Murder on St. Mark's Place

by Victoria Thompson

  See him and reconcile with him, was what she meant, and Sarah understood the conditions perfectly. Hadn’t she known this would happen? Her mother might look as delicate as a china doll, but inside she had a will of iron. She might use charm and grace to accomplish her purpose, but she was relentless. And Sarah supposed she was ready to be reconciled with her father. Otherwise, she would have found another way to contact Dirk Schyler, wouldn’t she?

  “All right, Mother. When can I see Father?”

  MALLOY CAME BY that evening. He looked tired. Sarah wished she felt more sociable, but she was too worried about meeting with her father the next day. Her mother had been wise enough not to allow her too much time to change her mind. Her only salvation would be if someone summoned her to deliver a baby. Malloy certainly hadn’t come for that.

  “I hope you have some news,” she told him as he stepped into her office.

  “I was hoping you did,” he replied.

  The rain had finally stopped, and the air was fresh and cool, so they went out to the back porch. Sarah poured him some lemonade, and then she waited to hear what he had to tell her.

  “That fellow Robert, the one on the list, he got married,” he said. “He hasn’t been going out to dance halls since before Gerda Reinhard died.”

  Sarah pretended to be hearing this information for the first time. “So that probably means he’s not our killer.”

  Malloy sipped his lemonade. “You might want to call on him, though. His wife will be needing your services soon.”

  Ah, so that explained the hasty marriage and sudden domesticity. “I should give you some of my cards,” she teased him. “You could pass them out in your travels.”

  Even in the fading sunlight, she saw his quick smile, gone in a moment. “What did you find out?” he asked, surprising her.

  “Me? How would I find out anything?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, settling more comfortably in his chair. “Maybe by questioning some of the other girls’ friends again, just like I did.”

  “Malloy, you’re too suspicious.”

  “And you’re a bad liar. What did you find out?”

  She sighed in defeat. So much for keeping her activities secret from Malloy. “I found out that Luisa met the man named Will, the one from the list, at Coney Island. He spent a lot of money on her, and he bought her a gift.”

  “What kind of gift?” She had his interest now.

  “I don’t know. Her friend told me about it, but her sister denied it. She didn’t want me to think Luisa was a Charity Girl.”

  “Can’t blame her for that, but it does make it hard when they won’t tell you what they know. Nothing can hurt the dead, but people forget that. You’d think they’d want to find the killer more than they’d want to protect the victims, but they never do.”

  Sarah remembered the first case they’d worked on together and knew he was right. “They also said this Will could be rough when a girl didn’t do what he wanted.”

  “Rough? You mean he beat them?”

  “Luisa’s sister said he slapped them around. Not beat. She was clear that he didn’t really hurt them.”

  “Since when doesn’t a slap hurt?” Malloy wanted to know.

  “Since women want to pretend it doesn’t mean anything,” Sarah countered.

  Malloy grunted. “What do we know about this Will?” he asked.

  “He’s handsome, dresses well, and has a lot of money to spend. I haven’t met anyone who knew him personally yet. Or at least no one who will admit it. Maybe they don’t want to be known as Charity Girls, either.”

  “He sounds a lot like your friend,” Malloy observed.

  “My friend?”

  “The fellow we met at Coney Island.”

  Sarah hadn’t thought of that. Another reason to ask Dirk to go with her. He’d know exactly how a man like that would behave since he himself was a man like that. Except for being a murderer, of course.

  “The first three girls all knew a man named Will who fits this same description,” Sarah reminded him. “No one remembered Gerda knowing Will, but she’d just met a fellow who sounds like him, the one who bought her the red shoes on Coney Island.”

  “Could be somebody else,” he reminded her.

  “And it could be the same man. If all these girls were killed by the same man, there’s bound to be some coincidences.”

  “At least one,” Malloy agreed.

  “I was thinking,” Sarah ventured, figuring Malloy would find out anyway. “I could go out to Coney Island and see if I can locate the store where Gerda got the shoes. Maybe they’ll remember something.”

  Malloy frowned. “That’s probably a fool’s errand,”

  Sarah smiled knowingly. “Don’t worry, Malloy, I don’t expect you to go with me.”

  “Good, then you won’t be disappointed.”

  “And when I find the clue that solves the case, you’ll be awfully sorry you didn’t go with me.”

  “I’ll manage to bear it,” he assured her wryly.

  They fell silent. Sarah thought they had finished, but Malloy didn’t get up the way he usually did when he felt they had discussed everything necessary. After a moment she realized he had more to say to her, but for some reason he wasn’t saying it.

  “Was there something else?” she asked, hoping to encourage him.

  He drained his glass of lemonade, set it down carefully on the table, and stared out at the flowers blooming in her yard for a long moment before he finally said, “I went to that deaf school.”

  “What did you find out?”

  He didn’t answer right away. Plainly, he wasn’t sure himself. “They said they could teach Brian to talk. And to read people’s lips so he’d know what they were saying.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Sarah exclaimed.

