Murder on Lenox Hill (18 page)

“Don't tell her I fed you, then,” Sarah said. Mrs. Malloy already hated her enough.

“I won't,” he promised.

They sat in silence for a few minutes while Malloy finished his soup. Finally, Sarah remembered something. “Why did you stop by this evening?”

He froze for a moment, with the spoon halfway to his mouth, then he lowered it back to the bowl and looked up at her thoughtfully. “Are you . . . ? Are you still interested in solving your husband's murder?”

“Of course I am!” she said, even though the thought of it sent a sharp pain through her heart. “Did you find out something from those files you took?”

He lifted his hand in a silent warning not to get too far ahead of herself. “I might have. Did your husband ever mention a patient named Edna White?”

Sarah tried to recall, but no memory responded. “The name doesn't sound familiar, but it's been a long time.”

“She was very sick. This was back in 'ninety-two. She said he saved her life, and she developed a . . . a sort of affection for him. Even imagined she was in love with him.”

“Oh, yes, I do remember that. I'd just forgotten her name. Tom was very disturbed about it. He didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings, but he found her attentions embarrassing.”

“What did she do?”

Sarah tried to remember. “She came to the office a lot. She had a different complaint every time, but she was never really ill. She'd bring him a present when she came. A bit of candy or some socks or a scarf she'd knitted, sometimes a pie or cake. One time she tried to give him her dead father's gold pocket watch.”

“Did he take it?”

“He had to. She wouldn't accept it back, so Tom returned it to someone in her family . . . her brother, I think. She wrote him letters, too. I never saw them, and Tom burned them, but I gathered they were love letters. When Tom took the watch back, he told her brother about the letters. He didn't want the brother to find out some other way and think he'd been leading this poor woman on. After that, the letters stopped coming, and so did she.”

“You think the brother had something to do with stopping it?”

“I'm sure he did. Tom said he was mortified when he found out.” She waited a few moments while Malloy considered what she'd told him. “Does this have something to do with Tom's death?”

“Did he have other patients like this? Women who fell in love with him?” he asked.

“Not that I knew of. He did consult with his colleagues, and he found out it isn't unusual for female patients to develop an affection for their doctors. Several of them had had the same experience.”

“What happened to those women?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you remember who the doctors were?”

“I don't . . . I'm not sure I ever knew. What's this all about? How is it connected to Tom's death?”

“I'm not sure it is. It's just a possibility.”

“You think this woman killed Tom?”

“No. I'm pretty sure a man killed him, but he might've been related to one of his female patients.”

“This woman had a brother,” Sarah reminded him.

“I know, but he's not the killer, and he's her only male relative. That's why I'm trying to find out if there were other women like her.”

“You took four files with you the other night,” she remembered. “Could one of them be the woman you're looking for?”

“I don't know, but I'm going to find out.”

 
 
F
RANK WASN'T SURE IF HE WAS ON OFFICIAL POLICE BUSINESS or not as he entered the Church of the Good Shepherd. No crime had been reported, so he wasn't investigating, but he did know a crime had been committed. If he didn't ask questions, it might also go unpunished. Of course, even if Reverend Upchurch proved to be Grace's rapist, he might still go unpunished. So was it police business or a fool's errand? Frank was afraid to decide, but since it was Saturday, he figured it didn't matter.

The hour was early enough that no one else was around, and he found the minister in his office. The door stood open, a silent invitation to anyone who might happen by, even though Upchurch appeared to be busy, his pen scratching away as he wrote something. Frank knocked on the open door.

Upchurch looked up and started to smile in greeting until he recognized Frank. His expression froze, half-pleasant, half-alarmed. “Detective,” he said, probably not remembering Frank's name. “What brings you back?”

“I had a few more questions for you,” he said. He walked in and closed the door behind him, not waiting for an invitation.

This made him even more uncomfortable. “If this is about poor Grace, I'm afraid I don't know any more than I did the last time you were here.”

“Don't you?” Frank asked.

“No, I don't,” he insisted. Upchurch remained ensconced behind his desk, as if looking for some degree of protection, so Frank took one of the straight-backed chairs sitting in front of it. The last time, they had conversed comfortably, as equals. This time Upchurch wanted the upper hand.

“I understand you don't have any children of your own,” Frank began, watching the minister carefully for reaction.

His eyes widened in surprise. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why is that, I wonder, a big, strong man like you? You look like you could father a whole baseball team of boys.”

Upchurch flushed crimson. “I don't question God's will,” he tried.

“Are you sure it's God's will and not something else?”

“How dare you ask a question like that? Get out of my office.”

Frank ignored the request. “The reason I'm asking is that I heard a rumor about you.”

The color quickly receded from the minister's face. “Gossip, you mean. Surely, you know how accurate gossip is.”

“Where there's smoke, I usually find some fire, Reverend, and the source of this . . .
gossip
was pretty reliable.”

“You must understand that when someone is successful at something, certain people will always try to discredit them. You might not realize it, but even ministers can be jealous of one another. People in the church get angry, too. They want things to be as they were before. They don't like new people coming into the church, so they start making up stories about the minister.”

Frank could see how agitated he was, a stark contrast to how cool and confident he'd been at their last meeting. “What kind of stories do they make up about you?”

“I have no idea!” he almost shouted. “They say that I'm . . . They say I waste too much time on the children in the church. They want me to visit the elderly members more. They want me to preach better sermons. They want me to preach shorter sermons or longer ones. No matter what I do, someone is displeased.”

“Do
you
think you waste too much time on the children?” Frank asked mildly.

