Murder On GramercyPark

by Victoria Thompson

  “She would have had the man she loves to comfort her,” Frank said.

  Potter made a rude noise. “She didn’t love Dudley. How could she? He was nothing and nobody.”

  “She tried to elope with him once,” Frank tried.

  “She was only an innocent girl then. Dudley beguiled her. What kind of a man would steal a young woman away in the middle of the night against her family’s wishes?”

  Frank had wondered the same thing, and meeting Dudley for himself hadn’t answered that question. The former schoolmaster still hardly seemed like the bounder and cad he would have had to be to seduce a young woman of good family into betraying everything she knew. Still, no one could deny that he’d done it, so he couldn’t be the well-meaning clod he appeared to be.

  “If she had married Dudley, she would have quickly regretted it,” Potter was saying. “He had nothing to offer her except ruin. Someone had to protect her.”

  “Didn’t you consider asking her father to do that?” Frank asked.

  “Mr. Symington could hardly be expected to deal with a situation like this. He failed to protect her from Dudley before, and she almost died as a result. Besides, I didn’t think he would…”

  “He would what?” Frank prodded when he hesitated.

  “I thought he might be squeamish about…” He made a helpless gesture with his hands.

  “About doing away with Dudley permanently?” Frank suggested.

  Potter nodded reluctantly. “Mr. Symington is a gentleman. How could he understand the determination of a man like Dudley? Even after nearly killing Letitia the first time, still he hunted her down and intruded on her life again. The man was relendess. I was afraid that if he didn’t win Letitia this time, he might resort to blackmail or something worse in order to humiliate her. Nothing short of death would have stopped him from pursuing her.”

  Dudley hadn’t struck Frank as relentless. Pigheaded, maybe, and foolish to a fault, but not relentless. Frank thought he just loved Letitia and wanted to be with her. But Potter didn’t have the benefit of actually knowing Dudley, so he could be forgiven for making incorrect assumptions about him. But not for trying to murder him, of course.

  “So you sneaked into Dudley’s rooming house… How did you know where he lived?”

  “I… I followed him home from his place of employment,” Potter explained wearily.

  “How did you know where he worked?”

  “He told me, the day I met him at Letitia’s home.”

  Frank nodded his understanding. Potter had showed some cunning but not enough to keep from being caught. “I guess killing a man with a knife was more difficult than you thought,” Frank suggested.

  Potter nodded gratefully. “Yes, it was! I thought I could stab him while he slept and he’d never even know what happened. But the knife wouldn’t go in! And then he woke up and started to struggle. It was horrible!”

  “I’m sure it was pretty horrible for Mr. Dudley, too,” Frank reminded him.

  Potter had the grace to flush. He lowered his gaze.

  “All right, so I know why you tried to kill Dudley. It’s no mystery why you killed Calvin, either. How did you get him to drink the arsenic?”

  Potter raised his eyes. “I deeply regretted having to kill the boy. I know he never did any harm, but-”

  “Potter, don’t make me hit you,” Frank warned. “And if you keep pretending you’re sorry you killed that innocent boy, I might have to break your jaw. And a few ribs if I don’t think you’re repentant enough.”

  Potter swallowed nervously. “What do you want to know?”

  “Just tell me how you did it,” Frank said through gritted teeth. “And try not to say anything stupid enough to make me forget I want you in one piece until you’ve finished your confession.”

  “I brought him the sarsaparilla,” he said quickly. “I told him it was a treat, to make up for how badly things had been going for him. He was very pleased.”

  “I’m sure he was.” Frank restrained himself with difficulty.

  “After he started getting sick, I helped him get to bed and offered to fetch a doctor. Then all I had to do was wait until he passed out. I’d already written the note, so I put it and the arsenic on the bureau. When everyone else in the house had gone to bed, I left.”

  Frank managed to hold his fury in a tight, white ball inside of him. He’d let it go in a minute, just as soon as he had the last of Potter’s confession. “Now tell me why you killed Blackwell.”

