Murder in Chelsea (27 page)

She cried out and he looked up. For one second she was so very afraid . . .

Then he smiled. “She’s all right.”

Sarah flew down the stairs, Maeve and her parents close behind her.

“Catherine, wake up,” Malloy said, shaking the bundle in his arms. “Your mama’s here.”

“Mama?” she said, her eyes fluttering open.

“Yes, my darling, I’m here!” Sarah snatched the child from him, joy flooding her as she enfolded her in her arms. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“She’s fine,” Malloy said. “She slept through most of it.”

“I’m hungry,” Catherine said, making everyone laugh with relief.

“We’ll get you something to eat right away,” her mother said through her tears. “You can have anything you want.”

“Why is everybody crying?” Catherine asked.

“Because we’re so happy to see you,” Maeve said, lovingly smoothing Catherine’s ratty hair. Her beautiful dress was crushed and bedraggled, some of the bows missing and others untied.

“Where did you find her? What had he done with her?” Sarah asked Malloy, who stood back a bit from the group gathered around her. Even the maid was weeping, Sarah noticed.

“It doesn’t matter now,” he said. “We can talk about it later. I have to go down to Headquarters and question him.”

“Can’t it wait until morning?” Sarah asked, wanting to share her happiness with him.

“The sooner I can talk to him, the less time he’ll have to make up some story to protect Gilda. I would’ve done it right away, but I wanted to bring Catherine to you first.”

Tears flooded Sarah’s eyes, and she reached out to him. “Thank you.”

He took her hand for just an instant. “I have to go.”

“You’ll come tomorrow and tell us everything, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“We should telephone Mr. Wilbanks,” her mother said. “The poor man will want to know immediately.”

“Michael Hicks went to tell him,” Malloy said. He reached up and touched Catherine’s cheek. “Good night, little girl.”

She smiled as if she understood he’d saved her.

* * *

M
ALLOY WATCHED
S
ARAH CARRY
C
ATHERINE UP THE
stairs, with Mrs. Decker and Maeve attending her, until they were out of sight. Mr. Decker had stayed behind, and Frank braced himself for the tirade he knew was coming.

“I’m afraid I owe you an apology, Mr. Malloy.”

Frank blinked, certain he’d heard wrong. “What?”

“I was hasty in my criticism of you earlier today, and I was upset, of course, although that’s no excuse.”

“You were right to call me reckless.” Frank had called himself far worse this evening. “I should never have allowed Catherine to go to that house.”

“We’re all to blame for that. We’d made those plans without consulting you, and we thought it was the best way to ensure her safety.”

“In any case, I should never have let them leave the house alone.”

“And what if you’d been with them and hadn’t been able to protect them? I berated you for not allowing me to go with them, but since then, I’ve had second thoughts. If I’d been there and Catherine had been kidnapped anyway . . . Well, that’s what I’ve been considering all evening. Which would be worse, not being there at all or failing to save her?”

“I don’t know.”

“And now you don’t have to wonder anymore. Try not to dwell on what you might have done differently. You cannot change the past, and it only spoils the future.”

Frank thought of the painful regrets Felix Decker must carry and knew his wisdom had been born out of a pain even greater than the one Frank had felt today. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m afraid there will be quite a fuss from all the newspaper stories, and all for nothing.”

“If I hadn’t been lucky, we would’ve needed their help.” Frank would never admit he’d sent Decker to the newspapers just to keep him occupied and away from his investigation.

“Tell me, do I owe a reward to someone?”

Frank thought of Klink and the ferret-faced man. “Somebody might think so. You can decide when I tell you the story tomorrow. I really must go now.”

“Of course.”

Frank stepped out into the wintry night, already thinking about the task ahead. He’d had the luxury of not worrying about Catherine ever since she’d woken up in his arms on the way back from the riverfront and asked for her mother. Since then, he’d been trying to figure out how to make Terrance Udall and Gilda Wilbanks pay for their crimes.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t come up with a single thing.

* * *

P
OLICE
H
EADQUARTERS WAS A MADHOUSE, WITH MOBS OF
people clamoring to give information about the kidnapped child so they could collect the generous reward. They didn’t want to believe the child had been found and the culprit arrested. Some, he saw, had actually brought children with them, probably hoping to fool someone into believing they’d found the missing girl themselves.

