Murder in the Bowery

by Victoria Thompson

  Arburn, by his own admission, was trying to help Jack. How far had he been willing to go to do it?

  Gino found a clean sheet of paper and left Mr. Malloy another note. He was supposed to wait here, but now he couldn’t wait any longer. Will Arburn knew they were close to figuring it out now, and he might not stay around until they did.

  * * *

  The maid told Malloy and Sarah that Mr. Robinson had a visitor and asked them to wait, offering them a seat on the chairs in the foyer. When she was gone, Sarah reached over and Malloy took her hand. How well he understood her. She did want justice for Estelle, a girl whose whole life had been tainted by her father’s selfish lust, but how much justice did she want? Norman’s life had been tainted, too.

  In a few minutes, Robinson’s visitor came down. He was a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, carrying a briefcase, and Sarah recognized him at once. “Mr. Cavendish.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Malloy. How nice to see you again.”

  Sarah introduced the attorney to Malloy.

  “I hope you’re still pleased with the house,” Cavendish said.

  “Very much so. Thank you again for your assistance.”

  Cavendish wished them well and allowed the maid to show him out. Then she escorted them upstairs.

  Robinson received them in the parlor again. He had apparently just put on his suit coat and was still adjusting it when they entered. He looked like he hadn’t slept since their last meeting.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Robinson said. “My, this must be very serious if you brought your wife,” he added to Malloy.

  “It is. She thinks she can talk you out of doing something rash.”

  Sarah gave Malloy a reproving look, or at least she hoped it was reproving. “The story we have to tell you will be painful for you to hear, and I’m afraid you’ll be very angry when you’ve heard it.”

  “I’ve understood that from the start, Mrs. Malloy, and rest assured, I didn’t get to where I am today by being emotional. Please, sit down. I’ve sent for some iced tea, but I believe I’ll have something stronger myself.”

  He poured himself a tumbler of whiskey while Sarah and Malloy took a seat on the sofa. Robinson took the chair opposite and downed a healthy swallow before inviting Sarah to begin.

  As gently as she could, she told him that Horace Longacre had raped his daughter after learning he was dying, and that they suspected she had become pregnant as a result. Then she explained how the maid, Marie, had told Penelope Longacre about the pregnancy and Penelope had decided to use that information to arrange a marriage between Estelle and Norman so Norman would eventually get control of the Longacre fortune.

  “You see, Penelope had been in the same situation herself, unmarried and expecting a baby,” Sarah said. “That baby was Norman Tufts.”

  “Good God!”

  “Yes, so naturally, Penelope thought Estelle would be grateful when Norman offered to marry her.”

  “But wait, if Norman was her son, that would make him Estelle’s first cousin, and cousins can’t marry.”

  Sarah didn’t dare even glance at Malloy, because of course, it was much worse than that. “Penelope didn’t seem to think that would matter, since no one knew Norman was her son.” Which was true as far as it went. She couldn’t tell him the truth just yet.

  Robinson had been right when he said he could control his emotions. Although fury burned in his eyes, his voice was calm. “All right. Go on.”

  Sarah told him about the telegram to draw Estelle to the Bowery, and what they believed had happened when she sent a telegram to him to change the time. “Norman told us what happened when she arrived at the flat. We don’t know if she already knew she was expecting a baby or not, but she knew she couldn’t marry Norman. She told him they could never marry because Penelope Longacre was his mother and Horace Longacre was his father, too.”

  Robinson stared at her in horror for a long moment, then muttered a curse, too overwhelmed to even realize he should apologize. “Was it true?”

  “Yes, but Norman didn’t believe it. Perhaps he couldn’t allow himself to believe it. In any event, he was furious at Estelle for saying those things and he killed her.”

  Robinson tossed back the rest of his drink and then rubbed his eyes. Sarah’s heart ached for him.

  She waited, giving him time to come to terms with the shock of it.

  Finally, he nodded once, as if to acknowledge all she had told him. “And then he took her away in the trunk, I suppose. What did he think he was going to do?”

  “No, he wasn’t the one who took her away,” Malloy said more gently than Sarah had expected. “He just left her there.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Who else would’ve carried her away?”

  “The story gets even more complicated from there,” Malloy said. They’d agreed he should tell this part. “It seems Will Arburn had planned to meet another girl at the flat that night. He knew you wouldn’t be using it, so he thought it would be safe.”

  “He did, did he?” Robinson said coldly.

  “And of course he found Estelle’s body there. He didn’t have any idea what had happened, so he assumed that you had killed her.”

  “What?”

  “You have to admit, he couldn’t possibly have imagined the sequence of events that got Estelle there in the first place,” Sarah said, needing him to understand. “The only reason he could imagine she would be there was to meet you.”

  “And he thought I’d murder a young woman and just leave her there?”

  Malloy shrugged, obviously unwilling to excuse Arburn any further. “Whatever he thought, he decided he would help you by disposing of Estelle’s body. He’s the one who put her into the trunk, but it was still light outside, so he decided to come back later to remove it. The other girl was still coming, of course, so he had to get her away before she suspected anything, and when he came back, after you’d been there and gone, Freddie had arrived. He was going to sleep there, so Arburn convinced the boy to help him carry the trunk out. He told him you wanted to get rid of it.”

