Murder on Gramercy Park

by Victoria Thompson

  Symington glared at Letitia. “I told you that’s what would have happened,” he said to her. “You’re well rid of Dudley. He would’ve made you a laughingstock.”

  The color rose in her cheeks, but she kept her chin high. Sarah had to admire her for that, at least. Letitia turned to Malloy. “You said he also killed that boy, Edmund’s son. Why would he do a thing like that?”

  “Because he’d already tried to convince me that Calvin Brown killed Dr. Blackwell, so he poisoned the boy and left a suicide note confessing to the crime. He wanted to make me believe Calvin was the killer so I would close the investigation.”

  “Then he must have killed Edmund, too,” Symington concluded. “Why else would he go to all the trouble to implicate the boy?”

  “Because he was trying to protect someone,” Malloy said.

  “Who on earth would he have been trying to protect except himself?” Symington scoffed.

  “Your daughter.”

  If Symington was stunned, Letitia was equally shocked.

  “What was he trying to protect me from?” she asked with every appearance of innocence.

  Sarah knew this was where her lighter touch was needed. Before Malloy could speak, she said, “I’m afraid that Mr. Potter believes that you killed your husband, Mrs. Blackwell.”

  Symington was blustering something about that being preposterous, but Letitia was just staring at Sarah in apparent fascination. “Why would he think a thing like that?” she asked with genuine interest.

  This was where they were going to have to stretch the truth a bit. Sarah managed not to look at Malloy. They couldn’t betray any sense of uncertainty.

  “We know you quarreled with your husband the day he died, Mrs. Blackwell,” Malloy said. “Peter Dudley told me that you were terrified he would find out you were still using morphine.”

  “Letitia,” Symington said, outraged. “Tell him that’s a lie!”

  Letitia ignored him. “My husband and I often quarreled,” she said. “If every woman who quarreled with her husband shot him in the head, there would be no married men left in the city.”

  “But you were afraid that if he discovered your secret, he would force you to quit taking the morphine again,” Malloy continued. “You feared that more than anything in the world, from what Dudley said. He also said you were very upset when you met him that afternoon at the opium den.”

  “Opium den?” Symington nearly shouted. “What is this nonsense? I won’t listen to another word of these lies about my daughter!”

  “They aren’t lies, Mr. Symington,” Sarah told him. “Mrs. Blackwell regularly met Dudley at an opium den uptown. She told me that herself, and the proprietor will attest to it,” she added untruthfully, hoping Letitia wouldn’t remember that Mr. Fong had already refused to vouch for their alibi and challenge her. “Letitia was forced to go there for her daily dose of morphine because Dr. Blackwell would not allow the drug in the house.”

  Symington looked to Letitia, expecting a denial, but all he got was silence. After a moment he sat down abruptly in the chair he had been occupying when Sarah and Malloy had come in. Sarah could see the understanding—and accompanying apprehension—coming to his face.

  “Dudley even said that when he heard Blackwell had been killed, he believed you had done it,” Sarah said to Letitia. “Because you were so upset that day when you met him at the opium den and because you were so afraid of your husband finding out about the morphine.”

  “And when your butler told Mrs. Brandt that you had personally sent the servants out of the house the afternoon Dr. Blackwell was killed, we knew that you were the last one to see him alive, and the one with the best opportunity—and most pressing reason—to have killed him,” Malloy concluded.

  Symington was blustering again, but with less enthusiasm this time. He was also watching his daughter with growing horror. Sarah was starting to feel uneasy as well. She wasn’t sure what reaction she had expected, but it wasn’t the secret, pleased smile now adorning Letitia Blackwell’s lovely face.

  “Are you saying that Mr. Potter and Peter Dudley both believe that I murdered Edmund?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Blackwell,” Malloy said, sounding genuinely apologetic. Either he was a better actor than Sarah had suspected or he really did regret accusing her of murder.

  “And Amos Potter really killed that poor boy just to protect me?” she added.

  “That’s right,” Malloy said.

  Letitia stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, during which Sarah imagined she was contemplating her guilt and her chances for avoiding punishment. But when she lowered her gaze again, she said, “How diverting!”

  “Diverting?” her father echoed in disbelief. “Is that all you can say?”

  “Well, I suppose I could say that I didn’t kill Edmund,” she replied, still wearing that strange smile, “but surely you must know that’s true, Father.”

  “Of course I know it’s true! Malloy, is this the best you can do? Blaming a murder on an innocent girl? I’ll have your job for this.”

  “Believe me, Mr. Symington, this gives me no pleasure, either,” Malloy said, still truthfully. “I’d be more than happy to find out somebody else killed Dr. Blackwell, but it seems like all the other people who had a reason to didn’t do it. And your daughter was the last one in the house with Dr. Blackwell before he died. She also had a very good reason for wanting him dead.”

  “But all you have is the word of the butler that she was the last one in the house.” Symington sprang to his feet. “Granger!” he called, moving to the parlor doors and shoving them open. “Granger, get in here!”

  In a moment the butler appeared, his dignity a bit ruffled by the unceremonious summons. “What can I do for you, sir?” he asked.

  “On the day that Dr. Blackwell died, when did Mrs. Blackwell leave the house?”

  “I ... I can’t be sure, sir, but I believe it was shortly after noon.”

  “Why can’t you be sure?” Malloy asked. “Is it because you left before she did?”

