Murder on Gramercy Park (19 page)

“She doesn’t like to meet people who might make her feel like she isn’t as good as they are,” he said, knowing that wasn’t exactly an accurate description but unable to truly explain his mother. “She probably thought the doctor would make her feel ignorant or might blame her for Brian being crippled.”

“David isn’t like that at all,” she said.

“David?”
he echoed, feeling an uncomfortable twinge that might have been jealousy if he’d had any right to be jealous of Sarah Brandt.

“David and my husband, Tom, were good friends,” she said with a small smile.

Frank couldn’t help wondering if he was good friends with her now, and he hated it that he wondered.

The door leading to an inner office opened and a woman in a nurse’s uniform appeared. “Well, now this must be Brian,” she said in that voice people used when speaking to young children.

“Brian can’t hear you,” Mrs. Brandt explained in the most natural way Frank could imagine. “He’s deaf.”

“He certainly is friendly anyway,” the nurse replied, returning Brian’s delighted grin of greeting. She turned to Frank. “And you must be Mr. Malloy. You can bring Brian back now, if you will. The doctor is ready for him.”

Mrs. Brandt handed the boy back to Frank. She must’ve seen the uncertainty he was feeling, because she said, “It’ll be all right. David is an excellent surgeon.”

“Are you going to come in with us?” he asked, hoping his desperation didn’t sound in his voice.

“If you’d like for me to,” she replied with a smile. Did she actually look pleased to be asked or was he imagining it?

“I might not understand the medical stuff,” he said by way of excuse.

She nodded in acceptance and led the way, following the nurse down a short, narrow corridor. The nurse paused outside a door and indicated they should enter.

Sarah Brandt went in first.

Dr. David Newton was a man approaching forty, tall and somewhat stoop-shouldered, and wearing a tailored suit that fit him so badly it looked as if it had been tailored for someone else. His hair and close-cropped beard were threaded with gray, but his eyes shone brightly as he jumped to his feet and came around his desk to greet his visitor.

“Sarah, my dear, how wonderful to see you,” he said, taking her hand in both of his and gazing at her affectionately. Frank might have said “adoringly,” if he was of such a mind. Or if he really was jealous.

“It’s wonderful to see you, too, David. How are Anne and the children?”

“Anne is as sassy as ever, and the children have grown a foot since you saw them last. Anne said I must make you promise to come to dinner soon. We’ve missed you terribly.”

“And I’ve missed you, too. Tell Anne I’ll call on her next week, unless an onslaught of baby arrivals prevents me.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, then turned at last to where Frank had paused in the doorway.

“This is Frank Malloy and his son, Brian,” she said. “Malloy, this is Dr. Newton.”

Frank nodded, unable to shake hands because he was holding Brian, but the doctor didn’t seem to be offended. “So glad you could come,” he said, as if they’d been personally invited instead of making an appointment. “Please sit down and tell me all about young Brian here.”

They took the chairs in front of Newton’s desk while he resumed his place behind it, and Frank settled Brian on his lap.

“How old is Brian?” the doctor asked when they were all seated.

“A little over three,” Frank replied.

“Has he had any medical treatment on his foot before now?”

“No,” Frank said, feeling absurdly guilty. “When he was born, they said nothing could be done. A doctor told me that,” he added defensively.

Dr. Newton didn’t remark on this. He simply nodded his understanding. “Brian’s mother isn’t with you today?”

Frank ignored the pain he felt at the mention of Kathleen. “She ... she died when he was born.”

Dr. Newton nodded again. “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you know that Brian’s condition would have no relationship to your wife’s death. By that I mean that Brian’s foot would have been like this regardless of how your wife fared during the birth. We believe that club-foot is caused by the way the child lies in the womb. We don’t know for certain, of course, but that seems as good a reason as any for it to happen. The cause isn’t quite as important, since we can’t stop it from happening, but we do know some ways to treat it when it does, and to you that will be very important indeed.”

“What can you do?” Frank asked, still not certain he believed Dr. Newton could do anything at all. “The other doctor said it was hopeless.”

