“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.
Frank figured he shouldn’t be surprised to realize he’d once again underestimated a female. Sarah Brandt was always accusing him of doing just that. But even she had been fooled this time. As difficult as it was to imagine, Letitia Blackwell had blown her husband’s brains out and then calmly kept an assignation with her lover.
Now all he had to do was convince the chief of detectives, the police commission, and Maurice Symington that sweet Letitia Blackwell should be charged with murder.
SARAH WAS READY to commit murder herself by the time she heard Malloy’s familiar footstep in the hall. Dudley had been sleeping soundly for quite a while now, and she was tired and stiff and hungry and very annoyed with having to tuck and retuck her torn skirt back into its waistband.
She threw open the door before Malloy even had a chance to knock and said, “Thank heaven you’re here! You’ve got to find someone else to look after Dudley for a while so I can ... What on earth is wrong?”
He blinked in confusion. “I thought you were going to tell me,” he said.
“No, I mean what’s wrong with you? You look like someone died.”
“It’s worse than that. Is Dudley awake?”
She glanced over. He hadn’t batted an eye at Malloy’s arrival. “He’s in the arms of Morpheus.”
“Who?” Malloy leaned around the doorway to look himself, probably expecting to see someone sharing the bed with Dudley.
“Morphine-induced slumber,” she explained. “Come in and tell me what’s happened. Didn’t Potter confess?”
“Oh, he confessed all right,” Malloy said as he came in and allowed her to close the door behind him. “The problem is, he isn’t guilty.”
“I know he’s the one who tried to kill Dudley,” she insisted. “I found the key, remember?”
“Well, he’s guilty of that, and he most likely killed Calvin, damn his soul, but he didn’t kill Blackwell.”
“Why would he have killed the others if he didn’t kill Blackwell? Did he try to deny it?”
“Oh, no, he confessed to that, too, but he’s not the killer.” He explained to her about Potter’s failure to explain Blackwell’s murder accurately.
“Maybe he just forgot he did those things,” she tried.
“Would you forget if you’d gone to the trouble to make someone’s death look like a suicide and the police didn’t believe it?”
“I think Letitia Blackwell did it,” he said.
She was surprised, but only for a moment. Then everything fell into place. “Dudley just told me this morning that she was terrified Blackwell would find out she was using the morphine and make her quit again. You can’t imagine how terrible an ordeal it is to wean yourself off of an opiate.”
Malloy nodded. “That gives me a better motive, then. I was having a hard time trying to figure out why she would’ve been driven to blow her husband’s brains out just because he was a bigamist.”
“I don’t think she even knew that,” Sarah said. “But Dudley also said she and Blackwell had a terrible argument the day he was killed. Blackwell accused her of using morphine again, but he hadn’t been able to find any in the house. She was very careful about that, but she knew when the baby came, she wouldn’t be able to get out for weeks. She couldn’t go without the drug, so she’d have to keep a supply in the house. Blackwell was sure to find it.”
Malloy nodded. “She was desperate, and the only way to protect herself was to kill Blackwell.”
Sarah shook her head. “I still can’t imagine Letitia doing something so ... so messy.”
“I guess you haven’t seen the things morphine users do when they can’t get their drugs. It turns them into animals. Besides, for who else would Potter confess to protect? He must know, or at least strongly suspect, that she was the killer. That’s why he killed Calvin, too, to protect her again.”
“And why he tried to kill Dudley, so Letitia wouldn’t marry a man he considered unworthy of her.”
“I think he just didn’t want her to marry any man who wasn’t him,” Malloy said. “He’d somehow convinced himself that she’d turn to him if Blackwell wasn’t around anymore.”
“Maybe he even intended to tell her he’d killed Calvin to protect her,” Sarah speculated. “He might have imagined she’d be so grateful to him that she’d fall into his arms. Of course, he didn’t know about Dudley’s prior claim.”
Malloy sighed wearily. He looked as if he’d gotten as little sleep last night as she had, and that was probably true. He’d been questioning Potter for most of it. “So I guess now I have to go see Letitia Blackwell.”
“What are you going to do?” Sarah asked in alarm. “You aren’t going to try to arrest her, are you?”
“I’ve been trying to figure that out all the way over here this morning. I was hoping you’d have an idea.”
He looked so forlorn Sarah had an irrational urge to hug him. Fortunately, she resisted it. Poor Malloy would have probably fainted from shock at such an inappropriate gesture.
“Oh, dear,” she said, automatically tucking in her skirt as she moved to the chair and sat down. “Give me a minute to think. Obviously, you can’t arrest her. Symington would have your head. And no jury would ever convict her. The men in the jury box would probably all confess to the crime themselves just to keep her from going to jail.”
“So do we let her get away with killing her husband?” Malloy asked, frustration thick in his voice.
“Heaven forbid! I just can’t think ... What would be a punishment for her if she can’t go to prison?”
“Being ruined socially?” Malloy suggested.
She looked at him in surprise. “What made you think of that?”
“Potter. He said that’s why he killed Calvin, to protect Letitia’s reputation in society. He was afraid the bigamy scandal would ruin her. Would she really care if no one ever accepted her again?”
“I’m sure she’d be crushed, but she’d have her morphine to comfort her. She might not even remember she was being shunned.”
“What else would be a punishment, then? Taking her morphine away?”
