Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue (6 page)

“Then what?”

“I'd see the bruises. He didn't hit her in the face, except for that one time I know of. He didn't want the marks to show.”

Maeve sighed. Men in the tenements didn't care if the bruises showed. They thought beating up their women made
them more manly or something. That was a difference between uptown and the tenements, she supposed. “Did Mrs. Pollock ever fight back?”

The girl seemed shocked. “Why would she do that?”

Why, indeed? That was only asking for a worse beating, Maeve supposed. “Did you hear anyone else come into the house the day Pollock was killed?”

She hesitated again. Was she trying to remember or trying to decide what to say? “I always open the door for visitors. I didn't open the door that morning. Please, miss. We're scared to stay here now. When can we get paid and leave?”

“I'll see what I can do for you. In the meantime, let's get Mrs. Pollock's things packed up.”

*   *   *

W
hen Maeve and the maid were gone, Decker took the precaution of closing the door behind them, then looked around again at the damage. Whoever had broken in last night had been thorough. They must have also known that Pollock kept his money and his records in this room, which explained why they had confined the search here. He would have to compliment Maeve for having the foresight to remove the money and the ledger yesterday, or whoever had broken in would have it all now.

The safe was empty, of course. Maeve had cleaned it out herself, but the thief hadn't known that. Did he know the combination or had he discovered it the same way she had? He found an appointment diary on the floor beneath some of the scattered stuffing from the chairs. Flipping through, he saw the combination written just as Maeve had described it. The thief must have also found the diary in the desk, located the combination, and then dropped the diary here. Finding the safe empty, he had then ransacked the rest of the room.

He went to the pile of papers that had been dumped from the desk drawers and quickly went through them. Maeve was right, he found very little of importance until he came to a packet of papers that he recognized as copies of a prospectus for an investment opportunity. They had been professionally printed on expensive, watermarked paper. He slipped one of them out of the packet, folded it carefully, and tucked it into his pocket.

Only when he was finished with his search did he realize he had made a neat stack of the desk's contents, which he probably shouldn't have done. Of course, he shouldn't have even come here today, but since he had, he felt obligated to do as little damage as possible, so he rearranged the papers to look as much like they originally had as he could.

When he was satisfied with his efforts, he opened the office door to find the remainder of Pollock's servants standing anxiously in the hallway. A middle-aged woman in an apron, who was probably the cook, another maid, and a handsome youth of about sixteen gaped at him.

“Can I help you?” he asked, recognizing the irony of asking if he could help servants.

“Oh, sir,” the older woman said, “we can't stay here, not with people breaking in all hours of the night. You can't ask us to do that!”

“You're certainly free to leave if you want to,” he said.

“But what about references?” the maid asked. “Mrs. Decker said she'd write us references.”

This was interesting. “When did Mrs. Decker say that?”

“Yesterday, when she was here.”

Yes, this was very interesting. No wonder Elizabeth had been acting so oddly last night. He should have known she'd never let Maeve come here alone.

“And our pay, sir,” the boy added. “She said we'd get our pay.”

“And you shall. I'll see that you have it all by tomorrow.” He couldn't wait to see Elizabeth's face when he told her. “In the meantime, let's take a look around and see if we can figure out how the intruder got in last night.”

*   *   *

“D
id you find anything?” Maeve asked Mr. Decker when they were back in the carriage and driving away.

“I found a broken window in the basement.”

“That explains how the burglar got in, I guess.”

“And I found this.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She unfolded it and tried to read it, but it didn't make much sense to her. “What is it?”

“It's a proposal to build a railroad across Panama.”

“Where's that?”

“It's in Colombia.”

“Is that in New York?”

She thought he was trying not to smile at her ignorance. “No, it's in South America. Well, really, Panama is in Central America. It's on the narrow strip of land that connects North and South America.”

“Why would someone here want to build a railroad all the way down there?”

“According to this explanation, the railroad would carry goods and passengers across this area of land where the distance between the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans is the shortest. It would save time and money because the goods wouldn't have to be shipped all the way around the tip of South America, the way they are now. They could just be unloaded from a ship on one side, carried across the land by train, then loaded onto a ship on the other side. The railroad would be enormously profitable.”

“What's this about a canal?” She pointed to a paragraph that talked about a canal across the Isthmus of Panama, whatever that was.

“The French have been trying to build a canal in that area for years.”

She hated showing her ignorance again, but she said, “What's a canal?”

This time he didn't smile. “It's basically a huge trench that runs through the land from one ocean to the other so ships could just sail right through.”

“That sounds like a better idea. Then they wouldn't have to load and unload the ships.”

“Exactly, but the company trying to build the canal went bankrupt because the land is all jungle, and their equipment kept rusting in the tropical climate and their workers kept dying from tropical diseases. According to this”—he pointed to the paper she still held—“the canal will never be built, so the railroad is the best solution.”

“So Pollock really did have a good plan for people to invest in,” she said in surprise.

“Yes, it's an excellent idea, except for one small detail. The French built this railroad fifty years ago.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, oh.”

“And people are using it?”

“Yes, as they have been for fifty years.”

“Then wouldn't everybody know about it?”

“You didn't.”

“I'm just a nursemaid,” she reminded him. “You knew about it.”

“Because I own a shipping company. I'm guessing the men whose names are in Pollock's ledger do not.”

“But they must have lots of money.”

“That doesn't mean they're knowledgeable about these things.”

“Oh, you mean they're bouncers.”

