Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue (4 page)

“But he's a police detective, too, same as Mr. Malloy was?”

“Yes, although he's not the same as Mr. Malloy at all.”

“Oh, I remember. He drinks, doesn't he?”

“All Irishmen drink. Broghan drinks a
lot
.”

“Then I hope you waited until he was drunk to talk to him,” Maeve said with a smile.

“He's always drunk, so that wasn't hard.”

“And what did you find out?”

“Well, there was some kind of argument in the house. The servants were in the kitchen, and they claim they don't
know who was there or what the argument was about. They just heard shouting, and they stayed where they were, trying to pretend they didn't hear anything because it was none of their business.”

“Did the Pollocks fight a lot?”

“I didn't talk to the servants myself, so I don't know. And all this is secondhand, remember. Well, thirdhand, really.”

“I just think it's funny the servants claim they don't know who was shouting. Servants know everything that goes on in their house.”

“I know, which is why we need to question them ourselves. Anyway, after all the arguing, things got quiet for a while, and they thought it was safe to come out. That's when they found the Pollocks, both of them, on the parlor floor. He was all bloody, and she'd sat down with him and put his head in her lap.”

Maeve tried to picture this in her mind. “Then what happened?”

“One of the maids ran out and found the beat cop, who is Broghan's cousin. He saw Una and Pollock in the parlor, then he sent for the ward detective, who decided Una did it and arrested her.”

“That sure made it easy for him,” Maeve said. “How is she supposed to have killed him?”

“Just like Mrs. O'Neill said, somebody hit him over the head.”

“With what?”

“Broghan didn't know.”

“That would make a lot of difference,” Maeve said. “If it was something in the house, she might've done it, but if it wasn't . . .”

“I'm probably going to have to get Broghan's cousin drunk to find out more.”

“Or maybe I can just ask the servants.”

Gino raised his eyebrows. He had very nice eyebrows, she noticed. “When would you do that?”

“Tomorrow, when I go back to pack up all of Una's clothes. Mrs. Decker was going to send her maid to do it, but now I think I should.”

“Why—?”

“Because Mrs. Decker thought they should close the house and let the servants go, since there's no one to pay them. That would mean selling everything except Una's personal belongings. Mrs. O'Neill wanted them taken to her flat so they'd be safe.”

“That makes sense.”

“But then I found the money.”

“Five hundred dollars isn't going to pay the servants for long, especially if she has to pay the lawyer and bail money and—”

“I found more than five hundred dollars.”

“How much did you find?” he asked with interest. He had nice eyes, too. She'd have to make a point of not noticing that.

“Thirty-seven thousand two hundred and seventy-six dollars.”

Gino blinked his very nice eyes several times. “Thirty-seven
thousand
dollars?”

“And two hundred and seventy-six, not including the five hundred I gave Mrs. O'Neill.”

“But what . . . ? Did you give it to Mrs. O'Neill?”

“Of course not. She almost fainted when I gave her five hundred. I didn't even tell her about it, but Mrs. Decker knows. She went with us to the house and kept the maid busy while I looked around.”

“So Mrs. Decker took it?”

“No, I have it here, locked up in our safe. And I also found this.” She got up and fetched the ledger book from where she'd left it on top of the pie safe.

“What is it?” he asked as she handed it to him.

“I think it's a record of the people who gave him the money. I added up all the entries, and it comes to a little over forty-five thousand. He probably spent some of it, so that would explain why there's only thirty-seven thousand left.”

“Thirty-seven thousand two-hundred and thirty-six.”

“
Seventy
-six,” she said.

“I was just testing you,” he said with a grin. She refused to notice his grin. “What are these other numbers?”

“I think the first column is dates. I don't know what the last column could be.”

“But who are these people, and why would they give Pollock money?”

“I don't know, but Mrs. Decker thinks her husband might be able to figure it out.”

“Mr. Decker?”

“He's helped us before,” she reminded him. “Besides, Mrs. Decker says he's much nicer than we think he is.”

