Murder on Sisters' Row (27 page)

“So you gave her some more?”

“I know better than that. I talked to her until she calmed down. She was mad as a scalded cat and then she said she didn’t feel right and laid down on the bed. That’s when I called you.”

“You gave her too much.”

“No, I didn’t. I know my business, Arthur. I’ve never lost a girl yet.”

“You’ve lost one now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s dead.”

“She can’t be dead!”

Frank stepped into the room. A pretty young woman lay on the bed, her face white, her body still. “Is that Amy Cunningham?”

Mrs. Walker looked up. “Are you still here? I thought I told you to get out.”

“Is that Amy?” he asked again.

“What if it is?”

“If it is, then Mr. Van Orner is going to be very upset.”

“I don’t see why. He wanted rid of her and now he’s rid of her.”

“If he wanted rid of her, why did he send me to get her back?”

The doctor was putting things back into his medical bag. “Next time, be more careful, Rowena.”

“I told you, I was careful!”

“What did she die of?” Frank asked the doctor.

“I’d say too much chloroform.”

“It wasn’t that!” Mrs. Walker cried. “I told you, she came around after we gave it to her. She was talking sense and running around the house and everything.”

“She was, really,” the maid offered. She’d been standing off to the side, wringing her hands. “She was perfectly fine, then something took her real sudden.”

“What do you say, Doc?” Frank asked.

“I don’t hold with autopsies, but that’s the only way to tell for sure.”

“Your opinion,” Frank prodded.

“If it was chloroform, she wouldn’t have woken up. If she woke up, and they didn’t give her any more—”

“We didn’t!” Mrs. Walker insisted.

“Then it could’ve been something else, although she’s young to up and die for no reason.”

“She just had a baby,” Mrs. Walker said. “A couple weeks ago or maybe three.”

The doctor pursed his lips. “Maybe complications from that. I’ve seen it happen.”

“Or maybe you killed her,” Frank said, “the way you killed Mrs. Van Orner.”

“What?” Mrs. Walker gaped at him.

“I know you went to see her the morning she died. Somebody put laudanum in the flask she carried, enough to kill her. Maybe that’s what she did to Amy, too,” he added to the doctor. “Is that why you kidnapped her today? Because she knew you’d killed Mrs. Van Orner? Or maybe you killed Mrs. Van Orner for revenge for stealing Amy out from under your nose and now you’ve punished Amy for wanting to get away.”

Mrs. Walker looked stunned. “I didn’t even know Mrs. Van Orner was dead. What happened to her?”

“I think you know exactly what happened to her.”

“I don’t! And I didn’t need revenge for anything! Gregory Van Orner told me where Amy would be today and said he was sick and tired of her and wanted me to take her back.”

Frank gave her a pitying look. “How do you intend to prove that?”

“I don’t have to prove anything,” she snapped.

“You will when I arrest you for kidnapping . . . and murder.”

“Murder! That’s rich. Wasn’t nobody murdered.”

“Mrs. Van Orner was, and now here’s Amy lying dead in your house. Are we going to find she died of an overdose of laudanum, too?”

“She didn’t have a dose of anything, I’m telling you! I wouldn’t hurt a hair on her head. She’s worth a fortune to me alive. What kind of a fool do you take me for, to put myself out of business by killing my own whores?”

“We’ll let a jury decide that.”

“What do you mean, a jury? I’m not going to trial for anything.”

“Oh, I suppose Mr. Van Orner is going to stand up for you.”

Mrs. Walker gave him a look that could’ve drawn blood. “I’ll prove it to you.”

She stomped out of the room and down the hall. Frank glanced at the doctor, who had picked up his bag, ready to leave.

“What should I do with her?” the maid asked, nodding to the body on the bed.

“Call an undertaker,” the doctor said.

“Don’t touch her,” Frank said. “I’ll get the medical examiner here.”

Frank followed Mrs. Walker, catching up with her at the bottom of the stairs. She kept going until she’d reached a room that was apparently her office.

She picked up a piece of paper from her cluttered desk and thrust it at him. “See for yourself.”