He did smile at that. “They may have made their fortunes recently, yes, but whatever their circumstances, they most likely don't know a lot about transporting goods around the world. They may also have just moved to New York from the western United States, where people are more . . . trustworthy.”

Maeve knew exactly what he meant. Her grandfather had made his living cheating bumpkins who came to New York expecting to outsmart the city slickers. Pollock, it seemed, had simply discovered a new way to do it.

“One of these men must have heard about his murder,” he was saying, “and come to the house last night in search of his investment.”

But that didn't sound right to Maeve. “If they thought he was investing their money in a railroad, they wouldn't expect to find it in his house, would they?”

He stared at her for a long moment, obviously impressed by her reasoning. “You're right. If he'd invested their money, it would still be safely invested, even if Pollock died. They'd just be trying to find out who was managing the scheme with Pollock dead.”

“But somebody knew the money was at the house, and they came for it,” Maeve mused. “They came for it in the middle of the night, too, when nobody would see them. Who would've known the money was there?”

“Maybe Pollock had a partner,” Mr. Decker said.

“A partner who wanted to get the money and disappear before anybody else found it and started asking questions.”

“How did he find out Pollock was dead, though?”

Maeve thought this over. “I don't know. It hasn't been in the newspapers yet. Someone must have told him. Or . . .”

“Or what?”

“Or maybe the person who killed him is the one who came back last night for the money. That person wouldn't need anybody to tell him Pollock was dead.”

“No, he wouldn't,” Mr. Decker said. “So all we need to do is find out who this person is.”

Maeve decided not to point out to Mr. Decker that he had just included himself in the investigation.

*   *   *

D
ecker had fully expected to go straight to his office after dropping Maeve and the trunk full of clothing at his daughter's house. After learning of his wife's involvement, however, he decided he couldn't wait to discuss that with her, so he returned to his own home instead. Elizabeth was at her desk, writing letters, when he found her.

“Felix, is something wrong?” she asked, rising instantly and coming to greet him.

He kissed her cheek. “Why would something be wrong?”

“I didn't expect you back here until this evening.”

“And I thought you might like to find out how we fared at the Pollocks' house this morning.”

She smiled with delight, reminding him of how much he loved to see her smile. “How very thoughtful of you, because of course I've been dying to hear.”

“And this will save you the trouble of going all the way down to Bank Street to ask Maeve,” he said, making her happier still.

“How well you know me. Now sit down here and tell me everything.” She drew him over to the sofa, where they sat down side by side.

He told her about finding the office in shambles and locating the proposals for the Panamanian Railroad.

“Would people really invest in something like that without investigating it first?” she asked.

“People sell the Brooklyn Bridge to unsuspecting immigrants every day.”

“They do?” she asked in surprise. “I thought the government owned that bridge.”

“It does,” he said gently.

She needed only a moment to figure it out. “Oh! Good heavens, that's horrible! Those poor people.”

“Exactly. New York is teeming with crooks, and fortunately for them, it is also teeming with fools.”

“And this Pollock fellow apparently found some of them.”

“He found some with a lot of money, too.”

“But what was he planning to do? Sooner or later, his investors would expect to see some progress on the railroad and eventually some return on their investments.”

“I'm sure he explained to them that this project would take years to complete, and the beauty of it is that it's so far away. They wouldn't be traveling down to Colombia to check on the progress, and Pollock could invent all sorts of setbacks and problems to delay them even longer.”

“But wouldn't they expect to see something in the newspapers about it? And there's always the danger that someone would find out the railroad had already been built.”

“I doubt Pollock intended to keep things going for long. As you say, he couldn't take the chance of someone finding out the truth. He probably intended to leave town at some point and simply not return.”

Elizabeth seemed intrigued by the thought. “He could have told them he was traveling down there to take care of some business and then have someone notify them that he died down there. By the time they got it all sorted out, he'd be long gone.”

“Elizabeth, I had no idea you had such a nefarious imagination,” he said with unfeigned amazement.

“It's only common sense, Felix,” she protested.

“Common sense if you're a criminal.”

She stared back at him with guileless eyes and then distracted him with a change of subject. Or so she thought. “Did Maeve get all of Mrs. Pollock's belongings packed up?”

“Yes, and she took the trunk home with her. She'll contact Mrs. Pollock's mother about what to do with it.”

“It sounds as if you had a productive morning, Felix. I'm sorry you had to deal with the results of the burglary.”

“I also had to deal with the servants.”

“The servants? Oh yes, I'm sure they must have been upset. First a murder and then someone broke in the house.”

“They want to leave.”

She frowned. “Oh dear. I guess no one can blame them for that, but is it wise? To leave the house empty, I mean?”

“I didn't think of that, but when I told them they could go, they said they hadn't been paid, and then there's the issue of references, I understand.”

“I don't suppose Una Pollock is in any position to write them either, is she?”

“I don't suppose she is.”

“What did you tell them, then?”

“I told them you'd write them references.”

“Me? Why did you tell them that?”

“Well, actually, I didn't tell them that at all, but when they said you'd already promised to do it, I simply assured them you would.”

Her expression was priceless, everything he'd imagined, but it lasted only a moment before fading into an annoyed frown. “Felix, you are infuriating.”

Now he was the one surprised. “How am I infuriating?”

“You've been teasing me all this time. Honestly, how can I take any pleasure at all in defying you when you turn it into a joke?”

“I hope you don't think I was making a joke. Really, Elizabeth, you had no business going to a house where a murder had been committed, you know.”