Murder on Lenox Hill

by Victoria Thompson

  “Did you ask him outright?”

  Linton nodded stiffly.

  “What did he say?”

  “At first I didn’t let him know I’d heard about the boys, so he denied it. He was horrified that I could think him guilty of such a thing. He even hinted that he was going to mention my accusation to the church elders. He wanted to be sure someone knew that he’d been falsely accused in case I decided to start rumors about him.”

  “That took a lot of gall,” Frank said in disgust.

  “I thought so, too, and that’s why I told him it wouldn’t do him any good to complain to the elders because they knew—and everybody else did, too—what he’d been doing with those boys he pays so much attention to. I told him the boys had exposed him for what he was.”

  “What did he say then?”

  “He was angry at first. He called me a liar, but I didn’t back down, and pretty soon, he realized I was telling the truth. Then he started to look . . . afraid.”

  “Afraid?” Frank wished he’d seen it. He wanted Upchurch to suffer for what he’d done, even if it had only been for a little while. “What do you think he was afraid of?”

  Linton had to think about this. “I’m not sure. He must have known that no one would tolerate him as our minister another day, but he’d also know the scandal would ruin him. He’d lose his livelihood and even his house—the church owns the manse, you see. He might never get another position, either.”

  “Did he say anything about his fears to you?”

  Linton shook his head. “I was too angry to sit and listen, even if he’d tried. I just told him we’d all make sure he paid for what he’d done to those boys, and then I left.”

  “When was this?”

  “I’m not sure exactly. I didn’t check my watch, and I don’t remember hearing any clocks striking, but it was at least a half-hour before the service started, maybe longer.”

  “Did you notice if the communion things had been set out yet when you left?”

  “I’m afraid I didn’t. I was in a hurry and didn’t pay any attention. Does it matter?”

  “Probably not, unless you poisoned Upchurch.”

  Linton smiled sadly. “I can’t help you there, and I’m afraid I’m not very eager to see the real killer caught, either.”

  “We’re pretty sure Upchurch isn’t the one who . . . who hurt Grace,” Frank assured him. “He doesn’t seem to like females at all.”

  “Even if he isn’t, he deserves to burn in hell for what he did to those boys.”

  “There’s not many would disagree with you, but I’ve got to find the killer to keep some innocent person from going to prison for it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean just about everybody I’ve questioned so far has confessed to the murder except you.”

  Linton’s eyes widened in amazement. “I knew Hazel—Mrs. York—had confessed, of course, and she told me she did it to protect her mother, who had also confessed. May I ask who else?”

  “Mrs. Upchurch and Isaiah Wilkins.”

  “Oh, my!”

  “I don’t think any of them did it, either, which is why I’ve got to find the real killer. Please try to remember, Mr. Linton. Did Upchurch say anything else? Did you see anybody else in the church when you were leaving?”

  His brow wrinkled as he concentrated. “I know I didn’t see anyone. I was glad of it, because I was very upset, and I didn’t want to have to explain why to anyone. We’d wanted to surprise him, you see. He wasn’t supposed to know anything was wrong until they confronted him during the service.”

  Frank felt the first hope he’d had all day. “So he knew even before the service started that he’d been exposed.”

  “Yes, he did, thanks to my impulsiveness. Is that important?” he asked when he saw Frank’s expression.

  “It could be. Let me ask you something else. Did anyone instruct you not to go forward for communion this morning?”

  “No,” he said, frowning. “I hadn’t even thought of it until I saw the table set when I came back for the service. I remember thinking I couldn’t take communion from that man, but I didn’t say it to anyone else, and no one mentioned it to me, either. I’m sure everyone felt the same way, though, which is why no one did.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Linton. You’ve been a big help.”

  “I have? In what way?”

  “I’ll explain it all to you when I’m finished investigating. In the meantime, would you see Mrs. York home and then you can enjoy the rest of your day.”

  He rose, still looking uncertain. “Are you sure that’s all I can do?”