It was a sheet of expensive stationery. The words had been printed carefully in a steady hand. Just as Mrs. Walker had said, it contained the information on where Amy could be found that morning and the request to fetch her back to Mrs. Walker’s house so he would never have to see her again. The signature said, “Gregory Van Orner.”

“See, just like I told you. Do you think I’d mess with the likes of the Van Orners all on my own?”

Frank studied the note, trying to make sense of this. “Van Orner didn’t send you this note.”

She looked down her nose at him. “How would you know?”

“Because I was with him when he got the news about Amy being kidnapped, and he was furious. He sent me here to bring her back and have you charged with kidnapping.”

“You’re lying! And if you think you’re getting anything from me for covering this up, I’m not giving you a cent.”

Frank sighed in exasperation. “I’m not lying. Van Orner didn’t want Amy kidnapped. As soon as Mrs. Van Orner died, she left the house where Mrs. Van Orner took her for safekeeping and went to live with Van Orner. He wanted me to bring her back there.”

The color drained from her face. “It wasn’t my fault! I was tricked. You can see that for yourself!”

“And now Amy’s dead.”

“I didn’t have nothing to do with that. It was an accident, I tell you.”

Frank’s mind was spinning, trying to put all the facts he knew into some sort of order that would make sense. Someone killed Mrs. Van Orner. Someone wanted Amy out of the way and sent this note to make that happen, knowing the kidnapping would make Mrs. Walker look suspicious. And someone had just told Frank about Mrs. Walker’s visit to Mrs. Van Orner on the day she died, to make her look even more suspicious. Had that really happened or was it an effort to make someone else look guilty of murder?

Tamar Yingling had known exactly where Amy would be this morning, and Frank hadn’t forgotten she’d called Van Orner “Greg” in an unguarded moment. The two of them were closer than he should have been with his wife’s secretary. She probably even knew how to sign his name.

“Do you have a telephone?”

“Of course I do!”

“I need to call the medical examiner.”

“Why would you do that?” she asked in alarm.

“To prove Amy was poisoned . . .”

“I never poisoned her!”

“I know. She was probably poisoned by the same person who killed Mrs. Van Orner.”

Frank waited impatiently for the medical examiner. He wanted to get back to the Van Orner house and talk to Miss Yingling again.

13

S
ARAH GATHERED UP HER THINGS, GETTING READY TO leave the rescue house. Lisa thanked her again for the cake as she handed Sarah the now-empty basket.

“I’ll be happy to return the plate to you in a day or two.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I’ll be back to visit in a few days. I’m going to be helping Mrs. Spratt-Williams, remember.”

Lisa frowned. “You won’t tell her what I said, will you?”

“Oh, no. I appreciate your honesty, and I wouldn’t dream of betraying your trust in me.”

“Thank you. And I hope you’ll remind Mrs. Spratt-Williams that we’re running short of supplies. The girls are getting nervous, and I’m afraid they might be tempted to run away.”

“Please assure them that they’ll be taken care of.”

Lisa sighed. “I will. At least I don’t have to worry about keeping Amy happy anymore, now that she’s gone.”

“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, I know where Amy went after she left here.”

Lisa made a face. “To the Devil, I hope.”

Sarah managed not to smile. “She went to Mr. Van Orner’s house.”

Lisa gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. “You aren’t teasing me, are you?”

“No, I’m not. Apparently, she really did name her baby after his father.”

Lisa crossed herself. “Poor Mrs. Van Orner. She didn’t deserve that, not at all! Do you think she knew?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure Amy was trying to make her suspect, but we’ll never know if Mrs. Van Orner believed it or not.”

“Oh, I hope not. I’d hate for her to have that hurt in her heart when she died, poor lady. And what’s going to become of Amy now?”

Sarah had a good idea, but she said, “I don’t know.”

“Oh, dear, is Miss Yingling still living there, too? They must be like two cats in a sack!”

If they weren’t yet, it was only a matter of time, Sarah thought. “Yes, she is.”

“Does Mrs. Spratt-Williams know she’s there? She’ll want to know, I’m sure. Amy was her pet,” Lisa added with distaste.

Sarah remembered what Lisa had said earlier, about one of the men Mrs. Spratt-Williams’s husband had cheated shooting himself... just the way Amy’s father had. Could that have been just an unfortunate coincidence? “I did notice that she took a special interest in Amy, but I suppose she did that for all the rescued girls.”

