Murder on Lexington Avenue (25 page)

“He was laying right there,” Kelly told him, pointing to a spot just inside the alley that ran between a bar called the Grey Goose and a pawn shop. They were both on Delancey Street. “Not real far in. Somebody saw his feet when they was passing by and told me a drunk was in there, passed out.”

Kelly was what they called a whale, one of the enormous Irishmen who had been recruited by the police department to immigrate to New York. The idea was to get men so big on the force that they could handle anybody in a fight. They all stood over six feet tall, towering over most of the city’s residents, and seemed almost as broad as they were tall, giving rise to the nickname of “whale.”

Frank wasn’t sure that the whales were really such good fighters. It was more that nobody wanted to find out the hard way, and so they fled at the sight of one of the oversized officers. Either way, their presence on the force helped keep the peace.

“You said he’d been robbed,” Frank said.

“His pockets was turned out and empty. His watch was gone. Didn’t have anything on him at all to say who he was. That’s strange his father was killed just a few days ago.”

“Yeah, it was. Did you find anybody who’d seen him?”

“He was in there,” Kelly said, pointing at the bar next to the alley, “but nobody saw who he was with or nothing. He was alone when he come in, the bartender thought. Wasn’t no big bunch of young swells out slumming or anything, not that he saw. They come down here in groups, looking for excitement. Sometimes they get it.”

“I talked to some of his friends yesterday when I was looking for him. They said they weren’t with him that night. It was the night of his father’s funeral, and they were all surprised he went out at all.”

“That don’t seem right, even for a swell,” Kelly decided. “Got to have some respect.”

Frank had to agree. Leander didn’t seem like the type of young man to go out carousing the same day he buried his father either, no matter how angry they were at each other on the day the old man died. “Did you find a murder weapon?”

“We think it was a piece of broom handle. We found it laying nearby with blood all over it. I sent it along with the body. They should have it down at the morgue.”

“How do you think it happened?”

Kelly looked down at the ground where the body had lain, picturing it in his mind. “He was facedown, with his feet toward the street. I figure he was going down the alley and somebody comes up behind him and hits him over the head or at least knocks him down somehow. Then he hits him a couple more times when he’s on the ground, just to make sure he won’t get up very soon. Then he turns out his pockets and takes what he’s got and runs off. The work of a minute or two at the most, and no one to see because it’s so dark and nobody’s paying attention to two men tussling in an alley in the Bowery because anybody who goes into an alley here deserves what he gets.”

“That’s the part that doesn’t make sense to me,” Frank said, looking around and trying to picture the street at night with half-drunk men coming and going. “Leander wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t have gone down this alley without a good reason, and only a fool would go down it with somebody who might rob him.”

“Maybe some girl lured him. That happens. The thief has a girl working with him. The swell thinks she’s taking him back to her room, and he follows her down the alley.”

That sounded reasonable, but Leander’s friend had said he wasn’t one for the ladies. Even if he was, would he take a chance on a two-bit whore down here when he could go uptown to some fancy house? None of this made any sense at all.

“According to his aunt, his watch was engraved. That should make it easier to find if somebody tries to pawn it,” Frank said. “Here’s the description.”

He handed Kelly what he’d written out. “I’ll have some men circulate it, see if anybody is stupid enough to try to get rid of it.”

“I’ve got a photograph of the dead boy. I’ll show it around and see if anybody remembers him from last night.”

“You should wait until dark,” Kelly advised. “Nobody who was here last night will be back until then.”

“You’re right,” Frank said. He’d spend the day tracking down the young men on Mrs. Parmer’s list and pressing them to tell him everything they knew about Leander Wooten that might explain why he was in the Bowery on a Tuesday night. And sometime today, he also had to see Mr. Colyer to find out if he’d figured out the ledger and the pages of numbers. He couldn’t forget he was still investigating Mr. Wooten’s death, too.

 

 

S
ARAH HAD SPENT A RESTLESS NIGHT, UNABLE TO SLEEP really soundly for worrying about what effect the news of Leander’s death would have on the Wooten household. Mrs. Wooten was bound to be very upset, which meant her recovery was in jeopardy. She only hoped Mrs. Wooten’s doctor knew what he was doing. So many didn’t.