  “Very sure.”

  “Good luck to you, then, Mr. Malloy.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to need it.”

  14

  WHEN SHE GOT BACK TO THE CHURCH AFTER LEAVING Rachel Upchurch wallowing in her guilt, Sarah found Malloy in Upchurch’s office alone. He didn’t look happy, but then he apparently hadn’t taken anyone off to The Tombs, either.

  “Did Isaiah do it?” she asked.

  “No,” he said wearily. “And neither did Mrs. Upchurch, Mrs. Evans, or Mrs. York.”

  “Mrs. Evans and Mrs. York?” Sarah echoed in surprise. “Did they confess, too?”

  “Yeah, Mrs. York was trying to protect her mother, who was trying to protect her, near as I can figure.”

  “Rachel Upchurch was trying to protect Isaiah. She thought he must’ve done it because he was the one who set up the communion table, I guess, and because he’s in love with her and might’ve wanted her to be a widow, although I don’t think he knows about the baby. Rachel admitted that he’s the father.”

  “I figured, and I’m sure he doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know that what they did makes babies,” he said in exasperation. “Even still, he confessed to protect her, but he didn’t do it, either.”

  “How can you be sure?” she asked, taking the chair the suspects had used.

  “The same reason I knew all of them were lying. See, all they knew was what happened. They knew nobody from the congregation went forward to take communion, and Upchurch was the only one who drank from the cup. They also knew the wine was poisoned with rat poison, thanks to Dr. Thomas, who told them. It’s easy to figure out that the cup was sitting there for a while with nobody around, and somebody put the poison in it during that time.”

  “So?”

  “So they all said they put rat poison in the cup to kill him.”

  “Then how do you know they’re lying?”

  “Because,” he said, rubbing both hands over his face. “First of all, none of them knew that nobody was going to take communion this morning.”

  “I thought they must have decided it ahead of time.”

  “So did I, but they didn’t, or at least nobody I talked to had heard anything about it. So as far as they knew, a lot of people would’ve drunk from the cup before Upchurch, and according to Doc Thomas, none of them would’ve gotten enough to be a fatal dose unless they happened to be elderly or sick already. That goes for Upchurch, too, who usually would only have taken a sip like everybody else.”

  “That doesn’t make poisoning the communion cup a very reliable way of killing Upchurch then,” she realized.

  “Right, and then you’ve got the problem with the rat poison.”

  “What problem is that?”

  “If they wanted to kill Upchurch, why would somebody bring rat poison from home to put in the communion cup that everybody in the church might drink out of? The killer might not even have known that a little sip wouldn’t necessarily be fatal. He’d be putting the whole congregation at risk.”

  “You’re right,” Sarah agreed, trying to put herself in the killer’s place. “Bringing poison from home would require planning ahead, and if you thought about it at all, you’d know it was a stupid idea. Did everybody claim they’d brought the poison from home?”

  “Everybody except Isaiah. He said he used the poison they keep downstairs in the church kitchen,
but when he took me down to show me where it was kept, it wasn’t there.”

  “Maybe he got rid of it somehow.”

  “No, he was surprised it wasn’t there. He claimed he’d used it this morning and put it back on the shelf. Since I don’t believe he used it, that means the killer might have and then not put it away again.”

  “Then it’s probably still here in the church somewhere.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe it disappeared along with the real killer.”

  He sounded discouraged. Sarah had seldom seen him discouraged. “You could give up,” she suggested. “A lot of murderers are never caught, and in this case—”

  “I can’t take that chance. Too many people already know what went on here today. What if the newspapers find out four people confessed and the police didn’t arrest anybody?” Sarah knew the newspapers would love a story like that. It would sell thousands of copies. “I’d be out of a job, and they’d arrest the wrong person just to close the case.”

  He was right, and they both knew it. Sarah sighed, and they sat in silence for a few minutes while she tried to think of something to help or at least something to say to make him feel better. Before she could, he turned to her and said, “I’ve been trying to remember the last time I had a case where somebody was poisoned by cyanide, but I can’t.”

