Murder on Washington Square (22 page)

“What?”

“Anna Blake was not what she appeared to be. She took great pains to appear young and innocent, but we now believe she made a career out of seducing and blackmailing vulnerable men.”

At least he was still listening. “What do you mean by blackmailing?”

“She would convince a man that she was alone in the world and penniless, then begin an illicit relationship with him. She would pretend to be with child and then demand money from the man. She did the same thing with another man, a married man who couldn’t afford a scandal. He actually stole money from his employer to satisfy her demands.”

“And she did this to Ellsworth, too?”

“Yes. And she wasn’t even with child. She lied about everything, to both men.”

Dennis frowned. “All the more reason why a man would be furious enough to murder her, Mrs. Brandt.”

“But Mr. Ellsworth didn’t kill her. You know him. He couldn’t possibly do violence to anyone, certainly not a female.”

Dennis smiled condescendingly. “Ellsworth is fortunate to have you as his champion, Mrs. Brandt, but you are hardly in a position to know that for a fact. Men will do strange things when their passions are aroused.”

Sarah forced herself not to take offense. “Actually, I
do
know for a fact that Nelson didn’t kill her, and the police are going to arrest the real killer very soon.”

“How could you know such a thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Because I have been working closely with one of the detectives on the case.”

Now she’d shocked him. “You associate with the police?” he asked incredulously.

Once again, she forced herself not to take offense. “Not all of them are corrupt, Mr. Dennis,” she chided. “Don’t you read the newspapers? Teddy Roosevelt has made significant changes in the department. Officers are promoted on the basis of merit now, and corruption is punished.”

Dennis was unconvinced. “You are a courageous woman, Mrs. Brandt, but you’re naive if you believe the police are any better than the criminals they purport to control. Not even our friend Teddy can change that.”

Sarah wanted to be outraged. She wanted to defend Malloy and convince Dennis of the foolishness of his prejudices, except that she knew he was right. No matter what Teddy Roosevelt told the press or how righteous he tried to be, the corruption in the police department went too deep and had endured too long for a few months of reform to change things. Rumors about Teddy campaigning for McKinley for president so he could get a more important job in the national government were already rampant. The instant he resigned as police commissioner, the department would return to being just what it was before.

“Mr. Dennis,” Sarah said, “all I’m asking is that you give Nelson Ellsworth the benefit of the doubt for the time being. If he really is innocent, as I believe, you will have ruined his life for no reason if you dismiss him from his position. He’s the sole support of his widowed mother. Could you live with that on your conscience?”

Richard Dennis sighed in defeat. “I’m sure you wouldn’t allow me to, Mrs. Brandt. All right, I’ll at least wait to see what transpires. But if he’s charged with murder, I will have no choice but to dismiss him. I’m afraid that’s the most I can promise.”

“Oh, Mr. Dennis, I can’t thank you enough!”

“But,” he said, stopping her effusive gratitude with an upraised palm, “I can’t permit him to return to work until this is settled, one way or the other. Those hounds from the press have been an unbearable nuisance all week, and if he were there . . . Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain. People expect their bank to be quiet and dignified and trustworthy. If it isn’t, they move their money elsewhere.”

“I’ll make sure Nelson understands. He is as concerned about the bank’s reputation as you are, and he certainly doesn’t want to encounter the press, either.”

“But if the killer isn’t identified quickly,” he warned, “I can’t promise how long I’ll be able to keep him on.”

“Of course, but it won’t be much longer,” she assured him, without the slightest compunction about lying. She had no idea how long it would take to catch the killer, or if he’d ever be caught at all. But at least she’d accomplished her purpose, and Nelson’s career wouldn’t be ruined just yet.

“Now tell me, Mrs. Brandt, how on earth did you ever decide to become a midwife?” Dennis asked, changing the subject completely.

