Murder in Chelsea (24 page)

For a second he thought he’d gone too far, but she stiffened her shoulders. “You’re right, of course. We can’t take any chances, and we won’t be safe until we leave that house.”

They spent a few minutes discussing when they would meet. Then Frank said, “I’d better get going then. I want to speak with Parnell Vaughn before we go to see Wilbanks.”

“Should I go with you?”

“To Police Headquarters?” he asked with a grin.

She smiled back. “I guess not. Still, I’m very anxious to hear what he has to say.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Sarah. He’s lied about a lot of other things. He’ll probably lie about this, too.”

“Yes, and it’s hard to tell what he might think was in his best interest to say. What does he have to gain or lose either way?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he thinks Wilbanks will give him something for keeping his mouth shut. It’s hard to tell what a drunk will do. I’ve got to ask him, though, because if he admits it, that will mean Catherine is out of danger completely.”

* * *

V
AUGHN DIDN’T LOOK MUCH BETTER THAN THE LAST TIME
he’d seen him. The cells at Headquarters were filthy and dangerous, and Vaughn seemed much the worse for wear when the officer brought him to the interrogation room. His face was gray, and he had the shakes pretty badly, as Frank had expected.

When they were alone, Frank pulled a small bottle of whiskey out of his pocket and set it on the table. Vaughn reached for it like a drowning man, but Frank snatched it away.

“Not so fast. I need to ask you a few questions first.”

“I already told you everything I know. I didn’t kill Emma. I swear it.” His eyes were leaking tears, but Frank couldn’t tell if they were for Emma or because Frank wouldn’t give him the bottle.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was your wife?”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What makes you say that?”

“I saw the marriage license. The two of you were together a long time.”

Vaughn was staring at the bottle. “You said you had some questions.”

“Were you married to Emma Hardy?”

He dashed at his watery eyes. “You know I was.”

“Why did you keep it a secret?”

“We didn’t.”

Frank pretended he was getting up to leave.

“Wait! I . . . Emma used her maiden name because nobody wants to hire a married woman in the theater. People thought we were just lovers, so we let them think it.”

“And did they think you were lovers when she took up with Wilbanks?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means why would a man let his wife become some other man’s mistress?”

“I didn’t know!”

“How could you not know?”

“We . . . we weren’t living together then. We had a fight, and she left me.”

“What did you fight about?”

“She . . . she thought I had another woman.”

“Did you?”

“No! I never! Emma was jealous, though. She . . . Couldn’t I have just a little sip? I can hardly think.”

“In a minute. Why was Emma jealous?”

“I don’t know. I never gave her any reason, but she always was. That time she got real mad and broke a bottle over my head. I had to go to the hospital, and she never came to see me or anything. When I got out, she’d moved into that boardinghouse she liked.”

“Nell Dugan’s?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. She said she was going to divorce me. I knew she didn’t have the money for that, so I figured I’d just wait her out. She’d left me before, but she always took me back.”

“Only this time she got a better offer.”

“She never had a man like that interested in her before. I mean you’ve always got the stage door Johnnies who hang around. The girls are pretty and some of them aren’t any better than they have to be. Any fellow in an expensive suit with money to buy them dinner can have whatever he wants. Emma never had time for that kind, though, at least not until Wilbanks came along.”

“And Wilbanks wasn’t an ordinary Johnnie.”

“No, he was rich, and he told Emma he could give her whatever she wanted.”

“What did she want?”

“She wanted to be the star. She thought he’d finance a show for her. She wasn’t going to spread her legs for a dinner, but for that . . . Well, she’d do anything for that.”

“And why didn’t he finance the show for her?”

“Because of the kid. She never expected that. We’d been married for three years by then, and nothing ever happened in all that time. She thought she couldn’t have kids, and then a couple months with him—an old man like that!—and she’s puking every morning.”

“You saw this?”

“Well, not exactly. She was still living at the boardinghouse, but we’d see each other at the theater, and she told me things. I wanted her back, and I told her I did, but she says she’s got to get rid of the kid first and then get Wilbanks to back the show for her. There’d be a part for me, she said. We’d be together again.”

