Murder on Marble Row

by Victoria Thompson

  “Good. Now I need to speak with Mr. Malloy for a few minutes, but you can call me if Katya needs anything.”

  Sarah started down the stairs, and Alberta went with her.

  “How is Mr. Reed doing?” Sarah asked, wondering why he hadn’t been present at the family conference.

  “I don’t know,” she said with a worried frown. “He left yesterday, right after you did, and I haven’t heard from him since. I tried to convince him to stay, but he said he had something important to do.”

  Sarah was surprised. What could he have had to do that was more important than being with Alberta? But she didn’t want to worry her friend. “I’m sure he’s fine. He really didn’t need to stay here, you know. I only said that so Lilly wouldn’t send him away and the two of you could be together.”

  “I know, but I can’t help worrying. I thought he’d come back here when he was finished with his business, or at least telephone, but he didn’t.”

  “Alberta,” Sarah chided playfully, “I already have one upset expectant mother to worry about. I don’t want another.”

  Alberta tried to smile. “I’ll try not to become a burden to you.”

  “See that you do!” she teased back.

  They’d reached the second-floor hallway.

  “I need to speak with Mr. Malloy alone,” Sarah said.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll be in the back parlor if you need me.

  I think I’ll send one of the servants to Lewis’s flat to make sure he’s all right.”

  “Good idea.” Sarah opened the parlor door and stepped inside.

  Malloy rose to his feet politely. He’d been drinking coffee from a silver service that had been carried in. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said neutrally.

  “Don’t bother pretending you’re angry that I’m here,” she warned him. “I saw your expression when I walked in.”

  “I won’t deny that I was glad to be rescued from the arguing anarchists,” he admitted. “How is Miss Petrova doing?”

  “She’s resting, but I’m afraid she’s still in danger of losing the baby.”

  He nodded grimly and looked away. “Would you like some coffee?” he asked to change the subject as she took a seat opposite him. “It’s very good.”

  The maid had brought several extra cups, and Sarah helped herself.

  “Tell me what happened to Snowberger,” she said as she raised the cup to her lips.

  Briefly, he explained how he’d happened to find the body and how the killer had tried to make it look like suicide.

  “The killer was clever,” she said.

  “Reasonably. Snowberger did die by hanging, so everything looked right. He didn’t know much about police work, though, or he would’ve realized somebody would notice the gash on the back of Snowberger’s head.”

  “Maybe he just didn’t have any respect for police work,” she pointed out. “How many detectives would bother to look beyond the obvious, especially if it meant more work for them?

  Finding a murder suspect who committed suicide would be an easy solution to a difficult problem.”

  He didn’t like what she’d said, but he knew she was right. “Well, he didn’t commit suicide, so now I’ve got two murders to solve.”

  “But only one killer to find,” she pointed out. “This second murder should make the job easier, too.”

  “If the same person killed them both,” Malloy said.

  Sarah frowned. “Two killers wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “It would if they were killed for different reasons, and they probably were, whoever killed them.”

  “That would certainly complicate matters,” Sarah agreed. “Why don’t we try the obvious solution first? Who wanted both men dead?”

  Malloy considered. “I think we can eliminate the anarchists on Snowberger’s death, too. Not their style at all.”

  “Creighton had nothing to gain, either. He’s already got his father’s money and his half of the business, although . . .”

  “Although what?” Malloy prompted.

  “Although he does have some grand ideas about changing the way the company treats its workers, sort of putting the anarchists’ theories into practice. I doubt Snowberger would’ve gone along with his plans.”

  “Killing him seems like a drastic solution, though,” Malloy pointed out. “Especially since he probably hasn’t even had a chance to talk to him about it yet.”

  “That’s true,” Sarah agreed, glad Creighton could be eliminated.

  “That leaves Lilly and Tad and Reed.”

  “Lilly wanted to marry Snowberger,” Sarah said. “She was probably feeling desperate because her husband didn’t leave her any money, so she picked a man who was equally wealthy.”

