The old lady smiled up at him, and Frank nodded. Van Dyke just stared straight ahead, either pretending Frank wasn’t there or too afraid to look at him and risk saying something he’d regret. Frank sighed. This was going to be even harder than he’d feared when Roosevelt first gave him the job that morning.
SARAH HAD DECIDED TO WALK TO THE MISSION, SINCE finding a cab on the Lower East Side wasn’t very likely. The rain was still falling, but not heavily. She didn’t mind. She’d find a warm fire and a friendly welcome at the mission.
Sarah turned down Mulberry Street and passed Police Headquarters with hardly a glance. The building had no interest to her because she knew Malloy wasn’t there. A short distance down the street, she found the old Dutch Colonial house that had been converted into a home for wayward girls. A fresh-faced girl of about thirteen opened the door and greeted her by name.
Before Sarah could take off her cape, she heard the patter of tiny feet racing down the hall and looked up to see a small girl hurtling herself into Sarah’s arms.
“Aggie, I’m soaking wet,” Sarah protested even as she caught the child in a hug.
Small arms snaked around her neck and clung fiercely.
“Aggie, at least let Mrs. Brandt get her coat off,” a plump older woman scolded gently as she came down the hallway toward them. She was wiping her hands on her apron, and she greeted Sarah with a smile.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday, Mrs. Keller,” Sarah said as much for Aggie’s benefit as for the woman’s. “I had a baby to take care of.”
“Aggie missed you,” Mrs. Keller said. She was a widow who had been hired several weeks ago to manage the mission and look after the girls living there. The home had fallen on hard times lately, but those who supported it wanted to see the work continue. Too many poor girls ended up prostituting themselves on the streets because they had no place to go when their families turned them out.
“I missed her, too,” Sarah said, holding Aggie away so the girl could see her face and know she really meant it.
The little girl frowned, pretending to pout, but Sarah tickled her and slowly she smiled, showing even teeth.
“Let me get my wet cloak off, and we’ll go sit in the kitchen where it’s warm, and you can tell me what you’ve been doing,” Sarah said, setting the child on the floor again.
Of course, Sarah knew Aggie wouldn’t actually tell her anything since the child didn’t speak. At first, Sarah had suspected she was deaf, but she quickly realized Aggie heard and understood everything said to or around her. Since Aggie had been found sleeping on the doorstep of the mission one morning, no one knew her history, but Sarah suspected she had experienced a serious trauma of some kind that had rendered her mute. Sarah did know the child was capable of speech, since she’d heard her utter one word in the middle of a crisis. She hadn’t spoken since, however.
When Sarah had hung up her cloak, Aggie took her hand and led her back to the kitchen, where several girls were cleaning up from the evening meal. They all greeted Sarah. The lingering heat from the stove felt heavenly, and Sarah held up her chilled hands to warm them.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Keller asked.
Sarah couldn’t remember when she’d last eaten. “Do you have anything left from supper?”
“For you, we’ll find something,” Mrs. Keller assured her with a smile.
Sarah sat down at the kitchen table, and Aggie crawled up into her lap. She “told” Sarah about her day by nodding or shaking her head in response to Sarah’s questions. Sarah watched her face lovingly, studying every nuance of her expressions. She’d known the child only a little more than a month, but she’d grown to adore her. As she stroked Aggie’s silky hair, her heart ached. Common sense told her Aggie had no place here. The mission was a haven for older girls whose lives had been hard and oftentimes ugly.
Mrs. Keller and the ladies who volunteered here tried to give Aggie special attention, but no one had the time or energy to really mother her the way she needed. The older girls had too many needs and made too many demands. Sarah also worried that some of the older girls would be a bad influence on the small child. Mention had been made of an orphanage, but Sarah knew the chances that a mute child would be adopted were small. She couldn’t stand the thought of Aggie growing up in an institution.
“She sits by the window, watching for you,” Mrs. Keller said as she set a plate of stew on the table in front of Sarah.
