Murder on Lenox Hill (27 page)

“I guess you and your wife are worrying, though,” Sarah said.

“Oh, yes. My wife, well, she's beside herself. We were already concerned about what will become of Grace when we're gone, but now we have the baby to worry about, too.”

“Perhaps the child will grow up and take care of Grace when you no longer can,” Sarah said.

He smiled sadly. “That's kind of you, Mrs. Brandt, but we know that's not likely. If we just knew . . .” His voice trailed off in embarrassment.

“Who the father is?” she guessed.

“We would never allow him to have anything to do with Grace or the child, of course, but we might make some arrangement for him to provide financially for the child in case it's . . . well, in case it's like Grace,” he said, his voice breaking.

“She hasn't given you any more information about it?” Sarah asked as tactfully as she could.

“No. She acts like she doesn't know what we're talking about when we ask her, too. It's like it never happened. I can't believe she could have forgotten such a thing,” he added bitterly.

“Shock can do strange things,” Sarah said. “She may remember it later, but if she doesn't, you'll just have to consider it a blessing that she doesn't have that horrible memory.”

They sat in silence for a while. Sarah tried to think of something less painful to discuss. “I'm surprised you didn't leave when everyone else did,” she said finally. “Won't your wife be wondering where you are?”

“I suppose she will, but when I saw Mrs. Evans was staying, I couldn't leave. I had to make sure I set everything straight.”

“Do you know something about the murder?” she asked in surprise.

“I do. I know far too much about it, and now I must confess.”

 
 
F
RANK WAS GLAD HE'D SENT KELLY OFF. HE WAS PRETTY sure the man would've laughed out loud. For himself, he managed not to sigh. “What did you say, Mrs. Upchurch?” he asked, just to be sure he hadn't misunderstood.

“I said, I killed my husband. I poisoned him. With rat poison. You can stop this travesty and let everyone else go home. Will you take me straight to jail, or do I have time to get my toothbrush and a change of clothes?”

“There'll be plenty of time for that later,” Frank assured her. “First I need to ask you some questions.”

“Why? I told you I killed him. What more could you want to know?”

“How you did it, for one thing, and why, for another.”

“I did it because I could no longer bear knowing what he was doing to those poor boys,” she said impatiently, as if surprised he hadn't already figured that out.

“Did someone from the church tell you what he was doing?”

“Oh, no,” she said, surprised. “I've known for a long time, since shortly after I married him almost ten years ago. I was the one who told Mrs. Brandt, and I assume she told you, which is why you questioned Oliver about it.”

“If you knew about it for ten years, why didn't you ever go to the police about it yourself?” he asked in amazement.

“I did,” she informed him, anger roughening her voice. “Not long after I found out and came to understand exactly what was happening, I tried to report him, but no one believed me. A detective came to question Oliver, but my husband told the man I was crazy, an hysterical female who had been unhinged by the duties of the marriage bed and now I imagined all sorts of perversions in others. After that, Oliver told everyone I wasn't right in the head. How do you get people to believe you when they think you're crazy, Mr. Malloy?”

“Mrs. Brandt believed you,” he reminded her.

“She was the first one. I knew she was different the moment I saw her. That's why I told her. I took a chance, but she proved me right.”

“Yes, she did. And I believed you, and so did the families of the boys and even the church elders. So why did you have to kill your husband?”

“I didn't know for certain that anyone believed me, not until this morning, when I found out everyone had turned against him.”

“How did you find that out?” Frank asked, being as gentle with her as he had been with Mrs. Evans.

“Well, I began to suspect during the service, when everyone was acting so strangely, but I wasn't certain until afterwards, when I heard people talking after Oliver was dead. That's when I realized everyone knew what he'd done.”

“I want to make sure I understand, Mrs. Upchurch. You say you were afraid no one believed you and that your husband would just keep molesting those boys, so you killed him.”

“Well, yes,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you think that's a good enough reason? I have others, if it isn't.”

“What others?” Frank asked in amazement.

She smiled mysteriously. “I needed to be a widow, Mr. Malloy, to protect my child.”

“Your
child
?” he echoed stupidly. “I thought you didn't have any children.”

“I don't, not yet,” she said, still smiling. “But I will, in about six months. You see, I couldn't risk having Oliver denounce me. He'd know he wasn't the father, but no one else would. He might have tolerated it, just so he wouldn't have to explain how he knew the child wasn't his, but I couldn't be certain of that. He might have thrown me out or even locked me away in an asylum, and who knows what he would have done with the child? I couldn't take that chance, you see, so I had to kill him.”

Frank had to agree, she had a much better motive than Mrs. Evans. “How did you do it, then?” he asked. “Tell me step by step.”

“Isn't it obvious? I put the rat poison into the communion cup this morning, before anyone arrived,” she said.

“Where did you get it?”

“Everyone has rat poison, Mr. Malloy,” she chided him. “If we didn't, the rats would've taken over the city a century ago. I'm sure they even have some here at the church, but I brought mine from home.”

“What did you carry it in?”

She hesitated a moment. “I put some into a medicine vial. I got to the church early and waited until Isaiah had set out the communion. Then I poured the poison into the cup.”

“What did you do with the vial?”

She needed a moment for this one. “I threw it into the street.”

If she had, it would be crushed to dust by now, so his chances of finding it were small. She would know that, too.

“Did you see anyone around the church? Did anyone see you?”

“No, no one,” she said.

“Where was your husband?”

“I don't know. As I said, I didn't see anyone.”

“Was he in his office?”

“I . . . I didn't notice.”

“But you knew he'd already left home to go to the church,” he tried.

“Oh, yes. He liked to go over his sermon one last time, so he always left the house very early.”