  “Didn’t Snowberger have any choice about it?” Malloy asked skeptically.

  “I got the impression Lilly had extracted a promise from him somehow, but he was still reluctant. I can’t imagine she’d kill him if he was going to rescue her, though. How did she react when she found out he was dead?”

  “She got hysterical. Started screaming and throwing things.”

  “I’m guessing killers don’t usually act like that,” Sarah said with a small smile.

  “She couldn’t have lifted Snowberger onto the table anyway,” he allowed, returning her smile. “That leaves only the men.”

  “Tad and Reed,” Sarah guessed. “Oh, dear!”

  “What now?” Malloy asked with another frown.

  “I just remembered. Snowberger told Reed he was fired from his job.”

  “When did he do that?”

  “Yesterday. With everything else that happened, I’d forgotten they’d argued, too. Snowberger said something insulting about him and Alberta. Reed tried to . . . uh, lay hands on him, but we held him back.”

  “We?” Malloy asked, intrigued.

  “Alberta and I,” she replied. “He’s weak, from his injury,” she added so Reed wouldn’t sound like too much of a sissy.

  Malloy raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t comment. He just said, “So Snowberger fired him.”

  “Yes, he said he’d have Reed arrested for trespassing if he showed his face at Van Dyke and Snowberger again.”

  “Then he’s lucky you arranged for him to stay here so he’s got an alibi,” Malloy said.

  Sarah winced, wishing she didn’t have to admit this.

  “Alberta just told me he left the house right after Snowberger did yesterday, and he hasn’t been back.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Alberta doesn’t know. He just said he had some business to take care of.”

  Malloy sat back in his chair and considered this. “We already know he had a good reason to want Van Dyke dead. Then he finds out Alberta didn’t inherit any money, so he’ll need a job to support her and the baby.”

  “Creighton said he’d take care of her, though,” Sarah reminded him.

  Malloy wasn’t impressed “Not many men would enjoy living on charity like that, or having to constantly please Creighton so he didn’t change his mind and cut off their allowance.”

  “Reed wouldn’t care,” Sarah insisted. “He loves Alberta.”

  “All the more reason why he’d want to support her himself,” Malloy said. “A man wants the woman he loves to respect him. With Snowberger gone, Creighton would be in charge. He’d probably give Reed his job back and might even promote him. From what I’ve heard, he practically runs the place already.”

  Sarah rubbed her forehead. “I can’t believe he’d kill two men. He’s so . . . meek!”

  “Like I said, they’re the most dangerous kind. Reed is also clever enough to try to make Snowberger’s death look like a suicide. He even knows enough about electricity to have figured out the wiring for the bomb.”

  Sarah thought of how devastated Alberta would be if Reed was the killer. “Surely, someone else must’ve wanted both of them dead!” she tried.

  “Tad’s our only other suspect for both murders.”r />
  Sarah wasn’t thrilled about seeing Tad accused, either. “He’s so young,” she said.

  “He’s in love with Lilly. Being young just means he might be stupid enough to kill off his rivals.”

  “But to murder his own father,” Sarah protested.

  “He didn’t exactly shoot him in the head,” Malloy reminded her. “Whoever killed Van Dyke did it in a way that meant he wouldn’t even have to see it happen.”

  “And a way that would cast blame on the anarchists. Finding the anarchist who did it would be almost impossible.”

  “Especially since it wasn’t an anarchist. The killer probably figured the police would waste all their time down in the Lower East Side and never solve the case.”

  “If you weren’t the detective in charge, that’s probably what would’ve happened,” Sarah said.

  She hadn’t intended to flatter him. She was just stating a fact, but he looked uncomfortable, almost embarrassed.

  “Why would Tad have wanted Snowberger dead?” he asked gruffly.

  Sarah recognized the effort to get her back to the subject. “Same reason he might’ve wanted his father dead,” she admitted. “He was distraught when Lilly said she was going to marry Snowberger.”

