Murder on Lenox Hill

by Victoria Thompson

  “My baby is coming,” she reported, rubbing the mound of her stomach.

  But not, Sarah thought with a sigh, for a long time.

  BY THE TIME SARAH GOT HOME FROM DELIVERING THE baby, a strapping boy who had emerged screaming in outrage, her house was dark and the girls sound asleep. She’d purchased her supper from a street vendor and devoured it on the way home, so she only wanted to go to sleep herself, but on the way she stopped at her desk to glance at the mail.

  She found an elegantly lettered envelope that was an invitation to some party her mother was giving. Elizabeth Decker never tired of trying to lure her daughter back into the elite social circle in which she and her husband moved. Sarah stuck the envelope on the bottom of the pile, to be opened tomorrow when she felt more able to deal with it. Another envelope bore the Lintons’ return address, and Sarah ripped it open. A note from Mrs. Linton said that her husband had agreed to meet with her policeman friend, but that the meeting must be at his place of business. More than that, she could not promise.

  Too weary to feel more than a sense of relief, Sarah gave a moment’s thought to how she would notify Malloy of this. Tomorrow was Sunday. Perhaps she and the girls would pay a visit to Malloy’s son Brian.

  MAEVE BEGGED OFF THE VISIT. SUNDAY WAS HER DAY OFF, and she wanted to go to the mission and see her old friends, so Sarah and Aggie set out early in the afternoon for the neighborhood near Tompkins Square where the Malloy family lived.

  Bundled against the cold, they walked through streets crowded with people celebrating their day of rest by attending church and visiting friends and relations. No elevated trains ran crosstown, and Hansom cabs were scarce, so Sarah tried to keep the pace slow and easy for Aggie’s sake.

  She wasn’t having much luck, though. The prospect of visiting her friend Brian was enough to make Aggie want to run all the way.

  “You remember that Brian can’t hear, don’t you?” Sarah asked when they were a block away from the Malloys’ building.

  Aggie nodded happily. She didn’t mind a bit.

  Sarah wasn’t sure they’d find the Malloys at home, so she’d written a note to leave for Malloy just in case. She actually wasn’t even certain if she wanted them to be home. Mrs. Malloy had made up her mind that Sarah was a desperate widow in search of a husband and that she had her sights set on Malloy, so she wasn’t too pleased when Sarah came calling. In fact, she was frequently downright rude, but perhaps she’d be more charitable today since Aggie was along.

  Aggie literally ran up the steps to the Malloys’ second-floor flat, and she was banging on their front door before Sarah even reached the landing. The door opened, and Sarah could see Mrs. Malloy silhouetted.

  “Who’s this, now?” the old woman exclaimed, peering at the child in the dim hallway light. “Aggie, is it? You’ve not come here all by yourself, I hope!”

  Before Sarah could reassure her, she heard Brian’s cry of pleasure. Since he couldn’t hear the sounds he made, they were often startlingly loud, and this one echoed in the hallway. He was dragging Aggie inside, almost knocking his grandmother over in the process.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Malloy,” Sarah said, having reached the doorway.

  The old woman didn’t look happy to see her. “I suppose you’ve come to see Francis.”

  “He invited me to bring Aggie over to play with Brian,” Sarah lied pleasantly.

  She made a humphing sound in her throat, but she stood aside and allowed Sarah to enter.

  As always, the flat was spotlessly clean and tidy. Brian was showing Aggie some toys in the corner, but when he saw Sarah come in, he scrambled to his feet and ran to greet her.

  “Easy there,” Malloy cautioned when Brian threw his arms around Sarah’s skirts, threatening her balance. He was coming out of the other room, shrugging into his jacket. Sarah figured he’d probably been sitting around in his shirt-sleeves and stocking feet on this Sabbath afternoon and had gone to make himself presentable.

  “He can’t hear you,” Mrs. Malloy reminded him sourly.

  “Then make some signs to tell him not to rough up our visitor,” Malloy replied. “Ma knows all kinds of signs now that she’s been going to deaf school with Brian,” he added to Sarah.

