Murder on Lenox Hill (3 page)

This time Decker did pause, but Frank had nothing to say to this. He hadn't been discreet for Decker's benefit. He waited.

Something flickered in Decker's eyes but was gone before Frank could identify the emotion. He allowed a few more seconds to tick off the clock before he said, “Are you still investigating Tom Brandt's death?”

This wasn't what Frank had expected, and he wasn't sure what answer Decker was looking for. “As you pointed out the last time I was here, it's an old case, and there isn't too much evidence.” Sarah's husband had been murdered nearly four years ago. Frank had once imagined he could find Dr. Brandt's killer and bring Sarah some peace, but what he'd learned since had given him second thoughts.

“You said you had a witness, someone who saw the killer,” Decker reminded him.

“He saw a well-dressed, middle-aged man,” Frank reminded him. “That isn't much to go on.”

“You said the man mentioned my name that night,” Decker reminded him. “He must be someone who knows me.”

“Lots of people know you, Mr. Decker. That doesn't mean you know him.”

“But what if I do? What if I can help you find him and bring him to justice?”

Frank didn't trust him. The last time they'd discussed Brandt's murder, Decker had been adamant he didn't want it solved. “If you know who the killer is, why don't you tell your friend Mr. Roosevelt?” Teddy Roosevelt was, for the time being at least, one of the Police Commissioners, although rumors swirled that newly elected President McKinley was going to appoint him to some federal government job as soon as he was inaugurated in March.

“Because I
don't
know who the killer is, not yet anyway. I have some information that might help you find him, though.”

“I thought you didn't want to find him,” Frank said. “You were afraid it would hurt your daughter if she knew what kind of a man her husband was.”

Decker's finely boned face darkened with an emotion that might have been anger, and Frank expected him to unleash it on him. He probably wasn't used to being thwarted.

Instead, Decker simply waited a moment until he had full control of himself again. “Hurting her might also free her from the memory of a man who wasn't worthy of her.”

Frank felt the sting of the silent rebuke. Decker wouldn't think Frank worthy of Sarah, either. That was at least one thing they could agree on, although Frank wasn't going to admit it. “Brandt has been dead a long time. She seems pretty free of his memory already.”

“She still feels obligated to continue his
work
,” Decker said with distaste. “As long as she regards him as a saintly figure who was ministering to the poor, she'll continue in this ridiculous quest of hers to save the world.”

“What do you expect her to do if she finds out he wasn't a saint?”

Plainly, Decker considered this none of his business, but he needed Frank's help. “She will leave this midwife nonsense and take her rightful place in society again.”

Frank doubted that Sarah would do any such thing, no matter what she found out about Tom Brandt, but he also knew he wasn't going to convince Decker. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“I want Brandt's killer found and the truth of his death revealed. I'm prepared to tell you everything I know about him. Combined with the information you already have, you may be able to solve his murder. I'm also prepared to pay you handsomely . . . to cover your expenses,” he added tactfully when Frank visibly flinched.

They both knew the police only solved cases that involved “rewards,” mostly because they needed the money, so this was a logical offer. Frank resented it all the same. He could feel his face burning with a combination of fury and shame. “It wasn't my case.”

“I could ask Commissioner Roosevelt to assign it to you.”

“Mr. Decker,” Frank said, gritting his teeth to keep from raising his voice, “the last time I was here, I wanted to solve Dr. Brandt's murder because I thought it would give his widow some peace. You didn't want it solved because she would find out he wasn't the man she thought he was. It looks like we've both changed our minds, and now you're willing to hurt her, but I won't.”

Decker raised his fair eyebrows in feigned surprise. “But Mr. Malloy, freeing Sarah from Tom Brandt's memory will surely be to your advantage.”

Frank felt the rage boiling up inside of him, but he could hold his temper as well as Felix Decker. “Why would you
want
to give me an advantage with her?”

“I don't, of course, but I assumed you would.”

