“Oliver didn’t want to,” she said, to Sarah’s dismay. “Oh, he tried, but he found me . . . repulsive. He told me so. He prefers . . . different flesh. Younger and . . . and innocent.” Her face twisted with an emotion Sarah could only imagine. Mrs. Upchurch hugged herself, rubbing her arms, her eyes dark and distant with some awful memory.
As Sarah watched, Mrs. Upchurch’s words echoed in her mind as her heart ached in her chest. Younger. Innocent. She’d known men like Oliver Upchurch before, men whose sexual desire could only be slaked on children.
Sarah was very much afraid she had finally discovered Grace Linton’s rapist.
8
SARAH WAS TUCKING AGGIE INTO BED THAT EVENING when she heard someone ringing her doorbell.
“I’ll answer it,” Maeve said with a smile. “It’ll be some poor man, frantic and wanting you to come right away. I’ll make him wait until you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Maeve,” Sarah said, smoothing the covers over Aggie and leaning down to kiss her petal-soft cheek as Maeve made her way downstairs. “I’ll have to go out and help a lady with her baby tonight,” she explained to Aggie. “Maeve will take care of you while I’m gone, like she always does, and if you need anything, Mrs. Ellsworth is next door.”
Aggie pushed out her lower lip in an exaggerated pout.
“I’ll miss you, too, but you know I have to go. That’s how I make the money we need to buy food and clothes. Remember, I explained it to you?”
Aggie’s pout squeezed into a grimace. She understood. She just didn’t like it.
“I love you, Aggie, and I’ll be home again as soon as I can. Go to sleep now. I might even be home by the time you wake up tomorrow.”
Aggie smiled at this, and when Sarah started to rise from where she sat beside her on the bed, the girl grabbed her hand and pulled her close, wrapping her small arms tightly around Sarah’s neck. Sarah returned the hug, holding the child fiercely to her heart.
“I do love you,” she whispered into the silky cloud of the girl’s hair. “And I’m going to keep you safe here with me for as long as you live. You never have to be afraid again.”
As always, Aggie made no sound, but her arms squeezed even more tightly for a moment in acknowledgment. When she released Sarah and sank back against her pillow, she was smiling. Sarah kissed her again, put out the light, and closed the bedroom door with a sigh. How she wished she didn’t have to go out into the cold tonight. She wanted to be here in the morning to surprise Aggie with breakfast.
As she descended the stairs, she was surprised to hear Maeve’s laughter drifting up from the foyer below. A few more steps and she saw why. Frank Malloy stood with her, still bundled against the winter winds. Sarah’s smile was only partly because she wasn’t being called out on a delivery.
“Malloy,” she said when he saw her on the stairs. “What brings you out on a night like this?”
“I figured I better check in on you so you didn’t have to leave me a message at Headquarters,” he replied wryly. He was always teased unmercifully whenever she did.
“You made the right decision, because I do have some news for you. I was trying to decide how to let you know discreetly.”
“There’s some soup left from supper, Mrs. Brandt,” Maeve reminded her. “Potato,” she informed Malloy. “Mrs. Ellsworth brought it over.”
“Sounds delicious. I guess you’ll never have to worry about starving to death with Mrs. Ellsworth as a neighbor,” he observed.
“Maeve, would you build up the fire in the stove while I take Mr. Malloy’s coat?” Sarah asked, and the girl hurried away after giving Malloy another grin.
“Is something wrong?” she asked when Maeve had gone.
“What makes you think something is wrong?” he asked right back, unwinding his muffler.
“Because it’s a bit late for a social call. Is Brian all right?”
“He’s fine.” He unbuttoned his coat.
“Did you find out something about Grace Linton’s case?”
“No.”
“Well, I did.”
He raised his eyebrows in silent disapproval, but he let her take his coat and hang it on one of the pegs nearby. He hung his hat and muffler beside it.
“Do the Lintons approve of your snooping around?” he asked.
“I’m not snooping,” she said indignantly. “Can I help it if people just tell me things?”
He made a rude noise, which she ignored. She led him back to the kitchen. Maeve was setting the pot of soup back on the stove.
“Won’t take a minute to heat up,” she told them, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Thank you, Maeve. Now go take some time for yourself before you go to bed.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Brandt. Good night, Mr. Malloy.”
Malloy bid her good night, and when they were alone, he said, “She seems like a good girl.”
“She is. She wasn’t on the streets very long before she came to the mission. Sometimes the girls get so hardened that we just can’t reach them anymore, so it’s important to get them as quickly as possible. We’d like to spread the word so the girls know they can go straight to the mission when their families put them out.”
“Good luck with that,” Malloy said. He’d been warming his hands at the stove, and now he took a seat at the table while Sarah started making coffee. “So, what did you find out about the Linton girl?”
Sarah sighed. “I found out the minister likes young girls.”
Malloy swore under his breath, and Sarah pretended not to hear. She wanted to swear herself. “How in God’s name did you find out a thing like that?” he demanded.
“His wife told me.”
“His wife?” he nearly shouted.