“Did she actually say that?”

“Not exactly, but she could see I was afraid to ask him, so she was trying to encourage me.”

“She thought you were
afraid
of something?” he said with mock amazement.

“You wouldn't want to talk to him either, if you didn't have to.”

He didn't even bother to deny it. “But don't you know him pretty well? You've stayed at their house, haven't you?”

“That doesn't mean I know him. He's not real friendly.”

Gino considered this a moment. “So what are you going to do?”

“I'm going to go to their house this evening and show it to him.”

“You shouldn't be out alone at night.”

“I'll take a cab.”

“I'll go with you.”

“Do you think I need help?” she said, managing to sound offended even though she wasn't.

“With Mr. Decker? Of course not, but a young woman isn't safe alone in the streets after dark.”

She wasn't afraid to be out after dark, and he probably knew that. Still, his concern was gratifying. “Well, if you don't have anything else to do, that would be fine. You just have to remember that we can't tell Mr. Decker that his wife went with me today.”

“I'm not going to tell him anything at all. I'm just going along to protect you.”

*   *   *

T
he maid who answered the door at the Deckers' house knew Maeve well and admitted them at once. After only a few minutes, Mrs. Decker sent word to bring them right in, and they were escorted to the rear parlor, which was the informal room the family used. Mr. and Mrs. Decker had obviously been relaxing after supper, and they greeted Maeve and Gino warmly.

“I hope nothing's wrong,” Mrs. Decker said when they were all seated.

“Oh no, at least not with us. Everything is just fine at home,” Maeve said.

“Then what brings you out so late on this chilly evening?” Mr. Decker asked. Even when he was being nice, Mr. Decker couldn't help being intimidating. Everything about his tall, slender frame was elegant, from his silvered hair to his well-tended hands, and his piercing blue eyes seemed to see right
through a person. Fortunately, Maeve was only lying by omission today, so she had nothing to hide.

“It all started yesterday when a lady who had been a neighbor to the Malloys came to the house, looking for Mr. Malloy.” As briefly as possible, Maeve told them about Mrs. O'Neill's visit.

“How awful,” Mrs. Decker said, as if she were hearing this for the first time. She could have used a little practice with her lying, in Maeve's opinion, but it was probably good enough to fool her husband.

“That is an unfortunate situation,” Mr. Decker agreed. “Are you by any chance involved in this investigation, Officer Donatelli?”

Gino sat up a little straighter. “Oh no, sir. Not at all. It happened up in Harlem.”

“Then why are you here with Maeve?”

“I . . . When I found out she was coming here tonight, I didn't think she should be out alone, so I came with her.”

“That was very gentlemanly of you,” Mrs. Decker said. “I'm sure Maeve appreciates it.”

Gino gave Maeve a questioning look that she refused to acknowledge.

“Yes, that was thoughtful of you, Officer Donatelli,” Mr. Decker said, except he looked more amused than anything. “And since Officer Donatelli isn't involved in the investigation and Mr. Malloy is out of the country, I hope you told this woman you couldn't help her.”

Maeve didn't have to pretend to be uncomfortable. She actually had to consciously not squirm under Mr. Decker's penetrating gaze. “I, uh, well, I did give her some advice. I told her she should hire an attorney for her daughter.”

“That was excellent advice. Between him and the police, I'm sure they'll be able to sort this out.”

“I'm sure they will,” Maeve lied, “but Mrs. O'Neill didn't have any money to hire an attorney.”

“Oh dear, of course she wouldn't,” Mrs. Decker said. “Being a widow, she's probably very poor.”

Mr. Decker gave her a curious glance, so Maeve hurried on before Mrs. Decker could say anything else to earn her husband's attention.

“I thought maybe Una's husband kept some money at his house, and since Una was his wife, it would be hers as much as his, so I offered to go to the house with Mrs. O'Neill to look. Mrs. O'Neill wanted to get some clothes for Una anyway, so we went there this afternoon.”

