Murder in Chelsea (20 page)

“That’s probably true, but what if Wilbanks won’t let us take her back again?”

“How could he stop us?”

“By force, if necessary. He can afford to hire help for that, and we already know he has Mr. Hicks to work on the legalities. He
is
her father.”

Her mother had no answer for that. They sipped their coffee in silence for a while.

“And what about Emma?” her mother asked finally.

“What about her?”

“She’s Catherine’s mother.”

“I know she is, but I can’t get over the fact that she abandoned her.”

“I’m sure she would argue otherwise. And she is her mother. She must love her in her own way.”

“Her own way is very unusual. I never thought I’d hear you defending her, Mother.”

“I’m not defending her. I’m merely trying to be reasonable. Perhaps if we were kind to Miss Hardy, we could . . .”

“Could what?” Sarah asked when she hesitated.

“We could win her cooperation. If she was willing to give Catherine to Wilbanks for a financial consideration, perhaps she would do the same for us.”

“Mother, I don’t have anything to give her.”

Her mother laid a hand on her arm. “I know that, dear, but your father and I do.”

“Oh, Mother, I couldn’t possibly—”

“You couldn’t possibly
refuse
, particularly if we didn’t ask your permission.”

Sarah felt the sting of tears. “I’ve always resented it when you and Father did things you thought were best for me without consulting me.”

“Would you resent it if we did this for you?”

“I . . . I think it would be very difficult to be anything but grateful. Even still, I can’t ask you to allow yourselves to be blackmailed, which is what this would be.”

“You wouldn’t be asking us to do anything, and what good is having money if you can’t help the people you love? If we’ve learned nothing else in this life, we’ve learned that.”

Sarah knew they’d learned it by losing their older daughter, a hard lesson indeed. “Thank you, Mother.”

* * *

F
RANK STOPPED BY
P
OLICE
H
EADQUARTERS THAT MORNING
to get a patrolman to go with him to the La Pierre Hotel. Even though people there would know he was a cop, if Emma decided to put up a fight, some of the other residents of the hotel might decide to come to her rescue. Only a fool would cause trouble in that neighborhood without someone to back him up. Frank spent an hour locating the patrolman he wanted. Gino Donatelli, one of the few Italians on the force, was also one of the few patrolmen he would trust in any situation.

“This woman is little Catherine’s mother?” the young man asked him as they made their way downtown. This time of the morning, the pedestrian traffic was relatively light, so they didn’t have to push their way through crowds, at least.

“Yes, and I think she might be a murderer, too.”

Gino crossed himself. “Poor Mrs. Brandt.” Gino adored Sarah Brandt. “This will be very hard for her.”

It’ll be very hard for me, too, Frank thought, but he said, “There’s a man with her, but I don’t think he’ll be any trouble. He’s a drinker, and if we’re lucky, he’ll still be passed out from last night.”

“This drunk, is he Catherine’s father?”

“No. Her father is some rich man who lives uptown.”

Gino had to hear the whole story, which helped pass the time as they walked the long blocks to their destination.

As usual, the hotel was quiet at this time of day. Most of the residents were sleeping off their rowdy night. The desk clerk frowned when he saw Gino in uniform.

“I don’t want no trouble,” he said, glancing around to see if anybody had noticed a uniformed policeman in the lobby.

“Neither do I,” Frank said. “If you hear any, send for the cops.”

The desk clerk didn’t think this was a bit funny. Cops were bad for business. He fumed as Frank and Gino climbed the stairs.

Frank paused outside Emma’s door. “Your job is to keep anybody else from coming in if she starts screaming or something.”

“What if he puts up a fight?”

“Then I’ll call you. Otherwise just stay out here and don’t let anybody else in.”

Gino pulled his nightstick from the loop on his belt and held it ready.

Frank tried a regular knock first. No sense in alarming them or waking up the neighbors. He thought he heard some noise from inside, but nobody came, so he knocked again, a little more insistently.

“Go away,” Vaughn called, surprising a grin from Gino.

“It’s Malloy. I’ve got some news for you.”

He waited again, but still nobody came. With an exasperated sigh, he tried the door and it opened. “These people never lock their room,” he muttered and pushed it open.

