He bent to look at a photograph of Conrad and me on the piano, lifting it by its leather frame. I didn’t like him touching it; I didn’t like him being here at all, upsetting the household, invading my private life.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
I stepped forward and snatched the picture from his hand. “My brother Conrad,” I said, replacing it on the piano. “But you’re here to discuss Mrs. Miner.”
He straightened. “All right. I’ll get straight to the point. You had your chance to talk to her. Now it’s time to fill me in.”
“Actually, I was hoping you might fill me in on something, Detective. Eliza told you she heard someone struggling with the doctor in his office while she was waiting in the examining room. For some reason, that wasn’t mentioned at her arraignment. I’d like to know why you’re ignoring critical evidence.”
“Come on, Doc. It’s late, and I haven’t eaten yet. I’m not in a joking mood.”
“Neither am I, Detective, I assure you. Why didn’t you tell the judge about the intruder? For that matter, why aren’t you and your men out there looking for him right now?”
He shook his head. “It may surprise you to learn that statements made by people trying to avoid conviction are sometimes looked upon with suspicion.”
“In other words, all suspects are considered guilty until proven innocent?”
He shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, they are.”
“But how can they be proven innocent if you won’t investigate?”
“I don’t get paid to go on wild-goose chases.”
“There’s evidence to support her story! The fingerprints on the sword, for instance. Those don’t belong to Eliza. Although you led me to believe that they did.”
“Just because her fingerprints aren’t on the weapon don’t mean she didn’t kill him. All it means is that she was smart enough to keep her gloves on when she did it. The doctor probably showed that sword to a lot of people. The fingerprints we found could have been on there for months.”
“Or they could belong to the real murderer! Can’t you at least admit that it’s possible?”
“We caught her red-handed, standing over the doctor’s body.”
For all the man’s supposed devotion to detail, he seemed incapable of diverging from his preconceived version of events. Knowing what Simon had told me about his alienation from the rest of the police force, I wondered if this rigidity really reflected an indifference to outside opinion, or if it was a bullheaded reaction to it. In either case, now that his mind was made up, I feared it would be impossible to change.
“She entered the room after the murderer left,” I said, determined to try nonetheless, “and went over to see if she could help.”
“Then why was there blood all over her?”
“The sword cut through the doctor’s carotid artery. A severed carotid artery will keep spurting blood—up to a distance of several feet—until the heart ceases to pump, which can take five minutes or more. If Mrs. Miner knelt beside the doctor while he was in his death throes to see if she could help, she most certainly would have been splattered.” My face was hot, my words spilling out with increasing urgency. There were valid arguments to be made on Eliza’s behalf. If the detective wasn’t willing to explore them, we might never know what really happened that morning in the doctor’s office. “Besides,” I continued, “if she had killed him, why wouldn’t she have just run away? The doctor was the only one who’d seen her there that morning. No one would have been the wiser if she’d fled. Instead, she not only stayed by the doctor’s side, but actually screamed for help as well!”
“Well now, Doc, you know the answer to that as well as I do.” He tapped the side of his head. “Because there’s something off with her up here.”
It was like trying to plant a seed in a bed of granite. But why, if he was so convinced he already had a case, did he need me to say there was something wrong with Eliza’s mind? Perhaps, it suddenly occurred to me, because he’d been unable to get confirmation from Dr. Huntington. I assumed he’d tried to track him down after reading Hauptfuhrer’s letter, to confirm the damning diagnosis. The fact that he’d come back to question me suggested he’d been unsuccessful in this attempt. I decided to put this hypothesis to the test. “I understand your eagerness to portray Mrs. Miner as mentally unbalanced, in light of your complete failure to produce any rational reason for her to kill the doctor. But I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. You’re not going to find anyone who will tell you what you want to hear.”
“As a matter of fact, I already have,” he said, looking smug. “We found a copy of a letter written by Dr. Hauptfuhrer in her medical file. It says straight out that Mrs. Miner has a disease that causes ‘mental degeneration.’”
“Rubbish,” I said. “She has no such thing.”
His eyes narrowed. “Those were the victim’s own words.”
“Do you mean to say that Dr. Hauptfuhrer made a definite diagnosis? Even though he is no expert in such matters himself?”
He hesitated for just an instant before saying, “Definite enough.”
“Well, I most certainly don’t agree.”
“Look,” he snapped, “you told me yourself you were treating her for mental problems.”
“I never suggested she was losing control of her faculties.”
“So what exactly were you treating her for?”
I was afraid that if I tried playing the doctor-patient confidentiality card again, I’d only confirm his suspicion that I had something to hide. But I could no more tell this closed-minded man about Joy than I could personally strap Eliza into an electric chair and throw the switch. “As I told you before,” I said finally, “Mrs. Miner’s son died in his crib three years ago, and she blames herself for the death. Her husband left her soon after the child died. She’s picked up her life as best she can, but she still experiences periods of melancholia.”