  “Where was Tad yesterday afternoon?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m sure we can find out.” Sarah got up and went to the bell rope. She sent the maid to fetch the younger Van Dyke son.

  Alberta came in first. “I heard you sending for Tad. Is something wrong?”

  “We just want to ask him a few questions,” Malloy said.

  “About what?”

  “Mr. Malloy is investigating Mr. Snowberger’s death, too,” Sarah explained.

  “What would Tad know about that?” Alberta asked.

  “He was very angry with Mr. Snowberger yesterday,” Malloy said.

  Alberta’s eyes widened. “That’s ridiculous. We were all upset with Mr. Snowberger yesterday. Why don’t you want to question me? Or Lewis?”

  “I don’t think you’re capable of killing Mr. Snowberger, Miss Van Dyke.”

  “Why not?” she challenged, angry now. “Because I’m a woman? Women are capable of killing, too.”

  “You’re right about that, but I don’t think you’re capable of lifting Mr. Snowberger onto the dining room table and hanging him by the neck from his chandelier.”

  Alberta gasped, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. “Is that . . . how he died?” she asked, horrified.

  Tad appeared in the doorway behind her. He looked awful. His face was ashen, his eyes bloodshot. Although he’d made an effort to dress appropriately, his vest was buttoned crookedly and his shirt collar wasn’t properly attached. “Still here, Detective?” he asked with a effort at his usual cockiness. “I thought you’d be off trying to find out who killed poor Snowberger.”

  “I just wanted to ask you where you were yesterday afternoon,” Malloy said amiably.

  Tad stiffened slightly, as if offended at being asked. “I was right here in this house, where I’ve been since my father died.”

  “That’s true,” Alberta confirmed eagerly. “You can ask any of the servants. Tad went up to his room, and he didn’t come down again until you insisted on seeing the entire family this morning.”

  “Didn’t you even have any supper?” Malloy asked.

  “I drank my supper, Detective,” Tad informed him with a sickly smile. “I’m still trying to finish off my father’s liquor supply.”

  “I brought him a tray after the rest of us ate,” Alberta said. She glanced lovingly at her brother. “He didn’t eat, but at least he took it.”

  “I don’t suppose you have a drainpipe outside your bedroom window, do you, Mr. Van Dyke?” Malloy asked, reminding them all of how Creighton had managed to escape the house unseen.

  “No, I do not,” he said with some satisfaction. “You’re welcome to check, if you like, but I’m not as adventurous as my older brother. The thought of sliding down the outside of a house isn’t very appealing to me, not to mention the difficulty of climbing back up again.”

  Sarah watched Malloy’s expression. He concealed his emotions well, but she saw just the slightest flinch. Now he had only one suspect left, and he was no happier about it than Sarah was.

  “Do you know where Mr. Reed is, Miss Van Dyke?” he asked Alberta.

  “No, I . . . I’m sure he’s at his home,” she said uncertainly. “I sent one of the servants to check on him, though he’s not back yet. But Lewis doesn’t know any more about this than Tad and I do.”

  “I don’t suppose he was here all day yesterday, too,” Malloy said.

  “No, he—” Alberta caught herself, finally realizing the implication. “No! He had nothing to do with this!” she insisted, alarmed now.

  “Then he doesn’t have anything to worry about, does he?” He turned to Sarah. “If he comes back here, call Headquarters and get them to send someone to guard him.”

  “Lewis didn’t kill anyone!” Alberta cried, grabbing Malloy’s arm as if she could keep him from his duty.

  He stopped and looked meaningfully at her hand grasping his coat sleeve. She released him reluctantly, the tears already streaming down her face. “Please, don’t hurt him,” she whispered.

  Malloy made no promise.

  14

  FRANK DIDN’T TROUBLE REED’S LANDLADY TO SHOW HIM upstairs this time. Reed answered his knock after only a few minutes’ delay. He’d obviously been dressing to go out. His wounded head was freshly bandaged, and he seemed to be ready except for his suit coat.

  “Mr. Malloy, what brings you here?” he asked, apparently surprised to see him.

