Murder on Washington Square

by Victoria Thompson

  “Stay here,” Frank warned. “We don’t want anyone to see you.”

  He got to the front room just as Sarah Brandt slammed the door behind her. The shadows of the clamoring reporters danced on the other side of the frosted glass window, and their voices were muffled shouts. “They found out who I am,” she said accusingly.

  “That was pretty easy to do, considering they know you live next door,” Frank replied.

  “No,” she said in disgust, “I don’t mean they found out I’m Nelson’s neighbor. They found out I’m your ‘lady friend.’ ”

  “My what?” he asked with a frown, but she was already stomping past him on her way back to the kitchen, leaving him no choice but to follow.

  “How are you doing?” she asked Ellsworth in a gentle tone she had never used with Frank.

  “I’m fine,” he said, although he was obviously far from fine. “How is my mother taking all of this? She isn’t strong, you know. The shock must have been awful.”

  “Now that she knows you aren’t locked in jail, she’s doing much better. I promised her you’d come home after it gets dark and no one can see you.” She looked up at Frank, daring him to contradict her.

  “I don’t see any reason why he can’t go home tonight,” he said mildly, “so long as he gives me his word he won’t try to run away.”

  “Run away?” Ellsworth echoed indignantly. “I don’t have anything to run away from!”

  Frank could have given him a long list of things he should run away from, but he said, “Are you hungry, Ellsworth? Because I sure am.”

  Mrs. Brandt gave him an impatient look, but she turned away and began rummaging around for something edible.

  “I don’t think I could eat anything,” Ellsworth said, “but a cup of tea would be very nice.”

  “You should try to eat,” Frank said, not entirely unselfishly. If Ellsworth didn’t want anything, she might not fix anything. “You’ll need your strength.”

  “Malloy is right,” she said, surprising Frank. He thought this might be the first time she’d admitted he’d been right about anything. “And I think we could all use some tea.”

  Soon the kitchen was uncomfortably warm, in spite of the evening chill that had settled over the city. Frank stayed there, though. He was enjoying the comfortable domesticity of the scene. For once he needed no excuse to watch Sarah Brandt to his heart’s content.

  He liked the way the lamplight shone on her golden hair and the way she moved, so confidently yet so feminine. She really was a fine figure of a woman. She would fill a man’s arms quite nicely. Or his bed. The thought caused him a pain that was part longing for what could never be and part grief for what he could never have again. The loss of his wife Kathleen was a wound that would never completely heal, but lately when he dreamed he was loving a woman, she wasn’t Kathleen. Instead, she had golden hair and Sarah Brandt’s face. It was a dream that could never come true, but since no one ever need know about it, he figured it was harmless enough. And no one ever would know, least of all Sarah Brandt.

  She turned and set a teapot on the table, then fetched two cups. She poured Ellsworth’s for him and even put some milk into it. “Do you need some sugar?” she asked in that gentle tone again.

  “A spoonful, please,” he replied, and she stirred that in, too. Then she went back to her cooking.

  Frank cleared his throat expectantly. She glanced over her shoulder at him. “The next time you’re falsely accused of murder, I’ll pour your tea, too,” she said with that smirk that made him want to shake her. Or at least lay his hands on her.

  He didn’t really want any tea, but he took some anyway. Pouring it was a distraction of sorts. In a few more minutes, she served their supper, which was potatoes fried with onions and eggs. She put some on a plate for Ellsworth, even though he protested that he couldn’t eat a thing, and then passed the serving plates to Frank.

  While Ellsworth picked at his food, Mrs. Brandt said very casually, “Can you think of anyone who might have wanted Anna out of the way?”

  Ellsworth looked up in surprise. “Certainly not! She didn’t have any enemies. She hardly even know anyone in the city.”

  “An old friend then, someone who knew her before she came to the city. Do you know where she was from?” she prodded.

  Nelson considered a moment. “I think . . . She may have been from the Hudson Valley, but I can’t recall the name of a town. Perhaps she never actually told me the name.”