Since he seemed to be genuinely interested, she gave him the slightly edited version of the story, simply mentioning that it was a relative’s death in childbirth that had inspired her choice of careers. They chatted about inconsequential things for a few more minutes, until her parents judged it was safe to join them again. Then her father engaged Dennis in small talk until their guest deemed he had fulfilled his social obligations. In view of how violent the storm outside had become, this was rather sooner than he might have left, but the Deckers had no choice but to allow him to go.

Sarah gave him her hand, and he bowed over it. “It’s been a delight meeting you, Mrs. Brandt. I hope it won’t be long until we encounter each other again.”

“I hope so, too,” she replied sincerely, “and I promise not to ask you any favors next time.”

“Even if you did, I could only be flattered by your attention,” he replied.

Sarah smiled at the compliment, and he returned her smile. She didn’t dare look at her parents. They must surely believe their matchmaking had been a success, and oddly enough, Sarah was no longer annoyed with them for tricking her. Meeting Mr. Dennis had been a pleasure, especially because he’d proven himself a reasonable man by doing what she asked him. Nothing could have made him more attractive to her. No, she wouldn’t mind a bit if their paths crossed again.

“Did Richard agree to help your friend?” her mother asked when her husband had walked Dennis out and they were alone.

“Yes, he did,” Sarah said. “And thank you for arranging for me to meet him.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you were angry with me for that.”

“I was merely annoyed, and not because you arranged for us to meet. You should have warned me, however, that he’s a widower. I’m not the only widow he’s ever been thrown together with, Mother. He had a right to feel he’d been deceived after Father invited him here to discuss business.”

“But you
did
want to see him because of a business matter, didn’t you, dear?” her mother asked without a trace of regret. “And if he suspected we were bringing him here to meet our daughter, he might not have come at all, especially with the weather being so bad.”

“So I’m in your debt,” Sarah said with a trace of amusement.

“Of course not,” her mother insisted. “We would do anything in our power for you, Sarah, without ever expecting something in return. Surely, you know that.”

“Especially if it involves meeting eligible men,” she said, not believing her mother’s protests for an instant.

“I hope someday you will thank us for that. You and Richard seemed to get on very well.”

“Once he agreed to help Nelson, we got along famously,” Sarah agreed. “Mr. Dennis is charming. How did his wife die?”

“Brain fever, they said. She fell ill, and the doctors could do nothing for her. They hadn’t been married very long. He was devastated, naturally, and he went to Europe for a while to recover.”

“And when he returned, his father put him to work at the bank,” Sarah guessed.

“Something like that,” her mother said. “I don’t know all the details.”

Her father came back into the room. “Dennis thanked me for introducing you,” he said to Sarah. “He seemed quite taken with you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Father,” Sarah chided. “I can be very charming when I make up my mind to it.”

“Apparently,” he replied, “but I felt certain you were trying to put him off with all that talk at supper about being a midwife.”

“Not every man would consider that off-putting,” Sarah said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.

“Then we’re fortunate Dennis isn’t one of them,” her father said, annoying her all over again.

“Now, dear,” her mother chided, “we mustn’t argue. Sarah has made a new friend, and she has also helped her neighbor. It has been a very successful evening.”

Her father took a seat opposite her. “So it appears. You would do well to cultivate your acquaintance with young Dennis,” he advised. “He has a promising future, and he stands to inherit a fortune.”

“What other recommendation could I need?” Sarah replied sarcastically.

“Sarah,” her mother cautioned, “there’s no reason to take offense. Your father and I only want to see you comfortably settled. Is that so wrong of us?”

“I’d prefer you wanted to see me happy,” Sarah said with a sigh.

Her mother’s smile was sad. “Why can’t they be the same thing?”

 

Frank decided his chances of finding Gilbert Giddings at home were better early in the day. Even the worst drunks went home eventually to sleep it off, and the storm last night had probably driven Giddings there earlier than usual. So he set off early Monday morning for the Giddings home. Strong winds had driven the storm out to sea, but they continued to endanger every man’s hat. Frank saw more than a few scudding along in the gutters before he reached Giddings’ house.

