“And we know he used to take advantage of the female captives, so that makes sense, unless you ask yourself what female would have been at Pendergast’s house with him last night.”
“That was my thought, too. I can’t imagine any of the women who had been Pendergast’s victims going back there.”
“Neither can I, unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
Sarah frowned, wondering if it was even possible. “Unless Andy was blackmailing some of the women as well.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
“Possible, yes. I think the women would be even more anxious to keep what happened to them a secret than the men would to hide their involvement.”
“I’d been thinking about that, too, but how would he find them?”
“He probably found the letters just as you did, and he had the advantage of knowing what had become of each of them, if Pendergast had let them go or if they’d died or whatever.”
“I guess he could’ve done that. If he’d contacted the women or even one or two of them, that could explain who the female killer was. Broghan thinks it was Grace, but she left the city, so we know it wasn’t her.”
“Oh dear.”
Malloy turned to her. “What?”
“Grace didn’t actually leave.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got a telegram from Mr. Livingston this morning. They’re staying at a hotel in the city.”
Malloy looked like he wanted to explode. “Why? I told them to leave town!”
“He didn’t give any explanation. He just telegraphed the name and address of the hotel, which I won’t tell you, so you can continue to claim ignorance.”
“And I have no intention of telling Broghan she’s here either. He’s convinced she cut Pendergast’s throat and then went back to kill Andy because he knew it.”
“He’s not a very good detective, is he?”
Malloy didn’t reply for a long moment. “It’s a logical assumption, if you don’t pay any attention to how Pendergast’s throat was cut, which Haynes also explained to us today.”
“What do you mean, how it was cut?”
He proceeded to demonstrate as well as he could in the confines of the cab. “So you see, Grace couldn’t have done it, since we know she was standing in front of him.”
“And of course, you didn’t find the weapon either, so the killer must have taken it with him. Or her.”
“And we know Rose was locked in the cellar, so it must’ve been someone else.”
“But she wasn’t locked in,” Sarah said.
Malloy turned to her in surprise. “Of course she was. She was in that cage.”
“But the cage wasn’t locked. Don’t you remember? Oh, maybe you didn’t see how I opened it,” she added, remembering he’d kept his back turned to preserve at least a shred of Rose’s dignity.
“I didn’t even think about how you opened it.”
“There was no lock, just a bolt. On the outside, but she could’ve easily reached it and unlocked the cell herself. I hadn’t remembered that until this moment.”
“If she wasn’t locked in, why would she stay in that cell?”
Sarah had to think about that. “She didn’t have any clothes. Even if she’d been able to escape the cage—and it looks like she could have without much effort—she couldn’t have left the house. She probably didn’t even want to move around inside the house with no clothes on. She wouldn’t want to show herself to Andy or Pendergast, I’m sure. And remember, the moment I gave her back her clothes, she did escape.”
“But she could’ve gotten out if she wanted to.”
“Yes, she could.”
“If she wanted to kill Pendergast.”
“Oh my. Remember when she first saw us yesterday? She thought you were there to arrest her. Do you think . . . ?”
“I think we need to go back and talk to her again.”
“But could she have killed Andy? Her sister-in-law said her feet were injured—cut and bruised—from running through the streets with no shoes. Could she have walked to Pendergast’s house and back last night?”
“I don’t know. She ran all the way home barefoot, so who knows? What we do know is that both Grace Livingston and Rose Wolfe had time to go to Pendergast’s house and kill Andy after we left them yesterday. What we don’t know is why they would and if they did.”
“I just can’t imagine either of them entering that house again, no matter what the provocation.”
“I can’t either, but if Andy had sent them a message threatening God knows what . . . People do things you’d never expect if they’re desperate enough.”
Sarah sighed, wishing she knew the answers. Or maybe she didn’t really want to know them. No matter what may have happened, she didn’t want any of Pendergast’s victims to be punished for his death, guilty or not.
“So why did you want me to go with you to see Neth? Because of Joanna?”
“Yes. I want to try to separate them, so you can talk to her alone. Find out what she knows. She was a prisoner in that house, too, so she probably heard things and saw other women there, like Rose did. And I think Neth might speak more freely if she’s not there. I want to find out if he went to Pendergast after Livingston confronted him and what he has to say for himself about that. He was also most certainly going to kidnap Maeve, but he’s not going to admit it in front of Joanna.”
“And maybe Joanna will speak more freely if he’s not there,” Sarah said. “Or not. She’s a smart girl, and she’s not going to say anything to get herself or Neth in trouble.”
“Just try. I think Neth is the weaker of the two anyway. The important thing is to get her away from him. And Sarah, try to find out if Andy was trying to blackmail her. She’s the one he was sure to know how to contact, so if he sent her a message, he might’ve also tried to blackmail the other women.”
• • •
Joanna frowned when she saw them on the doorstep. “What do you want?”
