“If that’s true, and you shouldn’t be so quick to judge everyone on the police force, it’s because they aren’t allowed the luxury of doing what’s right all the time. People who have money and power can do whatever they want and never have to fear the police because no one wants to offend them—or risk their wrath.”
“That’s ridiculous! No one would allow someone to commit crimes, whatever their social status!”
“Mother, your memory must be fading. The rich commit crimes every day for which they’re never punished, and you know exactly to whom I’m referring.”
Sarah could tell from her expression that she remembered the people they both knew who had, for all practical purposes, gotten away with murder. “They did pay for their crimes,” Mrs. Decker reminded her.
“Which was just luck,” Sarah reminded her in return. “But if a rich man killed Mr. Van Dyke, he might very well have nothing to fear, even if Mr. Malloy manages to find the proof that he did it.”
“Teddy would never let that happen,” Mrs. Decker insisted. She’d known Commissioner Roosevelt all his life, so she felt justified in using his nickname.
“He might have no choice, Mother. He’s not exactly the most powerful man in the city, as we both know. All Malloy can do is give him the opportunity to make the correct decision. But as I said, he needs your help.”
Her mother’s expression was troubled. “I’m sure I don’t know anything that would help,” she hedged.
“Oh, Mother, don’t be so modest,” Sarah chided gently. “Remember what I said about gossip? You may not spread any, but I know you hear plenty of it. All we have to do is figure out which bit of that gossip will lead us to the killer.”
VAN DYKE’S SECRETARY, LEWIS REED, LIVED IN A MODEST rooming house not far from Tompkins Square. Frank lived in the same neighborhood, and he knew it to be respectable but working class.
The landlady, a plump Irishwoman in her fifties, showed him upstairs to Mr. Reed’s rooms. Reed’s sitting room was furnished comfortably with good-quality but slightly shabby furniture someone wealthy had probably discarded. A small fire burned in the grate to ward off the chill, and Reed sat in an overstuffed chair nearby with a quilt across his legs. He’d propped his feet on an ottoman and his bandaged head rested on a pillow wedged between it and the back of the chair.
He’d apparently been dozing, but he was awake when the landlady ushered Frank into the room. A slight man, probably of average height, Reed had brown, thinning hair, from what Frank could see of it around the bandage. His long, narrow, and very ordinary face was pinched with pain and unusually pale. He wore a dressing gown and slippers.
Frank introduced himself “Sorry to bother you, Reed,” he added, taking a seat on the sofa without being invited. “I know you’re not feeling well, but I need to ask you a few questions about what happened yesterday.”
Reed winced. “I’m afraid I don’t remember very much. The doctor said that’s because I was hit on the head. They told me the door blew off Mr. Van Dyke’s office and . . .”
“Yes, that’s what happened,” Frank confirmed. “I’m more interested in what happened before the explosion. Have you seen anyone unusual around the office building lately?”
“What do you mean by unusual?”
“Someone who didn’t belong there. He might have been sneaking around in the alley behind the building or trying to get into the basement.”
“Many people walk through the alley,” he reminded Frank. “It’s a busy neighborhood.”
Frank figured if he’d noticed someone who looked like an anarchist carrying a bomb, he would have said so long since. “Did you see Mr. Van Dyke come in that morning?”
Reed started to nod and then caught himself, grabbing his head as if to hold it in place. Frank remembered Alberta Van Dyke making the same gesture but for a much different reason. “Yes,” Reed finally said, somewhat raggedly. “I’m always at my desk at seven o’clock.”
“How did Mr. Van Dyke seem to you that morning?”
“Seem?” he echoed uncertainly.
“Was he the same as usual or was he worried or happy or sad or what?”
Reed’s broad forehead wrinkled with the effort of remembering. “Now that you ask, he did seem oddly cheerful that day.”
“Cheerful?”
