Murder on Lenox Hill (8 page)

“He's so good with the children,” Mrs. York offered, actually showing some enthusiasm for the first time. “Especially those who don't have fathers. He said he considered it his special calling, since he and his wife weren't blessed with children of their own.”

“He's always got a group of boys in the churchyard, playing ball, or inside working on some project or another,” Mrs. Linton added.

“He makes sure they do well in school and learn their manners, too,” Mrs. Evans said. “He tells them they must be gentlemen fit for God's kingdom.”

“You're very fortunate to have such a dedicated man as your pastor,” Sarah said.

“We certainly are,” Mrs. Evans agreed. “He also happens to be a spellbinding preacher, so we couldn't ask for more. You should visit our church sometime, Mrs. Brandt. I'm sure you'll find it an uplifting experience.”

“Perhaps I will,” Sarah said politely. She was thinking of all those boys in and out of the church, the only other place Grace went except to visit her mother's friends. “Do the girls in the church receive as much attention as the boys?” she asked.

“Girls don't need as much attention, now do they?” Mrs. Evans pointed out. “They're more easily satisfied with what they find at home.”

“Of course, the girls are with the women whenever we're at the church,” Mrs. Linton explained. “We have Bible studies and sewing circles, and we collect clothing for the poor and distribute it. The girls aren't neglected.”

“And dear Grace is always right there with us,” Mrs. Evans said with a glance at the girl. “I believe she's the best seamstress of any of us, too.”

“That's kind of you to say, Mrs. Evans,” Mrs. Linton said, obviously pleased by the compliment.

“Percy wants to play checkers, Mama,” Grace called from the other side of the room.

“Then get the things out,” Mrs. Linton replied. “You know where they are.”

“But he always wins,” Grace complained.

“I'll let you win this time,” Percy offered generously.

Grace considered this for a moment and then happily agreed.

Sarah watched to see if the two young people would go into another room, but they set up their game on the table in the corner.

When Sarah turned her gaze back to the other ladies, she caught Mrs. Linton watching her. Mrs. Linton leaned over and whispered, “They're never alone. Not ever.”

Perhaps not, Sarah thought, but what about all those other boys whom Reverend Upchurch shepherded?

4

“
I
DON'T KNOW, MRS. BRANDT,” MRS. LINTON SAID DOUBTFULLY. Her other visitors were gone, and Grace had returned to the nursery, leaving the two of them alone. “The
police
?” She said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.

“I have a friend who is a detective,” Sarah said, keeping her voice neutral and calm. She didn't want to seem too anxious or make Mrs. Linton feel she was being pressured to do something against her will. “I can assure you he'll be discreet. He'll also be kind and considerate of Grace.”

Mrs. Linton looked as if she might weep. “It doesn't matter how kind he might be. There's no way to question her about this without upsetting her.”

“I don't want to upset Grace, either,” Sarah assured her. “But think about the man who did this. He could do it to another innocent girl, maybe more than one.”

“Even if the police could find the man, Grace could never testify in court,” Mrs. Linton said. “We would never permit it.”

Sarah didn't point out that no court would accept testimony from someone like Grace, either. “There are other ways to punish a man like that,” Sarah said. “And simply identifying him would help. People could spread the word that he was dangerous and not to be trusted around females. No one need ever know Grace was a victim.”

“Gossip is an ugly thing,” Mrs. Linton said, picking at an invisible piece of lint on her skirt. Sarah wasn't sure exactly what she meant—gossip could also hurt Grace—so she waited, giving the other woman time to consider the possibilities.

“I'll have to ask Mr. Linton,” she finally said. “But I can't imagine he'd agree to anything involving the police.”

“Perhaps you could ask him just to meet with Detective Sergeant Malloy. The two men might be able to come up with an idea for identifying this man and stopping him, at least, even if he can't be arrested and prosecuted.”

Mrs. Linton's face twisted in pain. “Please don't think I don't want this man caught, Mrs. Brandt. I'd like to see him pitched over the side of the Brooklyn Bridge or thrown beneath the wheels of a speeding locomotive. I'd like him to suffer for what he did to my baby girl, and I'd certainly like to stop him from ever hurting another girl, but you must understand, I can't see Grace hurt any more in the process.”

“I understand completely. If you decide not to investigate, Mr. Malloy will respect your wishes.”

“I'll have to ask my husband,” she repeated. “But I can't imagine he'll agree.”

F
RANK HAD BEEN WAITING ALMOST AN HOUR, BUT HE'D wait all day to see Dr. David Newton. Dr. Newton had operated on Brian's club foot, and he was the only doctor Frank trusted. They'd told him he'd have to wait until Dr. Newton was finished seeing patients for the day before he'd have time for Frank, and so he sat.

Finally, a nurse escorted him into the doctor's office. Newton rose from the chair behind his desk and put out his hand to greet him.

“Mr. Malloy, good to see you,” he said with obvious sincerity. “How's Brian doing?”

“He's wearing out a pair of shoes a week from walking so much,” Frank reported proudly, shaking the doctor's hand. “I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did for him.”

“I was happy to be able to help. Not all my operations turn out so well,” he said modestly. “What can I do for you? My nurse said you needed some information for a case you're working on.”

Newton motioned to a chair, and Frank sat down as the doctor took his seat behind his desk again.

“I came across a medical condition in some women, something I never heard of, and I was wondering if you could tell me anything about it.”

“What kind of condition?”

Frank pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. On it he'd written the words used to describe the medical histories of the women involved. He handed it to Dr. Newton, not trusting his ability to pronounce the foreign words correctly.

Dr. Newton looked at the paper for a moment. “
Dementia praecox
is a tragic form of insanity that strikes otherwise healthy, normal young adults for no known reason. Some of them must be institutionalized because they are dangerous to themselves or others.”