As before, he had to knock several times before Mrs. Giddings finally—and grudgingly—opened the door to him. She looked paler than she had the last time he saw her, and the strain of her circumstances had tightened the skin across her cheeks so that she looked as if she were held together with only the sheerest of willpower.

“Is your husband at home?” he asked. He felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t let sympathy stand in the way of doing his job.

“He’s here, but he’s asleep,” she said. “If you could come back later—”

“I can’t. Wake him up,” Frank said, pushing the door open wide enough to allow him to enter and making her take a step back. “I’ll wait.”

She drew a breath, not out of fear but rather to steal herself against even more unpleasantness. “He won’t be of much use to you until later in the morning,” she admitted, although Frank could see it cost her a bit of the tiny scrap of dignity she had left to do so. “The storm frightened him. He was quite . . . indisposed when he came home.”

“I’ve dealt with drunks before. They usually cooperate pretty easily when they’re feeling their worst. Just wake him up and tell him he can either talk to me here or I’ll drag him down to Headquarters for a little chat.”

He could see the hatred in her eyes, but he figured she didn’t hate him for what he was doing to Gilbert. She simply resented him for causing her one more indignity when she wasn’t sure she had the strength to bear even that one.

She didn’t offer him a seat. There was, after all, no furniture in their front rooms. She simply turned and walked up the stairs, her back ramrod straight, her step slow and deliberate. She knew Frank would wait for as long as it took, so she took her time. It was the one thing over which she had control.

Frank was good at waiting, though, and he got some extra practice now. The silence of the house was oppressive, and except for a loud thump from upstairs that startled him—probably Gilbert falling out of bed or his wife hitting him with the chamber pot—he heard nothing until Mrs. Giddings appeared at the head of the stairs again.

She descended slowly and gracefully, her hand resting on the railing mostly for effect since she didn’t appear to need the support. He noticed she had some color in her cheeks now, but she’d blotted every other trace of whatever emotion had caused it from her expression.

“My husband will be down shortly,” she said when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Frank gave her a moment, but she offered nothing else. “Do you mind if I wait in the back parlor? I’d like some privacy when I talk to him.”

She’d been purposely rude to him so far, but she simply couldn’t deny this request. Good manners had been too thoroughly bred into her. “Come,” she said with an air of resignation, and led him to the back parlor, where he’d spoken with her and her son before.

She was going to leave him there, but he stopped her. “Can you tell me where your husband was the night Anna Blake was killed?”

She looked at him for a long moment. She didn’t appear to be thinking or even trying to decide whether to answer or not. She simply stared, a woman who had been pushed to the very edges of her strength and wasn’t certain she had any reserves left. “He was at home that night, with me. And our son, Harold,” she added.

“Why didn’t he go out drinking as he usually does?” Frank asked, knowing he was hurting her but also knowing he needed the answer.

Again the silence before she replied. “Harold got paid that day. He brought a bottle home for his father so he’d stay with us for a change.”

That sounded very thoughtful of the boy—and also very hard to believe. Families of drunkards usually did like them to stay at home but not if they were going to be drinking. Frank made a mental note of the niggling doubt and went on. “That means all of you were here, all night. No one went out for any reason?”

“No, we did not.”

“Not even your son?”

She stared at him for another long moment, trying to read something into the question. “No, not even my son,” she replied finally.

“He didn’t even go out to buy his father another bottle?” Frank pressed, remembering what Mrs. Walcott had said about a young man coming to see Anna Blake the night she was killed.

Was that fear in her eyes? If so, she wasn’t going to let it break her. “I told you, my son was home all night.”

“And what night was this?”

Mrs. Giddings blinked in confusion. “What?”

“What night did your son get paid and your husband stay at home?”

“The night that woman was killed,” she said with a trace of impatience.