  “And Freddie figured out what was in the trunk,” Robinson guessed grimly. “He always was a bright boy.”

  “He must’ve thought Arburn killed Estelle, so he was hiding from him.”

  “And then I sent Arburn after him,” Robinson realized with renewed horror.

  “Arburn told us he knew Freddie would never come out of hiding if he heard Arburn was looking for him, so he hired me to find him. Arburn also told us that when you sent him to find the boy, he was sure you’d killed Estelle and that Freddie knew it. He said he thinks you found the boy yourself and killed him.”

  “He said that?” Robinson stared at Malloy for a long moment. Malloy nodded very slowly. “But you know I didn’t kill Estelle, so why would I want to hurt the boy?”

  “That’s what Mrs. Malloy and I were wondering,” Malloy said. “It didn’t make sense to us either.”

  They both waited while Robinson put it all together as they had on the drive over.

  “Arburn killed Freddie.”

  “That’s what we think,” Malloy said. “I don’t know if I told him anything to help him find Freddie, but we do know another newsie sent him to see Raven, the one who was hiding Freddie. However it happened, he found the boy. He thought he was doing you a favor.”

  “He thought I’d kill a boy? He thought I’d kill the woman I loved?”

  They had no answer for that. Sarah could hardly stand to see his pain.

  “I promised I’d tell you who the killer was before I went to the police,” Malloy said. “And now I’ve done that.”

  “Are you going to tell the police?”

  Malloy considered the question, but Sarah already knew what he wanted. She wanted the same thing. “I’d like to see justice done.”

  S
ome silent communication passed between Malloy and Robinson. “But we both know the law doesn’t always administer justice,” Robinson said. “What will happen to these two if the law gets hold of them?”

  “That depends on who has the money to bribe the proper people,” Malloy said. “If Horace Longacre dies soon and his sister gets his money, then there’s a good chance Norman Tufts will go free. She’ll pay off the prosecutors and his case will get pigeonholed and will never come to trial. If Horace’s money isn’t available for a bribe, Norman will probably go to trial. In that case, the newspapers will find out every piece of gossip they can to blacken Estelle’s name and make up even worse things. It won’t be hard, since her conduct was quite unusual for a girl with her background. They won’t accuse her father of incest, of course, because they can’t put that in the newspapers, but by the time they’re finished, everyone will despise Estelle, and Norman could find himself freed by a jury of self-righteous hypocrites.”

  “And what about Arburn?”

  “Will Arburn might be able to bribe his way out of trouble, too, if he’s got anything put aside or if he has important friends.”

  “This important friend isn’t going to help him,” Robinson said.

  “But he knows some rich men from his tours. He might blackmail them into helping him. If he goes to trial, he’d explain how he met Estelle, and it would get pretty sensational. None of the men who took the tours would want their names in the newspapers.”

  Robinson turned to Sarah. “Mrs. Malloy, do you really expect me to stand by and watch these men go free?”

  “We just wanted you to understand how this happened and how the sins of Horace Longacre caused it all,” Sarah said.

  “Did you think I would feel sorry for Norman Tufts?” Robinson asked in surprise.

  “Not at all. He killed Estelle. And Arburn killed an innocent boy for no reason at all.”

  Robinson frowned, obviously confused. “Then you aren’t asking me to leave them to the police?”

  “We can’t stop you from whatever you decide to do. We’re only asking you to show mercy, whatever mercy you feel is deserved,” Sarah said. “And we’re asking you to remember who is really responsible for all of this agony.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. “I understand,” he said at last, then turned to Malloy. “Does Arburn know you suspect him?”

  “My associate questioned him this morning, and he confessed to being the one who took Estelle’s body away. He tried to put the blame for killing Freddie on you, but he’d be a fool not to at least suspect that we’d eventually figure it out.”

  “Then we need to find him right away, before he has a chance to leave the city. Mrs. Malloy, the Bowery is no place for you. I’ll have my driver take you home in my carriage. Mr. Malloy and I will make better time on foot anyway. Will’s house isn’t that far from here.”

  15

  Gino could hear the shouting before the cab even stopped outside Will Arburn’s house. Because of the weather, all the windows stood open, and he noticed people on the street had stopped to listen. He paid the driver and jumped out, wondering what was happening.

  No one even glanced at him. They were too concerned with trying to make out what the argument was about. Gino decided this would be the perfect time to question Arburn again, since angry people usually forgot to be discreet. He bounded up the front steps and listened for a moment.

  “You can’t just leave! What will become of me!”

  “I can’t stay here, Granny!”

  Good thing Gino had decided to come when he did. He knocked politely.

  As he’d expected, the occupants didn’t hear him, so he let himself in. “Hello!” he shouted, and the argument ceased abruptly. “Anybody home?”

  Gino waited. Would they pretend they hadn’t heard? That nobody was home? Who would believe it? But he knew people who carried on like that seldom realized how loud they were or that they were providing entertainment to everyone in the neighborhood. After a minute or two of what was probably whispered conversation, someone appeared from the back of the house. The small figure of Will Arburn’s grandmother made her way cautiously down the hall toward him.