  Now Potter looked really frightened. He swallowed again. “Could I have some water?”

  “No, just start talking.”

  “Well, you know what Edmund had done. He’d involved Letitia in a bigamous marriage, and the scandal was going to break unless someone stopped Calvin Brown.”

  “I thought Blackwell was going to pay him off and send him away.”

  “Edmund thought that would be enough, but I knew that a blackmailer is never satisfied. The Browns would have wanted more and more from Edmund. You can’t keep a secret like that for long, either. Edmund had enemies, doctors whose patients he’d been able to cure where they had failed. They would have been only too happy to expose him as a bigamist. They wouldn’t care if they destroyed Letitia’s life in the process.”

  “So you decided Blackwell had to die?” Frank asked incredulously.

  “Don’t you see? It was the only way! If he was dead, the Browns couldn’t blackmail him. Letitia would be a respectable widow and…”

  “And what?” Frank insisted.

  Potter lifted his chin defiantly. “She would have had people who truly love her to look after her best interests.”

  “Like you?” Frank suggested.

  “I will always be Letitia’s devoted servant.”

  Frank managed not to choke. “I guess you knew Blackwell would be alone in the house that afternoon,” he suggested.

  “I knew he was going to meet with the boy. He’d asked me to help him get the money together, you see.”

  “That’s right, you already told me that part. Did he also ask you to be with him when he met with Calvin?”

  “No, I went there on my own, knowing he’d be alone. I tried to convince him once more not to allow himself to be blackmailed, but he wouldn’t listen to me. We quarreled bitterly, but I still couldn’t persuade him. I could see reasoning with him was hopeless, so I reached into the drawer where I knew he kept his pistol.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “He’d shown it to me on several occasions. Having a gun for protection is only effective if people know you have it, Mr. Malloy.”

  “Did Blackwell think he needed protection from you?” Frank asked with interest.

  “I don’t believe he did,” Potter replied stiffly.

  “So you pulled out the gun. Wasn’t Blackwell sitting right there at the desk? Didn’t he try to stop you?”

  “I don’t suppose he thought I was any danger to him. In any case, he didn’t do anything to stop me. He just sat there and… and stared at me. I knew what I had to do, so I pointed the gun at his head and fired.” He looked at Frank expectantly, although Frank didn’t know what he was expecting.

  “Then what happened?” Frank asked.

  “He… he slumped over the desk, just like you found him. And I left the house. No one saw me.”

  “What did you do with the gun?”

  “The gun?”

  “Yes, did you take it with you?”

  “I… no, of course not, I… I must have dropped it. I really don’t remember.”

  “Did you touch anything on the desk or in the room?” Frank prodded.

  “I… I don’t remember. It was so horrible. I think I just ran out.”

  “Didn’t you take the money Blackwell had gotten to give Calvin?”

  “Certainly not! I’m not a thief,” Potter insisted, offended. Apparently, he felt he could commit murder but still maintain some integrity by not stealing from the dead man.

 
“Then what happened to the money?”

  Potter looked genuinely baffled. “I have no idea. Probably one of your policemen took it. Or one of the servants. How should I know?”

  Frank sighed. “All right, so you ran out. Where did you go?”

  “Back to my flat. I… I waited awhile. Then I was going to go back to discover the body. I didn’t want… Well, I certainly didn’t want Letitia to find it.”

  “Of course not,” Frank said. He’d proven he’d do almost anything to protect Letitia Blackwell from unpleasantness. Unfortunately, he’d also just proven he hadn’t killed Edmund Blackwell.

  SARAH HAD MANAGED a few catnaps during the night but nothing approaching real rest. Since the room was warm, she’d appropriated Dudley’s blanket and made herself a crude pallet on the floor. She could have slept even in such uncomfortable conditions, but Dudley kept waking up from pain or thirst all night. She’d changed his bandages once when he’d opened one of his sutures, and just when she’d finally dozed off the last time, the landlady had come pounding on the door, demanding to know if Sarah wanted some breakfast brought up.

