“I’m not. I might’ve missed this.”
She returned his boyish smile.
The two other officers came clumping down the stairs with Neth between them. They’d replaced the curtain ties with handcuffs.
“You can’t arrest me,” he was saying. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” one of them said, giving him a friendly shove that sent him stumbling down the last three steps.
Donatelli caught him and set him on his feet again.
Malloy was behind them with Joanna, and Maeve and Livingston brought up the rear.
Gino’s face brightened. “Miss Smith, I didn’t know you were still here.”
Maeve did not see fit to reply to this, although Sarah could tell she was pleased to be noticed.
Malloy turned to her. “Maeve, will you make sure Mr. Livingston goes straight home and wait with him there until I come?”
“I’m not going home,” Livingston said. “Not when Grace is so close.”
“Mr. Livingston, we know what we’re doing. Let us do it.”
“I know I ruined your plans earlier, but I won’t interfere this time, I swear. I’ll wait outside and stay out of your way, but I want to be there when you find her. I want to take her home.”
Sarah knew exactly how he felt. “Maeve and I will make sure he doesn’t interfere.”
“And who’s going to make sure you and Maeve don’t interfere?” Malloy asked in exasperation.
One of the officers holding Neth made a noise that might have been a smothered laugh. Malloy sighed. “All right. Put Neth into the Paddy wagon and let’s go.”
Malloy set out with Joanna, not waiting for the others. Gino easily caught up with them while his cohorts threw a protesting Neth into the Paddy wagon. One of them climbed up to drive while the other trailed after Malloy and the others on foot.
Sarah and Maeve fell in on either side of Livingston, who didn’t acknowledge them with so much as a glance.
Their odd procession was separated as oblivious pedestrians with their own destinations in mind failed to realize the two police officers and the other five oddly matched individuals belonged to the same group. Livingston set a brisk pace, determined not to lose them in the noisy streets. Behind them, lumbering along, came the large enclosed wagon known as a Black Maria, somehow managing to keep up in spite of the traffic.
Luckily, Joanna had not lied about the distance. They’d gone only half a dozen blocks when she stopped and pointed.
Malloy, Gino, and the other officer were discussing how best to approach the house when Sarah and her group reached them.
“What are you waiting for?” Livingston demanded.
Malloy gave him an impatient look. “If Pendergast suspects we’re onto him, he might kill Grace. Is that what you want?”
Livingston blanched, and Sarah took his arm. “Let them do what they need to do,” she said, leading him a few steps away.
Malloy glanced at Joanna, who seemed almost frightened now that they were here. “Gino, put her in the Maria, too.”
“What! You never said anything about that!” she cried as Gino took her arm.
“I wouldn’t want to lose track of you,” Malloy said. They waited while the protesting woman was locked into the wagon with Neth. “Sarah and Maeve, make sure Livingston stays here. You”—he pointed to the wagon driver—“make sure nobody lets them out of there.” To Gino and the other officer, he said, “Let’s go.”
Sarah breathed a silent prayer as the three men approached the house halfway down the pleasant residential street. Nothing set it apart from its neighbors. No one would suspect that anything untoward was going on there.
Still holding Livingston’s arm, she felt him stiffen as Malloy raised his hand to knock. After a few moments, he knocked again. The three men seemed to consult, and then it looked like Malloy opened the door. Livingston bolted then, breaking free of Sarah’s grasp and running toward the house.
• • •
The smell hit Frank first, the coppery scent of fresh blood that was like a fist to his gut. “Pendergast?” he shouted, his gaze searching every corner. “Pendergast, where are you?”
Silence was his only reply.
“You”—he indicated the officer—“search down here. Gino, come with me.”
Donatelli followed him up the stairs. The smell was stronger here, and Frank silently willed Sarah to keep Livingston outside.
“Pendergast!” he tried again when they reached the top of the stairs, and this time he thought he heard a sound coming from the front room. One of the double doors to what must have been a parlor stood half-open, as if someone had left in a hurry.
Frank strode over and threw it wide to a scene of crimson horror.
A man lay on the floor in a position so unnatural, he had to be dead. Beyond him, slumped against the wall and staring vacantly into nothingness, was a woman clad only in a shift and covered—no, drenched—in blood. Frank knew her instantly. He carried her photograph in his pocket.
“Is that her?” Donatelli asked.
Frank nodded. “Grace Livingston.”
The staring eyes blinked.
“Grace?” Frank said, not trusting his own senses.
An ear-piercing sound broke the silence, a wail so tortured, it could have come straight out of hell. Frank needed a few seconds to realize it was coming from her.
“She’s alive,” he told Gino. “Go get Mrs. Brandt up here, but keep her father out.”
• • •
Sarah and Maeve managed to catch Livingston just as he reached the porch steps. They grabbed his arms and held on for all they were worth, slowing him, but she knew they couldn’t stop him for long.