Aggie looked up at Sarah with eyes full of longing, and Sarah had to fight an urge to weep. How many times had she longed for a child of her own, a dream that would never be fulfilled? If only she had a way to care for the girl. But her work as a midwife took her out of the house at all hours on a moment’s notice. A child so young couldn’t be left alone, nor could she go along with Sarah to deliver babies. She couldn’t even consider taking on such a responsibility.
“Come sit on a chair, Aggie, and give Mrs. Brandt a chance to eat,” Mrs. Keller said, pushing a chair up close beside Sarah’s.
Aggie gave Sarah a last, mischievous look, then quickly reached up and kissed her quickly and sweetly on the cheek before scrambling over to the other chair. Sarah had to blink hard to keep herself from crying.
CREIGHTON VAN DYKE WASN’T QUITE AS IMPATIENT ON the final leg of the journey as he had been in the beginning. Frank had no trouble matching him step for step as they walked the few blocks from the Fiftieth Street El Station to his father’s house on Fifth Avenue.
After the first block, Van Dyke said, “You said someone had planted a bomb in my father’s office?” He didn’t look at Frank, as if afraid to trust himself. Or perhaps he didn’t want to show any vulnerability.
Frank wasn’t offended. “That’s right. Someone had hidden it in his liquor cabinet, and when he opened the door, it exploded.”
“Was anyone else hurt?” He sounded genuinely concerned.
“His secretary, a Mr. Reed, was injured. I haven’t seen him yet, so I don’t know how bad.”
They walked a minute or two while Van Dyke absorbed the information.
“Wait a minute,” Van Dyke said, looking at Frank at last. “Why would my father have been opening his liquor cabinet at that hour? He rarely drank at all and certainly not before evening.”
“His valet said he’d taken a gift for Mr. Snowberger with him this morning, a bottle of very expensive brandy. I’m assuming he was putting it into the cabinet for safekeeping.”
Van Dyke’s face creased into a frown. “A gift? What for?”
“They’d had a . . . a disagreement of some kind, I think.”
Van Dyke shook his head. “They were always having disagreements, as long as they’d known each other. I can’t believe he’d settle an argument like that anyway. His word was his bond. If he needed to apologize—and I can’t say I’ve ever known him to apologize for anything!—I can’t imagine he’d feel he needed a gift to seal the bargain.”
“Do you think the valet was lying?” Frank asked.
“No, but . . . It just doesn’t make any sense.” He reached up and rubbed his forehead. “What a senseless way to die.”
“Dying hardly ever makes sense, Mr. Van Dyke,” Frank reminded him.
Van Dyke stared at him for a moment as they walked, as if trying to decide something. “Does murder make sense, Detective?”
“Only to the killer.”
Frank didn’t like the way things were going. He was pretty sure now that Van Dyke was innocent, but he also couldn’t ignore the evidence that pointed to bomb-loving anarchists as the killers. His chances of learning anything about the anarchists depended on how much Van Dyke would help, since that group would hardly cooperate with the police voluntarily. Frank knew how to make reluctant witnesses talk, but he’d never tried to use the third-degree method of persuasion on someone of Van Dyke’s social class. Besides, Van Dyke was so mild mannered, it would be like kicking a puppy. He also didn’t like the thought of what Sarah Brandt would say if she knew Frank had roughe
d up her friend.
When they reached the Van Dyke house, Creighton hesitated a moment before climbing the front stairs. Gathering his courage, Frank decided. Having met Lilly Van Dyke, he couldn’t blame the young man.
A maid answered Creighton’s knock, and her expression said she was just about to order him around to the trades-men’s entrance when she recognized him. “Mr. Creighton!” she exclaimed in surprise.
“May I come in, Ella? I’d like to see my sister.”
The girl apologized and admitted him, nodding stiffly and suspiciously at Frank when he followed the young gentleman into the foyer.
“Tell Miss Van Dyke that her brother is here and wants to see her,” Frank said. “We’ll be waiting for her upstairs, if you’ll show us to a room.”