“But it didn’t work out that way,” Frank said, holding the bottle up for him to see.

Vaughn’s eyes widened and he licked his lips. “He didn’t want her to get rid of the kid. She never expected that either. Neither of us did. She tried everything, but he wouldn’t budge. The best she could do was get him to promise he’d get her a show after the baby came.”

“So he put her up in her own house. That must’ve been horrible for her.”

“It was!” he said, obviously not noticing Frank’s sarcastic tone. “She was miles away from the city with nothing to do. I’d go visit her when I could, but she hated it.”

“You didn’t hate it all that much, though, did you? She’d let you stay there for free and she’d give you money, too.”

“Just a few dollars, from the household money, when I was between shows. It’s not like he gave her anything for herself.”

“And what did you think of the baby?”

“I didn’t think anything of her. Anne took care of her. I hardly ever saw her. Please, just one sip.”

Disgusted, Frank handed him the bottle and waited while he pulled the cork with trembling fingers and took a healthy swig. Vaughn set the bottle down carefully, bracing it with both hands while he waited for the liquor’s warmth to seep into him. When he picked up the bottle again, Frank snatched it away.

“Hey!” He was halfway across the table when Frank backhanded him down into his chair again.

He cursed in frustration, rubbing his face and glaring balefully at his tormentor. “What was that for?”

“To remind you who’s in charge. You can have the rest of it when you tell me everything I want to know.”

“I’ve already told you everything!”

“What do you remember about last night?”

Judging from the tears that flooded his eyes, he remembered that Emma was dead. “I loved her so much.”

“Then help me figure out who killed her. What do you remember about the man who came to your room last night?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and clamped both hands on his head, as if trying to keep it from flying off. He sat like that for a few moments. “I’ve been trying to remember, but everything’s so fuzzy, like it was a dream.”

“What did he look like?”

“A swell.”

“How do you know that?”

“Nice suit. Well spoken. Good manners.”

“His name?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I heard it, or if I did, I’ve forgotten. He said he was there to talk to her about Wilbanks. He had a deal for her, he said. She was smiling.”

“Did she know him?”

“I . . . Maybe. I don’t know. Emma, she might’ve been smiling because of the deal. Money always made her happy.”

“How did she hope to make a deal when she didn’t have the child?”

“He didn’t talk about the child. He said . . . I remember now. He said he’d give her money just to go away.”

“Did she believe him?”

“I don’t know. I just remember she was smiling. And he said we should celebrate, and he pulled out the bottle.”

“And you were willing to celebrate anything with a drink, weren’t you?”

Vaughn’s eyes narrowed with hatred. “I took what he offered, yes.”

“Did Emma?”

“She didn’t like to drink. She took a sip or two, I think.”

Maybe enough to make her easier to kill, Frank thought. “Then what happened?”

“She . . .” He frowned, squinting with the effort. “I remember, she wasn’t smiling anymore. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but I couldn’t make my mouth move. Then I fell asleep, and the next thing I remember is being here with you slapping me around.”

Frank sighed and handed him the bottle. He took another swig, then glared at Frank again. “Now what?”

“Now you’re free to go.”

“What?”

“You heard me. They’re holding your belongings at your hotel. You can go back there if you want. I don’t care.”

“You’re not going to arrest me?”

“I did arrest you. Now I’m letting you go.”

“What about Emma? What about the man who killed her?”

“If you remember his name, let me know. Otherwise, we’ll probably never find him.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, well, better finish the bottle before you leave. Otherwise, somebody will take it away from you.”

As Frank left the dingy little room, he heard Vaughn say, “Emma,” on a choking sob. He supposed he should be glad someone was mourning Catherine’s mother.

* * *

S
ARAH HAD GONE TO HER PARENTS’ HOUSE HOURS BEFORE
the time she’d agreed to meet Malloy there. She wanted to spend time with Catherine and to prepare her for what was coming. She didn’t want her to be frightened, but she wanted her to be prepared. Of course, when she told Catherine that Mr. Malloy would be going with them, nothing else mattered.