Frank stared at Decker, trying in vain to read the expression in his eyes. He was very good indeed. “Hire a Pinkerton detective and give him your information, Mr. Decker. He'll have a much better chance at finding the killer than I would, because he'll have a lot more time to work on it.”

“But you have the witness,” Decker reminded him.

“He only saw the man once, and that was four years ago.” Frank didn't mention that his witness might also be difficult to locate and reluctant to cooperate if they did find him.

“But if I find the man who did it?”

“I'll see if the witness can identify him. The police are always willing to help solve a crime,” he added acidly.

“That's good to know,” Decker replied with just a hint of sarcasm.

 
 
S
ARAH AND MRS. LINTON FOUND GRACE IN THE NURSERY, a large room that had served as her playroom for her entire life. She sat on the floor having a tea party for several dolls that were seated in chairs around a small table. The dolls had obviously been well-loved for many years, and their relatively new dresses could not disguise their worn condition. Grace was serving them tea in miniature china cups from a miniature china pot. She looked up and smiled when the two women entered.

“Mama,” she said with pleasure and scrambled to her feet. She was delicately made, like her mother, and slender as a reed except for a small bulge in her belly and the budding breasts stretching the fabric of her dress. She wasn't strikingly pretty, but her bright blue eyes glowed with a guileless joy that made her a delight to behold. She wore her corn-silk hair down in curls and her skirts short, as if she were still young enough to play with dolls, and Sarah would have guessed her age at closer to twelve than seventeen.

“We have a visitor, Grace,” Mrs. Linton explained. “Mrs. Brandt, this is my daughter Grace.”

“I'm pleased to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” Grace said brightly, proud of her good manners.

“I'm pleased to meet you, too, Grace. Would you let me join your tea party?”

“Do you really want to?” the girl asked in delight. “That would be fun!”

Grace led her over to the table. “You'll have to sit on the floor,” she explained very seriously, “because you're too big to sit on the chairs. I tried it once, and the chair broke. Papa had to fix it.”

“I'll be happy to sit on the floor,” Sarah said, gathering her skirts and settling down near the table.

Grace took another cup and saucer from a box nearby and placed them on the table. Then she carefully poured some water from the pot into the cup, concentrating intently, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth from the effort, so she wouldn't spill a drop. “It's not really tea,” Grace confided when she'd finished. “Tea can stain your clothes, so we just pretend.”

“I like to pretend,” Sarah said, taking the offered cup and pretending to drink. “What are your dolls' names?”

Grace introduced her to the group and added, “I'm glad you came today. You're very nice.”

“Mrs. Brandt is a nurse,” Mrs. Linton said. She'd taken a seat nearby to observe them.

“I had a nurse when I was little,” Grace informed her. “Do you take care of a little girl, too?”

“No, I'm a different kind of nurse,” Sarah said.

“Mrs. Brandt takes care of sick people. She's the kind of nurse who helps doctors,” Mrs. Linton explained patiently. “Do you remember when Mrs. York was sick?”

“Oh, yes,” Grace said proudly. “She's my friend Percy's mother,” she explained to Sarah. “When her husband died, she got sick, and the doctor had to come and give her medicine, and then a lady took care of her for a while.”

“That lady was a nurse, Grace,” her mother said.

Grace looked at Sarah, then turned to her mother with a worried frown. “Are you sick, Mama?”

“Oh, no, dear. Mrs. Brandt is here to see you.”

Now Grace was more confused. “I'm not sick. Why do I need a nurse?”

Mrs. Linton opened her mouth, but she couldn't think of a logical explanation, and quickly closed it again, casting Sarah a desperate glance.

“Sometimes nurses visit people who aren't sick,” Sarah said. “One thing I do is help people keep from getting sick. Your parents asked me to visit you, to make sure you stay healthy.”

“I don't want to be sick,” Grace said. “I don't like it.”

“I know you don't, dear, so I know you'll talk to Mrs. Brandt and answer her questions and let her examine you.”