Van Dyke glared at Frank. “I need to speak to my sister privately.”
“Too bad. You’re both suspects in a murder investigation. You either talk to her with me there, or you wait until she can visit you at the Tombs,” he said, using the nickname for the city jail.
Once again, Van Dyke looked as if he’d like to punch Frank, but his good breeding prevented him. “Can we use the front parlor, Ella?” he asked the maid.
She looked from Van Dyke to Frank and back again anxiously. “Yes, sir. I’ll go fetch Miss Alberta.”
The maid scampered away, leaving the men to find their own way to the second-floor parlor.
Frank made himself at home this time, taking a seat in the most comfortable chair in the room while Van Dyke paced restlessly back and forth across the flowered carpet. Frank considered trying to make him angry again, but decided not to, since he didn’t know how long he would have until Alberta Van Dyke showed up. He didn’t want to use the tactic too many times, because sooner or later Van Dyke would catch on and refuse the bait. So they waited in uneasy silence.
At last the parlor door opened, and Alberta Van Dyke came in. She looked even paler than she had earlier, and her expression was bleak. Frank rose to his feet, and Van Dyke hurried to her.
“Creighton,” she said, her voice ragged. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“It’s all right,” her brother assured her. “I brought the police with me, so I can’t get in any more trouble than I’m already in.”
She glanced at Malloy and then silently dismissed his presence as unimportant. She took both of Creighton’s hands in hers and searched his face with red-rimmed eyes. “I knew you didn’t have anything to do with Father’s death,” she said after a moment.
“Of course I didn’t. Come and sit down. Sarah said you’ve been ill.” He didn’t add that she looked awful, although Frank could tell from his expression he was alarmed by her appearance.
She moved to the sofa and drew her brother down beside her. “Creighton, you must be careful. Lilly is determined to blame you and your friends for Father’s death.” She looked at Frank again, this time accusingly. “The police believe her, too.”
“We’re looking for the truth, Miss Van Dyke,” Frank said. “If you know something that will help me find it, you need to tell me.”
“I know my brother would never do a thing like this.”
“Then who would?”
She turned back to Creighton with a pleading expression.
“Katya didn’t know anything about it,” he told her. “I don’t think they’re involved.”
“How can you be sure?” she asked.
“What reason would they have?” he argued.
“I asked your brother if he was supporting his anarchist friends,” Frank said to Miss Van Dyke. “If they thought he’d have more to share with them if his father was dead, they might have taken matters into their own hands.”
She looked at Creighton in alarm. “If you needed more money, you should have asked me!”
Creighton only stared back at her in dismay.
“Why would he have needed money, Miss Van Dyke?” Frank asked.
Her eyes widened in alarm as she realized she had revealed something damaging to her brother.
Creighton sighed in defeat. “My father had cut off my allowance,” he admitted. “Two months ago.”
“Before that you were supporting Katya and her brother and how many others?” Frank asked.
“About ten. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Whoever needed a place to stay. It’s amazing how cheaply people can live in the tenements,” he told his sister.
“Did you know your father had cut off his allowance, Miss Van Dyke?”
“Yes, but . . .” She looked away, unwilling to say anything for fear it would hurt her brother.
“And you were giving him money?”
“I had no idea he was supporting so many people,” she exclaimed. “I would have sent more!”
“It’s all right,” Creighton assured her, taking her hand in his. “You couldn’t have known.”
“But your friends did know,” Frank guessed. “They knew your father had cut you off and your sister wasn’t sending you enough for all of them.”
Creighton rubbed his forehead. “I can’t believe—”
“They knew, didn’t they?” Frank insisted.
He nodded. “I had to tell them. I had to explain why I couldn’t . . . Their work is so important! I was glad to share whatever I had with them. You understand, don’t you?” he begged his sister.
She gave him a pitying look. “I just wanted you and Katya to be all right. I couldn’t let you starve, especially with the baby . . .” Her voice broke, and Frank immediately remembered that she was also with child.