The one she was really worried about was Electra, though. The girl and her brother had obviously been close.

Shortly after the maid took away the breakfast tray, Mrs. Parmer came to Mrs. Wooten’s room. She looked as if she hadn’t closed her eyes all night.

“What do you want, Betty?” Mrs. Wooten asked impatiently. “I’m not in the mood for another one of your lectures, so if that’s why you came—”

“That’s not why I came,” Mrs. Parmer said. “I have some news to tell you.”

She looked so fragile, Sarah was afraid she might actually fall down. She hastily brought a chair to Mrs. Wooten’s bedside for her. Mrs. Parmer sank down into it, casting Sarah a grateful look.

“Are you ill?” Mrs. Wooten asked with more annoyance than concern. “Because if you are, you shouldn’t be in here. In my condition, the slightest illness could—”

“I’m not ill,” Mrs. Parmer snapped, her patience hanging by a thread. “It’s Leander.”

“Leander? Has he come home?” Mrs. Wooten glared at Sarah. “I told you I wanted to see him the moment he came home.”

“No, he hasn’t come home,” Mrs. Parmer said, her patience gone. “And he’ll never be coming home again. He’s dead, Valora. He was murdered the night of Nehemiah’s funeral.”

“What?” Mrs. Wooten cried. “What are you talking about? If this is some kind of macabre joke—”

“It’s certainly not a joke,” Mrs. Parmer said, furious now and rising to her feet. “How could you imagine I would joke about Leander’s death?”

“You’re trying to torment me, then,” Mrs. Wooten said. “You want to destroy my nerves and make me ill so I’ll die and you’ll have Leander and Electra all to yourself! You’ve always been jealous of me,” she accused. “You’ve always wished my children were your own!”

Mrs. Wooten was nearly hysterical now, and Sarah rushed over in an attempt to calm her.

“Please, stop this right now. This is no time for arguments. Mrs. Wooten, Mrs. Parmer is telling you the truth, I’m afraid. Mr. Malloy came to the house last night to tell us that they’d found Leander’s body in the Bowery. Mrs. Parmer went down last night to identify it.”

Mrs. Wooten’s eyes grew wide as the truth began to dawn on her. “No, it can’t be! What would Leander be doing in the Bowery? And Tuesday, did you say? That’s the night of the funeral. He’d never go off like that on the day he’d buried his father!”

“I know it doesn’t seem to make much sense,” Sarah allowed before Mrs. Parmer could say something to set her off again. “But it’s true all the same. Mr. Malloy is trying to find the answers to your questions, but until he does, you’ll just have to accept that Leander is gone and start mourning him.”

Mrs. Wooten stared back at her, too shocked to speak for a long moment. Then her eyes filled with tears. “Leander?” she said, the word so full of pain it was like a wail. “Oh, God, not Leander!”

She began to sob, and Sarah turned to Mrs. Parmer. “You can go now. I’ll take care of her.”

“Did you send for Dr. Smith?”

“Yes. I told them to send him up as soon as he arrives.”

Mrs. Parmer looked at Mrs. Wooten with what might have been pity if she had been less angry. Her sobs had become shrieks. “For once, I’m glad that Electra is deaf. At least she won’t hear this.”

She turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her softly, even though Mrs. Wooten was wailing too loudly to have heard it slam.

By the time the doctor arrived, Mrs. Wooten had exhausted herself and settled into a miserable stupor where every breath shook on a sob.

“Who are you?” he demanded of Sarah. He was an officious little man with sharp features and suspicious eyes. He looked her up and down and found nothing to like.

“I’m the midwife,” she said.

“Midwife?” he echoed in surprise. “What on earth . . . ?” His suspicious eyes darted to Mrs. Wooten, ensconced in her luxurious bed.

“Mrs. Wooten gave birth to a healthy boy on Monday,” Sarah said.

“Gave birth?” he exclaimed in horror. “That’s impossible. I would have known! She would have sent for me.”

“Well, she didn’t send for you,” Sarah said without sympathy. “She sent for me, and I delivered the baby. We’ve hired a wet nurse, although Mrs. Wooten had to feed the baby herself for the first two days until the agency found someone.”