  The next time Malloy needed a nurse, he could just hire one.

  Dudley woke up moaning as the landlady delivered the breakfast tray.

  “He ain’t going to die, is he?” she asked Sarah. “I don’t need nobody dying here. It’s bad for business.”

  “I’ll do my best to see that he doesn’st,” Sarah assured her. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way.”

  The sarcasm was wasted on the landlady, who just nodded her approval and left.

  Sarah checked Dudley for fever. He seemed warm, but not too bad. No signs of serious infection yet, but it was still early. “You need to eat something,” she told him when she’d examined his bandages. “Do you think you could manage it if I help you?”

  “I don’t… I’ll try,” he said. “It hurts, though.”

  “I don’t want to give you any more medicine until you’ve tried to eat,” she explained. “The medicine always makes you fall asleep too quickly.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes against the pain while she pulled the chair closer so she could feed him. Sarah had asked for soft foods, and that’s what she’d gotten. Milk toast and something that might have been porridge.

  He managed to swallow a few bites, and then he said, “Was I dreaming, or did you tell me that it was Mr. Potter who tried to kill me?”

  “You weren’t dreaming. He’d lost his watch fob in the struggle with you, and I found it last night, under your bed. Mr. Potter realized he’d lost it and came back looking for it. Since he thought you were dead-that’s what Mr. Malloy told him-he thought it would be safe. Instead, he got caught.”

  She didn’t see any point in telling him how she’d fought and overpowered Potter. She wasn’t interested in impressing him, in any case.

  “He was here?”

  “Yes, you slept through the whole thing. Mr. Malloy took him away.”

  “And did you say that Potter had killed Dr. Blackwell and that poor boy, too?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Dudley closed his eyes and shuddered slightly.

  “If the pain is that bad, I can go ahead and-”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” he assured her, opening his eyes and managing a strained smile. He swallowed a few more bites before he said, “Don’t let Letitia come here. I don’t want her in this place.”

  Sarah couldn’t tell him that Letitia still thought he was dead, so she was unlikely to try to visit him at all, but of course, Malloy would soon be informing her that her husband’s killer had been caught and Dudley was, in fact, alive. Sarah couldn’t help wondering if Letitia would then even want to visit Dudley. Sarah knew that if the man she loved had been lying grievously wounded, nothing could have kept her away, but she couldn’t imagine that sort of devotion from Letitia Blackwell. But maybe she was doing the woman an injustice.

  “I’m sure she’ll want to arrange for a better place for you to stay when it’s safe to move you,” she said, hoping that, at least, was true.

  “She will, but she probably won’t think of it herself. She’s really quite naive about things. That’s why she needs someone to look after her. Blackwell never took proper care of her.”

  Which was, of course, why you felt obligated to commit adultery with her, Sarah thought, but of course she didn’t say that. “Oh, yes,” she said instead, not above a little shameless gossiping, even if it involved a dead man. “You started to say something last night about her being afraid of Dr. Blackwell. Was he abusive to her? Did he hurt her, I mean?”

  “Not that I know of,” Dudley said, taking another bite. When he’d swallowed, he added, “But there are other ways to hurt someone besides hitting them. He had forced her to give up the morphine. You can’t imagine how horrible that was for her.”

  Sarah could well imagine it, having seen others going through the same agonizing process.

  He swallowed another bite. “And then he made her speak at the lectures, even knowing how terrified she was. She did it for him, because she was so grateful to him, but he never appreciated it. No wonder she turned to the morphine again.”

  “I suppose she was also concerned about her husband finding out about you and the baby,” Sarah suggested.

  Dudley frowned as he swallowed the next bite. “I don’t think she was afraid of that so much. Blackwell paid hardly any attention to her at all, except that he…”

  “That he what?” Sarah asked, trying to appear only mildly interested.

