Murder on Lenox Hill (22 page)

“Mr. Malloy would like to ask you some questions, Percy,” she said. Sarah could hear the anxiety in her voice, and she knew the boy could, too.

“About what?” he asked, a trace of youthful rebellion creeping into his tone.

“About a very important matter,” she said. “He needs some information from you.”

“Information about what?” he asked suspiciously.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to rat on your friends,” Malloy said with a conspiratorial grin, using slang that Percy wouldn't have dared use in front of his grandmother. It made the boy grin back.

“That's good, 'cause I'm no squealer,” he replied.

“What kind of talk is that?” Mrs. Evans demanded.

“It's the way coppers talk, Grandmother,” Percy explained with a trace of pride that he knew.

“Well, you are not a copper, and you will not use cant, young man.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said solemnly, although his eyes glinted with mischief.

“Now you be sure to answer all of Mr. Malloy's questions and tell him everything he wants to know. And if you . . . need me . . . for anything,” she added uncertainly, plainly remembering what she'd heard about coppers giving people the third degree, “I'll be nearby. You just have to call.”

He seemed surprised that she was going to leave him alone with a policeman, but he didn't protest.

“I'll go with you,” Sarah said to Mrs. Evans. “I've been wanting to talk to you about the other activities at the church,” she added, taking Mrs. Evans's arm and guiding her from the room. As she closed the door behind them, she glanced back to see Malloy and Percy sizing each other up. She breathed a silent prayer that Malloy would find a way to stop Upchurch.

 
 
A
S HE LOOKED AT THE BOY STANDING IN FRONT OF HIM, Frank felt a hot ball of rage eating through his insides. Part of him yearned to find out his suspicions about Upchurch were false, that the minister's wife was a wicked liar and he and Sarah had misunderstood everything. Nothing in his life's experience gave him any reason to expect it, though. As always, he expected the worst.

“Let's sit down, Percy,” he said, indicating two chairs sitting side by side and turned slightly toward each other to make conversation easier.

Pleased to have been invited instead of ordered, Percy took a seat.

Frank had given a lot of thought to how to approach the boy, and he knew Sarah was right. He couldn't let on that what Upchurch had done was wrong or he'd never find out anything.

“Somebody's trying to get Reverend Upchurch in trouble, Percy,” he began.

“Who would do that?” the boy asked, his eyes wide again.

“I can't tell you, but it's my job to find out the truth about it.”

“What kind of trouble is he in?” the boy asked. “Are they saying he stole something?”

This was probably the worst crime he could imagine. “I can't tell you that, either. What I
can
tell you is that your answers will help me clear things up.”

“I don't want Reverend Upchurch to get arrested,” he protested.

“I don't blame you,” Frank said, managing not to let his true feelings show. “When I'm investigating a case, I talk to all the people who know something about it. Sometimes they tell me things that prove the person is guilty, but sometimes they tell me things that prove he isn't. You want to help me prove Reverend Upchurch didn't do anything wrong, don't you?”

Percy nodded solemnly.

“I thought you would, but you'll have to tell me the truth, even if you're embarrassed or if Reverend Upchurch told you to keep it a secret. Do you understand?”

Percy nodded again. “Yes, sir. At least, I think so.”

Frank drew a deep breath and began. He started with nonthreatening questions about when Upchurch had first taken an interest in Percy.

“Were your mother and grandmother happy that he started paying special attention to you?” he asked then.

Percy nodded. “They're always saying how sad it is that my father died. They think I need a male influence.”

“Do you know what a male influence is?”

The boy shrugged. “Somebody to play ball with and to teach you things.”

“Is that what Upchurch does? Teach you things?”

“Yes, sir. He teaches us the things our fathers would, if they were still alive.”

“What kinds of things does he teach you?”

“Well, playing ball. He's really good at baseball.”

“Besides sports, what does he talk to you about?”

Percy grinned sheepishly and kicked his heels against the chair a couple of times. “You know. The things we aren't supposed to talk about.”

“Who told you not to talk about them?”

“Reverend Upchurch. He said we should never tell a female, of course, because they aren't supposed to think about those things. He said men don't talk about them to each other, either, because it's not gentlemanly. That's right, isn't it?”

“Upchurch thinks that's important, doesn't he? Being a gentleman?”

Percy's eyes grew very serious. “It's the most important thing a man can be.”

“Do you know that gentlemen always tell the truth, no matter how hard it is?”

“I . . . I guess so,” the boy allowed.

“Good, because I'm going to ask you to tell me about the things Upchurch told you gentlemen don't discuss, because he was wrong about that. Men talk about those things all the time, even gentlemen. They don't talk about it in front of women. That part was right. I think Upchurch just wanted to be sure you boys wouldn't embarrass anybody by talking about it.”

“Are you sure? Do men really talk about it?” he asked doubtfully.

“Didn't you and the other boys talk about it?” Frank asked, taking a chance.

Percy's young face flushed scarlet. “Not . . . not very much,” he hedged, confirming Frank's suspicion.

“It's really all right,” Frank assured him, wishing that were true, wishing it really
was
going to be all right. “I need to make sure he did what I think he did.”

“Oh, so he won't be in trouble,” Percy guessed.

Frank somehow managed not to wince. “Tell me about the things he taught you that you're not supposed to talk about.”

“Just the usual things,” Percy said with another shrug. “What a father teaches his son so he'll know what to do when he loves a girl.”

The ball of rage threatened to choke him, but Frank kept his voice calm. “Can you tell me exactly what he did?”

Percy looked a bit annoyed. “You should already know. Didn't you learn this stuff? Didn't anybody ever show you?”