“Shhh, you’ll wake Aggie,” she warned him. “Yes, his wife. I think she’s been wanting to tell someone for a long time, and I was the first person she thought would believe her.”
Malloy squeezed the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Do you have anything to put in that coffee? I think I’m going to need it.”
Wordlessly, she reached under the sink and pulled out a bottle of whiskey she kept for medicinal purposes and poured some into a glass for him. He swallowed it in one gulp. “All right,” he said. “Tell me the whole story.”
“Only if you promise not to shout again.”
He sighed with long-suffering. “I’ll try.”
She told him how she’d gone to the church, using the excuse of finding out what Reverend Upchurch was doing to be so successful with the boys, and how she’d met Mrs. Upchurch. “I had the distinct impression she was flirting with one of the boys.”
“What do you mean by flirting?”
“Being overly friendly, making eyes at him. You know, Malloy, the way girls do when they’re trying to get a boy to notice them.”
“But she’s a grown woman.”
“Yes, which was why it shocked me. Her husband seemed embarrassed, too, and after I thought about it, I decided that she does it to make him angry, maybe even jealous.”
“Jealous? Why would that make him jealous?”
“I wasn’t sure until she told me about his preference for girls. Now I’m guessing that she might think that what’s good for the goose is good for the gander or something. If he can chase after young girls, she can flirt with young boys.”
“That’s crazy,” he protested.
“People do crazy things,” she reminded him. “You should know that better than I.”
She had him there, but he didn’t admit it. “All right, you caught her flirting with some boy. How did you become her trusted friend so fast?”
“She invited me to visit her. Apparently, no one in the church ever visits her. She’s a very strange woman, outspoken and bitter. Her husband also warns people about her. He told me she was ‘troubled.’ ”
“Sounds like he’s right.”
“Then Mrs. Linton warned me about her, too. I started wondering about her, and I wanted to find out f
or myself what she was like, so I called on her.”
“And she just told you about her husband’s interest in little girls?”
“No, first she told me that the reason she doesn’t have any children is because her husband is disgusted by grown women and has never exercised his marital rights.”
Malloy’s expression reminded her how uncomfortable he was talking about such things. “Is that something women usually talk about with somebody they just met?”
“No, of course not, but you have to understand her. She’s been living with this secret for many years. Her husband tells people that she’s unbalanced because she doesn’t have children. I know he does, because that’s what he told me. He actually said that he thought she was angry at God but took it out on him. Can you imagine? If a man said something like that about me, I’d strangle him!”
“Thank you for the warning,” Malloy said dryly.
“You know what I mean,” she said, checking the soup, which was beginning to steam. She ladled some into a bowl for him.
“Mmm, that smells good,” he said when she set it in front of him.
“You knew it would be. Mrs. Ellsworth made it,” she reminded him.
“All right,” he continued. “We know you’d do violence to a man who made you mad, but do we know what Mrs. Upchurch would do?”
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, checking to see if the coffee was ready. It wasn’t, so she sat down across from him.
“I mean, would she lie? Would she make up a shocking story about him and tell it to someone who was likely to spread it around or even go to the authorities?”
“That’s a terrible thing to make up about someone, especially your own husband. How would she even think of it?”
“Pretty easily, if she knows about Grace Linton. Somebody got Grace with child, and nobody knows who it could’ve been. Just about the only place Grace goes is to church, and one of the only men she knows well outside her family is the minister. It’s even logical. Does she know about Grace?”
“I have no idea, but her family was determined to keep it a secret from everyone. You told Reverend Upchurch when you went to see him, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t plan to tell him it was Grace, but he guessed from what I said that she was the one.”
“He might’ve mentioned it to his wife,” Sarah said.
“He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone, but I guess he could’ve been lying.”
“He might’ve told her about it without revealing the girl’s identity. She wouldn’t have even needed to know who the girl was,” Sarah realized. “If he mentioned to his wife that a girl was with child, she only has to accuse him of seducing young girls. Someone else will naturally make the connection.”
“You’re talking like you think she made it up to get even with her husband.”
“You suggested it first,” she reminded him. “I’m just trying to figure out if you could be right. I guess it’s possible she made it all up, but if you’d seen her face . . .”
“Upchurch acted pretty innocent to me,” Malloy said. “If he’s not, he’s a good liar.”
Sarah got the coffee that was starting to boil over and poured them each a cup. Malloy had finished his soup, so she refilled his bowl without asking. He didn’t protest.
“So what do we do now?” she asked, sitting down again.
“You should mind your own business,” he said, digging into his soup.
“Then that leaves you. Are you going to question Reverend Upchurch again?”
He glowered at her, but she simply smiled sweetly and waited for his reply. “I suppose if I want any peace, I’ll have to.”
“You know you want to give him the third degree,” she said, referring to the rough way the police questioned reluctant suspects.
“If he raped Grace Linton, I do,” he replied. “But I can’t go around beating up ministers, so I’ll restrain myself, at least until I’m sure one way or the other.”
“If he did it, I hope you put him in The Tombs and let the other prisoners take care of him.”
“Does your mother know how bloodthirsty you’ve become?” he inquired.