  “If her mother was sick, why did they come to the city in the first place?” Frank asked between mouthfuls. Mrs. Brandt wasn’t as good a cook as his mother, but right now, that didn’t really matter.

  “Her father had died and left them penniless,” Ellsworth explained. “Anna’s mother wasn’t sick at first, and they both thought they might find work in the city. But of course, the work they found only paid a pittance, and then her mother got sick . . . Poor thing, Anna was at her wit’s end when I met her.”

  “She was very lucky to find someone like you, Nelson,” Sarah Brandt said sweetly. “Someone who was willing to help her without expecting anything in return.”

  Even in the dim light of the gas jets, Frank could see that Ellsworth’s face had gone scarlet, because they all knew he’d eventually gotten something in return, expected or not. “I didn’t force her,” he said. “You must believe that!”

  “Of course we believe that,” she assured him. “Did Anna have any other friends in the city? Perhaps she’d met someone when she came here.”

  “I . . . I got the impression she was quite alone,” Ellsworth said. “Besides, she might have been killed . . .” He had to stop and fight back a rush of emotion. “By a stranger,” he finished. “At that time of night, in a public square . . .”

  “But why would she have been out so late, alone?” she asked, still sweet and gentle. Frank was beginning to admire her technique. “Can you think of any reason?”

  “No, I can’t,” Ellsworth wailed. “I’ve asked myself the same thing a hundred times. She would’ve known it wasn’t safe. At that time of night, the Square is filled with all sorts of dangerous people.”

  “But if she was from a small town, maybe she didn’t know that,” she offered. “Is it possible she just decided to go for a walk? Could she have been that naive?”

  Ellsworth’s shoulders sagged with despair, and he covered his face with his hands. “I don’t know.”

  But all this conjecture had given Frank an idea. “Do you think she would have gone out to meet you?”

  Ellsworth looked up. “But I never would’ve asked her to meet me someplace after dark!” he objected.

  “She might not have known that, though. Suppose someone sent her a message and said it was from you. Would she have gone out to meet you?”

  “I don’t know. She might have,” he conceded.

  Frank checked the serving bowl and kept the last scoop of potatoes from going to waste.

  “Do you think someone lured her out that night to kill her?” Mrs. Brandt asked him while he was refilling his plate.

  Frank shrugged one shoulder. “It’s possible. I’m just trying to figure out how it might’ve happened. We know she was out there and someone killed her. If it wasn’t Nelson here—”

  “And it wasn’t!” Ellsworth cried.

  “Then it had to be someone else. Was it a stranger? If so, why was she there in the first place, where she was easy prey? Prostitutes work in the Square after dark. Why would she risk being mistaken for one by some drunken customer?”

  “Which means she must have had a good reason for being there,” Mrs. Brandt guessed. She was getting much too good at this sort of thing. “And that could only mean she was expecting to meet someone. Someone important to her.” She turned to Ellsworth. “If you were her only friend in the city, she must have thought she was meeting you.”

  “But why wouldn’t he have just come to the house, the way he always did?” Frank asked. “Or at least wait until morning
to meet her? Why would he ask her to do something dangerous?”

  “Please, I can’t . . .” Ellsworth begged, dropping his head into his hands again. “I can’t think anymore. Isn’t it dark enough for me to go home yet?”

  Frank sighed. He wouldn’t mind being rid of Ellsworth. He wouldn’t get any more from him tonight. “I’ll check to see if the reporters are still there.”

  A quick trip to the front room told him that only two of the more persistent reporters remained, and they were standing across the street under the gaslight which had recently been lit, not paying much attention to the house.

  “I think you could make it now if you’re quiet,” he told Ellsworth when he got back to the kitchen.

  “Malloy will go with you,” Mrs. Brandt said, without bothering to consult him. He shot her an irritated look, but she didn’t pay any attention. “Try to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “And don’t try to go to work in the morning,” Frank warned him.