“Yes, he . . . Well, he didn’t usually say very much, especially in the morning. He wasn’t a man for idle conversation. That morning, though, he greeted me in a very pleasant manner.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m not sure I . . . no, wait. He said it was a fine day,” he remembered with a trace of amazement.
“Did you think that was odd?”
Reed looked pained. “It was sleeting.”
“Yes, it was,” Frank confirmed. “Did he say anything else?”
Reed took a moment to remember. “I . . . I think I asked if he’d been shopping.”
“Why did you ask him that?”
“Because he was carrying a package.”
“What kind of package?”
“I don’t . . . A nice box of some kind, I think. I had the impression it must contain something expensive.”
“What did he say when you asked if he’d been shopping?”
“He said yes, that he had a special surprise for Mr. Snowberger. He seemed very pleased with himself.”
This would be the bottle of French brandy the valet had described. “Was Mr. Van Dyke in the habit of giving people gifts for no reason?”
“Not at all, especially . . .” He stopped suddenly and looked guiltily away.
“Especially what?” Frank prodded.
“I . . . I really don’t know what I was going to say,” he said apologetically. “I guess I’m not thinking very clearly since the . . . accident.”
“Were you going to say especially since Mr. Van Dyke found out his partner was cheating him?”
Reed looked genuinely surprised. “Cheating him? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Because that’s what he told someone,” Frank said, failing to mention the “someone” was his servant. “He thought Snowberger was stealing money from the company.”
“That’s impossible,” Reed insisted. “I would’ve known something like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I examine all the financial statements, and I prepare the reports for Mr. Van Dyke and Mr. Snowberger. If there were any irregularities, I would have seen them at once.”
“Isn’t the purpose of embezzling to make sure no one finds out?”
Reed seemed offended now. “I keep track of every penny that comes into the company, and I know where every one of them goes. Both Mr. Snowberger and Mr. Van Dyke earn generous salaries, even though they don’t really need to work at all. Neither of them would have a reason to cheat the other, and if they tried, I’d know about it.”
“But something was wrong,” Frank reminded him. “Something that caused bad blood between them.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reed said.
“Of course you do. You said you were surprised Van Dyke was giving Snowberger a gift because they’d been angry with each other for a while.”
“I had noticed some . . . some extra strain between them for several months,” Reed admitted reluctantly.
“I understand that you don’t want to say anything bad about Snowberger now that he’s in full charge of the company, but whose fault was the argument they had?”
“Mr. Malloy, neither gentleman confided their personal business to me.”
“Ah, but a good secretary knows everything that’s going on. Your job depends on it.”
Mr. Reed was annoyed. Frank could tell because his neck got blotchy and red. “Mr. Van Dyke was angry with Mr. Snowberger. Mr. Snowberger wasn’t . . .”
“Wasn’t what?” Frank prodded when he hesitated.
“He didn’t seem to be angry, not the way Mr. Van Dyke was. You must understand, they never really lik
ed each other, and neither one of them was what you would call a man of great passion. They conducted themselves with decorum and reserve.”
“Cold fish,” Frank judged.
Reed shrugged one shoulder in agreement. “For Mr. Van Dyke to allow his anger to show proved he was quite disturbed.”
“Could Snowberger have just been better at hiding his feelings?”
“Possibly, but I got the impression . . . I really shouldn’t be discussing this,” he added suddenly.
“Better if you tell me now than having to testify in court,” Frank bluffed. “What was your impression?”
Reed paled again. “Mr. Snowberger seemed a bit . . . smug. As if he’d gotten the better of Mr. Van Dyke somehow.”
“In a business deal?”
“Nothing that had to do with their company. I’m sure of that.”
“Did they have other business dealings together?”
“I have no idea. That’s something you’d have to ask Mr. Snowberger.” He put his hand to his head, silently reminding Frank he’d been seriously injured the previous day.
“I may come back with more questions later,” Frank warned, rising to his feet.
“I’ll help in any way I can,” Reed promised. Frank figured he’d be helping in any way that wouldn’t get him in trouble with Snowberger.