The window shade blocked what little light might find its way to the window and cast everything in shadow. Frank blinked a few times until he made out Vaughn’s form on the bed. He sprawled on it diagonally, and plainly, he was the only occupant of it. Frank couldn’t believe Emma would be out and about so early, but he was pretty sure if she were here, she’d be complaining by now.

Frank took a step into the room. Now he could see Vaughn still wore his suit pants but only a dingy balbriggan undershirt on top, with the first three buttons undone. “Vaughn, where’s Emma?”

Vaughn opened his eyes for a second, then slammed them shut again, groaning softly. “She’s here somewhere.”

Frank doubted that, but he looked around anyway and that’s when he saw her. Or at least he saw her feet and the bottom of her skirt. She lay on the floor on the other side of the bed, in the narrow space between the bed and the wall. He sighed in disgust. He hadn’t realized she drank, too. What a pair they were. Well, at least if she was passed out drunk, he wouldn’t have much trouble taking her in.

He walked around the foot of the bed, wondering how he’d get her out of there. Lucky he’d brought Gino. It might take both of them to carry her down the stairs. He gave her foot a gentle nudge with his toe. “Emma, wake up.”

She didn’t move.

He nudged a little harder, but still got no response. With a disgusted sigh, he went to the window and gave the shade a jerk that sent it flying up and slapping around the rod several times before it finally settled. The noise brought another groan from Vaughn, and he threw his arm over his eyes to protect them from the feeble sunlight.

Frank went back and glared down at Emma, and to his surprise, she glared back at him. At least that’s what he thought for a full two seconds before he realized she was really staring at nothing because she was dead.

* * *

S
TRANGLED,” THE MEDICAL EXAMINER SAID.
D
OC
Haynes had finally arrived after several hours to get the body. Deaths in the Lower East Side weren’t a big priority with the coroner’s office. “I’ll be able to tell you more after I do the autopsy.”

“And it’s Friday, so that means you won’t have anything until at least Monday. Am I right?” Frank asked.

“You’re right. I don’t know what you expect me to find, though. The lover strangled her, didn’t he? He was the only other person in the room.”

True. Frank had no trouble at all figuring out how it happened either. Emma had started smacking on Vaughn or whatever she did, and he just couldn’t take it anymore. Before he knew it, his hands were around her throat, and then she was dead. Unable to face what he’d done, he’d drunk himself into a stupor. He’d done a good job of it, too, because he still hadn’t woken up, even when Frank and Gino had carried him to another room after finding the body.

“All you have to do is check his hands,” Haynes added.

“His hands?”

“Yeah, she’s got blood and probably some skin under her fingernails. She would’ve scratched her killer up pretty good.”

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

Frank had summoned another beat cop to guard Vaughn and set Gino to questioning the other hotel residents to see if they’d heard anything. Not surprisingly, nobody had. People in this part of the city were always deaf, dumb, and blind when a crime was committed. Frank went through all of Vaughn’s and Emma’s stuff. He found a box of papers and letters at the bottom of one of their trunks that he’d go through later, but not much else.

Haynes and his orderlies had just carried Emma Hardy’s body away when the beat cop guarding Vaughn shouted that he was waking up. Frank went down the hall to the room where they’d put him earlier.

Vaughn moaned and then he somehow managed to roll over just in time to puke over the side of the bed. Frank swore and the cop swore. Well, at least it had happened here and not while Frank was questioning him.

“Get a wagon to take him to Headquarters,” Frank told the beat cop. “I’ll meet you there.”

Before too long, a Black Maria arrived and a couple of burly cops hefted Vaughn to his feet and half dragged, half carried him down the stairs and out to the street. Gino frowned after them. “What?” Frank asked.

“He should’ve woken up by now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if he was drunk, if he
got
drunk after he killed her—”

“He probably just got
drunker
after he killed her,” Frank said.

“Yeah, well, drunker then, but even still, he should’ve come out of it by now. He’s more than drunk. He still don’t even know what’s going on.”

“He probably killed her,” Frank said. “They were alone in the room.”