  “What do you want?”

  Gino tried the charm that he’d used before. “I’m here to see Will again. Is he home?”

  Her beady eyes glistened with hatred, so obviously his charm wasn’t working today. “No, he’s gone. Don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  “That’s funny. I could’ve sworn I heard you and him talking just now.”

  She couldn’t deny that. “You better leave.”

  “But I need to talk to Will. Maybe you could tell him I’m here.”

  She thought that over. “All right. You wait here. I’ll see if he’s come back yet.”

  But Gino had caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and the moment she turned away, he glanced over to the open window in the parlor, where he could see the top of Arburn’s head moving past. He was sneaking down the alley, probably intending to get away. Did innocent people try to run?

  Not usually.

  Gino backed up silently and then slipped out the front door, just as Arburn rounded the corner of the house. “Arburn!” he cried happily. “Your grandmother said you’d be right back. I’m so glad I waited.”

  Before Arburn could react or even realize he should run, Gino had grabbed his arm and started dragging him back to the front door. He looked around wildly for assistance, but the crowd that had gathered to listen to the argument had already begun to disperse. Those still lingering were happy to simply enjoy the show.

  “I was just . . . I was out and . . . I just got back . . .” Arburn stammered, although the fact that he was barefoot and in shirtsleeves gave the lie to his claims.

  “That’s all right,” Gino assured him, still smiling. “I didn’t have to wait long.”

  And then they were back inside. Gino propelled him into the parlor and down onto a sprung overstuffed chair in the corner.

  “Hey, no reason to get rough!”

  “I only want you to be comfortable,” Gino said.

  “What’s going on here?” the old woman demanded from the doorway.

  “Nothing, ma’am,” Gino assured her. “I just needed to talk to Will about something.”

  “I told you to leave. Get out or I’ll . . .” She stopped, obviously at a loss.

  “Or you’ll call the police? By all means, do that, ma’am. You’ll save me the trouble.”

  “You don’t need no police,” Arburn said with forced confidence. He even managed a smile. “Granny, you leave us now. Me and Mr. Donatelli need to have a little talk, and then everything will be all right.”

  Granny frowned doubtfully. “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. Me and Gino are good pals.”

  Gino did not contradict him, and the old woman finally turned away, although Gino figured he didn’t have much time until she got someone to help. And it probably wouldn’t be the cops.

  He closed the door behind her and turned back to Arburn, who still smiled with his phony assurance. “What is it now? I already told you all I know about Estelle’s death.”

  “But not all you know about Freddie’s death.”

  Arburn’s smile vanished. “I told you, Jack was the one who wanted the boy dead.”

  “No, you said that’s what you thought when you believed Jack had killed Estelle.”

  “I suppose Jack claims he didn’t kill her.”

  “He didn’t have to claim it. Did I mention that he hired Mr. Malloy and me to find her killer? Why would he do that if he’d done it himself?”

  Something very much like panic flickered in Arburn’s eyes, but to his credit he didn’t surrender to it. “Because he’s smart. He’d know that would be the best way to convince you that it wasn’t him.”


  Gino couldn’t agree with that reasoning, but he played along. “I never thought of that.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Black Jack Robinson is the smartest man I know.”

  “How did he find Freddie, though? It took me and Mr. Malloy days to find him.”

  “He’s got men working for him all over the city. You think you’re the only ones who were looking?”

  “And you were looking, too.”

  “I was just trying to help. I wanted to get back in Jack’s good graces. But he had everybody looking for the boy. I’m telling you, he had to have killed Estelle. Why else would he have wanted the boy so bad?”

  “Then why were you the only one asking about him that night he died?”

  That shocked him, and before he could think of an answer, Gino heard the parlor door open behind him. He turned to see Granny barreling toward him with a cast iron skillet raised high above her head.

  Instinctively, he threw up his arm to ward off the blow, and the skillet struck the arm with a sickening crack and a blinding pain that drove him howling to his knees.

  “Run, you idiot!” the old woman cried. “I’ll take care of him.”

  Gino had grabbed his arm, desperately trying to ease the agony, but some small part of his brain still screamed that he couldn’t let Arburn escape.

  Arburn jumped to his feet and tried to dodge around Gino, but Gino released his broken arm and caught Arburn’s ankle, sending him sprawling to the floor in a hail of curses. Before he could scramble back up, Gino threw himself on top of him, using his weight to pin him down while Arburn bucked and twisted like a demon.

  “Granny, help!” Arburn shouted.

  The old woman made a grunting sound, as if lifting something heavy, and Gino remembered the skillet. He threw himself to the side just as the skillet rushed past his cheek and landed on Arburn’s face with a horrible crunch.

  Arburn howled and blood spurted everywhere and the old woman started screaming and Gino writhed on the floor in agony because he’d landed on his broken arm. Then somebody came running into the room, and Gino couldn’t see who, because he was blind with pain, and he was sure it was all over for him when Mr. Malloy said, “What on earth is going on here?”