  But Malloy plainly didn’t think so. “I can’t see it, myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They had a boy there. He could tell what I was saying, even though he can’t hear. He could read my lips. And he could talk, too. Not real clear, but I could understand him.”

  “Then that proves it’s possible.”

  “Yes, but ... He wasn’t born deaf. He had scarlet fever when he was about five, I think. He’d already learned to talk. He knows what people’s voices sound like. Brian doesn’t.”

  He’d obviously given this matter considerable thought. She would’ve been disappointed in him if he hadn’t, of course. “I suppose it would be much more difficult to learn to speak if you’d never heard a human voice.”

  “I also found out there’s another way to teach deaf people.”

  “There is? What is it?”

  “I don’t know. The fellow I talked to at the Lexington Avenue School told me, though. He didn’t mean to. He must’ve thought I’d talked to the other people first, so he tried to convince me his way of teaching was the best. That’s how I know there’s another way.”

  Naturally, Malloy would be suspicious. He was always suspicious. And he wouldn’t miss a single clue, even if it wasn’t a clue to solving a crime. “You should certainly investigate all the possibilities before you decide what to do,” she said.

  He scratched his chin and looked out at the flowers again. “I was hoping you’d know what those other possibilities were.”

  Sarah smiled a little, since he wasn’t looking at her. Then she considered. “I have seen deaf people talking with their hands,” she remembered.

  “Their hands?”

  “Yes, they have some sort of sign language they use.”

  “Were they talking, too?”

  “I don’t think so. Did the boy at the school use sign language?”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe that’s the other method they use, the one the Lexington Avenue School thinks isn’t as good.”

  “I can see why. A deaf person wouldn’t be able to talk to someone who doesn’t know the sign language.”

  “But if the deaf person cou
ldn’t learn to talk, how else could he communicate?”

  Malloy scratched his chin again. “I guess that’s what I’ll have to find out.”

  SARAH DECIDED HER presence at her parents’ home was a measure of how desperate she was to solve these murders. She approached their house with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She’d hardly slept the night before, and she’d spent every waking hour reliving all the arguments she’d had with her father through the years. In memory, at least, she hadn’t won any of them.

  Remembering how they had fought, however, she realized her father must be deranged to want to see her again. He should count himself well rid of such an ungrateful child. But of course he didn’t. He either loved her very much or else he couldn’t stand the thought that something of his existed outside of his control. Sarah thought it might well be a little of both. She couldn’t condemn him, though. Her own motives for renewing their relationship were hardly pure.

  The maid opened the door almost before she knocked, and from her wide-eyed expression, she was well aware of how momentous this visit was. “Mr. and Mrs. Decker is waiting for you in the back parlor, Mrs. Brandt,” she said. “I’ll show you in.”

  The back parlor was where the family would normally gather, not where they would receive guests. The location was important. It told Sarah they were welcoming her home. She was still an intimate part of their family. She only hoped that was still true when this visit was over.

  The maid showed her in, and she found her parents sitting stiffly on the sofa, awaiting her arrival with the same apprehension she herself was feeling. Her mother rose instantly to her feet, but her father was slower getting up. Did he seem reluctant or merely unable to rise more quickly?

  Sarah was struck by how much older he looked than she remembered. He was thinner, his face drawn, and although he was still much taller than she, he looked somehow smaller than she remembered, somehow shrunken. She recalled what her mother had said about his stomach problems and wondered if that had caused the change in his appearance.

  He didn’t smile. He was much too cautious a man to let his feelings show so openly. He would wait for his cue from her. There would be no unseemly display of emotion.

  “Father, how wonderful to see you,” Sarah said, feeling the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She went forward, offering him both of her hands.

  He took them in a grip so hard it was almost painful as his pale blue eyes searched her face, taking in every detail of her appearance. “You’re looking well,” he determined, his voice strained.

  “I’m feeling well,” she confirmed. “My work keeps me busy and happy.”

  She saw the flicker of disapproval he couldn’t quite hide, but she had to admire the way he refrained from uttering the slightest word of criticism. By this she judged how anxious he was to repair their relationship.

  “Please, sit down,” her mother said too brightly. “I’ll ring for tea.”

  Sarah sat in the chair beside her father, amazed at how her hands ached after he released them. He’d been clinging so tightly he’d almost bruised them.

  They chatted about the weather and Sarah’s trip uptown—her father was probably horrified that she’d taken the elevated train, but he managed not to betray it—until the maid had finished serving and left them alone.

  When the door closed behind her, an awkward silence fell. They all knew someone must say something, something momentous, but no one knew quite what that something should be. Perhaps her father thought she should apologize for abandoning them, but she wasn’t going to do that. She had been the one offended and felt that she was the one due an apology. She couldn’t imagine her father would offer one, however. As far as she knew, he had never apologized for anything in his life. To do so would be to admit he had been wrong, and he probably believed he never had been.

  Unable to think of anything appropriate, Sarah sat silent. Sooner or later her father would say what he wanted her to hear. She was prepared for anything. Or at least she thought she was until he said, “We’ve missed you, Sarah.”