  “Do you see a lot of poisonings?”

  “I get my share, between murders and suicides, but they’re usually arsenic. In fact, I thought that’s what rat poison was.”

  “It’s odd you should say that. I was thinking the same thing when Dr. Thomas told you cyanide was in rat poison. I’m certain every rat poison I’ve ever used has been arsenic.”

  “Wait a minute, what he really said was that it’s in some rat poisons.”

  “That’s right, he did!” she remembered. “If it’s only in some of them, then all we have to do is find out who has the right kind, the kind with cyanide, and we’ll probably find the real killer!”

  He gave her one of his looks that told her this wasn’t a good idea. “Do you suggest we go door to door in the city until we find somebody with the right kind?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, but we could check the families in the church, or at least the ones who were here today. You have a list of the names. You could start with the people who confessed, to make sure they’re eliminated, then go from there.”

  She could see that he thought this was a good idea but didn’t want to admit it. “Do you know how long that would take?”

  “Most of the people live right here in this neighborhood. You could do it in a few hours.”

  “Do what?” Kelly asked from the doorway. Sarah was happy to see he didn’t look as irreverent as he had this morning. She hadn’t thought he was taking the case seriously enough earlier.

  “Did you find out anything useful?” Malloy asked him.

  “No, just that everybody agrees they didn’t decide ahead of time not to take communion. What about the lady that confessed?”

  “Which one?” Malloy asked sarcastically.

  Kelly frowned. “The old one who confessed to us out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the sanctuary.

  “She didn’t do it, and neither did anybody else who confessed.”

  “How many did you get?” he asked in wonder.

  “Four. I think that’s a record for me. Did you find any trace of the bag of poison Mrs. Evans said she threw outside?”

  “No, and not inside, either. Somebody said you took that boy down to the kitchen.”

  “He claimed they keep rat poison down there, but it wasn’t in its usual place, even though he claimed he’d put it back there when he was finished with it.”

  “You ever know a boy to put something back where it was supposed to go?” Kelly asked.

  Malloy smiled a bit. “How do you think I knew he was lying in the first place?”

  Sarah cleared her throat. “You still have plenty of time to check people’s homes this afternoon,” she reminded him.

  “Check people’s homes for what?” Kelly asked, turning back to Malloy.

  “Mrs. Brandt reminded me that most rat poison is arsenic, not cyanide.”

  “I thought the doc said it was rat poison that killed him.”

  “He said that cyanide killed him, and that it’s in some kinds of rat poison. If we check each family in the church to see what kind they have, then we can narrow down the list of suspects to those who have the right kind.”

  Kelly made a face. Plainly, this was not how he wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon.

  “They all live nearby,” Sarah said by way of encouragement. “I’ll be glad to help.”

  Kelly’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head at such a suggestion. Malloy just grunted. “You’re staying here.”

  “What am I supposed to do here?” she asked, annoyed.

  “You can go comfort the widow if you want, or you can look for the rat poison that Isaiah said was in the kitchen. If it’s the right kind, we’ll have it checked to see if it matches what was in the wine, which reminds me . . .”

  He pushed himself out of his chair and went out into the sanctuary. Sarah and Kelly followed, having nothing left to do in the office. Malloy called for the two patrolmen who had been left on duty to provide assistance. He found them sleeping on a back pew. After making sure they were properly chastised, he sent one of them off with the wine bottle and communion cup to have the contents tested. That wouldn’t happen until the police laboratory opened tomorrow, but at least the evidence would be where it needed to be.

  Then he, Kelly, and the remaining patrolman got the list of attendees from this morning’s service and began dividing it up after consulting a city directory they found in Upchurch’s office for addresses.

  “I’ll check with Mrs. Upchurch,” Sarah offered, and Malloy grudgingly accepted her offer.