“Her father probably wouldn’t allow it. If he thought she was suffering, he’d give her whatever she wanted. No, there must be something else. Maybe ...”
“Maybe what?”
Sarah considered. “It’s a risk, but if we can convince her father that she really killed Blackwell, he might take some sort of action to make sure she never harmed anyone else. There is her child to think of, you know.”
“You mean he might keep her locked away or something?” Malloy asked.
“I have no idea, but he’s the only hope we have. He’s arrogant and unreasonable, but if he was convinced Letitia had killed her husband, he’d do something about it. He wouldn’t want to risk her doing anything else so shocking. He must already be annoyed with her about Dudley and the baby. This could force his hand.”
“He’d probably at least keep the lovers apart.”
“Yes, and we could even suggest that. I’d hate to think of them living happily ever after with two men dead because of them.”
“It isn’t much punishment for murder,” Malloy said.
“At least people will know she did it. Some killers never even get that much punishment,” Sarah said.
“I guess I need to set up a meeting with Letitia and Symington, then.”
“You’ll need me there,” she said.
“Why?” he asked with a frown of disapproval.
Sarah gave him a pitying look while her mind raced for a credible reason. Fortunately, she didn’t have to think very long to find one. “What if Letitia decides to faint or even refuses to see you? Are you going to go barging into her bedroom and confront her? Besides, I’m a woman. I can probably keep one step ahead of her reasoning process. That’s something you’ll never be able to do.”
Apparently, this was the right answer. “Can you leave Dudley alone for a while?”
“No, we’ll have to find someone to watch him while I’m gone. And you’ve got to give me some time to go home and change. I can’t go to the Blackwell house with my skirt half falling off.”
“You need to do something to your hair, too,” he said, making Sarah blink in surprise. Since when did Malloy notice her hair? “I’ll go try to scare up Dr. Woomer. Won’t hurt him to sit with Dudley a couple hours.”
When he’d gone, Sarah realized with amazement that Malloy was willingly taking her with him to settle a murder case. Would wonders never cease?
17
SARAH HAD GONE OVER EVERY DETAIL OF THE CASE with Malloy during the cab ride over to the Blackwell house. They’d decided a hansom cab was better than walking since they could talk without shocking any passersby.
“So you think the butler will say that Letitia was the last one in the house that day,” Malloy was saying as the cab pulled up into Gramercy Park Square.
“I’m sure that’s what he told me. She made certain all the servants were out for the afternoon. She probably didn’t want her quarrel with Blackwell to be overheard.”
“And we won’t reveal that Dudley is still alive just yet. I’ll say he told me about the quarrel with Blackwell when I questioned him several days ago,” Malloy cautioned her.
“And don’t forget to mention that Dudley thought she killed Blackwell. That will shake her confidence.”
Malloy looked as if his confidence had received some shaking as he helped her out of the cab. This would be a dangerous confrontation for him, she knew. Offending a man as powerful as Maurice Symington could cost him his job, and Symington could make certain he never found another. For a moment she wondered why he had decided to take such a risk just on the chance that a killer might receive a slight punishment. And then she felt guilty. She would have done it, so why should she assume he would hold himself to a lower standard? Did she doubt his honor just because he happened to be an Irish cop? She knew better than that and felt the sting of guilt for doubting him, even momentarily.
Granger opened the door to admit them, his dignity severely taxed at having to be civil to them. “Mr. Symington and Mrs. Blackwell are waiting in the parlor,” he said. Malloy had telephoned Symington that morning and arranged for the meeting.
Symington rose to his feet when they
entered the room. Letitia looked up from where she sat on the sofa. She was dressed in something frothy and blue as a cloudless sky. Perhaps she’d decided to forgo widow’s weeds since she now knew her marriage had been a sham. Or perhaps she just wanted to look lovely and vulnerable and found black did not suit her purpose this afternoon.
“This is very presumptuous of you, Malloy,” Symington was saying as Granger closed the parlor doors behind them. “I trust you are as good as your word and that you’ve finally gotten this thing settled once and for all.”
“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Mr. Symington,” Malloy said, not really answering the question or acknowledging the anger behind Symington’s words. “Mrs. Blackwell,” he added, nodding to her.
No one had asked them to sit, but Sarah took the chair opposite where Letitia sat in state on the sofa, her skirts spread artfully so no one could sit beside her. Malloy stood.
“Well, out with it,” Symington said. “I haven’t got all day.”
“Amos Potter has confessed to killing Calvin Brown and stabbing Peter Dudley,” Malloy said.
“Potter!” Symington echoed incredulously.
“Amos?” Letitia said. “That’s ridiculous! Mr. Potter wouldn’t hurt anyone! Besides, why should he want to harm Peter or that poor boy? He didn’t even know them!”
“He wanted to harm Peter Dudley for the oldest reason in the world—he was jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” Symington scoffed.
“Your daughter’s affections,” Malloy replied.
“What?” Symington cried. Letitia looked only mildly surprised. She was probably well aware of Potter’s devotion.
“Mr. Potter fancied himself in love with Mrs. Blackwell,” Malloy explained. “And he did not think Peter Dudley was worthy of her. He also wanted to protect her from the scandal that would have followed her marriage to Dudley. He believed people would at least suspect an adulterous relationship between them because of the baby’s resemblance to Dudley.”
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