“Isn't Mrs. O'Neill capable of looking around her own daughter's house by herself?” Mr. Decker asked.

“This Pollock fellow had told her she wasn't welcome there anymore after he and Una got married, so she was afraid the servants wouldn't let her in.”

“But you thought they'd let you in,” Mr. Decker guessed with a brief glance at his wife, who was trying to look as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth.

“And they did,” Maeve hurried on. “While Mrs. O'Neill was upstairs packing things for her daughter, I looked around downstairs and found a safe, and it did have money in it.”

“Was the safe unlocked?” he asked.

“No, but Pollock had written the combination in his appointment diary, so I was able to open it without any trouble.”

“How very careless of him,” Mr. Decker said with a small smile.

“And how very lucky for Maeve,” Mrs. Decker said.

This time Mr. Decker didn't even glance at her. “And did you find what you were looking for?”

“Like I said, I found some money, yes,” Maeve said, “but it was a lot more than I was expecting. And I also found this.”
She got up and handed Mr. Decker the ledger book. “I know it's a ledger, but I don't know what it means. I thought you might.”

He opened it and flipped through. Most of the pages were blank, so he turned back to the first page, and they all waited while he scanned the entries. At last he looked up and said, “How much money did you find in the safe?”

“Thirty-seven thousand seven hundred and seventy-six dollars.”

“Good heavens,” Mrs. Decker cried, and this time she sounded genuinely surprised, probably because she was.

“And it was all in cash?” Mr. Decker asked.

“Yes, stacked very neatly and banded, the way they do at the bank, only with handmade bands.”

“The ledger amounts come to about forty-five thousand three hundred,” Mr. Decker said, impressing them all with his ability to total them in his head.

“Do you have any idea what it means?” Maeve asked.

“It's not a genuine accounting of anything. This isn't the format that a bookkeeper would use. It appears to be nothing more than a list that he kept for his own information.”

“I thought the first column looked like dates,” Maeve said.

“That would be my guess as well,” he said, still studying the entries. “He only used surnames, probably because he knew who these people are, but it would be difficult for anyone else to identify them with any certainty.”

“What do you think the numbers in the last column are?” Gino asked. He was leaning forward now, as interested as Maeve in the answers.

“There's no way to tell from this. As I said, it's not standard accounting, so it could mean anything, but . . .” They waited while he studied the numbers again. “They seem to total about
half of the amount of the difference between the total of the one column and the amount you found in the safe.”

“But you think the people listed there gave Pollock money?” Gino asked.

“That could be one interpretation, yes.”

“But why would they give him money, especially so much?” Maeve said.

Mr. Decker carefully closed the ledger. “I doubt they
gave
him money. I suspect they would have expected something in return.”

“You mean they were buying something?” Gino asked.

“More probably they thought they were investing in something.”

“Like a business,” Maeve said.

“What did this Pollock do for a living?” Mr. Decker asked.

“Mrs. O'Neill didn't know,” Maeve said. “All she knew was that he lived in a nice house, so she thought he was rich.”

“If he was spending this money, he would have given that impression, but judging from the amount you found in the safe, it appears he wasn't using it for anything other than his own expenses. He probably bought the house in Harlem, but he hasn't been squandering his money on much else.” Mr. Decker tapped the ledger. “When they find out Pollock is dead, these men will be looking for their money. Did you give it to this Mrs. O'Neill?”

“No. I gave her five hundred dollars to pay for Una's lawyer and bail, but I didn't even tell her about the rest.”

“That's good, because she's the first person the investors will go after if they find out she was in the house. Who else knows about the money?”

“Just us.”

“And you left it where you found it?”

“Uh, no. I . . . I took it home. It's in Mr. Malloy's safe.”

Maeve braced herself for his wrath, but Mr. Decker simply raised his eyebrows in surprise. “So long as no one thinks you stole it, that will be fine for the moment, and it's probably much safer there until we can get this all sorted out. Officer Donatelli, are you going to involve yourself in this matter?”