“Could I examine Brian’s foot for a moment before I answer that question?” the doctor asked.

“Yeah, of course,” Frank said.

“Let’s take him into the examining room, shall we?”

The examining room was a small, sterile chamber containing a metal table and a couple of tall cabinets. Frank set Brian on the table and stood beside him, holding him so he wouldn’t fall or try to get away. The boy sat quietly, as he always did, looking at Frank uncertainly but not at all frightened.

Dr. Newton poked and prodded Brian’s leg and foot, then tapped his knees with a small hammer and made his legs jerk. Brian looked up in surprise when his leg moved as if of its own volition, and he grinned when the doctor made it move again. The doctor made the examination a game, tickling Brian and letting him hold the tiny hammer when he was finished with it.

After a few minutes he turned to Frank. “Your son is very fortunate, Mr. Malloy. I’ve seen feet much more severely disfigured than his. I believe that with surgery, we can repair most of the damage and that Brian will even be able to walk. He might have a slight limp or have to wear a special shoe on that foot, but he
will
walk.”

Frank felt such a rush of emotion, he could hardly breathe. Relief and amazement and suspicion and a terrible rage. “Why did that other doctor tell me there was nothing he could do?” he demanded furiously.

Dr. Newton didn’t look like he’d taken offense. “I’m afraid I can’t speak for my colleague. Perhaps he was simply unaware of the advances that have been made or of the newer techniques.”

This was, of course, the politic answer, the kind of answer Frank would have given if asked why one of
his
colleagues had failed to solve a case or had taken a bribe to make sure a case wasn’t solved at all. It didn’t make Frank feel any less angry, but at least he knew that Dr. Newton was an honorable man. And a modest one, too. He could have said he was just smarter than the quack Frank had consulted.

“What will you have to do to the boy’s foot?” he asked.

Dr. Newton explained as simply as he could how he would cut and sew and rearrange the various parts of Brian’s foot to make it whole, answering Frank’s questions patiently.

Frank couldn’t help wondering how patient the doctor would have been with the likes of Frank Malloy if Sarah Brandt hadn’t brought him in herself, but he didn’t let that stop him from making sure he understood everything as well as was possible.

Then he asked the doctor about his fees, and Dr. Newton replied straightforwardly, as if it never occurred to him that Frank wouldn’t be able to pay them. Frank had been right, the reward in the Blackwell case would go a long way toward paying the good doctor.

“I’ll bring you the money tomorrow,” Frank said.

“There’s no need to pay me until I do the surgery,” the doctor assured him with a smile. “Shall we look at my schedule and see when we can fit Brian in?”

A few minutes later they were outside on the street, with the surgery scheduled toward the end of the month. Frank hoisted Brian onto his shoulder again, and he resumed looking at everything around him with the greatest fascination.

“Was he very upset when you took him away from your mother today?” Mrs. Brandt asked.

“I expected he’d throw a fit,” Frank admitted, “but he just wrapped his arms around my neck so tight I thought I’d strangle and never even looked back.”

“That’s how much he loves you, Malloy,” she said wisely. “He had no idea where you were taking him or why. He just wanted to go with you. He was willing to give up the only security he’s ever known just for the chance to have your attention.”

Frank felt a suspicious burning behind his eyes, but he blinked a couple of times until it went away. He had to clear his throat before he could say, “It was good of you to come today.”

“Don’t think I did it out of kindness, Malloy,” she cautioned him. “I was as anxious as you to find out if David could do anything for Brian.”

They walked a few steps in silence before Frank came up with the right combination of words. “I looked into your husband’s file.”

“His file?” she asked in confusion.

“The police file. To see what they found out when they investigated his murder, if they had any idea who might’ve done it.”

Her fine eyes lit with interest. “What did you find out?”

“Not much,” he said, resigning himself to her instant disappointment. “You were right. Without a reward being offered, there wasn’t any reason to solve the case, so nobody tried very hard.”