Her father didn’t usually go to his office on Saturday anyway, so he’d been driving her mother to distraction all morning. Sarah had to inform him that Malloy felt he should not accompany them.

He took the news with good grace. “In his place, I’m sure I would feel I could adequately protect you and Catherine, but I can’t help thinking having another man along whom he can trust would be an advantage.”

“Father, you’ve already been a tremendous help to us in this whole matter. I’ll always be grateful, but to be completely honest, your strength is more in using your influence and less in using your . . .”

“Strength?” he said helpfully when she couldn’t think of anything diplomatic to say.

“Exactly.”

“And you would be just one more person whose safety Mr. Malloy must consider,” her mother said. “And one more loved one for me to worry about.”

“Thank you, my dear, for putting me firmly in my place.”

Her mother simply smiled serenely, confident her work was done.

At last Malloy arrived, and Sarah went to meet him the instant he entered the parlor.

“Vaughn?” she whispered.

“They were separated. He said there’s no possibility.”

“What’s that?” her mother asked.

“Nothing important,” Sarah said, fighting the wave of disappointment. “Mr. Malloy was just telling me Parnell Vaughn still doesn’t remember who killed Emma.”

Her parents greeted Malloy, who joined her on the sofa.

“Has Sarah explained to you why we’d like for you both to remain here?” he asked.

“Yes, she has,” her father said. “But if you’ve changed your mind, I’m perfectly willing to assist you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Decker, but I don’t think that will be necessary. Your coachman will be with us, and I really don’t expect any trouble while we’re with Wilbanks. Even the most brazen killer wouldn’t dare attack someone under his roof. And of course, after we’ve told the family why we came, there won’t be any reason to harm Catherine anymore.”

“When you explain it like that, I feel so much better,” her mother said.

“I wish I did,” her father said. “I won’t feel better until you’re all back here, safe and sound.”

They sent for Catherine, and Maeve brought her in. She was a vision in a dress Sarah had never seen before, a delightful creation with enough ribbons, bows, and ruffles to delight any little girl’s heart. Her brown hair had been brushed smooth and tied back with a pink ribbon. When she saw Malloy, she gave a squeal of delight and ran to him.

He caught her up into his lap and allowed her to hug and kiss him. “I’m so happy to see you!” she cried.

“I’m happy to see you, too. You look very pretty.”

She smiled, lowering her head modestly but still watching Malloy out of the corner of her eye. “My dress is new.”

“Mrs. Decker has been spoiling her,” Maeve reported without a trace of disapproval.

“I like being spoiled,” Catherine informed them, and in spite of the tension, they all laughed.

“Mama said we’re going to visit some people,” she told him.

“Yes, we are. What else did she tell you?”

“She said I’m not allowed to eat or drink anything while we’re there, no matter who gives it to me, and if I do that, I can have ice cream later.”

“Ice cream?” he said with just the proper amount of reverence. “I’d like to have some myself.”

“Maybe if you don’t eat or drink anything there, you can have some, too.” She glanced around, as if waiting for someone to confirm or deny this theory. When no one spoke, she said, “But if not, I’ll share mine with you.” She smiled sweetly, and he tried to smile back, but couldn’t quite do it. “Are you crying?” she asked.

“Of course not. I’ve just got something in my eye.” He finally managed a smile.

“Come along, Catherine,” Maeve said quickly. “Let’s get your coat so you’ll be ready to go.”

Catherine scrambled down, and when she was gone, all four of the adults remaining had to wipe their eyes.

“I’ll protect them with my life, Mr. Decker,” Malloy said.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

13

A
LTHOUGH
S
ARAH AND
M
ALLOY T
RIED TO BE CHEERFUL,
Catherine must have sensed their tension. She was silent during the carriage ride, snuggling tightly up to Sarah and holding her hand. At least a dozen times during the short ride Sarah wanted to jump out and carry Catherine back to the safety of her parents’ house.