“I’m here to see Neth,” Frank said, prepared to force his way in if necessary. For an instant, he thought it might be, but then Joanna stepped back and let them enter.
“We already told you everything we know,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” Frank said, watching her face, but she gave nothing away.
She shrugged. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”
She started up the stairs, and Frank indicated to Sarah they should follow instead of waiting for her to return for them. Neth might decide he didn’t want to see them and slip out the back way.
Joanna rolled her eyes when she realized they were following her, but she made no protest and led them to the parlor. She pulled open the door and said, “Malloy and that woman are here.”
Neth had been reading the newspaper by the front windows, and he jumped up, letting the newspaper fall to the floor at his feet. He stared at them in alarm, making Frank wonder what he had to be worried about.
“Good evening, Mr. Neth. We were wondering if you could spare us a few minutes,” Frank said.
“I can’t imagine why you’re here,” Neth said. Apparently, he was trying to be condescending, but the frightened squeak in his voice ruined his effort.
Frank smiled his own version of condescension. “I just have a few more things I’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind. And maybe it would be better if we were alone, man-to-man.” He winked, alarming Neth even more.
Neth glanced at Joanna, who glowered back at him. Plainly, he wanted her advice, and just as plainly, she wasn’t giving it.
“Well, I suppose that would be all right,” Neth said. “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I didn’t see you there.” He looked back at Frank with a silent question.
“Maybe Joanna could entertain Mrs. Brandt while we talk,” Frank said.
&nbs
p; This seemed to please Joanna even less than letting Frank question Neth alone, but she left the room, leaving Sarah to follow or not. Sarah gave Frank a little smile, then followed Joanna, closing the door behind her.
Neth stood there for a long moment, his body stiff, his hands reflexively opening and closing into fists. Finally, Frank said, “Could we sit down?”
“Oh yes, of course.” Neth seemed almost relieved and moved to where a sofa and some chairs sat grouped in the center of the room. Frank took one of the chairs and Neth another. Neth sat stiffly, his hands clutching the armrests. “Now, what can I do for you?” He’d made an attempt to sound hearty, but it came off pretty flat.
“I just wanted to let you know that we found the fellow Andy, the one who worked for Pendergast.”
Alarm flickered over his face, but he managed to say, “Oh, good. I was worried about him, poor devil. Where has he been?”
“I don’t know where he was the past few days, but I found him at Pendergast’s house this morning.”
“Really? I suppose he was shocked to hear about Pendergast.” Neth tried to smile, to show he had no concerns about Andy at all, but the smile stopped short of his eyes, which clouded with worry. “What did he have to say for himself?”
“Have you heard from Andy since Pendergast died, Mr. Neth?”
Neth blinked in surprise. “Heard from him? What do you mean?”
“I mean heard from him. Did he come to see you or send you a letter or telephone you?”
“Andy? No, no. I don’t think Andy has ever contacted me about anything.”
Frank had expected him to lie about that, of course, but Neth seemed genuinely puzzled by the question and truthful in his answer. If Andy had tried to blackmail Neth, Frank was sure he wouldn’t have been able to hide his apprehension, and Frank would have bet money that Neth would be the first name on Andy’s blackmail list.
How very strange.
“Mr. Neth, I know a lot more about Pendergast and his little hobby now than I did the other day. I know how he used the lonely hearts advertisements to lure women into meeting him, and how he invited them home to meet his mother. I know he raped them and took their clothes and locked them in cages until he broke their wills and turned them into his slaves.”
Neth shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Really, Mr. Malloy, I don’t think—”
“And I know one of his former victims lives with you here, but what I don’t know is what happened to the rest of them.”
“I already told you—”
“I know, I know. Two of them committed suicide, and he tried to take one to a brothel, but they weren’t interested. I need to know what happened to them—the ones who survived—when Pendergast was finished with them, Mr. Neth.”
“Really, Pendergast didn’t confide in me about his . . . activities.”
“He told you about the suicides. I consider that confiding. And what did he do with those bodies, by the way? You said he was concerned about disposing of them.”
“He . . .” Neth shifted again and tried to chuckle, although it came out more like a croak. “He left them in a cemetery, I believe. Yes, that’s what he said. Wrapped them in sheets and left them in a cemetery. Beside a church, you know. Someone found them, I’m sure, and gave them a decent burial.”
“And notified their families?”
“Oh, well, I couldn’t speak to that, I’m sure. I don’t know any details, of course, not the names of the churches or anything like that. He just . . . He thought he’d been clever, you see, and wanted to brag a bit.”
Frank pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off a threatening headache. “And what about the others, the ones he didn’t leave wrapped in a sheet in a cemetery?”
“I . . . I don’t know. I just know with Joanna . . . Well, he wasn’t finished with her yet, you see. He’d keep them until . . .”
“Until they wore out?” Frank tried when he hesitated, using Rose’s expression. “Until they no longer cared if they lived or died?”
