spoonful of soup to her mouth to taste. Apparently she was satisfied. She laid the spoon down on its rest and heaved the heavy cover back onto the cast iron soup pot with a clang, holding the handle with a corner of her apron. “But how will they ever catch him now? Nobody’s been around in a week. I don’t think they’re even looking anymore.”

How true,
Sarah thought, but she said, “I’m sure they’ll find the killer soon. Is there some reason the police should have come back? Have you heard anything or has someone remembered something?”

Mrs. Higgins shook her head and turned a ball of dough out of the crockery bowl in which she had mixed it and began to knead it with practiced strokes. “Not that I know of. It’s just... the children are still so upset. They have nightmares. They think the killer is coming back to get them.”

Sarah felt an instant empathy with them. How many times had she dreamed she was Maggie, bleeding to death on a tenement floor? And she had been nearly grown when that happened. Their little imaginations must be running wild.

“I’d be happy to talk to them, if you think it would help. I know you’ve reassured them, but sometimes they don’t believe their parents. If an outsider—another grownup—tells them they don’t need to be afraid, they might believe it.”

Mrs. Higgins’s lined face brightened instantly. “Oh, would you, Mrs. Brandt? They all think the world of you. Mary Grace says she’s going to bring ladies babies when she grows up, just like Mrs. Brandt does.”

Sarah smiled, absurdly gratified by the compliment. “I’d be happy to speak to them.” From the sounds she could hear through the open kitchen doorway, she was sure she’d find most of them playing in the tiny yard behind the house. Probably, they’d been sent outside to escape the heat. “I’ll just take little Harry out for some air,” she offered, shifting the baby to her shoulder as she rose from the chair.

The Higgins children were racing around out in the yard, along with several of the neighbor’s children, engaged in some game only they could understand. Drawn by the novelty of a visitor, they came to her immediately, circling around like shy fireflies. She called each of them by name and tousled a few heads before seating herself on the steps. The smaller ones claimed the seats nearest to her, snuggling up and preening, basking in the undivided attention of a stranger. Little Harry gurgled contentedly, squinting in the bright morning sunlight where he lay on Sarah’s lap.

They chatted for a while, Sarah inquiring politely into their activities before bringing up the subject of bad dreams and bad men who came to get little children in the night. She hoped she wasn’t lying when she assured them the bad man who had hurt Alicia was gone and wouldn’t be back. At least she could be fairly certain he wouldn’t be back to the Higgins house. After a few minutes, the novelty of her presence wore off, and the younger children wandered away, back to their games. Sally and Mary Grace claimed the seats vacated by the little ones and asked what they perceived to be more grown-up questions, until Sally, too, grew bored. She took her doll back to the makeshift playhouse her father had built out of wood scraps in a comer of the yard, leaving Mary Grace alone with Sarah.