“Oh, no, she didn’t usually pay much attention to any of the women we rescued after we got them here. She was only interested in the rescues themselves. I think . . .”

“What?”

Lisa obviously didn’t like expressing an opinion about someone who might have power over her.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Sarah promised.

“I think she just liked the excitement of it. She didn’t seem to care if the women got jobs or if they found a place to live afterward. She didn’t even mind when we found out one of them had gone back to walking the streets. Mrs. Van Orner would be sad, but Mrs. Spratt-Williams wasn’t even disappointed. The only thing she cared about was when they were going out again to rescue someone.”

Which was, Sarah had to admit, the only thing over which Mrs. Van Orner and her friends had much control. Once the women were here and safe, the rescuers could only offer encouragement. Success or failure would depend on the women themselves.

Still, the unusual interest in Amy was interesting. “Do you suppose Mrs. Spratt-Williams singled Amy out because she had the baby?”

Lisa considered this. “I don’t think so. The rest of us fussed over him. He’s so cute. But Mrs. Spratt-Williams didn’t pay him much mind. She just fussed over Amy. You remember how Amy complained about everything?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, Mrs. Spratt-Williams, she kept trying to make her happy, finding her extra things to eat and apologizing that the place was so shabby. That’s what she called it,
shabby
. Mrs. Brandt, all the other women who come here are grateful for every little thing, but not Amy. And Mrs. Spratt-Williams just made it worse.”

“I’m very sorry.”

“You don’t need to be, and besides, Amy’s gone and not likely to be back, considering where she is now.”

 

 

“
W
HAT DO YOU THINK KILLED HER, DOC?” FRANK ASKED the medical examiner when he’d had a chance to look at the body. They were standing over where Amy still lay on the bed while Mrs. Walker glared at them, silently daring them to accuse her of murder.

“Not the chloroform,” Doc Haynes said, glancing at Mrs. Walker.

She nodded. “I told that quack it wasn’t.”

“How can you be sure?” Frank asked.

“Chloroform doesn’t work that fast, for one thing. She would’ve lingered for hours, maybe even a couple of days.”

“What else could it be, then?”

“Look at her eyes.” He raised one of her eyelids. “See the pupil?”

Frank peered at the filmy orb. “It’s really small.”

“We call it pinpointing. That’s what happens when you take an opiate.”

“My girls don’t take opium,” Mrs. Walker snapped. “I won’t allow it in my house.”

“Nevertheless, she died from an overdose of some compound of opium.”

“Like laudanum?” Frank asked, thinking of Mrs. Van Orner.

“Exactly. Women often use laudanum to commit suicide because it’s readily to hand. Could she have killed herself?”

Mrs. Walker snorted. “That one never killed herself, I guarantee you. She thought too much of herself to do something like that.”

Frank agreed. “I think she might’ve been poisoned.”

“She wasn’t poisoned here,” Mrs. Walker said, outraged at the thought. “She never had nothing to eat or drink since she walked in the door. She was too busy yelling and screaming and pitching a fit. Then she said she felt light-headed and sort of fainted. I sent for the doctor, but he said she was already dead when he got here.”

“Well, I’ll leave it up to you to figure out how it happened,” Doc Haynes told Frank. “If I find out anything more when I cut her open, I’ll let you know.”

Mrs. Walker made a strangled sound. “You’re not going to cut her up, are you?”

“I’m going to do an autopsy to find out the cause of death,” Doc Haynes explained patiently.

“You already told us the cause of death!”

“I told you my theory. Now I have to prove it.” He turned to Frank. “I’ve got an ambulance on the way.”

“Do you need me anymore?” Frank asked.

“No, I can handle it from here.”

Frank thanked him and hurried out. The arrival of the medical examiner had roused the other occupants of the house, and they hovered in the hallway in their silk kimonos, their hair tied up in rags, eyes bleary and heavy with sleep as they whispered to each other. None of them spoke to Frank as he passed by. Whores had no love for cops, he knew.

Out in the street, he saw the ambulance pulling up. He pointed to the correct house before setting off for Van Orner’s again.