“Are they all violent?”

“Oh, no, only a few, but all of them are completely out of touch with reality. They hear voices and imagine all sorts of things that aren't true.”

“Could a woman with this kind of insanity be kept at home by her family?”

“I'm sure it happens often, if the patient isn't violent, as I said. No one with the means to keep them would put a loved one into an asylum unless it was absolutely necessary.”

Frank considered this a long moment. “What about ‘hysteria. ' What does that mean?”

“It can mean almost anything.” Dr. Newton smiled sadly. “Sometimes it just means the doctor has no idea what's really wrong with the woman, so he calls it hysteria.”

“Are the dementia and the hysteria the same thing?”

“I'm not sure. This isn't my area of study, but the symptoms can be similar, so they may be confused. Maybe the conditions even overlap sometimes. As I said, I don't know that much about insanity.”

“All these women I'm investigating fell in love with a man they hardly knew, and they were convinced he was in love with them, too. They couldn't think or talk about anything else.”

Dr. Newton's wise eyes lit with understanding. “I think I know what you're talking about. Many female patients fall in love with their doctors. It's mostly gratitude, and they usually get over it when they get well and their lives return to normal, but sometimes they don't. They actually continue to imagine themselves in love.”

“What happens then?”

“Fortunately, I've never had this happen to me,” he explained, “but some of my colleagues have. It's very awkward and embarrassing. The women often make a nuisance of themselves. One woman came to her doctor's office every day for weeks, bringing him gifts and leaving him love notes. Sometimes they even go to the man's home, imagining themselves to be married to him.”

“Is this a real illness? Can you treat it like you treat a disease?” Frank asked, trying to determine if Tom Brandt had simply been performing his professional duty.

“I'm afraid I can't say. I operate on people's bodies. Their minds are beyond my field of expertise. I can give you the name of a doctor who might be able to answer your questions, though. He's recently returned from Vienna where he studied with Dr. Sigmund Freud.”

“Freud?” Frank repeated with a frown. “Isn't he that foreign fellow with all those strange ideas they're always making fun of in the newspapers?”

Dr. Newton smiled. “People always ridicule what they don't understand. Dr. Freud has made some important discoveries in the treatment of insanity.”

“Has he cured hysteria or
dementia praecox
?” Frank asked skeptically.

“No, not yet,” Dr. Newton said graciously. “But he's the first to offer any real hope for eventual cures to all forms of insanity. Let me give you the name and address for my friend, Dr. Quinn. He'll be happy to answer your questions and will probably have much more information than I. Just tell him I sent you,” he added as he picked up a pencil and began to write down the information.

The reference was more than Frank had expected and absolutely necessary if he was going to get this Dr. Quinn to see him. No one wanted to talk to the police unless they had to. He thanked Dr. Newton when he handed Frank the address.

“Glad to help,” Newton assured him. “Tell me, what kind of a case are you trying to solve?”

“A murder,” Frank said.

“Will you let me know when you solve it?”

Frank remembered that Newton had known Tom Brandt well. He and Sarah were still friends. “Yes,” he said. “I'll let you know.”

 
 
“
H
URRY, MISSUS, PLEASE,” THE YOUNG MAN BEGGED SARAH the next morning as he led her through the crowded streets. “It is not far, only around the corner.”

Sarah didn't bother to point out to the expectant father that babies rarely came as fast as most people feared. He wouldn't believe her. Men never did. So she quickened her pace as much as she could. The young man carried her medical bag for her, but even still, it was hard to keep up. As much as she dreaded being summoned to a delivery in the middle of the night, at least then she didn't have to worry about being delayed by the daytime traffic choking the streets and the pedestrians clogging the sidewalks, in spite of the winter cold.

All around her, street vendors shouted the virtues of their wares from the carts parked along both sides of every street. Whatever one might need was available for sale within a block or two, from the evening meal to shoes to ribbons to furniture. Little, save the food, was new, but no one on the Lower East Side could afford anything new anyway. Wagons and carts made their laborious way down the center of the streets, while people of all shapes, sizes, and nationalities shouldered their way through the throngs to wherever they were going. At least the low temperature kept the smell of decay to a minimum, but the noise of the crowds and the animals and the vehicles was intense.

Sarah and the young man had finally reached the corner, but he stopped in dismay when he saw what was going on in front of his tenement building. A horse had apparently dropped dead in the middle of the street, something that happened frequently in the city, particularly when the extremes of temperature made the animals' lot even more difficult than usual. This horse and another had been harnessed to an overloaded wagon, and the other horse was rearing and thrashing madly in an attempt to continue pulling or perhaps to break free of his dead partner. Whatever his wishes, he could not escape his harness, and the dead horse kept him from moving the wagon or even himself.

The driver was trying to calm the animal and not get killed by flying hooves at the same time. Everyone within earshot had come to watch and shout encouragement or advice, and the street was jammed with shouting people and backed-up traffic. Sarah and her guide couldn't possibly get through to his building.

The young man turned to her in desperation. “You can climb the fire escape, yes?”

“Oh, yes,” Sarah assured him. She'd done it many times.

They retraced their steps to the alley that ran behind the row of tenements. Crisscrossed clotheslines filled the space between the back of the building and the back of the one that faced the next street. A few children played here among the refuse, out of the press of the crowds and sheltered a bit from the wind. A stray cat startled and dashed for cover as Sarah's companion let her medical bag bump an ash can. Across the back of all the buildings, a maze of black metal fire escapes reached from the ground to the sky, touching almost every window. The law that had mandated them had probably saved thousands of lives.

The young man reached up and pulled down the ladder of one of them. Most of the ladders had been sprung so that they hung within easy reach at all times.