  Sarah had stooped down to return Brian’s embrace. “I think it’s wonderful that you’ve learned to talk to him, Mrs. Malloy,” she said.

  “Do you now?” Mrs. Malloy asked without much interest, but she tapped Brian on the shoulder, and when he looked up at her, she made a sign. He smiled sheepishly at Sarah and ran off to play with Aggie again.

  “What did you say to him?” Sarah asked in fascination.

  “Not to make a nuisance of himself,” the old woman said, not even bothering to look at Sarah. “Let me have your coat, Miss Aggie, before you get overheated,” she said to the child.

  “And I’ll take yours, Mrs. Brandt,” Malloy said, his expression bland but his dark eyes sparkling with anger at his mother’s rudeness.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered as Malloy took her heavy cape.

  “No, it isn’t,” he whispered back.

  “What’s that you’re saying?” Mrs. Malloy asked. “I hope you didn’t invite them to eat. I don’t have a crumb in the house.”

  “What about that apple pie you made special?” Malloy asked. “I’ll bet Aggie’d like some, wouldn’t you, my girl?”

  Aggie looked up and grinned and nodded her head. Delighted, Brian mimicked her, without having any idea of what he had just agreed to.

  Mrs. Malloy grunted again, but she went off toward the kitchen with little grace.

  “I’m sorry about that,” Malloy said with a frown as soon as the old woman was gone.

  “I don’t blame her,” Sarah assured him. “I probably wouldn’t like me, either, if I were she.”

  “I don’t even want to figure out what you just said,” Malloy said. “Come on and sit down. Did you walk all the way over? You look half-froze.”

  “Actually, I ran most of the way. I had to keep up with Aggie.”

  Sarah took a seat on the sofa, and Malloy took the upholstered chair nearby. “All right, now,” Malloy said as Sarah chafed the warmth back into her fingers, “which one of your friends has been murdered, because I’m thinking nothing less could’ve brought you out on a day like this.”

  “Your imagination is too grim, Malloy,” Sarah informed him with a smile. “I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Linton has agreed to meet with you.”

  “Who?”

  “The father of the girl I told you about.” She reached into her purse and pulled out the note Mrs. Linton had sent her. “He wants to meet you at his business, not at the house. The address is in there.”

  “I’m sure he doesn’t want me near his wife and daughter,” Malloy said, taking the note. He put it into his coat pocket without looking at it.

  “Aggie,” Mrs. Malloy called from the kitchen. “Get Brian and come in here for some pie.”

  Both children eagerly raced into the kitchen.

  “Mr. Linton is a good man,” Sarah said when they’d gone. “And he loves his wife and daughter very much.”

  “Which is why he probably won’t want the police involved,” Malloy reminded her.

  “But won’t he want justice?”

  Malloy just gave her a pitying look.

  “Vengeance, then,” she tried. “Wouldn’t you want to punish someone who hurt Brian?”

  “I’d want to kill him,” Malloy admitted. “But I wouldn’t chance the law taking care of it. Too many guilty people get off scot-free if they have money or influence.”

  “You’d take the law into your own hands?”

  “You were the one who started talking about vengeance, Sarah,” he reminded her.

  “I can’t see Mr. Linton killing anyone, no matter what they did.”

  “Then why are you bothering with this? He isn’t going to let this become public, which is what he’d have to do if we arrested someone and put him on tri
al. If he isn’t going to take revenge himself, what’s left?”

  “Just talk to him, Malloy. Please. You’ll figure out something.”

  “Did you want some of this pie or not?” Mrs. Malloy asked them from the doorway before Malloy could think of an answer.

  Malloy glared at her, but she’d already turned away and didn’t see it.

  “Pie sounds lovely,” Sarah said as if she’d been graciously invited to partake and rose from her seat.

  Malloy followed her into the kitchen, where Mrs. Malloy had set two additional pieces on the table for them.

  “This looks delicious,” Sarah said, taking her own seat before Malloy could pull out the chair for her. No sense giving Mrs. Malloy anything else to be annoyed about.