  Before they left, Malloy warned Sarah not to get in trouble, and she returned the warning, to Kelly’s amusement.

  When they were gone, she set to work in search of a box of rat poison that might or might not exist.

  FRANK HAD TAKEN THE OTHER THREE CONFESSED SUSPECTS for himself, and he’d left them for last. So far, he’d found only one box of rat poison containing cyanide in his visits, and the elderly couple who owned it hadn’t even known it was in the house, much less where to find it if they’d decided to poison a minister. Their cook had finally produced it, grumbling about being pestered and confirming no one had moved it from the cupboard where she kept it in weeks.

  He smiled a little as he knocked on Isaiah Wilkins’s door. The boy was going to be mad when Frank didn’t arrest him. The maid escorted him into the parlor where Isaiah and his mother sat. He was on his feet instantly, his young face pale but determined. His mother looked a bit alarmed, but not unduly so. She obviously had no idea her son expected to be carted off to jail.

  “I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Wilkins, but we’re checking with everyone who was at church this morning to see what kind of rat poison they keep in their house,” Frank explained, not looking at Isaiah.

  “Whatever for?” she asked.

  He used his diplomatic smile. “We’re trying to find out where the poison that killed Reverend Upchurch came from,” he said. “It’s an unusual kind, and we think that when we find it, we’ll have found the killer.”

  She glanced at her son, then back at Frank. “Surely, you don’t suspect any of us here?” she asked anxiously.

  “No, ma’am, but I have to check everybody.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Isaiah cried.

  His mother thought he was talking to her. “Of course I do, dear,” she said. “I want Mr. Malloy to know that we had nothing to do with that man’s death.”

  The boy gave Frank a desperate look, but he ignored it and allowed Mrs. Wilkins to take him to the kitchen where he found, much to his relief, an arsenic poison.

  Isaiah was lurking in the kitchen doorway. “What about the poison at the church
?” he tried.

  “We’re still looking for it,” Frank said mildly. “We think the killer might’ve taken it with him, though.” He thanked Mrs. Wilkins for her help and apologized again for bothering her. Then he let her show him to the door, with Isaiah following doggedly in their wake.

  “Is that all?” the boy asked when Frank started out the door. He still looked terrified, but now he was desperate, too.

  “No, it’s not all,” Frank said, turning to Mrs. Wilkins. “You should be very proud of your son. He’s a little head-strong, but he’s got a good heart.” He looked at Isaiah. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions now, Isaiah. Be sure that from now on, you make good ones.”

  “But . . . but don’t you need to . . . to ask me some questions?” he asked, his eyes wide.

  “No, I’m satisfied that you didn’t have anything to do with Upchurch’s death.”

  “But—”

  “Stop bothering Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Wilkins chided him. “He has work to do, and I’m sure he’d like to be on his way.”

  “Yes, I would,” Frank said and left, aware of Isaiah’s frustration and taking a perverse satisfaction in it.

  RACHEL UPCHURCH ANSWERED HER OWN DOOR, AND she seemed relieved to see Sarah again. “What happened to Isaiah?” she demanded as she stood aside for Sarah to enter. “Do you know? Has he been arrested?” To her credit, she looked as tortured as a woman who might have driven a boy to murder should have.

  “Mr. Malloy doesn’t believe Isaiah killed your husband,” Sarah informed her.

  “Oh, thank God,” Rachel breathed, laying a hand on her heart. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”

  “That’s not why I came,” Sarah said, feeling no sympathy for her. “I came to see what kind of rat poison you keep in your house.”

  “I thought Mr. Malloy didn’t believe I’d killed Oliver,” she said in surprise.

  “I still need to check. He’s checking everyone who attended church this morning. Will I find it in the kitchen?” Sarah asked, heading in that direction without waiting for a reply.

  “I’m sure you will,” Rachel said, following. “Our maid quit the other day—I told you I have trouble keeping servants—so I’m not sure, but it shouldn’t be hard to find it.”