When they pulled up in front of the Wilbankses’ house, Malloy stepped out first and scanned the street. Traffic was light in this neighborhood, and few people were on the street here on a chilly Saturday afternoon. The only vehicle in sight was a hansom cab near the corner. The driver was examining his horse’s front leg, a common sight. City traffic took a toll on the animals.

Seeing no sign of danger, Malloy helped Sarah and Catherine alight.

The maid answered their knock instantly and took their coats. She stared so intently at Catherine that Sarah was sure she must know everything. Then she took them up to the parlor, and while she was announcing them, Malloy bent down and picked Catherine up. Sarah glanced at him in surprise, but his grim expression told her it was his way of protecting her from whatever was to come.

The tension hung like a fog in the room, engulfing them as they entered. An older man, thin to gauntness, sat by the fire with a blanket over his legs. He must be Mr. Wilbanks, and his hopeful expression almost broke Sarah’s heart. If she had doubted at all, she now knew for sure he loved Catherine. She nodded at Michael and Lynne Hicks, who stood on either side of Mr. Wilbanks’s chair. Michael looked solemn, and Lynne looked nervous. Gilda Wilbanks stood off to one side, her face a mask of hauteur. The man beside her must be her husband, Oswald. He seemed merely bewildered.

“She looks just like Alice,” Lynne Hicks said in wonder. “That’s our daughter,” she added to Sarah.

“No, she doesn’t,” Gilda said.

Lynne glared back at her defiantly. “You didn’t know Alice at this age.”

“Catherine,” Malloy said in that gentle voice he always used for her, “we’re going to play a game. You like games, don’t you?”

Catherine seemed uncertain, but she nodded.

“There’s a lot of people in this room. I want you to tell me which ones you already know. You can just point to them. Do you understand?”

She nodded again.

“All right,” he said. “Which of these people do you know?”

She gave him an impish grin, carefully folded her small hand until just her forefinger was extended, and pointed it at him. Sarah thought her heart might burst.

He gave her an adoring smile. “Good! Who else?”

Catherine looked at Sarah and grinned again before pointing at her. Sarah rewarded her with a loving smile.

“Good girl. Now look carefully at the rest of these people. Do you know any of them?”

Obviously taking her responsibility seriously, she examined each of the other people in the room. Malloy, still holding her, helped by turning so she could see the others more easily. She frowned at Ozzie and Gilda, who returned her stare with frowns of their own, then at Lynne, who smiled tentatively. She furrowed her brow at Wilbanks, whose avid gaze had not left her since the instant they’d entered the room.

“Papa?” she whispered.

His face broke into a radiant smile. “I have something for you, little girl. Do you remember where to look?”

She nodded, then gave Malloy a questioning look. He said, “Go ahead,” and set her down with the utmost care.

The distance between her and Wilbanks seemed great to Sarah. It must have seemed immense to Catherine, who also felt the focused attention of everyone in the room. Sarah took her hand and walked with her over to Wilbanks. He turned back the corner of the lap robe and shifted slightly in his chair.

Catherine smiled shyly, slipped her hand into the pocket of his suit coat, and pulled out a tin of peppermints.

“You remembered,” he marveled, his voice husky with emotion.

Lynne Hicks made a strangled sound, and when Sarah looked at her, she said, “He used to bring them for Alice to find, too.”

“Would you like one?” he asked Catherine.

“We’ll save it for later,” Sarah said.

“Are you satisfied, Mrs. Wilbanks?” Malloy asked Gilda.

“I’m not the one who needed to be satisfied,” she said. “Father Wilbanks, are you sure this is the right child?”

“Gilda, really,” her husband said.

“Of course I am,” Wilbanks said, his ravaged face glowing.

“It’s been a long time,” Gilda reminded him. “And you’ve been ill.”

“I’m ill, not senile,” Wilbanks snapped. “I was afraid
she
wouldn’t know
me
.”

“Oh!” Catherine said, glancing back at Malloy. “I almost forgot.” She lifted her little hand and pointed at Wilbanks.