“They were alone in the room when we found them, and she was dead and he was dead to the world. We don’t know what happened before that.”

Frank wanted Vaughn to be the killer. He wanted this to be neat and easy, but Gino was right. “I trained you too well.”

“I know. It gets me in trouble all the time.”

“Let’s go to Headquarters and see if he remembers anything. Maybe he’ll make it easy for us.”

But Gino shook his head. “That fellow don’t remember his own name.”

* * *

B
Y THE TIME
F
RANK AND
G
INO GOT BACK TO
H
EADQUARTERS
, Vaughn was in one of the interrogation rooms. Somebody had poured water over his head and given him some coffee, but he was still groggy. When Frank and Gino came in, he didn’t even lift his head off the table.

“Vaughn, wake up,” Frank said, slapping the scarred wooden table that was the main piece of furniture in the room. Two battered chairs made up the rest, and Vaughn sat in one of them. Frank sat down across the table from him. Gino stood by the door.

Vaughn dragged himself upright and stared at Frank through rheumy eyes. One of them still sported a greenish bruise. His skin was the color of putty, his hair hung in greasy strings, and he needed a shave. “Malloy?”

“Good, you’re not as stupid as you look,” Frank said. “Tell me what happened last night.”

“Last night?”

“Don’t annoy me, Vaughn. I’m already in a bad mood. Last night. What did you do?”

“I . . . I don’t remember.”

This was not surprising. “What
do
you remember?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Emma was mad.”

“About what?”

“I . . . Wilbanks. His son, I think.”

That made sense. She’d been pretty angry the last time Frank had seen her. “Did she tell you she was going to marry Wilbanks?”

“No.”

“Well, she was,” Frank lied. “I think she told you, and you got mad and strangled her.”

“She isn’t going to marry Wilbanks.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“She can’t. She’s not going to marry him.”

“Why can’t she?”

Vaughn blinked a few times. He seemed to be coming out of his fog. “I’m not going to tell you. Emma would be mad if I did.”

“Vaughn, Emma won’t be mad at anything anymore. She’s dead.”

“No, she’s not.”

This was going to be a very long day. “Vaughn, Emma is dead. You strangled her.”

Frank waited, giving him a chance to come to terms with it, since he obviously had no memory of killing her.

“No,” he said again and looked at Gino. “She can’t be.”

“She is,” Gino said solemnly.

“No, no, she can’t be! We’re going away together. She’s going to get the money from Wilbanks, and then we won’t have to worry about anything ever again. That’s what she said.”

“When did she say that?” Frank asked.

“All the time. She said it all the time. Before she went to see him, she said it.”

“Before she went to see him yesterday, you mean?”

“Was that yesterday?”

“Yes, she went to see Wilbanks yesterday, and she told his family she was going to marry him.”

“That can’t be right.” He rubbed his eyes like a sleepy child. “Maybe she said it, but she’d never do it. She was going to get the money and we were leaving town. And then she was mad.”

“What was she mad about?”

“Wilbanks. She was mad at the son. He threw her out or something.”

“How did she expect to get money from Wilbanks if she didn’t have the child?”

Vaughn’s eyes started drooping again. Frank gave him a light slap to get his attention. “What’s wrong with you? What did you take?”

“Nothing. I . . . it was the whiskey. There was something in the whiskey.”

“What whiskey?”

“The bottle he brought.”

Frank felt a chill slither down his spine. “The bottle who brought?”

Vaughn was scratching his head. “I need a drink.”

“Answer my questions, and you can have one,” Frank lied. “Who brought you a bottle?”

“I don’t know. Some fellow. He wanted to talk to Emma.”

Frank glanced at Gino, who gave him an “I told you so” look. “Who was he? What was his name?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. Nice fellow. He gave me a drink.”

“Then what happened?”

“I don’t know. I felt funny.
I don’t remember
. I need a drink.”

“Vaughn, listen to me. Emma is dead. Somebody strangled her. Do you remember what happened?”

Vaughn stared at him for a long moment. “Emma is dead?”

“That’s right. Somebody strangled her. Was it you?”

Vaughn’s bloodshot eyes filled with tears. “Emma’s dead? She can’t be dead.”