“Malloy, you’re going to be sorry you started this!” the harried desk sergeant called as Frank hurried through the jammed lobby. He pretended not to hear.

When Frank walked into the interrogation room downstairs, Terrance Udall looked like he’d been on a three-day bender. He’d been pretty drunk when they’d found him at the riverfront, but that didn’t account for his swollen eyes and splotchy face. He’d been crying like a baby, according to the officer guarding him.

“Is the little girl all right?” he asked the moment Frank came in.

“No thanks to you.”

“Thank God.”

“One less murder to count against you on Judgment Day, I guess.” Frank grinned at his startled look. “I know you killed Emma Hardy.”

“I never—”

“Don’t bother to deny it. Gilda Wilbanks told us everything.”

“No! She wouldn’t!”

Which, of course, meant she could have and was all the confirmation Frank needed. “To save her own skin? She would’ve sold out her own mother, so a distant cousin was no great loss.”

“She didn’t tell you anything. I know she didn’t.”

“If that’s what you think, then let me tell you how it happened. Gilda sent for you as soon as she found out the little girl was coming to see Wilbanks today. She didn’t say how long you’d been planning this, but maybe for a while, so you’d already talked to Klink—”

“Klink!”

“Yeah, he told us everything, too. You gave Klink that story about the little girl being taken from her mother and how you were going to help get her back. You must be a good liar, Udall. He believed every word, and he’s no fool. It was a nice touch, telling them nobody was supposed to get hurt. Made you look like a hero instead of the kind of low-life scum who murders children.”

His face was ashen. “I didn’t kill her.”

“Only because we got there in time. And you did kill Emma Hardy, didn’t you? What did you put in the whiskey? Laudanum?”

He shook his head but without much conviction.

“I guess you were disappointed when Emma didn’t drink much of it. Is that what you were counting on? That she’d be unconscious when you choked the life out of her?”

“No! No!” He clapped his hands over his ears.

Frank grabbed his wrists and yanked his hands away. “She must’ve fought like a wildcat. Look at your hands.” He held them up to Udall’s face so they both could see the scratches. “She had your blood under her fingernails, Udall. How long did it take her to die? Two minutes? Three? Five? And you were staring right into her eyes the whole time, weren’t you?”

Udall screamed and slammed his head down on the table. Frank released his hands and he clamped them over his head, as if trying to shield himself from a blow.

“Do you still see her face, Udall?”

“Yes!” he cried. “Yes, I do, every time I close my eyes! I haven’t slept in days.”

Frank leaned back in his chair. “Did you tell Gilda that? How did she expect you to kill a child?”

He lifted his head. “She didn’t care! She said she’d stabbed that woman herself, and what did I know about killing because there wasn’t even any blood when Emma died. She said it was my duty to get rid of the child. She couldn’t do it because she had to be at the house with Wilbanks, so it had to be me. And then we could be together, just like we always wanted.”

“Not exactly like you always wanted,” Frank said, “unless you wanted to live with Gilda and her husband.”

This time Udall sat back in his chair and his bloodless lips curled into a smile. “She didn’t tell you that part, did she? About how she was waiting for the old man to die, and then as soon as he did, Ozzie was going to get really sick. He’d linger for a few weeks, and then he’d die. She had it all planned out. She read it in a novel, she said, just how to do it with arsenic, a little at a time.”

The hairs on the back of Malloy’s neck stood up. He’d had no idea. “Why didn’t she hurry the old man along, too?”

“Why take a chance? He was already dying, and his doctor is there every other day. He might notice something, so she was just waiting.”

Frank’s mind raced. Would Wilbanks believe all this? Would he be willing to see Gilda arrested and tried for murder? But how would Frank prove any of this without Udall’s testimony? And would he stick by his story when he found out Gilda hadn’t betrayed him after all?

“I didn’t kill the little girl,” Udall reminded him.

“Only because we got to you first,” Frank reminded him right back.