“Mr. Van Dyke, you’ve given me a very good reason why your friends might have killed your father. They could reasonably assume you’d inherit at least part of his fortune if he died. You’d have enough money to support all of them and their cause for the rest of your life.”
“Oh, Creighton,” Miss Van Dyke said in anguish. “I’m so sorry!”
“They didn’t do it!” Creighton insisted, just as anguished. “I can’t believe it. I won’t believe it.”
“Then who else might have wanted your father dead?” Frank asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees to show he was truly interested in their opinions.
Creighton looked at his sister, and she stared back at him for a long moment. Then she turned to Frank. “Lilly probably did.”
“Your stepmother?” he asked in surprise. “Why?”
“She hated him,” Miss Van Dyke said. “She never wanted to marry him in the first place. I’ve heard her say it dozens of times.”
“Why did she, then?”
“Her father made her. He owed our father money, and he couldn’t pay. Father had seen Lilly and admired her, and her father offered her to him. I didn’t think Father was interested in remarrying, but the idea of having such a lovely young woman must have . . . intrigued him.”
Frank thought intrigued was probably the wrong word, but he didn’t contradict her. “Many women are unhappy in their marriages, Miss Van Dyke. Very few of them kill their husbands,” Frank observed.
“Lilly was more than unhappy,” Creighton said gravely. “She resented Father for not buying her all the things she wanted.”
“She thought she should at least have pretty things if she was married to a wealthy man,” Miss Van Dyke explained. “But Father was . . . frugal. He couldn’t see any reason why she needed so many gowns. He didn’t like going to parties and balls, either, so Lilly went alone.”
“And made a scandal of herself,” Creighton said.
“Did she take lovers?” Frank asked with interest. Maybe Sarah Brandt was wrong. Maybe Lilly had ignored the risks and flaunted all conventions, and her lover had helped her get rid of her husband.
Brother and sister both looked embarrassed. Miss Van Dyke’s pale face colored unbecomingly at the bold question.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. Even Lilly wouldn’t be that foolish,” Creighton said quickly. “But people still gossiped about her. She doesn’t seem to know how to be discreet.�
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“She’s a shameless flirt, though,” Miss Van Dyke said. “Other women hated her.”
“So you think your stepmother made a bomb and put it in your father’s office so she could be free of him?” Frank asked skeptically.
“Someone could have done it for her,” Miss Van Dyke insisted.
“Someone she flirted with?” Frank asked, not bothering to hide his doubt. No lover meant no one with a motive to kill.
“Perhaps she hired someone,” Miss Van Dyke tried. She looked to her brother for support.
Creighton shook his head in despair. “Where would she meet someone who could make a bomb, Bertie?”
“Miss Van Dyke, I don’t want to arrest your brother if he’s innocent, but I need his help to find out who really committed this crime.”
He waited for a few minutes while the brother and sister engaged in a silent debate. Finally, she said, “Creighton, you must tell him who those people are.”
Van Dyke’s shoulders sagged, and Frank knew he had won.
5
SARAH WOKE THE NEXT MORNING WITH THE STRANGE sense that something terrible had happened. She needed a moment to remember the bomb and all that had followed, and then she groaned. She’d come straight home from the mission last evening and gone immediately to bed, where she’d slept like the dead. In all the excitement yesterday, she’d forgotten she’d missed a night’s sleep the day before. What had Malloy been up to since he’d left Katya’s flat yesterday with Creighton? For all she knew, he’d already solved the case. She certainly hoped so, but the only way she’d find out was if she got up and dressed and went to the Van Dyke house.
With another groan, she forced herself to throw back the covers to the morning chill. The first day of December had dawned cloudy and cold. An hour later, she stepped into the Van Dykes’ foyer. The maid led her upstairs, but when they reached the second floor, they could hear the sounds of raised voices coming from the parlor.
The maid glanced toward the closed door and winced. “I’ll announce you, Mrs. Brandt,” she said and reluctantly went to do so.
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