Frank started for the door, but Reed stopped him. “Mr. Van Dyke’s . . . family, how are they?”
Frank looked at him curiously, trying to judge if there was more than an ordinary, professional interest in his question. He seemed merely concerned. “Fine, under the circumstances.”
“They’ll probably need my help with the arrangements. Clearing up the business details and that sort of thing,” he added quickly. “I should call on them.”
“I doubt they’re expecting you. They know you were injured.”
“Do they?” This seemed to disturb him. “I hope they know it’s not serious . . . I mean, I hope they know they can depend on me for assistance.”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t think of troubling you, under the circumstances,” Frank said. “Get some rest. That’s the best thing you can do right now.”
Frank was mentally shaking his head as he left Reed’s boardinghouse. Something just wasn’t right about Van Dyke’s last morning on earth. What in blazes had he been so happy about that day? And why was he bringing Snowberger a gift of expensive brandy when he’d been so angry with him? Snowberger was probably the only person who might be able to explain it, but fortunately, Frank wouldn’t have to ask him about it. He had Creighton Van Dyke in custody, and through him, he’d soon have the anarchist who’d planted the bomb. Then this case would be over.
ELIZABETH DECKER WAS STARING AT HER DAUGHTER AS if she’d never seen her before. “You’re serious, aren’t you? That gossip can solve a crime, I mean.”
“Of course. I just need for you to tell me everything you know about the Van Dykes. Something should give us a clue as to who might have wanted Mr. Van Dyke dead.”
“Really, Sarah, this is silly, especially because anarchists are most likely responsible.”
“Humor me, Mother. What do you know about Lilly Van Dyke?”
“That she’s a very tiresome creature,” she said with a small smile.
“Where did she come from? How did she meet Mr. Van Dyke?”
Mrs. Decker sighed in resignation. “She came from Albany, I think. Her father was in business there. I heard there was some sort of scandal, and her father’s business was ruined. He owed Gregory a lot of money. No one knows for certain what happened, of course, but suddenly, he announced his daughter’s engagement to Gregory, and then he retired to the country with all his debts settled.”
“It doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what must have happened. How did Lilly feel about the bargain?”
“I’m sure no one asked her,” Mrs. Decker said without the slightest hint of sarcasm. “To her credit, she made the best of it at first. She even seemed to enjoy her new social status. New York society can be very exciting.”
The look she gave Sarah was to remind her of what she had given up when she’d refused to return to her parents’ home after Tom’s death. Sarah pretended not to notice. “You said she made the best of it at first. Does that mean she changed?”
“Unfortunately, yes. She realized that her husband wasn’t interested in buying her everything she wanted or going to every party to which they were invited. She was young and . . . well, I suppose she still had her youthful fantasies about the handsome prince and living happily ever after. All of us have to adjust to reality after we marry, and most women at least have their friends to help them, but Lilly knew no one in the city when she came here.”
“Didn’t Mr. Van Dyke introduce her to the proper people?”
Mrs. Decker looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry to say that the wives of her husband’s friends considered her too provincial and too . . . ambitious. She tried too hard, I’m afraid, and people aren’t very tolerant of outsiders. She had no friends, and she grew bored and . . .” She looked down at her hands, now folded primly in her lap, as if she were ashamed to number herself among those who had snubbed Lilly.
“What did she do, Mother?” Sarah prompted. “Did she take a lover?”
“There were rumors . . . No one knows for certain, of course,” her mother stressed. “Unless she confessed, which of course she didn’t, or her lover bragged, which I haven’t heard, we can only suspect.”
“But you did suspect,” Sarah guessed.
“She was so . . . indiscreet. More than one woman dragged her husband away from a social event after he’d made a spectacle of himself flirting with her. She seemed determined to disgrace herself, almost as if she enjoyed the attention she attracted.”
“Did Mr. Van Dyke know?”