  “But Mr. Dennis will be expecting me!” Ellsworth protested. “If I don’t go, I could lose my job.”

  “If the bank fills up with reporters who write stories that say a killer works there, you’ll definitely lose your job,” Frank pointed out.

  “It’s just for a few days, until we find the real killer,” Mrs. Brandt added reassuringly. “I’m sure Mr. Dennis will understand when he hears what happened.”

  Frank wanted to challenge her on the “we,” but he refrained. He preferred getting Ellsworth home as quickly as possible. Arguing with Sarah Brandt could wait a few more minutes.

  Ellsworth looked like he might pass out, but Frank got him to his feet and helped him out the back door. Mrs. Brandt’s garden was pitch dark. Even though the street out front was lighted, not a beam of it could penetrate the row of houses in between. The two men made their way carefully down her walk and opened the back gate. Frank winced when it squeaked, but he waited a moment, and when the noise didn’t seem to have aroused any alarm, he led Ellsworth into the alley and around to his own yard.

  Frank knocked lightly on the back door, and in a moment, the curtain in the window beside it moved and a shadowed face peered out. A second later, they heard a cry of recognition, and the back door flew open.

  “Quiet!” Frank warned, before the old woman started screaming at the sight of her son. “Get him inside and turn out the lights and don’t either of you go outside until you hear from me. Do you understand?”

  “I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Malloy,” Ellsworth stammered.

  “Thank me later. Now get inside before someone hears us.” He shoved Ellsworth into the house and pulled the door shut. In another minute he was back at Sarah Brandt’s back door.

  He wasn’t surprised to see her waiting there, watching to make sure everything went all right. He’d been planning to bid her good night, but she stepped aside for him to enter, which he was more than happy to do.

  “What’s going to happen now?” she asked when he was inside again.

  “I guess I’ll have to find out if there was anyone else who might’ve wanted to kill Anna Blake. Otherwise, Nelson is in a lot of trouble.”

  “He didn’t do it. You know that, don’t you, Malloy?”

  “I don’t think it’s very likely,” he admitted, “but that might not be enough to keep him from frying.”

  She winced. “Then we have to find out who really killed her. Are you investigating the case?”

  “No, Broughan has it.”

  “Oh.” Her expression fell. She knew Broughan. He’d helped Frank out one time on a case she’d been involved with. “He won’t be much help, will he?”

  “He won’t be any help. I had to promise I’d get Ellsworth to confess before he’d let me take him home.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes, oh dear,” Frank agreed. Then he remembered one more thing he needed to deal with before he left. “Were you just teasing me before or do you really know something about this case that I need to know?”

  “Oh, I’d almost forgotten. Sit down, and I’ll tell you about my meeting with Anna Blake.”

  Frank pushed the dirty dishes away and sat back down at the table. “I’d been meaning to ask you about that,” he said in a tone that should have warned her he was angry, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or else she didn’t care.

  “Nelson sent me a note and asked me to meet him at Washington Square.”

  “Wait, stop right there,” Frank said. “He sent you a note? Why didn’t he just come to your front door if he wanted to talk to you?”

  “Because his mother would have wanted to know why he was talking to me. You know she doesn’t miss a thing that happens on this street. So I met him at the Square on Monday afternoon.”

  “Where in the Square?” Frank asked, thinking this sounded too familiar.

  She hesitated. “By the hanging tree,” she finally admitted.

  “Right where this Anna died.”

  “So it appears.”

  “That’s interesting. Go on.”

  “We met, and he told me about Anna and how she thought she was expecting a baby. He thought maybe I could help her.”

  Frank frowned. “Did he want you to do something to the baby? To get rid of it?”

  “Oh, no! I think perhaps he was hoping she wasn’t expecting at all. That would have solved all his problems. But if she was, he wanted me to offer her assistance and reassure her, I think. Maybe even convince her to marry Nelson.”

  “Now that’s the part I don’t understand. Why would a woman in her position not want to marry the man who’d ruined her?”