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said quite honestly. Although she had friends and a profession that fulfilled her, nothing and no one could take the place of family. Not even a family who had hurt each other as much as hers had.

  “Your father regrets ... we both regret,” her mother quickly amended when he gave her a sharp glance, “the harsh words that were spoken after poor Tom...”

  “I’m sure we all regret that,” Sarah said quickly, coming to her mother’s rescue. Had her father asked her mother to apologize for him? No, she realized, judging his expression. His impatience was evident.

  “I still believe no respectable woman should live alone and earn her own living,” he said, confirming her theory.

  Oddly, she found his statement reassuring. He hadn’t changed. And if he was still the same, as infuriating as he might be, she knew exactly how to deal with him.

  “I know you don’t understand the choices I’ve made,” she allowed him. “But the fact is, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need your blessing to live my life the way I see fit”

  His lips tightened a bit. He wasn’t used to such resistance, certainly not from a female and his own child. Her mother, she knew, resisted him frequently, but she used feminine wiles and charm to soften the blow. Sarah had no skill and certainly no patience for such wiles.

  But to his credit, her father chose not to argue. Instead he said, “You’ve always had a mind of your own, Sarah. You’re very like me in that respect.”

  “Too much like you, perhaps,” she allowed with a small smile.

  “Yes, but it’s less ... acceptable in a female.”

  “To some people,” Sarah allowed, proving his point by arguing with it.

  “And always to a father,” he countered.

  She conceded. “I never intended to let so much time pass with matters unsettled between us, but before I knew it, three years had gone by. I don’t know how it happened.”

  “Nor I,” he agreed. Did he look relieved at her willingness to take the blame? She hoped so.

  “I should have been more understanding,” she allowed, taking even more blame. “I realize now that you were only concerned about my well-being.”

  Her father was prepared to be equally gracious. “And we probably should have given you some time to get over Dr. Brandt’s death before discussing the future with you.”

  “If you had, you might have understood that no discussion was necessary. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Or you might simply be too proud to accept the help we were offering you,” he suggested.

  She was right. He hadn’t changed a bit. “I didn’t need help then, and I don’t need it now, Father. I know it’s difficuft for you to imagine, but I manage my own life quite well. Not every woman needs a man to take care of her.”

  Instantly, she regretted her hasty words. With them, she had insulted her mother. Fortunately, her mother didn’t seem to realize it.

  “I’m sure your father was only trying to protect you from any more unpleasantness,” she said.

  “But I don’t want to be protected from it,” Sarah explained, hoping she could maintain her reasonable tone in the face of such ignorance. “I want to face it head-on and do something to change it.”

  Her mother glanced at her father apprehensively, obviously afraid Sarah had incensed him. In times past, she had done so with far less provocation. But her father was no longer so quick to anger. Or at least he was trying harder to be reasonable today than ever before.

  “That’s foolish idealism, Sarah. You can’t change the way things are, no matter how much you might wish to. The world has been a wicked place since Cain killed Abel, and since then people have simply refined the ways in which they harm each other. One woman can’t possibly make a difference.”

  Sarah could have told him how she had made a difference by solving the murder of Alicia VanDamm. She could have told him of the l
ives she had saved, mothers and babies who would never have survived without her skill. Instead she said, “Are you suggesting I should stop trying?”

  She could see the battle he fought with himself. He was used to ordering and demanding and being obeyed instantly. No one challenged him, no one questioned him, not the people who worked for him or the people with whom he did business or anyone in his household. No one except Sarah, that is.

  Her mother placed a hand on his sleeve, as if the gesture would restrain him. But he didn’t even seem to notice. He was too intent on Sarah, who met his gaze levelly, without flinching.

  “I am suggesting,” he said when he was in control of his temper again, “that there is no need for a woman of your position in life to waste that life toiling for common people.”

  She could have said many things. She could have pointed out that women of the upper class wasted their lives every day, squandering their talents and intelligence on visits and gossip and parties and balls. But saying so would not have convinced her father and would have hurt her mother. Her father believed that women should engage only in socially acceptable activities, and he wasn’t going to change his mind in one afternoon.

  “Father, I know you don’t approve of how I spend my life, but you must also know I have no intention of doing anything else. If we are going to make peace between us, we are each going to have to respect the other’s opinions, whether we agree or not.”

  Her father stared at her for a long moment, his eyes sad. “This is what it’s come to, is it? You’ve lost all trace of femininity, Sarah. You reason just like a man now.”

  He hadn’t meant to compliment her, but Sarah felt flattered all the same. “Men have all the advantages in life, Father. If I’ve adopted masculine ways, it’s only because I had no choice.”

  “You have a choice. You can come home and let us take care of you again.”

  Now it was Sarah’s turn to be sad. “I’m afraid you’d regret your invitation very quickly if I took you up on it, Father. I’m not the biddable young girl you remember.”

  “You were never biddable, Sarah,” he reminded her sharply.