Frank swallowed down hard. “Reverend Upchurch isn't your real father, Percy. I need to know that he . . . that he told you the right things.”

Percy looked up at the ceiling. “It feels strange to talk about it.”

“You don't have to look at me, if you don't want to.”

The boy sighed. “I
know
he taught us the right things.”

“I'm probably a better judge of that than you are. Go ahead.”

“You won't laugh, will you? The older boys always teased me and Mark about it, because we're younger. They thought they knew more than us.”

“I won't laugh, and I won't tease you,” Frank promised, knowing he couldn't possibly find any humor in it at all.

Percy sighed. “All right. But Reverend Upchurch did say we should only do it with the girl we love. He said there's some girls that will do it for money, but we should never use
them
.”

“He's right about that,” Frank said, feeling the sweat breaking out under his shirt. “Did he just explain what you were supposed to do?”

“Oh, no,” Percy assured him. “He showed us, and then we had to practice.”

“With him?” Frank's throat felt like someone was tightening a noose around it.

Percy nodded. “Because we don't have fathers, he was doing what they would do.”

Frank fought to keep his voice steady. “Just so I know for sure, can you tell me exactly what you did?”

Reluctantly, he did, speaking in a normal, almost bored voice, as if he were telling Frank about the way Upchurch had taught him how to throw a baseball. Sarah had been too right. Upchurch had used the fatherless boys' vulnerability to tell them the most horrible lies, convincing them he was only filling a father's role in their lives.

Frank thought about the boys he usually dealt with, boys whose families had turned them out when they'd been younger than Percy was now. Boys who'd lived on the street, scrounging for food and doing whatever they must to stay alive, knowing far too much about the evils of this world. Most people would say Percy was fortunate to have been raised in a good home with a loving family, but ironically, his good fortune had made him the perfect target for Upchurch's perversion. No guttersnipe would have fallen for his lies.

Eventually, Upchurch's victims would come to understand what he had done to them, of course, as Isaiah obviously had. They'd be too ashamed to expose him, though, and like Isaiah, too angry and bitter even to help the younger boys.

As instructed, Percy hadn't looked at Frank during his explanation. When he was finished, he turned to him, and he must have seen the horror Frank couldn't hide.

“What's wrong?” he asked anxiously.

Everything,
Frank thought, but he said, “You didn't do anything wrong, Percy, but he lied to you. Upchurch lied to you about everything. Fathers don't make you do those things.”

The boy's eyes were enormous and filled with incredulity. He didn't know Frank and couldn't trust him. “
You're
lying!” he cried. “Reverend Upchurch tells the truth! He's a preacher!”

“Sometimes even preachers can be bad men.”

“Coppers are bad men!” Percy insisted. “I know all about it. My friends told me. You beat people up and take them to jail for no reason! You take bribes and let guilty people go!”

“I never did what Upchurch did. I never made a boy do anything he didn't want to do,” Frank said, ignoring the accusations. “You didn't want to do those things with Upchurch, did you? You knew they were wrong, but you didn't want him to get mad at you, did you?”

The color drained from Percy's face, confirming Frank's theory. “He loves me!” he insisted.

“If he really loved you, he wouldn't have done those things to you,” Frank said relentlessly. “He did what
he
wanted, not what you wanted.”

“I don't believe you!” Percy cried, his eyes red from un-shed tears, but Frank could see he was beginning to.

Slowly, gently, and at times awkwardly, Frank told him why Upchurch had lied to him and the other boys and betrayed their trust and used them. He described the proper relationship between a father and son, and watched as the boy began to understand. The horror in his young eyes gave way to pain and anguish and rage and finally to despair. Although he tried not to cry, the tears rolled down his young cheeks just the same, even as he scrubbed at them furiously with his sleeve.

Frank gave him a few minutes to collect himself, and when the boy could speak again, the first thing he said was, “Don't tell my mother. Females aren't supposed to know about these things, are they? And she's not very well. She'll get upset, and she might even die. They think I don't know how sick she is, but I heard the doctor telling Grandmother. I don't want her to die because of me.”

The boy's pain was so raw, Frank felt the sting of tears in his own eyes, even though he'd thought his heart had hardened beyond hope. He had to remind himself that he couldn't let Percy's pain affect his judgment. “We'll have to tell someone,” he said reasonably, “So we can protect you from Upchurch.”

“What will he do to me?” Percy asked in alarm.

“Nothing,” Frank assured him. “Not anymore. I mean we need to make sure he can't use you like that anymore. You don't want that, do you?”

“Oh, I didn't think . . . I mean . . . ,” he stammered uncomfortably. “No, I guess not.”

“You probably won't want to go to church there anymore. I don't think your grandmother and mother would, either, if they knew, but if they don't know, how will you explain why
you
don't want to go?”

He obviously hadn't thought about this either. “I . . . I'll just say I don't feel good or something,” he tried in despair.

“Every Sunday? And they'll want to know why you don't go to the church after school anymore. They'll be mad at you. They'll try to make you go because it's good for you. They'll think you're being bad, and they'll punish you.”

He knew Frank was right. His eyes filled with tears again. “What can I do?”

“We can tell your grandmother.”

“But . . . but females . . . they aren't supposed to know!” he protested, his voice breaking again.

“That's another lie,” Frank said as kindly as he could. “Your grandmother will understand. She'll make sure you never have to see Upchurch again.”

He was crying now, as the reality became clear to him.

His whole world was crumbling, and nothing would ever be the same again. “My friends,” he sobbed.

“What about them?” Frank asked.

“What . . . what will happen with them?” he asked brokenly.

“That's up to you.”

He look up, his eyes wide with terror. “Why is it up to me?”

“Do you want to stop him from hurting your friends, too?”