Neth blanched at that, but he said, “I didn’t approve of what he did. You must believe me. That’s why I took Joanna out of there. She begged me to, you know.”
“I’m sure she did, and yet you’d gone to Pendergast’s house more than once to visit the women he kept there, didn’t you?”
“I told you, at first I thought they were whores, that he was paying them and they were there willingly. When Joanna told me . . .” He covered his face with both hands.
“And yet you were going to kidnap a woman yourself just the other day.”
Neth looked up with fresh alarm. “No, that wasn’t it at all.”
“Were you going to bring that girl here and lock her up the way Pendergast did? Was he going to lend you one of his cages?”
“No! I wasn’t going to keep her. He just . . . He said . . .”
“What did he say, Mr. Neth? Did he ask you to keep her here until he came to get her? You can’t say you didn’t know what he planned to do with her, Mr. Neth, not after Joanna already told you the truth.”
Neth shook his head frantically.
“Or did he tell you that you were ready to start your own collection? Did you think Joanna would help you manage the women the way Andy helped Pendergast?”
“Please, please, don’t tell Joanna. He made it sound so easy, but he knew something was wrong. That’s why he sent me in his place. I wasn’t going to hurt her, I swear!”
Frank wasn’t interested in Neth’s hypocritical oaths. “The other women, Neth. What happened to them?”
“I think . . . I’m pretty sure he just let them go. He’d give them their clothes and put them out.”
“But not their shoes.”
“What?”
“He kept their shoes as souvenirs.”
“Dear God.”
“Yes. He’d use them until their minds were gone, and then he’d put them out like stray cats to find their own way home.”
“I saved Joanna, though,” he said, as if that excused him.
“Saved her? She’s your mistress, isn’t she? I hardly call that saving.”
“What do you want from me? I’ve already told you I don’t know who killed Pendergast. Why do you keep torturing me?”
Frank wanted to point out that he didn’t know the first thing about torture if he thought that’s what Frank was doing, but he said, “You must’ve been pretty angry when you realized Pendergast had tricked you. I guess that’s why you went straight to his house to tell him.”
He looked up at Frank, his eyes wild with terror. “I didn’t!”
“Of course you did. The women heard you arguing, and they saw you,” Frank lied, testing him.
“They didn’t see me!” he cried. “They couldn’t have!”
“Why? Because you didn’t see them? Because you thought they were locked up in their cages? Well, they weren’t. They were right there. Grace was standing right in front of Pendergast when you cut his throat.”
“Then she knows I didn’t do it! Why would I kill him?”
“Because you were angry. Because he tricked you and got you caught trying to kidnap a woman.”
“But I didn’t. That Grace woman, she’ll tell you. I wasn’t there!”
“Where were you last night?”
Neth frowned in confusion at the change of subject. “Last night?”
“Yes, after five o’clock.”
“I was at my club.”
“All evening?”
“Yes, until about ten. Then I came home.”
“Were you here the rest of the night?”
“Of course.”
“Alone?”
“Joanna was here.”
“So you can vouch for each other?”
“Why would we need to do that?”
“Because somebody killed Andy last night, and I was pretty sure it was you.”
11
Joanna didn’t even look to see if Sarah was following her as she made her way back downstairs and into the kitchen. Maybe she hoped Sarah wouldn’t follow. At any rate, she didn’t seem surprised when Sarah stepped into the kitchen behind her.
She crossed her arms defiantly. “What do you want?”
“I want to be sure the women Pendergast kidnapped aren’t hurt any more, and that includes you.”
“Then get out of here and leave us alone.”
Sarah had to admit, it was tempting. “That might protect you, but it won’t help the others.”
“I can’t help the others.”
“I’ve spoken with the two women we rescued the other day. They’ve told me what they went through. You were very clever to have gotten away.”
Some emotion flickered across her face but was gone before Sarah could identify it. “I wasn’t clever enough to keep from getting caught in the first place.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that. Pendergast apparently had a lot of practice doing what he did. He knew what would work the best.”
“Not all the women he corresponded with got caught,” she said bitterly. “Sometimes one would get a bad feeling or something and would refuse his invitation to meet his mother. Sometimes they wouldn’t even show up at all.”
“How lucky for them. Maybe their families found out and stopped them.”
“That would make him so angry,” she said as if Sarah hadn’t spoken. “He’d come home furious, and he’d take it out on us.”
“How many women were there with you?”
Joanna’s brown eyes narrowed. “Three. Not all at once. He never kept more than two at a time. He liked having two, though, because it was worse for us that way.”
“Worse?” Sarah would have thought the women might comfort each other.
“Because someone else knew. We knew what he did to the other one. I couldn’t figure it out at first, why that was so bad, but then I realized that when he was using the other one, I was so glad it wasn’t me that I couldn’t even feel sorry for her anymore. I know the others felt the same. We couldn’t even look at each other after a while.”
Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) Page 18