The tension in the room instantly evaporated. Even Michael Hicks chuckled. Lynne bent down and smiled at Catherine. “I’m very happy to meet you, Catherine. My name is Lynne, and I’m your . . . your aunt,” she finally decided.

Gilda made an exasperated noise, but no one paid her any mind.

“Mr. Wilbanks,” Sarah said, “we came today so I can assure you that Catherine is well loved. I intend to raise her as if she were my own daughter.”

“I can see that, Mrs. Brandt,” he said.

“I also want your family to know that we do not want or need any help or any part of your fortune, now or in the future.”

“Boldly spoken, Mrs. Brandt,” Michael Hicks said.

“And sincerely meant,” she replied.

“I appreciate your sentiments, Mrs. Brandt,” Wilbanks said, “but you cannot stop me from providing for my own child.”

“I’m told that I can refuse a bequest, however, and that is what I intend to do if you insist on making one.”

“Of course that’s what she says now,” Ozzie said.

Sarah gave him her most withering glare. “What I say
now
is to ask Mr. Wilbanks not to force me into such a situation. Sir, if you do not name Catherine in your will, then
no one
can be jealous of what she might receive.”

“Thank you for your frankness, Mrs. Brandt,” Wilbanks said. “Your father must be very proud to have a daughter like you.”

Sarah wondered if that were true, but it didn’t matter at the moment. “Are you saying you will grant my request?”

“How can I, in good conscience, refuse to keep my daughter safe?”

Relief surged through her, and Michael Hicks instinctively reached out to steady her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course.
Now
I’m fine. Thank you, Mr. Wilbanks.” Now Catherine was safe. No one had any reason to wish her harm again.

Wilbanks turned his attention back to Catherine and started asking her questions about herself. To Sarah’s surprise, Lynne Hicks had her husband bring over a chair so she could join in the conversation. She seemed almost as taken with the child as Wilbanks. Sarah stood sentinel, half enjoying seeing Catherine interact with the only blood family she had left and half anxious lest anyone say something to distress her.

Sarah was vaguely aware of Malloy, who maintained his distance from the rest, ready in case anything untoward happened, but of course nothing did. Gilda, obviously unhappy with the outcome of this meeting, had wandered over to the front window and pretended to peer out at the street while Ozzie tried to coax her into a good humor. Hicks joined them, his voice soothing but too soft for Sarah to hear his actual words.

Sarah watched Wilbanks, savoring his joy at being reunited with his child, but she realized he was quickly tiring. “It’s time for us to go now, Catherine. Would you like to give your papa a kiss?”

He leaned down, and she obediently gave him a peck on the cheek that made his eyes shine again. “Bring her back very soon,” he said.

“I will,” Sarah promised. “Thank you . . . for everything.”

He nodded, apparently too emotional to speak.

She took Catherine’s hand and headed for the door, where Malloy waited for them.

“Mr. Malloy,” Michael Hicks said, “we were wondering if you could tell some details about Miss Hardy’s death before you go.”

Malloy frowned and met Sarah’s gaze with a silent question. It was a reasonable request, but she certainly didn’t want Catherine hearing anything about Emma Hardy’s death. “Catherine and I will wait for you in the carriage.”

“I won’t be long,” he promised.

The maid helped them into their coats and showed them out. Her parents’ carriage sat at the curb where they had left it, the driver huddled in his coat high up on the seat.

“John, we’re going to wait for Mr. Malloy. He’ll be out in a few minutes,” she called to him.

She had only a second to think it odd that he hadn’t moved when the carriage door flew open. A dark figure sprang out and pressed a white cloth to her face. She tried to scream, tried to fight, but the sickly sweet scent engulfed her and everything went black.

* * *

F
RANK HAD NO IDEA WHY
H
ICKS WANTED TO HEAR
about Emma’s death again, but he was actually glad for the opportunity to speak to Ozzie, since he suspected Ozzie might have been the mysterious stranger who visited her the night she died. He gave them a brief account of finding her body, watching Ozzie’s face closely. If he was indeed the killer, he was a cold one. He never even blinked.

“So it must have been her lover who killed her,” he said.