Dr. Smith looked at Sarah as if she were some strange creature he’d never seen the likes of before. “You allowed her to feed the child herself ? A woman of her age? After she’d just sustained the shock of losing her husband?”

Sarah decided not to mention that losing Mr. Wooten hadn’t been so very much of a shock to his wife. Instead she said, “Mrs. Wooten has just learned that her son Leander was murdered the night before last, and she’s quite distraught.”

“Leander? Good God! What happened?” Dr. Smith asked, forgetting he was outraged at Sarah.

“He was robbed in the Bowery,” Sarah said, figuring that was all the explanation he needed. “And Mrs. Wooten needs something to settle her nerves.”

He looked at his patient again, taking in her shuddering body and red-rimmed eyes. “Naturally, she does,” he said. “And I will need to examine her to make sure she isn’t suffering any aftereffects of a botched delivery,” he added, giving Sarah another withering look.

Sarah merely smiled back. Arguing with doctors like him rarely accomplished anything.

“If you’ll send for her maid, you can leave,” he told Sarah.

“No,” Mrs. Wooten said weakly. “I want her to stay!”

Plainly, Dr. Smith was offended by this request, but he said, “Whatever you wish, Mrs. Wooten. Now I need to make sure the afterbirth was properly expelled . . .”

He examined Mrs. Wooten, and to Sarah’s relief, he appeared to know what he was doing. He seemed almost disappointed to find his patient perfectly well. He gave her a dose of something he mixed up in a glass of water. In a few minutes, her shuddering subsided, and she fell into a deep sleep.

“Give her this whenever she becomes agitated,” he said, handing Sarah a bottle. “The dosage is written on the label.” He glanced at Mrs. Wooten again and shook his head. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me she was expecting. I’ve been her doctor for over twenty years.” He looked at Sarah as if she was supposed to explain it all to him.

But she remembered what Mrs. Wooten had said about Dr. Smith being a gossip. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Mrs. Wooten. All I know is that when her labor started, they sent for me.”

He waited, and when she offered nothing else, he said, “How is Electra? She must be equally distraught.”

“I don’t know,” Sarah said. “Mrs. Parmer was going to tell her after she told Mrs. Wooten, but I haven’t been able to leave Mrs. Wooten.”

“Then I’d better see her before I leave,” he said and was gone without another word.

Sarah was also worried about the girl, but she had to remind herself that she had no official position in this household and what happened here was really none of her business. A few minutes later, however, Minnie came up and told her Mrs. Parmer wanted to see her.

Leaving the maid with Mrs. Wooten, Sarah went downstairs to the family parlor. To her relief, Dr. Smith was gone. She found Mrs. Parmer sitting on the sofa with Electra. The girl was remarkably quiet. She sat with her legs drawn up, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. She didn’t look up when Sarah entered, as if she’d retreated so far into herself that she was no longer aware of her surroundings.

“She wants to see Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Parmer said with a puzzled frown. “She won’t say why, but I’m sure she wants to know the details of Leander’s death. I don’t think that would be good for her to know, do you?”

Sarah had no idea if it would or not. In Electra’s place, she’d want to know everything, no matter how horrible. Of course, she could never really be in Electra’s place. She had no idea what it was like to be deaf or to have been so sheltered and protected all her life because of it.

“What did you tell her?” Sarah asked.

“That he’d been in an accident.”

Electra suddenly seemed to realize someone else was in the room. She looked up at Sarah and then at her aunt. Sarah realized she was looking to see if they were talking, trying to read their lips. When Electra looked back at her, Sarah said, “I’m sorry about Leander.”

“What happened to him? Why won’t she tell me?” she asked desperately.

“He had an accident,” Sarah said. “He hit his head.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away furiously. “Where did it happen? I need to know!”

“I don’t know exactly where.”

Electra didn’t believe her. “I want to see Mr. Malloy,” she said with a frustrated frown. “Send for him!”

“I don’t know how to find him,” she said, “but he did say he’d visit me later today.”

“We must warn him not to upset her,” Mrs. Parmer said.

“What did you say to her?” Electra demanded of her aunt, who’d turned her head away so Electra wouldn’t see.

Mrs. Parmer shook her head, as if to say it didn’t matter, but Electra disagreed. She turned back to Sarah. “What did she say?”