  “Well, he disapproved of the morphine use. Actually, I don’t think he cared about Letitia’s health as much as he was worried that if she was taking the morphine again, it would reflect badly on his cure of her. He suspected that she was using it again, but of course he never found any proof because she was careful not to keep it in the house.”

  “Is that what she was so afraid of?” Sarah asked. “That he would find out and make her stop again?”

  “It would have killed her,” Dudley said, growing agitated. “You must understand, she just couldn’t go through that again.”

  “I understand completely,” Sarah assured him. Few people could endure such an ordeal even once.

  “She tried to describe the pain to me, but I don’t think I can even imagine what it was like. She was simply terrified he’d put her through that again. She was so terrified that I even thought…”

  “What did you think?” Sarah prodded when he hesitated.

  He smiled sheepishly. “You’ll think I’m a cad.”

  Sarah already thought so, but she said, “You can’t shock me, Mr. Dudley.”

  “I hate to admit it now, since I know it wasn’t true, but I was actually afraid that Letitia might’ve killed Dr. Blackwell herself. That’s how frightened she was that he would discover she was still using morphine.”

  “Oh, my, that is unchivalrous of you,” she agreed, even as a chill stole up her spine at the very thought.

  “If you could have seen her that day when she came to Mr. Fong’s, you’d forgive me for believing it, though,” he defended himself. “She was on the verge of hysteria. She’d quarreled with Blackwell, you see. He’d accused her of using morphine again. She’d denied it, of course, but it was an ugly scene. And she knew that when the baby came, she wouldn’t be able to get out for several weeks. She’d have to keep the morphine in the house then, and if Blackwell found it…”

  “I can certainly see why you were worried,” Sarah agreed sympathetically. She couldn’t help wondering how sympathetic Letitia would be if she were to learn of her lover’s suspicions, however.

  “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it was Mr. Potter all along,” he was saying.

  “I guess you forgot that Letitia was with you when Dr. Blackwell was killed, so she couldn’t have done it.”

  “She was, of course, after their quarrel. But I couldn’t help thinking… Well, no matter. None of it matters now, does it?”


  Sarah supposed it didn’t.

  FRANK HAD BEEN looking forward to going to the Blackwell home to tell the widow her husband’s murder had been solved so he could be finished with this case. Of course, he’d get no reward now. Potter was hardly likely to make good on his original offer, and Symington had only wanted to reward him if he proved Dudley was the killer. On top of all that, he’d have to tell Symington and Letitia that Dudley wasn’t even dead. Not only would Symington be disappointed, they’d both be angry because he’d deceived them. Still, having the case over would be something to savor. He never wanted to see any of these people again.

  Unfortunately, the case wasn’t over.

  No matter how much Frank wanted it to be true, Amos Potter hadn’t killed Edmund Blackwell, and his confession had proved it. First there was the problem of how Potter got the gun in the first place. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t imagine anyone allowing another man, a man with whom he was supposedly quarreling, no less, to reach into the desk drawer at his very elbow to pull out a gun without trying to stop him. To make matters worse, Blackwell would hardly have just calmly kept on writing his letter while Potter raised the gun and pointed it to his head.

  Potter had made no mention of trying to make the death look like a suicide afterward, either. He hadn’t known Blackwell was writing a letter when he was shot, and he hadn’t mentioned laying the pistol down beside him to make it appear Blackwell himself had used it. Most of all, he hadn’t mentioned replacing the pen Blackwell had been writing with in its stand.

  Probably he hadn’t mentioned these things because he knew nothing about them, and he knew nothing about them because he wasn’t even there when Edmund Blackwell was killed.

  Which left Frank with the task of explaining why a man would confess to a murder he hadn’t committed. And why he’d commit a murder to cover that one up if he wasn’t guilty of it in the first place, because he’d apparently killed Calvin Brown. But most importantly, Frank would have to figure out who had really killed Edmund Blackwell in the first place.

  That probably wouldn’t be too difficult, though. Potter had only confessed to protect someone, and Frank knew there was only one person he’d die to protect: Letitia Blackwell.