Then Gino Donatelli burst out the front door, catching himself just before he would have plowed into them. “Mrs. Brandt, Mr. Malloy wants you right away. Upstairs,” he added as she pushed past him. “Mr. Livingston, you’ve got to wait here,” she heard him say as she ran inside and up the stairs.
She was almost to the top before she realized what she was smelling and what it must mean. Malloy stood in the doorway of the front room, his expression grim.
“She’s alive,” he said when she’d reached him. “There’s blood everywhere, though. She’s covered in it, but I can’t tell where she’s hurt.”
She nodded, thinking she understood.
“It’s bad, Sarah.”
“I’m a nurse,” she reminded him. She’d seen blood before.
He nodded and stepped aside. Only then did she understand. The smell hit her first, and then the sight: the man’s contorted body, the darkening pools soaking into the oriental carpet, and the woman’s half-naked body sprawled like a discarded doll. How could she be alive? Her shift was literally dyed red with the blood, her face splattered, her bare arms and legs streaked.
But then the poor creature took a shuddering breath, breaking the spell of horror, and Sarah went to her. Carefully, trying not to step in the blood, she finally reached her and knelt down beside her.
“Grace? Can you hear me?”
Slowly, the staring eyes turned to her. They held such pain, Sarah could hardly bear it.
“Grace, I’m Sarah Brandt. I’m a nurse. I’m here to help you. The police are here, too. We’ve come to take you home.”
She shook her head, or at least Sarah thought she did.
“Can you tell me where you’re hurt?”
She did shake her head this time.
“You can’t tell me or you don’t know?”
“Not . . . not hurt.”
“But all this blood . . .”
The pain-filled gaze shifted, and one red-streaked arm lifted to point at the man sprawled a few feet away. Malloy squatted next to him, peering closely.
“His throat’s been cut
,” he said.
From this angle, Sarah could see that for herself. That would explain the great quantities of blood, she thought.
“That’s his blood on you?” she asked Grace.
She nodded.
Someone was shouting, calling Grace’s name. Her eyes widened in terror.
“That’s your father,” Sarah said. “He wants to take you home.”
“No!” she cried. “He can’t see me like this!”
She struggled to rise. Sarah helped.
When she was on her feet, Sarah could see the blood was only on the front of her body. “Please,” she said.
“I’ll help you get cleaned up. Where can we go?”
Grace set out on unsteady legs, walking carefully, as if each step might shatter her. Sarah turned to Malloy. “Get Maeve in here. I’ll need her help.”
When they reached the hall, they could hear Livingston’s voice more clearly as it carried up the stairwell. He was arguing with Gino, desperate to see his daughter. Grace was just as desperate not to be seen. Still stumbling, she limped for the stairs and headed up to the next floor. Sarah took her arm as they climbed.
“Do you know where you’re going?” Sarah asked.
“His . . . his room.”
Only one door stood open in the upstairs hall, and Grace headed right to it. Sarah caught a glimpse of a large four-poster bed, set on a dais, and an assortment of large, mahogany furniture as Grace hurried through to what proved to be a bathroom. An enormous claw-footed tub sat along one wall and a sink and commode on the other. Grace turned on the taps of the tub and inserted the stopper, moving with a speed born of desperation. The pipes rumbled and groaned before finally spewing a geyser of water.
“Mrs. Brandt?” Maeve called.
“In here,” Sarah said, going to meet her.
“What on earth has happened?” she asked as she followed Sarah’s voice into the bathroom. The sight of Grace Livingston stopped her dead.
“Sweet God in heaven!” she cried, nearly sinking to the floor before Sarah could catch her.
“I know it looks terrible, but it’s not her blood. There’s a man downstairs who’s probably Pendergast. His throat’s been cut.”
Maeve turned away from the awful sight of Grace Livingston. “What do you need me to do?”
“I’m going to help Grace get cleaned up, but she’ll need some clothes. Grace, do you know where your clothes are?”
She shook her head.
“They must be here somewhere. Get Gino to help you search, though. I don’t want you going through this place by yourself. Find her something to wear so we can get her out of here. Grace, is there anyone else in the house?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“Be careful, then,” Sarah said to Maeve.
Maeve nodded and hurried off.
Sarah found some towels in a cabinet, and when the water was deep enough, she said, “Do you want me to help you? If you’re modest, I’ll turn my back.”
“It’s not that. I just . . . I don’t want you to see what he did to me.”
“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh, but it was! I never should have gone to meet him. I brought it on myself.”
Sarah knew many people would agree. “Is that what he told you?”
She nodded brokenly.
“Well, he was lying, then. He did this to you because he’s an evil man and he tricked you. Making you feel guilty was his way of putting the blame on you, but it belongs on him. All of it. Now let’s wash off every trace of him, shall we?”
• • •
Malloy looked up as Gino Donatelli came back into the bloody parlor.
“I found a telephone. The medical examiner is coming, and they’re trying to find Broghan. He’s going to be pretty mad about this.”
“Yeah, lots of people will be. I’ll probably lose my job,” Frank said.
“Oh yeah. I keep forgetting.” Gino shook his head. “When you think about it, I guess there’s not much they can do to you, is there?”