  Malloy was still glaring at his mother, and she was staring defiantly back.

  “Come on, Malloy,” Sarah urged. “You know apple is your favorite.”

  Mrs. Malloy’s head snapped around at that. “I suppose you’ve been baking pies for Francis, then, if you know his favorite kind.”

  “Oh, no,” Sarah said sweetly. “And he should be glad I haven’t. I’m not a very good cook, but my neighbor is, and she likes to please Mr. Malloy.”

  “She does, does she?” Mrs. Malloy asked, considering this new information with a worried frown. “I suppose she’s a widow, too.”

  Sarah caught Malloy’s eye. They both knew what his mother was thinking: another desperate widow out to catch herself a husband. “Oh, yes,” Sarah informed her blithely. “And Mrs. Ellsworth is extremely fond of Mr. Malloy.”

  WILFRED LINTON’S BUSINESS WAS NEAR THE RIVER, A sturdy block building adjacent to a stretch of warehouses where merchandise arrived and departed in an orderly fashion, leaving behind a tidy profit for Mr. Linton.

  Linton didn’t keep him waiting, probably because he didn’t want people wondering why a police detective was hanging around the building. The office Frank entered was crowded, the tabletops covered with stacks of papers. It seemed disorganized to Frank, but one look at Linton told him the man could probably put his hand on any necessary document in two seconds flat.

  Linton rose to his feet, but he didn’t offer to shake hands the way Dr. Newton had done, nor did he come around his desk. “Detective,” he said. It was almost a question.

  “Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” he said. “Mrs. Brandt thought I might be of some help to you.”

  Frank could see the doubt in his eyes, but he said, “Please have a seat.”

  A single straight chair sat opposite Linton’s desk, and Frank took it. Only then did Linton sit down himself.

  “My daughter isn’t strong,” Linton began.

  “Mrs. Brandt told me about her,” Frank assured him.

  “Then you know there’s no question of us bringing charges. My wife would never put her through the ordeal of a trial, and we both know that no judge would even allow her to testify.”

  “You’re probably right.” Frank waited. It wasn’t his job to convince Linton of anything.

  After a moment, Linton said, “My wife . . . she’s concerned that the man responsible might take advantage of another young girl.”

  “He probably will,” Frank agreed. “In fact, your daughter might not even be the first.”

  Linton’s eyes widened with horror at the thought. “You mean . . . someone else? . . .”

  “Someone else’s parents might’ve wanted to protect their daughter, too. They did nothing, and now if you do nothing . . .” He let the thought hang unspoken.

  “Dear God,” Linton said, rubbing a trembling hand over his bald head. “What can we do?”

  “That depends on who the man is,” Frank said. “And if we can even find him.”

  “I can’t allow you to question Grace,” Linton said. “She’d be terrified.”

  “Mrs. Brandt already asked her about it, and your daughter wasn’t able to give her any information. I don’t think I’d have any better luck.”

  “Then what can you do?”

  “It’s probably not that difficult. We just have to figure out which men had the opportunity. From what Mrs. Brandt says, there can’t be many.”

  “There aren’t any, and believe me, my wife and I have been thinking of little else for days.” Frank could hear the strain in Linton’s voice. Linton was a careful man, and things like this just didn’t happen in his carefully organized world.

  “You must have overlooked something,” Frank pointed out, “or we wouldn’t be here. What about at your house? Who lives there?”

  “My family and three servants, all female.”

  “So you’re the only man?”

  “That’s right.”

  Frank waited a moment to see if Linton would show a trace of guilt, but he saw none. “Mr. Linton, sometimes a man can become more than fond of his daughter.”

  “What do you mean?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “I mean unnaturally fond. Some men have even been known to have unnatural feelings for their daughters, feelings of desire.”

  Frank watched as the implication slowly dawned on Linton. His expression went from puzzled to horrified to furious in rapid succession. “That’s obscene!” he cried, pounding his fist on his desk. “How dare you even suggest such a thing? Get out of my office this instant! I’ll have your job for this!”