  “I didn’t understand that either,” she said, “until I met Anna. You see, she wasn’t at all what I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “I thought she’d be young and innocent and frightened out of her wits. Instead, she wasn’t nearly as young as Nelson seemed to think. She tried hard to look young. Her clothes and her hair and her manner were designed to make her appear so, but I could see she was way past the blush of youth. She was a very good actress, but her eyes gave her away. They weren’t innocent at all.”

  “But Ellsworth was fooled.”

  “Oh, yes, completely. And when Nelson introduced me, she became hysterical. At first she insisted on believing that I was Nelson’s fiancée who had come to denounce her. He finally convinced her I was a midwife, and then she started accusing him of bringing me there to kill her baby! Can you imagine? She wouldn’t listen to anything he said, so finally, I left him there to comfort her and went home.”

  “You’d think she’d be happy to find out you weren’t Nelson’s fiancée,” Frank said.

  “Yes, you would, but she actually seemed disappointed. It was as if she wanted me to stand in the way of their love.”

  “If she didn’t want to marry Nelson, what did she want?”

  “She wanted money. A thousand dollars, so she could go away and not bother Nelson again.”

  “Where on earth would Nelson get a thousand dollars?” Frank had been saving for years to amass enough money to pay the $14,000 bribe necessary to get promoted to Captain, and he knew how difficult it was to come by an extra $1,000. That was a goodly portion of Nelson’s annual salary, and no one paid him rewards for doing his job well, the way they did Frank.

  “I don’t think he could have gotten that much money without a great deal of sacrifice,” she said, “but that doesn’t matter now.”

  “Oh, it matters a great deal, Mrs. Brandt,” he contradicted her. “Because if she was blackmailing him and he couldn’t pay, he had a perfect motive for murder.”

  4

  FRANK WALKED SLOWLY FROM WASHINGTON SQUARE TO Anna Blake’s boardinghouse on Thompson Street, ignoring the brisk morning chill that warned of winter’s coming. He was trying to get a feel for the neighborhood and judge how long it might have taken Anna to walk from her rooming house to the Square where she died. He looked carefully around, seeing what she would have p
assed on her way and who might have had an opportunity to see her. The people who might have seen her or her killer weren’t here now. They’d crawled back into their hidey-holes until the sun set again.

  The first thing he usually did when investigating a crime was to ask the neighbors what they saw and heard and if they knew any gossip that might help identify the guilty party. In this case, the people who might have seen Anna Blake or her killer that night weren’t the kind who’d feel any civic duty to aid the police. In fact, they’d evade him or lie if they had to, just to keep from getting involved with the police. So coming back here to question the nighttime denizens of the Square was a waste of time.

  The house where Anna Blake had lived looked no different from the others on the street. Formerly a family home, it had long since been converted into cheap lodging for those who couldn’t afford a flat of their own but who earned enough to keep a decent roof over their head. Less fortunate folks would find refuge in flop houses where they could get a bed for a nickel a night or space on the floor for a few pennies. No decent woman would go into a flop house, though, and only the lowest of prostitutes frequented them. So Frank knew a lot about Anna Blake just from seeing where she lived.

  Although she’d been unable to find suitable employment, she’d managed to find the three to five dollars a week she would need for room and board here, or else they would have thrown her out of the house. Frank already knew Nelson Ellsworth had been paying her rent, but she’d lived in this house before he came along to rescue her. This meant she’d had some source of income before Nelson. Supposedly, she and her mother had been penniless and unable to find work. Then the mother needed an operation, for which Nelson loaned Anna money. Had she been living on that loan? And what had happened to the mother? Buried in a pauper’s grave? Or had she ever existed at all? Interesting questions. Perhaps Anna’s landlady could shed some light on them.

  But the person who answered the door wasn’t the landlady or even a lady at all. The man was of medium height, thin but with a slight paunch underneath a stylish waist-coat. A short, neat beard covered the lower half of his face. He wore a well-fitted suit, as if he had just been going out.