“What does ‘examine' mean?” she asked suspiciously.

“I'll look in your eyes and your ears and your mouth and listen to your heart and . . . Well, why don't I just show you?”

“Will it hurt?”

“Absolutely not.” Sarah glanced at the dolls sitting primly in their tiny chairs. “You can even bring one of your babies along. I'll show you what I'm going to do on the baby first, before I do it to you.”

“Can Mama be there?”

“Of course.”

“We can do it in my bedroom,” Mrs. Linton said. “You like being in there, don't you, Grace?”

“Yes, I do. Mama's room is very pretty,” Grace told Sarah as she rose. “It's my very favorite place.”

A short time later, Sarah had looked in Grace's eyes and ears and throat, taken her pulse, and demonstrated the stethoscope with which she would listen to Grace's heart.

“Would you unbutton your bodice for me, Grace?” Sarah asked. She could've listened through Grace's clothing, but she wanted to see the girl's breasts. Changes in them would tell her almost certainly if Grace were pregnant.

“Mama says it isn't proper to take your clothes off in front of other people,” Grace said. “Except Barbara, of course, because she helps me get dressed.”

“Your mother is right,” Sarah said. “But sometimes you need to when a nurse examines you.”

“It's all right this time,” Mrs. Linton said.

Grace undid her buttons with the same intense concentration she'd used when pouring the tea. Sarah could see how tightly her dress was stretched across the front. Her breasts had definitely gotten larger since the dress had been fitted. After she'd listened to the girl's heart, she said, “Has your chest been sore, Grace?”

“Yes,” she said with a frown. “It hurts just like it did when I first got my bosom. Barbara said they're just growing some more.”

“May I look? Just to make sure nothing is wrong?”

After Mrs. Linton nodded her approval, Grace allowed Sarah to examine her breasts.

“Your mother said your tummy has gotten bigger, too,” Sarah said as Grace buttoned her bodice.

Grace turned to her mother with a disgruntled frown. “Is this because I don't bleed anymore?” she demanded. “Because I don't want to bleed anymore. I don't like it. It makes my tummy hurt, and I don't care if I never do it again.” She turned back to Sarah. “If that's why you came, you can just go home.”

“Grace, it isn't nice to speak to guests like that,” Mrs. Linton said sharply.

Grace looked ashamed, but the color still burned hotly in her cheeks. “You don't really have to go home,” she said apologetically. She gave her mother a sidelong glance, and added, “But I still don't want to.”

“Do you remember when you bled the last time?” Sarah asked.

Grace shook her head.

Sarah tried a different tack. “What was happening at the time? Maybe that will help you remember.”

Grace frowned with the effort of recalling. “I think . . . we were having the church bazaar. Mama had to take me home because my tummy was hurting so much.” She smiled with satisfaction at having given the correct answer.

“That was late July,” Mrs. Linton said in dismay. “Almost six months ago.”

“May I look at your tummy, Grace?” Sarah asked, holding her kindly smile with difficulty as her apprehension increased. “I'd like to listen to it with the stethoscope, too.”

“Do I have to take my clothes off? It's not nice to take your clothes off unless you're going to bed, you know.”

“Could you just lift your skirts? I can listen through your drawers.”

When Grace obliged, Sarah could see that the girl's stomach was larger than it had appeared to be, just the right size for the sixth month of pregnancy. Many conditions could simulate pregnancy, of course, but those conditions would not produce the one thing Sarah was searching for with the bell of her stethoscope.

And then she found it: a tiny, fetal heartbeat.

2

A
S FRANK CLIMBED THE STAIRS TO THE SECOND FLOOR of the tenement building, he could hear the door to his flat opening and then the clatter of a child's footsteps as his son ran down the hallway to the top of the stairs. His own step quickened as he hurried to meet the boy at the top of the steps. The instant Brian saw him, he launched himself into Frank's arms. Frank enclosed him in a bear hug, savoring the feel of his small, warm body.