She sighed, and he thought she blinked a little harder than she usually did. “I suppose it’s far too late to investigate now. After three years ...”

Frank cleared his throat again. “I was wondering ...”

“Yes ... ?” she said when he hesitated, a small spark of hope lighting her eyes again.

“Maybe I could look through your husband’s files. Of his patients, I mean. Maybe there’s something there, a reason why somebody’d want him dead.”

It was unlikely that he’d learn anything. Just as she’d said, after three years there was little chance of learning anything new. She must have known this, too, but still she smiled a little when she looked up at him.

“If you think it might help, you’re certainly welcome to look through all of his records,” she said. “And Malloy...?”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Thank you for caring.”

M
ALLOY ARRIVED AT SARAH’S IN TIME FOR SUPPER. She’d felt obligated to cook for him since he was going to investigate Tom’s murder. Also because she wasn’t fond of eating alone, and Malloy was good company. Or at least interesting company. And they had a lot to discuss about the Blackwell case. Well, Sarah did, anyway, and she hadn’t wanted to discuss it walking down a public street this afternoon when Malloy was wrestling with his restless son. So she’d invited him to supper.

“How’s Brian doing after his exciting day?” she asked when she’d greeted him.

“He fell asleep on the train ride home,” Malloy told her. “I guess all the excitement was too much for him.”

“He certainly did seem to be enjoying himself.”

Malloy frowned as he hung his hat on the coatrack in her hallway. “I never thought of it before, but his life is pretty boring. My mother takes him shopping with her, but he sees the same things all the time. And the same people, too.”

“If he could walk, he could go more places,” she suggested.

“Did you understand what all that doctor said he was going to do to Brian’s foot?” he asked with a frown.

Sarah bit back a smile. Malloy had behaved as if he’d understood perfectly when they were in the doctor’s office. “Not all of it. The techniques he’s going to use are pretty unusual, at least from my experiences with medicine. Basically, I think he’s just going to fix the parts of Brian’s foot that didn’t form properly. And I know he’s been very successful in the past. There’s every reason to believe he can help Brian, too.”

Malloy didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t look quite so worried, either. He’d probably question her some more later, but not now. He wouldn’t want to belabor the issue and make her think he was ignorant.

The thought startled her, and she wondered how and when she’d become such an expert on Malloy’s personality. Before she could decide, he said, “Something smells good.”

“I hope it tastes good, too. Come on into the kitchen. Everything’s ready,” she said, leading the way.

She’d set the table carefully, not asking herself why she’d taken such pains. Malloy probably wouldn’t even notice, and if he did, he might wonder himself.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” she said, indicating one of the chairs at the kitchen table. “Would you like a glass of beer?”

“Sure,” he said, and she poured some from the pail that she’d gotten from her neighbor, who brewed it in his basement.

In a few moments she had the pot roast arranged on the plate with the potatoes and carrots around it. She placed it on the table with a sense of satisfaction.

Malloy raised his eyebrows and grinned a little, as if he were amazed that she had produced such a master-piece. “You went to a lot of trouble,” he said.

“Not really,” she assured him. “I enjoy cooking when I’ve got someone to cook for. Would you do the honors?” She handed him the knife to cut the meat.

He didn’t take it. “Better lay it down on the table,” he suggested deadpan, indicating the knife.

“Are you afraid I’ll stab you with it?” she asked in amusement, laying the knife down as instructed.

“No, but my mother wouldn’t let anybody hand a knife directly to someone. Means you’ll have an argument or something like that.” He picked up the knife and, using his own fork, began to slice the meat.

“I’m sure Mrs. Ellsworth would say the same thing,” she said. “She sent over a pie this afternoon. She must’ve known somehow that you were coming. Sometimes I think she has a crystal ball.”

“Maybe she just bakes a lot of pies and can’t eat them all,” he said, slipping a slab of beef onto her plate.

When they had both been served and the bread passed, Sarah took her seat opposite him and began to eat. The beef was tender and moist, thank heaven. She was never sure how to tell when it was done but not too done. She’d guessed right this time.