“No, I was supposed to kill her at the hotel. Gilda said to put a pillow over her face or something so I wouldn’t have to see her. Then I was supposed to drop her in the river when it got dark. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t hurt her.”

“So you were just going to drop her in the river alive and let her drown,” Frank said, letting Udall see every bit of his contempt.

“I tried, but I couldn’t do it! I gave her some more chloroform so she wouldn’t know what was happening. I didn’t want her to be afraid.”

“That was kind of you.”

“But I couldn’t do it. I laid her down because I couldn’t do it. I was still trying to figure out what to do when you found me, but I wasn’t going to put her in the river, I swear to God!”

“You better hope God believes you, because I don’t,” Frank said, rising to his feet. “We’re going to lock you up now, and tomorrow you’ll go to the Tombs, where you’ll stay until you’re tried for killing Emma Hardy, and then you’ll get to try out Old Sparky.”

He frowned. “Old Sparky?”

“The electric chair where they execute murderers, Udall. So Judgment Day for you is coming a lot sooner than you thought.” He started for the door, then turned back as if he’d just remembered something else. “Oh, and by the way, you were right about Gilda. She never told me anything about you. In fact, she tried to blame Ozzie for killing Emma Hardy. So tomorrow I’m going to call on her and tell her
you
told me everything.”

Frank could still hear Udall screaming when he walked out of the building.

* * *

S
ARAH HAD SPENT THE NIGHT IN THE NURSERY, CURLED
up beside Catherine in the bed where she herself had slept as a child. She couldn’t stand the thought of being any farther away from her than that. Catherine woke up early, little the worse for her harrowing adventure the day before.

“Mama, why are you sleeping in my bed?”

“Oh, my,” Sarah said, trying to act surprised. “I just lay down with you last night until you fell asleep, and I guess I never woke up!”

“I had a bad dream,” she said with a frown. “A bad man took me away from you.”

Sarah stroked her face. “It was only a dream, my darling. See, you’re right here, safe and sound. Now let’s get up and see what’s for breakfast.”

Mrs. Decker joined them and Maeve in the nursery for breakfast, and they had a wonderful time pretending nothing untoward had ever happened. They were debating whether to go to church that morning when the maid came up to tell them Malloy had arrived.

Catherine wanted to see him, and Sarah thought he’d want to see her as well, so they all trooped downstairs to the family parlor, where Malloy and her father were deep in a conversation that ended the instant they entered the room.

Catherine ran to him, and Sarah wished that she could, too. She followed more sedately, managing to keep her dignity. When he’d lifted Catherine into his arms and finished greeting her, he smiled at Sarah in a way that made her heart ache.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brandt.”

“Good morning, Malloy. Catherine had a bad dream last night,” she said quickly so he wouldn’t say anything to confuse her.

“Did she?” He looked at her for confirmation.

“You were in it, too,” she said. “You brought me back to my mama.”

“You were the hero, Mr. Malloy,” her mother said.

“I don’t know about that, but I’m glad I brought you to your mama. I’m sure she was very happy about that.”

“I was,” Sarah said, thinking how very happy she really was.

Malloy teased Catherine a bit about how pretty she looked, and finally, Maeve said, “We need to let the grown-ups talk now. Time to go upstairs.”

Catherine pretended to pout, but Malloy handed her over to Maeve, who mentioned some of the toys waiting for them upstairs, and Catherine went willingly. When they had gone, Sarah’s mother had the maid bring in some coffee, and they settled into what were becoming their regular seats, with Sarah and Malloy on the sofa and her parents across from them in their chairs.

“Did you learn anything new from Udall?” Sarah asked.

“I learned we were right about most of it. Gilda is the one who planned it all.”

“Gilda?” her father said. “Surely not.”

“Why?” her mother asked. “Because she’s a female?”

While that may well have been the true reason, her father was wise enough not to say so. “She hardly seems clever enough. Now if you’d told me Sarah had concocted an elaborate plan, or you, my dear, I would certainly believe it.”

“Udall is the one who’s not very clever,” Malloy said diplomatically. “He said Gilda stabbed Anne Murphy.”

“She must have gone to the boardinghouse looking for Catherine,” Sarah said.

“But how would she have known where Miss Murphy was living?” her mother asked.