“You’re right, you already told me that. What else?”
“That’s all there is.”
He shook his head. “You know, I’m starting to think there’s more to your relationship with Elizabeth Miner than meets the eye.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
He shrugged. “You’re a nice, decent lady, brought up in a respectable home. Seems to me you oughta be bending over backward to help bring a criminal to justice, not withholding evidence from the police.”
“I’m not withholding evidence.”
“No? Then why did you go back to the crime scene after you talked to the prisoner?”
I stared at him in mute horror.
“Usually,” he went on, “it’s either to plant evidence or to hide it. I’m guessing in your case, it was to hide it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, feeling faint.
“We got a good description of a female intruder leaving the doctor’s house on the afternoon of the arrest.”
“Well, it wasn’t me! It was probably just the maid.”
“Nah, I’ve seen the maid. It wasn’t her. The description matches you exactly.”
Drops of perspiration trickled down my ribs as I contemplated being charged with obstruction of justice—or worse. Maybe if I confessed now and told him what I’d been after, he’d be lenient with me. But if I showed him the list, he was sure to identify Eliza’s initials on it, just as Simon had done, and argue that the loss of her baby had given her a motive for murder.
The detective reached over the piano top and picked up the glass snow globe that Father had bought for my mother during their honeymoon in France. “You’ve got a pretty nice deal here, Doc.” He gave the ball a shake, making the artificial snow swirl around the miniature couple and cozy little cottage inside. “It ain’t so nice where I could put you if you don’t cooperate.”
“Please, be careful with th
at.”
He looked up at me. “All I’m asking for is the truth. So let’s try this again: Have you seen any indications of ‘mental degeneration’ in your patient?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“No ‘episodes of forgetfulness or unusual irritability’?” he persisted, echoing the phrases from Hauptfuhrer’s letter.
“No.”
He bounced the globe lightly in his hand. “Would you swear to that in court?”
“Yes,” I answered truthfully, “I would.”
He nodded slowly, lips pursed. Suddenly, he launched the glass ball into the air. I gasped as it spun up toward the chandelier, the metallic flakes sparkling as it caught the light at the top of its arc, then held my breath as it started its descent. At the very last second, the detective reached out and grabbed it from the air.
“Okay, Doc, we’ll leave it there for now,” he said, returning the ball to its stand. “But I’d suggest you give some thought as to who you ought to be protecting. Mrs. Miner is a very dangerous woman. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for letting her back out on the street where she could hurt someone else.” He tapped his bony finger against his hat brim. “I’ll see myself out.”
As soon as he was out the door, I collapsed into the fireside chair. My previous experience with lying had not prepared me for the job of protecting Eliza. I doubted I’d persuaded the detective that I hadn’t returned to the crime scene; indeed, I was afraid that by denying it, I’d only managed to convince him that everything else I’d said was also a lie, including my belief in Eliza’s innocence. I was still pondering the possible ramifications when I heard footsteps coming toward the drawing room. I barely had time to square my shoulders and lift my head before my father strode into the room.
“Well, Genevieve,” he said, closing the door behind him, “you have some explaining to do. Your poor mother is in a state!”
I considered getting to my feet but wasn’t sure my wobbly legs were up to it. “There’s nothing for her to worry about,” I said, as confidently as I could manage.
“Nothing to worry about? When one of your patients is involved in a homicide?”
“She’s only been arrested, Father. They haven’t proven that she did it yet.”
A strangled sound escaped him. “This is why you turned down an opportunity to work at one of this city’s finest hospitals? To mingle with lunatics and murderers?”
“Father, please. You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting? My daughter’s safety is at sake, and I’m overreacting?”
“Whatever this woman has or hasn’t done, she’s in custody now. She can’t do me any harm.”
“What about the rest of them? These other women whom you’ve told me can’t function normally in society?”
“I don’t suppose the odds of having two murderers in one class are very high, do you?” I said with a smile, hoping to defuse the situation.
This, however, only caused the vein in his neck to pulse more violently. “I don’t play the odds, especially when it comes to my daughter!” He straightened, making a visible effort to control himself. “I tried to support you in this venture, Genevieve, although it went against my better judgment, and here’s what’s come of it. I can’t allow it to continue any longer. I want you to terminate this project immediately.”
“That’s impossible. I can’t just—”
“I insist! You may meet with these women one more time to tell them it’s over. In the meantime, I’d suggest you start thinking about what you’re going to do to salvage your career.”
I thought of the promises I’d made to the women in my class, and how I’d practically begged them for their trust. “I can’t just turn my back on them.”
He stepped toward me, his eyes ablaze. “As long as you are living under my roof and in my care, you will do as I say. And I say that you will stop immediately!”
“But I made a commitment—”
“You made a mistake! I tried to warn you, but as usual, you just barged right ahead.”