“No.” Which was, he realized, at least one reason to be happy about his change of fortune. Combined with having Sarah, it was starting to sound like a good deal after all. “Where’s Livingston?”
“Outside on the front stoop. He ran out of steam and started crying when he finally understood that his girl is alive. How bad is she hurt?”
“Not at all from what I could tell. The blood was all his.” He nodded toward the body.
“Is that Pendergast?”
“Probably. We’ll get Joanna and Neth in here later to identify him. Are they still locked up?”
“Safe and sound. So this Pendergast character, he finds women through the lonely hearts columns, and he brings them here, and what?”
“Probably what you think and a lot more. What I don’t know is what he does when he’s finished with them, if he kills them or lets them go. Either way, none of them are going to go to the police.”
“I guess not.”
“Officer Donatelli?”
They both turned to see Maeve in the doorway. At the sight of the bloody room, she gasped and quickly turned her back.
“Miss Smith, are you all right?” Gino hurried to her. “This is no place for you.”
“Mrs. Brandt asked me to look around upstairs and see if I could find some clothes for Miss Livingston, but she didn’t want me to do it alone. She said to ask you to go with me.”
“I would be honored. We haven’t searched the upper floors yet anyway. Mr. Malloy . . . ?”
“That’s a good idea. I’ll wait here for the medical examiner. I’ll call you if he gets here before you get back.”
Frank took the opportunity to look around the room to see if he could figure out what had happened here. Plainly, someone had sliced Pendergast’s throat, and Frank couldn’t think of anyone who’d deserved it more. Grace Livingston certainly would have been justified in doing it. She was covered in his blood, so plainly she had also been standing in front of him when it happened. But if she’d killed him, where was the knife?
Frank had looked all over the room and under every piece of furniture, but there was no sign of a knife. Also, he couldn’t figure out how a woman as small as Grace Livingston could have overpowered a man as large as Milo Pendergast. He was in his shirtsleeves and trousers, and wore socks but no shoes. Plainly, he’d been at his leisure, not entertaining or expecting company, so that meant he had most likely been alone with Grace. Frank could see he’d been almost six feet tall and powerfully built, and even the smallest man was stronger than most women. He would have seen her coming at him with a knife in her hand. She might have managed to stab at him once or twice before he wrenched the knife from her, but unless he was blinded or tied up, there was simply no way she could have had enough time or strength to slash his throat before he tried to stop her.
The blood told what had happened afterward, though. The initial gush of blood had hit her, then he’d probably shoved her away. She’d stumbled backward into the wall and slumped to the floor, probably in shock. He’d stayed on his feet for a minute or so, probably trying to stanch the flow of blood with his hands.
His sleeves were dyed crimson, just like Grace’s shift, and his hands were also covered with blood, proving Frank’s theory so far. The biggest pool of blood on the floor marked the spot where the attack had occurred. A short trail marked where Pendergast had staggered, probably in a vain effort to find help before he fell and died where he now lay. A smaller pool spread out from his body.
Frank would be very interested to hear Grace’s story about what had happened here. He stepped out into the hallway, wanting to get away from the stench of death. From the top of the stairs he could see the open front door and Livingston still sitting on the front steps. He sat with his elbow
s on his knees and his head in his hands. At least he would be able to take his daughter home with him. She would be forever changed, but at least she was alive. That had to count for something.
Above him, he could hear Gino and Maeve moving around and talking quietly, probably out of respect for Grace Livingston. A few minutes later, they came down the stairs. Frank was glad to see that Maeve carried some clothing draped over her arm. Thank God they wouldn’t have to take Grace out of here wrapped in a blanket. She didn’t look too happy to have found Grace’s things, though.
Neither did Gino, come to that. They both seemed profoundly disturbed.
“What is it?” he asked when they reached him.
Maeve looked at the clothes she held, then at Gino.
“We found Miss Livingston’s clothes,” he said. “In a room with a . . . a cage in it.”
Frank winced. He hated that Maeve had seen that. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not that,” Maeve said, still looking at the clothes with a worried frown. “We found two sets of clothes.”
“Two sets?”
“Yes. Could they both belong to Miss Livingston?”
“Did she think she was eloping with Pendergast?” Gino asked. “Did she pack a bag or something?”
Frank shook his head. “Her maid said the only things missing from her room were the clothes she was wearing.”
Frank watched their faces as the truth dawned on them. Another woman had been here, too.
6
Malloy, where are you?” A voice called from downstairs.
Frank walked over to the stairway. “Up here.”
The officer he’d sent to search the lower floor came bounding up, taking the steps two at a time. He hesitated for an instant at the sight of Gino and Maeve, but then said, “I found something in the cellar.”
“What?”
He glanced at Maeve again. “A woman.”
Maeve gave a little cry of outrage.
“Oh, she’s alive,” he said quickly. “But . . .”
“But what?” Frank snapped.
“Well, she’s locked in a cage, and she . . . well, she don’t have no clothes on.”
Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) Page 9