“What do you mean?” His composure was thoroughly broken now. Frank thought he might even be sweating beneath his clerical collar.

“What do you think about women, Reverend Upchurch?” he asked, ignoring the question.

He blinked in surprise. “I . . . they're God's blessing to mankind. They must be sheltered and protected.”

“Protected from the lusts of men?”

“Yes! And if you're talking about Grace Linton—”

“I'm talking about your wife, Reverend Upchurch. Should she be protected from the lusts of men?”

“My wife? She . . . Of course! What are—”

“Should
she
be protected from
your
lusts, Reverend Upchurch?”

“Yes! I mean, no! What are you talking about?” he cried.

“I'm talking about why you don't have any children of your own, Reverend Upchurch. You protect your wife from your lusts because you don't like women at all, do you?”

“What? Of course I do. I have every respect—”

“But you don't lust after them, do you? In fact, they disgust you.”

“No, I—”

“Grown women disgust you, don't they?” Frank insisted, leaning forward into Upchurch's sweating face. “You've got to have younger flesh, innocent flesh.”

“That's insane!
You're
insane!”

“And that's why you seduced Grace Linton, because no one is more innocent than she is!” Frank concluded in triumph.

Upchurch's protest died on his lips, and he simply gaped at Frank, his eyes wide with shock for a long moment until the meaning of his words finally registered. Then slowly he closed his mouth and slowly the color returned to his face as the confidence returned to his manner. “Is that what you think? That I seduced Grace?” To Frank's amazement, he threw back his head and laughed. Frank recognized it as the laugh of an innocent man who had nothing to fear from the police.

“What's so funny?” Frank demanded, furious that he'd allowed Sarah to convince him without more proof.

“You are, Detective. Coming in here and accusing me of something like that. Ask Grace if I've ever laid a hand on her. You said she couldn't name her attacker, but if I were he, she'd be able to identify me. She knows me as well as she knows anyone. She and her mother are here four or five days a week. But I have never even been alone with Grace, and you will never prove that I was, no matter how many people you try to intimidate. Grace herself will exonerate me.”

“But your wife . . .” Frank said before he could catch himself.

“My wife? Oh, yes. I should have told you when you were here before that she cannot be trusted. As you pointed out, we have no children, and I'm afraid it has affected her mind. She imagines things that aren't true and delights in shocking people by telling them as fact. I try to keep her away from people as much as I can, but short of putting her in an asylum, it's impossible to confine her completely. Did she tell you that I've never touched her? Of course she did. I can see it on your face. She blames me for not giving her children, so she made up that horrible lie to punish me.”

“You deny it, then?”

“I'll admit that I ceased having relations with my wife a few years ago, as soon as I realized how fragile her mental state is. I couldn't take a chance that we'd finally have a child to be raised by an incompetent mother.”

“That must be difficult, living with your wife and not enjoying her.”

“It is, but it is my duty to protect her from herself. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to end this unpleasant discussion and get back to my work. I'm finishing my sermon for tomorrow, and I'd like to be done by the time people start coming in for Saturday activities.”

Frank didn't want to leave. He knew Upchurch hadn't raped Grace Linton, but something else was wrong, very wrong, with Reverend Upchurch. It might not have anything to do with Grace, but it was there just the same. Trouble was, he didn't know what it was, so he didn't know what questions to ask or how to force it out of him. Even worse, if he tried without knowing, he wouldn't succeed in doing anything except irritating the minister enough to complain about him to his superiors. That would ensure Frank would be forbidden from speaking to him again and possibly even lose his job, in the bargain.

Left with no other choice, he rose to his feet. Before he could think of something to say, someone rapped on the office door and without waiting for a reply, pushed it open. A young boy about thirteen or fourteen burst into the room, halting abruptly when he saw Frank. His broad, expectant smile faded to uncertainty.

“I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know—”

“That's all right, Percy. The detective was just leaving,” Reverend Upchurch said with a knowing smile at Frank.

Frank tried to think of something cutting to say, but nothing came to mind that didn't sound foolish. He turned and walked toward the door where the boy still stood. He stepped aside warily to let Frank pass. Frank noticed how clean he looked. He seldom saw a really clean boy. Boys in the Lower East Side rarely washed at all, and those in the better parts of the city managed to collect grime like a magnet the moment they left their mothers' sides.

Percy watched him, his large eyes wide with innocence and a touch of fear for the terrible policeman. Frank tried to remember ever being that young and innocent, but failed. He nodded politely at the boy, but Percy just kept staring back, mesmerized.

When Frank was in the hallway, Reverend Upchurch said, “Close the door, Percy, so we can have our private talk.”

“Why is that policeman back?” the boy asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing's wrong,” Upchurch said, just as the door closed.

No, nothing at all, Frank thought angrily. He'd done everything right. He'd asked the right questions, and he'd terrified Upchurch—right up until he'd mentioned Grace Linton. Frank was now certain that Upchurch hadn't harmed Grace Linton. He'd actually been relieved when he realized that's what Frank was talking about. But he was guilty of something else, something evil. Frank just had to figure out what.

Lost in thought as he walked through the sanctuary, he almost didn't see the boy sitting on the back pew. Frank remembered him from his last visit. He was the youngest of the group who had been cleaning the church. He stared up at Frank with the same frightened innocence as Percy.

“You here to see Reverend Upchurch?” Frank asked, ready to tell him the minister was in his office with Percy.

“No, sir. It's Percy's turn,” he said, his voice showing no sign of being ready to change.