“It seems that way,” Frank said, happy to mislead him.

Hicks frowned but didn’t remind Frank he’d voiced other theories in their previous conversation. Wilbanks started to cough, and his daughter rang for the maid. He’d kept Sarah waiting long enough.

“I’ll keep you informed,” he said, preparing to take his leave.

“Something’s happening outside!” Gilda cried, turning Frank’s blood to ice. She still stood gazing out the front window. Hicks and Ozzie hurried over to see, but Frank turned and ran, out into the hall and down the stairs. He threw open the front door and took in the scene in an instant. Sarah lay motionless on the sidewalk. The carriage stood where it had earlier, the door hanging open, empty. The driver sat slumped on his perch, dead or unconscious.

“Catherine!” he shouted, descending the front stoop in two bounds. She was nowhere in sight.
“Catherine!”

One of the horses whickered nervously, but no other sound came in response.

He knelt down to Sarah and instantly smelled the sweet scent of chloroform. Thank God, he thought, gently rolling her over. At least they hadn’t killed her. She groaned, already coming around. Relief surged through him but only for a moment. Where was Catherine?

Hicks ran out the front door and down the porch steps. “What’s happened?”

“Someone’s taken Catherine. They must’ve used chloroform on Mrs. Brandt and probably the driver, too. Check him, and call Police Headquarters and tell them to send as many men as they can.”

His mind raced. Who would have done this? Where would they have gone? They would have needed a vehicle to take Catherine away. Even unconscious, she would’ve attracted attention. He remembered the hansom cab sitting at the corner when they arrived. It was gone now, but it had been headed west, so he ran in that direction. Maybe he could catch sight of it. When he reached the end of the street, he stopped, gasping for breath, his heart pounding in terror, and looked wildly in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of something. To his surprise he saw the cab not half a block away, stopped dead. He ran to it, but even before he got there, he knew. He understood it completely. They’d planned it all so very carefully. They’d had another vehicle waiting there, a vehicle no one could identify, and they’d taken Catherine away in it, and he’d never see her again.

* * *

S
ARAH FOUGHT HER WAY BACK TO CONSCIOUSNESS, HER
head pounding, her eyes and nose stinging as she tried to concentrate on the voices. Someone was shouting, giving orders. Malloy? Why did he sound so angry?

“Mrs. Brandt, can you hear me?” a woman asked. “I think she’s coming around.”

“Sarah?” Malloy said. “Can you hear me?”

She could hear him just fine, but she couldn’t answer him. She could barely manage to open her eyes a slit to find him leaning over her. Where was she? What was happening? Something terrible, she thought. Something she didn’t want to remember. “Catherine?”

“They took her,” he said.

Pain convulsed her heart, and she gasped in agony.

“Did you see them? Do you know who they were?” he asked.

She searched her memory, mining it for anything, anything at all. She could feel the warmth of Catherine’s small hand in hers as they walked down the front steps and then . . . Nothing. She managed to whisper, “No.”

Other voices were arguing, but she couldn’t make sense of them. She wanted Malloy to tell her everything would be all right. She wanted him to say he’d find Catherine. But he couldn’t make a promise like that, she knew. The city was large and full of evil people, and it could swallow up a small child without a trace. Tears scalded her stinging eyes.

How could she bear such pain?

“We’ve sent for your parents,” the woman said and Sarah realized Malloy was gone. Of course he was. He’d be organizing a search and doing whatever one did when a child had been taken. But where would he start? How could he find her when they had no idea who had done it or where they might have gone? Or, she thought with another spasm of agony, how long they would keep her alive.

She couldn’t bear pain like that. No one could. She would have to die herself.

She lay there while the voices around her rose and fell. Sometimes she caught a word or a phrase, but nothing made much sense. Every so often she tried opening her eyes for a few moments before the pounding in her head forced her to close them again. There was something they could do. There had to be. If she could just think . . .

Someone new was shouting now, someone who sounded like her father. He was berating someone for being reckless and foolish.

A soft hand caressed her cheek. “Sarah, are you all right?”