“I have no idea. If he did, he hadn’t taken any steps to rein her in. She still went to every party and behaved badly.”
“Did you hear anything said about who she might have taken as a lover?”
“No one seemed to know, but if she had—and remember, no one knew for certain—he had to be someone who didn’t fear Gregory.”
“You mean someone so powerful himself that even a man as important as Mr. Van Dyke couldn’t hurt him.”
“Or perhaps someone who hated Gregory and wanted to take revenge on him in a particularly humiliating way.”
“Would Mr. Van Dyke have been humiliated if Lilly had an affair?”
“Undoubtedly. Lilly would be completely ruined, of course, and he would have turned her out with nothing but the clothes on her back. Even still, he’d be tainted, too. No one respects a man who can’t control his wife. His true friends would pity him, and others would despise and even ridicule him.”
Sarah sighed. “And if Lilly’s hypothetical lover wanted revenge on Mr. Van Dyke, he certainly wouldn’t have killed him.”
“No,” her mother agreed. “That would spoil everything, wouldn’t it?”
“Unless . . .”
“Unless what?”
“If someone had begun an affair with Lilly—even to get revenge on Mr. Van Dyke—he could have actually fallen in love with her. That would give him a reason for wanting her to be a widow,” Sarah said triumphantly.
“Which means he’d have to be unmarried himself if he hoped to marry the widow,” her mother observed. “But I’m afraid you give Lilly too much credit. I can’t imagine anyone being so obsessed with her that he would do murder to have her. She simply isn’t that fascinating.”
“But you said many men found her fascinating,” Sarah reminded her mother.
“I said they flirted with her. They may even have done more than that. She’s the type of woman with whom a man might enjoy a dalliance, but to kill for her? You’ve been reading too many novels if you think a sane man would do something like that for a trifle like Lilly.”
Sarah sighed. “I suppose you’re right, but . . . What if she managed to find a man who wasn�
��t quite sane, someone who would do murder to have her?”
Her mother looked at her in surprise. “I can’t imagine such a man. Who would he be?”
“Maybe someone you don’t know,” Sarah tried. “Maybe someone no one would suspect.”
“You mean someone not from our social class,” her mother clarified. “But how would she meet such a man?”
“Use your imagination, Mother,” Sarah suggested slyly. “You must encounter men from time to time who aren’t exactly one of society’s four hundred.”
“You mean someone like a . . . a tradesman or . . . or a servant?”
“Yes, someone no one would expect her to know, much less have an affair with. Someone who would never expect to be noticed by a woman like Lilly, much less win her affection. Someone who could be convinced to do anything he had to in order to have her for himself.”
Mrs. Decker shook her head. “I was only teasing about the novels, Sarah, but this sounds like a very bad one.”
Sarah hardly heard her. She’d suddenly remembered how Tad had embraced his stepmother and the spark of suspicion she’d felt when she saw them together. Was Tad naïve enough to fall under Lilly’s spell and to imagine that, with his father out of the way, he could take the old man’s place in Lilly’s bed?
“What is it, Sarah?” her mother asked. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” she lied, managing a smile. The accusation was too horrible to make on the basis of such a slender suspicion. She wouldn’t even consider it herself until she’d had a chance to test the theory on Malloy. Surely, he’d convince her she was wrong. He was good at that. “I guess I was just disappointed we couldn’t figure out a way to blame this on Lilly instead of on Creighton.”
“I can’t blame you, but you have proven my point, Sarah. Lilly simply couldn’t inspire someone to do murder. I’m afraid you’ll have to find someone else, no matter how much we might like her to be guilty.”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE’S GONE?” FRANK NEARLY BELLOWED at the officer he found guarding the front door at the Van Dykes’ mansion.
The poor fellow was nearly quaking in terror. He was what they called a Goo-Goo, new on the force and too young to know how to even wipe his own nose. Frank would’ve felt sorry for him if he hadn’t wanted to punch him in the face.
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