“Mrs. Upchurch, weren't you worried about poisoning the entire congregation?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“You know that everybody who takes communion drinks out of the same cup, and your husband is always the last to drink. Weren't you worried about poisoning a lot of innocent people?”

“I . . . I told you,
I killed my husband
,” she said, angry now. “That's all you need to know. I don't have to explain every little detail to you. Now take me to jail!”

“Aren't you worried about going to jail in your delicate condition?” he asked.

She gave him a pitying look. “They won't keep an expectant mother in jail.”

He didn't bother to hide his amazement. “Where did you get an idea like that?”

She stared at him in surprise. “Well, it's just . . . it's common sense! No one would be so inhumane!”

“You'd be amazed how inhumanely they treat murderesses, Mrs. Upchurch, especially women who murder their husbands to keep from being caught in adultery. A jury of twelve men wouldn't have a bit of pity for you. If they started letting women off for killing their husbands, there'd be a whole lot of new widows in the city, and nobody wants that. Now granted, they might not send you to the electric chair, but they'd surely lock you away for the rest of your life and take away your baby. After all, if you're crazy enough to kill your husband, you might kill it, too. Now, do you still want me to arrest you?”

The color had drained from her face, and Frank realized with horror that she looked as though she might well faint. He jumped up and hurried to the door, throwing it open. “Mrs. Brandt!” he shouted. “Will you come in here, please?”

 
 
S
ARAH STARTED AT THE SOUND OF MALLOY CALLING HER name. She looked at Mr. Linton, who had just told her he intended to confess to killing Upchurch, then at Malloy, who sounded desperate. Linton, she supposed, didn't intend to go anywhere, and even if he did, she'd just tell Malloy to go after him.

“Excuse me, please,” she said to Linton, and jumped up. She hurried up the aisle and over to the doorway where Malloy stood. “What's wrong?”

“Mrs. Upchurch is . . .” He gestured vaguely, then grabbed her arm and pulled her into the office.

Rachel Upchurch did look ill. “What's wrong?” she asked, hurrying to the woman's side. Sarah took one of her hands. It was cold as ice. “What did you do to her?” she demanded of Malloy.

“Nothing,” he claimed. “She's in a family way.”

Sarah gaped at him for a few seconds before remembering she had more important things to do. She turned back to her patient. “I don't suppose you have any smelling salts with you?”

Mrs. Upchurch shook her head slightly, but Sarah was glad to see the color slowly returning to her cheeks. She took both of the woman's hands in hers and began to chafe them.

“Take some deep breaths,” Sarah advised her. “Malloy, bring that chair over so we can put her feet up.”

He did as she instructed, and in another few minutes, Mrs. Upchurch was looking almost normal again.

“What did you say to her?” Sarah demanded of Malloy again when she thought it was safe to take her attention away from her patient.

“Nothing,” he said defensively. “She was trying to convince me she killed her husband. She thought she wouldn't go to jail because she's . . . expecting, so I had to tell her different.”

Mrs. Upchurch moaned softly.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked. “Should I call Dr. Thomas in?”

She shook her head.

“Would you like something to drink?” she tried.

“Not communion wine, I hope,” Malloy said. Sarah glared at him, but he didn't look the least bit repentant.

“No, I just . . . I'd like to go home, please,” Mrs. Upchurch said.

“I thought you wanted me to take you to jail,” Malloy said innocently.

Sarah wanted to smack him. “Stop torturing her!”

“She's the one who confessed to murder,” he reminded her. “I've got to be sure. Did you really kill your husband, Mrs. Upchurch?”

She raised terrified eyes to him. “No, I didn't. You must believe me. I didn't have anything to do with it!”

“Then why did you say you did?” he asked.

“I . . . I was afraid you'd arrest . . . someone else. I thought . . . I thought they wouldn't punish me because of the baby, so I lied.”

“Who did you think I was going to arrest?” he asked. “Who were you protecting?”

The terror drained out of her eyes, and they turned as blank as glass. “If I'm trying to protect him, I'm not likely to tell you who he is, now am I?”

“So it's a man, is it?” he said, pouncing on her slip. “Is it your lover? The father of your child?”

She lifted a hand to her head and moaned again, this time with a theatrical flourish. “I'm really ill, Mrs. Brandt. Would you help me get home?”

Now Sarah had lost sympathy with her, too, but she wasn't going to let on. The woman might confide in her if she thought they were still friends. “Don't worry, I'll take care of her,” she told Malloy, hoping he could hear her unspoken message.

He didn't look happy, so she wasn't sure if he did or not.

“I'll take you right home,” Sarah said to Rachel.

“Get a couple of the men to go with you in case she faints,” Malloy warned.

Sarah helped her to her feet and escorted her to the door. Malloy followed closely behind. When they opened the door, they found Isaiah standing right outside, looking distraught.

“Are you all right, Mrs. Upchurch?” he asked.

She gave him a sweet smile. “I'm fine, Isaiah. Mrs. Brandt is going to walk home with me.”

“I'll go, too, in case you need help. You don't look so good.”

“Ever the charmer,” she teased, although he didn't seem to understand.

Sarah turned back to Malloy. “I'll take care of her,” she repeated more meaningfully this time, and this time he nodded as if he really understood.

 
 
F
RANK WATCHED THEM MAKING THEIR WAY TO THE SIDE entrance of the church, which must be closer to the manse, then he looked out to see who remained to be questioned. Mr. Linton had already risen and was making his way to the front of the church, but Frank wasn't quite ready for him yet.

“I need to ask Dr. Thomas a few more questions first, if you don't mind, Mr. Linton,” he told him.

The old doctor rose stiffly from his seat near the body. The coroner was just finishing up, and his assistants were loading Upchurch onto a stretcher. Dr. Thomas made his way around them and over to the office. Frank made him as comfortable as he could.