  “I’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Reed. Do you mind if I come in?”

  “No, not at all,” he said uncertainly, stepping back to allow Frank inside. “I was just getting ready to call on the Van Dykes again, but I can spare a few minutes.”

  The room was exactly as Frank had remembered. He saw no signs that Reed was preparing to flee. “Have you heard the news about Mr. Snowberger?”

  Frank caught the slightest flinch, but Reed said, “What news is that?”

  “That he was murdered yesterday.”

  “Murdered?” He said the word as if he’d never heard it before. Had he expected to hear the word suicide instead? “What . . . what on earth happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” Frank said mildly.

  “Me? I . . . I don’t know what you mean.” He had to sit down. He seemed unusually upset over the death of a man he didn’t even like.

  Frank took the other chair. “You had an argument with Snowberger yesterday, didn’t you? He fired you, I understand.”

  “He . . . he was just upset,” Reed insisted. “I knew when he calmed down, he’d change his mind. I’m the only one who really knows what’s going on at the company. He wouldn’t be able to run it without me.”

  “So you went to him yesterday to remind him of how important you are to him,” Frank said.

  “No! I mean, I was going to, but . . . I decided to wait a few days, until he’d calmed down.”

  “Don’t bother lying, Reed,” he said. “The doorman saw you.”

  “Saw me?” he echoed in alarm.

  “Tell me how it happened, Reed. You probably didn’t plan to kill him, did you?”

  “Of course not!” Reed exclaimed, his face flushed.

  “You just wanted to talk him into giving you your job back. With Miss Van Dyke in a family way, you needed to support her and the baby.”

  “How dare you suggest such a thing about Miss Van Dyke?” he cried in outrage.

  “Because it’s true, and we both know it. You thought Snowberger would see reason, but he didn’t, did he?”

  “He would have!” Reed insisted. “The first time he needed a report and there was no one to prepare it, he’d realize how much he needed me!”

  “But you didn’t think of that until later, did you? All you could think of then
was how much you hated Snowberger and how angry you were that he didn’t appreciate you.”

  “He’s despicable! He had no right to speak that way about Miss Van Dyke!”

  “You didn’t mean to kill him, did you?” Frank asked.

  “No!” Reed exclaimed, his eyes wide in terror. “I mean, I didn’t kill him!”

  “But you were so angry, and you saw the fireplace poker sitting right there, and you just wanted to hurt him the way he was hurting you—”

  “No!”

  “So you picked it up. You wanted to teach him a lesson, and you picked it up and hit him—”

  “No, I didn’t!”

  “And when you saw him lying there, you knew he’d never give you your job now. In fact, you knew he’d make sure you went to jail for attacking him. You’d be ruined, and you wouldn’t be able to marry Miss Van Dyke because you’d be in jail.”

  Reed was shaking his head silently, his face ashen.

  “You had to make sure no one ever found out what you’d done. You didn’t have any choice but to kill him and try to make it look like suicide.”

  “I didn’t kill him! I didn’t do anything!” Reed cried. “He was alive when I left him!”

  “You mean he was still choking, hanging from his chandelier.”

  “Choking?” he echoed in horror as the color leached from his face.

  “Of course, that was nothing compared to how you blew Mr. Van Dyke to bits. Were you surprised when the bomb went off by itself?”

  “No, I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Of course you do, Reed,” Frank said relentlessly. “You were so careful to place the bomb so you could be outside when it went off. I have to admit you were clever. Everybody thought Creighton’s friends had set it. No one would’ve even considered you a suspect if I hadn’t found out about you and Miss Van Dyke. Did she know how you planned to kill her father so you could marry her?”

  Reed gaped at him, horrified. “Dear God, I’m going to be sick!”

  He bolted from his chair and dashed into the bedroom, finding the chamber pot just in time. Frank waited patiently until Reed finished and returned, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed.

  “I didn’t kill anyone, Detective,” he said hoarsely. “You must believe me.”