  Frank didn’t move. “I’m sorry, Mr. Linton, but I had to make sure. I didn’t know what kind of a man you were, and it happens a lot more often than you can imagine. I couldn’t take a chance of hunting down some poor innocent mug and ruining his life just to protect a father who’d do a thing like that to his own child.”

  Linton’s face glowed crimson with fury. “I don’t believe you! No man would do that to his own child, certainly no respectable man.”

  “I promise you, they can and they do, men who live on Fifth Avenue as well as those on the Bowery. But we don’t need to think about that anymore. Your daughter must leave the house occasionally. Where does she go?”

  Linton wasn’t sure if he was ready to forgive Frank or not, but he grudgingly said, “She goes visiting with her mother and to church.”

  “Who do they visit?”

  “Mrs. Linton’s friends.”

  “Do any of them have husbands or sons?”

  “Of course they do,” Linton said in exasperation, “but Grace is never alone with them. In fact, she never leaves her mother’s side. If you knew anything about social visits, you’d know that.”

  He’d meant to make Frank feel his inferiority, and he did, but only for an instant. “What about at church? She must see men there. What about the priest?”

  “Our minister is a man, of course,” Linton corrected him indignantly, “but you can’t think a man of God would do something like this.”

  Frank had seen men—and women—of God do much worse things than rape a young girl, but he didn’t say so. “If your daughter had been attacked by a stranger, she would’ve been upset and frightened. She would’ve told you or your wife. Even if the person had threatened her to keep her from telling, you would’ve known something was scaring her. Whoever did this could’ve been someone she trusted, someone who could convince her nothing bad had happened so she wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  Linton rubbed his head again. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “So what about the church? Would she meet men there?”

  “Of course she would. We have a large congregation and many of them are men, but I’m telling you, Mr. Malloy, that can’t be it. When Grace is at church, she’s with me or her mother at all times. She is never alone. My wife and I have been over this and over it. The only time she’s out of our sight for a moment is when she’s in the safety of her own home!”

  Frank sighed. Linton was wrong. She’d been out of someone’s sight at least once, and she had a baby to prove it.

  5

  FRANK WAITED UNTIL LATE THAT AFTERNOON TO VISIT the Lintons’ church. He figured he’d catch the minister at the e
nd of the day, when he was most likely to be alone. That’s why he was surprised to find the building bustling with activity.

  Half a dozen boys in their mid-teens, recently released from school, were attacking the sanctuary—Frank could think of no other word for it—with dust cloths and brooms. Two were using their bottoms to push dust cloths across the pews, racing each other to see who could slide from one end to the other the fastest. Others were polishing candlesticks or sweeping the floor, and one was up on a ladder, polishing a stained glass window. All of them were laughing and shouting.

  Frank had never heard noises like that in a church, and he found the irreverence disturbing, even though he himself had long ago lost all respect for organized religion. What kind of a minister would allow this kind of behavior?

  One of the boys noticed Frank. “Hello, the cops is here, boys!” he cried.

  Instantly, the room fell silent as every face turned toward Frank. Frank stared back blandly, looking for traces of guilt and seeing none. He did see worry and maybe a spark of fear here and there. The police were terrifying, after all, but these were middle-class boys whose biggest sins were probably sneaking a cigarette or stealing away to a pool hall when they should’ve been in school. If he’d been on the Lower East Side, boys this age would have run, just on general principles—some out of guilt from actually having done something worthy of arrest and the rest for fear of being blamed, innocent or not. If Grace’s rapist was among these, he had no fear of having been discovered.

  “What’s going on here?” a booming voice demanded. “You boys are entirely too quiet all of a sudden!” The man who had appeared from a doorway in the front of the sanctuary planted his hands on his hips and looked around expectantly.

  One of the boys jerked his chin in Frank’s direction and said in a small voice, “He’s a copper, Reverend Upchurch.” Although Frank wore a suit not very different from the minister’s, even boys from respectable families recognized his profession. Something about the way he carried himself always gave him away. Or maybe it was just his Irish face.