Sarah thought of her genteel mother, raised in wealth and privilege, and knew she’d feel exactly the same way. “I just want to see justice done, and I don’t think any punishment is severe enough for someone who seduces a girl like Grace. Don’t pretend you don’t agree with me, either.”
“Oh, I agree with you. The trouble is, I’ve got to have proof before I lock up a respectable man. If I don’t, I’ll be out of a job. In fact, I could be out of a job just for bothering him too much. If I was a female, I suppose I could just strangle him, but I’m not, so I have to be careful.”
He was trying to get a rise out of her, but she refused to take the bait. “You’ll go back and question him again, won’t you? We’ve got to be sure.”
“I’ll be sure. Do you have any more of this soup?”
She got up and refilled his bowl with the last of it. “Doesn’t your mother feed you?”
“I haven’t been home yet,” he said. “And now she’ll be mad at me because I already ate.”
“Don’t tell her I fed you, then,” Sarah said. Mrs. Malloy already hated her enough.
“I won’t,” he promised.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Malloy finished his soup. Finally, Sarah remembered something. “Why did you stop by this evening?”
He froze for a moment, with the spoon halfway to his mouth, then he lowered it back to the bowl and looked up at her thoughtfully. “Are you . . . ? Are you still interested in solving your husband’s murder?”
“Of course I am!” she said, even though the thought of it sent a sharp pain through her heart. “Did you find out something from those files you took?”
He lifted his hand in a silent warning not to get too far ahead of herself. “I might have. Did your husband ever mention a patient named Edna White?”
Sarah tried to recall, but no memory responded. “The name doesn’t sound familiar, but it’s been a long time.”
“She was very sick. This was back in ’ninety-two. She said he saved her life, and she developed a . . . a sort of affection for him. Even imagined she was in love with him.”
“Oh, yes, I do remember that. I’d just forgotten her name. Tom was very disturbed about it. He didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings, but he found her attentions embarrassing.”
“What did she do?”
Sarah tried to remember. “She came to the office a lot. She had a different complaint every time, but she was never really ill. She’d bring him a present when she came. A bit of candy or some socks or a scarf she’d knitted, sometimes a pie or cake. One time she tried to give him her dead father’s gold pocket watch.”
“Did he take it?”
“He had to. She wouldn’t accept it back, so Tom returned it to someone in her family . . . her brother, I think. She wrote him letters, too. I never saw them, and Tom burned them, but I gathered they were love letters. When Tom took the watch back, he told her brother about the letters. He didn’t want the brother to find out some other way and think he’d been leading this poor woman on. After that, the letters stopped coming, and so did she.”
“You think the brother had something to do with stopping it?”
“I’m sure he did. Tom said he was mortified when he found out.” She waited a few moments while Malloy considered what she’d told him. “Does this have something to do with Tom’s death?”
“Did he have other patients like this? Women who fell in love with him?” he asked.
“Not that I knew of. He did consult with his colleagues, and he found out it isn’t unusual for female patients to develop an affection for their doctors. Several of them had had the same experience.”
“What happened to those women?”
“I have no idea.”
“Do you remember who the doctors were?”
“I don’t . . . I’m not s
ure I ever knew. What’s this all about? How is it connected to Tom’s death?”
“I’m not sure it is. It’s just a possibility.”
“You think this woman killed Tom?”
“No. I’m pretty sure a man killed him, but he might’ve been related to one of his female patients.”
“This woman had a brother,” Sarah reminded him.
“I know, but he’s not the killer, and he’s her only male relative. That’s why I’m trying to find out if there were other women like her.”
“You took four files with you the other night,” she remembered. “Could one of them be the woman you’re looking for?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
FRANK WASN’T SURE IF HE WAS ON OFFICIAL POLICE BUSINESS or not as he entered the Church of the Good Shepherd. No crime had been reported, so he wasn’t investigating, but he did know a crime had been committed. If he didn’t ask questions, it might also go unpunished. Of course, even if Reverend Upchurch proved to be Grace’s rapist, he might still go unpunished. So was it police business or a fool’s errand? Frank was afraid to decide, but since it was Saturday, he figured it didn’t matter.
The hour was early enough that no one else was around, and he found the minister in his office. The door stood open, a silent invitation to anyone who might happen by, even though Upchurch appeared to be busy, his pen scratching away as he wrote something. Frank knocked on the open door.
Upchurch looked up and started to smile in greeting until he recognized Frank. His expression froze, half-pleasant, half-alarmed. “Detective,” he said, probably not remembering Frank’s name. “What brings you back?”
“I had a few more questions for you,” he said. He walked in and closed the door behind him, not waiting for an invitation.
This made him even more uncomfortable. “If this is about poor Grace, I’m afraid I don’t know any more than I did the last time you were here.”
“Don’t you?” Frank asked.
“No, I don’t,” he insisted. Upchurch remained ensconced behind his desk, as if looking for some degree of protection, so Frank took one of the straight-backed chairs sitting in front of it. The last time, they had conversed comfortably, as equals. This time Upchurch wanted the upper hand.
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