I opened my mouth, but suddenly, there seemed no reply I could make.
“Do we understand one another?”
I nodded.
“Good.”
I started up from my chair.
“Just a minute. There’s something else we need to discuss.”
Dear God, I thought, sinking down again. Will this day never end?
“I’ve made some inquiries about Simon Shaw. I thought you might be interested to hear what he’s been up to.”
“Why should I be interested in Mr. Shaw’s affairs?”
“Your comments this morning led me to think that you believe he’s changed—that he is, perhaps, an honorable man.”
“I don’t have an opinion one way or another,” I said wearily. “I just don’t think he should be disparaged for becoming a politician. After all, he hasn’t had the advantages others have. He shouldn’t be blamed for taking one of the few paths open to him.”
“What about prospering from illegal activities? Should he be blamed for that?”
“What do you mean?”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “According to my sources, Shaw is negotiating with the district attorney to acquire one of Richard Canfield’s gambling operations in Saratoga. The state shut it down last year and confiscated the assets.”
I waited, but there was nothing more. “Is that all?” I had of course heard of Richard Canfield, whose gambling house on East Forty-Fourth Street had been a favorite target of our previous reform mayor, Seth Low. Though Canfield’s gambling operations were illegal, they were frequented by some of the most prominent residents of the city. “I thought you were going to tell me he’d been dipping into the public coffers, or worse.”
“I fail to see a distinction,” he bristled. “Gambling is an addiction. Taking the bread money from an addicted man’s pocket is no better than taking it by theft or threat of force.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said, having no strength left for debate. “But I don’t understand; if the state shut the Saratoga property down, how can the district attorney allow Simon to take it over?”
“My sources aren’t privy to the details, but I expect Shaw intends to operate it under the guise of a social club. He wouldn’t be the first.”
“I thought the district attorney was supposed to be a pillar of virtue. Isn’t he the one who’s always pictured in the papers breaking into policy shops with a hatchet?”
“Jerome’s as ambitious as the next man,” he replied. “I’ve heard he’s considering running for the Senate. It may be that Shaw is holding something over him from his past, or perhaps he’s offering a carrot instead—Tammany support in the election, or some such. The point is, you shouldn’t assume that just because Shaw dresses like a gentleman, he is one. A gentleman doesn’t profit from the misery of others.”
It was disappointing, though hardly shocking, to learn that Simon had taken the low road to prosperity. It did not, however, make me any less inclined to seek his help. At this point, I didn’t care if he was in league with the devil himself, so long as he was willing to help Eliza. “All right, I won’t assume he’s a gentleman. But perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to assume the worst either. For all we know, he’s planning to turn the place into an orphanage.”
“You’re joking, of course.”
I sighed. “Look, Father, whatever Mr. Shaw is or isn’t, it has no bearing on me. There’s no need to concern yourself on my behalf.”
“How do you know?” he fumed. “Can you see inside his mind? Can you be sure he doesn’t have some ulterior motive for showing back up on our doorstep?”
“What do you mean? What motive could he possibly have?”
“I don’t know,” he said darkly. “I just hope to God we don’t find out.” The clock on the mantelpiece chimed
the hour. “Well, that’s all I have to say on the matter,” Father declared when the last chime had faded. “Will you be joining your mother and me for coffee?”
“I think I’ll go straight up to bed if you don’t mind. It’s been a long day.”
“You do look pale,” he said with a frown. “Get some rest, then, and we’ll see you in the morning.”
I retrieved my bag from the hallway and trudged upstairs to my room, where I fell into the chair by the window, feeling sick at heart. My father may have doubted my judgment in the past, but he’d never doubted my honesty. I had never given him reason to. Tonight, however, I had lied to his face. I had no intention of abandoning Eliza, or my class. I couldn’t, not if I hoped to maintain the smallest shred of self-respect. But I’d been too much of a coward to tell him so.
I’d had no choice but to lie to Maloney to ensure that he didn’t misuse what I’d learned from Eliza. But where Father was concerned, my motivation wasn’t nearly as selfless. I was afraid, pure and simple, to tell him how intimately involved I was with Eliza and her decision to confront the doctor. I would have to go on lying, about all of it, or suffer his additional disappointment. How many times could I let him down before he’d stop caring altogether? I thought of Anna Kruger, living under the eaves of the Holy Trinity mission, cast out by her family because she’d failed to live up to their expectations. And she hadn’t been responsible for her own brother’s death.
The only way out of this mess was for me to prove Eliza’s innocence, and prove it soon, before the web of lies fell apart and I was found out. I feared it wouldn’t be enough to establish that she didn’t have a degenerative disease; I was going to have to put my finger on the real murderer, or at least come up with a viable suspect. I pulled Dr. Hauptfuhrer’s crumpled list from my book bag. The answer lay here in my hands, I felt sure of it. I just hoped to God I could find it in time.
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