  “Uh, no, sir. I always wait until Mrs. Blackwell is gone before I leave for my afternoon off.”

  “But you told me Mrs. Blackwell made sure all the servants were gone before she left,” Sarah reminded him.

  “Well, she did,” he said with a worried frown, “but I didn’t actually leave until after she was gone.”

  “And why was that?” Malloy asked sharply.

  He glanced at Letitia, as if asking silent permission. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “You’d better say, or I’ll have to take you to Police Headquarters and ask you again,” Malloy said impatiently.

  Granger cast a pleading look at Letitia, who didn’t seem to understand that he was silently asking her permission for something.

  “Are you afraid of embarrassing Mrs. Blackwell?” Sarah asked him pointedly.

  Granger straightened. “I would never do anything to harm Mrs. Blackwell,” he said.

  Finally, Letitia understood. “You may feel free to say whatever you wish, Granger,” she assured him. “You see, Mr. Malloy is persuaded that I murdered my husband, so nothing you say can possibly hurt me worse than that.”

  “What?” Granger cried. “How could you believe Mrs. Blackwell capable of such a thing?”

  “You would be amazed at what people are capable of when pushed beyond endurance,” Sarah said. “And it seems that’s what Dr. Blackwell had done to his wife.”

  “He was cruel to her, that’s true,” Granger admitted. “That’s why I didn’t leave the house that day. I knew he was angry about something, but she wouldn’t go in to see him until she made sure the servants were out. She didn’t want the servants to overhear, so I pretended to leave, too, but I stayed, in case she should need help.”

  “Why, Granger, how gallant of you,” Letitia said with one of her glowing smiles.

  Granger seemed to grow taller right before their eyes. “Dr. Blackwell was qui
te unpleasant and threatened Mrs. Blackwell several times. She was very upset, but I assure you, he was still very much alive when she left the house. She couldn’t possibly have killed him.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Malloy challenged him. “She may have known you were still there and pretended to leave so you’d say just that. How do you know she didn’t come right back once you were gone and shoot him later?”

  The blood seemed to drain from his face. “Because,” Granger said, all his dignity still firmly in place, “I killed Dr. Blackwell.”

  SARAH FOUND MALLOY sitting alone on one of the benches in the hospital waiting area. Brian was being operated on today. He was surprised to see her.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked, rising to his feet. He looked worried and like he hadn’t slept well last night.

  “Did you think I’d forget Brian’s operation was today?” she scolded him, taking a seat on the bench beside him so he’d sit down again. “I would’ve been here sooner, but I had a delivery last night and wasn’t able to get away until just now. Have you heard anything?”

  “Nothing yet. He hasn’t been in there long.” He nodded in the direction of the operating room.

  Sarah glanced around the sterile room with its worn benches and faded walls. “Isn’t your mother here?”

  Malloy gave her a pitying look. “She said if I wanted to butcher my son, she didn’t have to go along to watch.”

  “Butcher?” Sarah echoed incredulously.

  “She says she doesn’t believe the operation will help him.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid it will, and he won’t need her so much anymore,” Sarah suggested gently.

  “He’ll still be deaf,” Frank reminded her.

  There was no argument for that, so Sarah made none. “At least you can be sure Brian won’t be butchered. I know Dr. Newton can help him. I wouldn’t have told you about him if I wasn’t sure of that.”

  Malloy nodded, plainly unwilling to speak about such a sensitive topic at the moment. He stared at the far wall for a moment, and then he said, “Have you seen Letitia Blackwell lately?”

  “I visited her yesterday,” she said, remembering with a smile. “I was afraid I might not be welcome after what happened, but she was actually happy to see me. Apparently, she’s still very amused that you and I thought her a murderess.”

  “I’m glad she thought it was funny. Her father didn’t.”

  “At least he wasn’t angry,” Sarah reminded him.

  “Thanks to you,” Malloy reminded her right back. “If you hadn’t convinced him the whole thing was just a trick to make Granger confess, God knows what he might’ve done.”

  “I guess we’re both lucky I thought of that,” Sarah said. “So you’re really convinced that Granger was the killer, then.”

  “He knew every detail of what happened. He’d asked Blackwell if he could take the pistol out and clean it, so Blackwell hadn’t made any move to stop him. He just kept on writing his letter until Granger shot him. Then he carefully took the pen from Blackwell’s fingers and set it back in its stand, laid the gun down, and left the house. Oh, and he took the money Blackwell was going to use to bribe Calvin with, too. Seems he’s been using it to run the household since Blackwell died, because there wasn’t any other money available in the household accounts. The only thing he regretted was that he hadn’t gotten back to the house in time to discover the body himself.”

  “I suppose it was guilt over the murder that was making his stomach hurt instead of guilt over Letitia finding the body,” she said.

  “I don’t know about that,” Malloy said. “I don’t think Granger feels guilty about the murder at all, and if he does, it’s only because it caused Mrs. Blackwell an inconvenience.”

  Sarah sighed. “It’s hard to believe that two men were willing to commit murder to protect Letitia Blackwell,” Sarah mused.

  “Are you jealous?” Malloy asked archly.

  “Of what? That no man ever committed murder for me?” she asked in surprise. “Not likely.”

  Malloy looked like he didn’t believe her, but she ignored the provocation. “What did Amos Potter say when you told him Granger had confessed to Blackwell’s murder?” she asked instead.

  “He was annoyed, I think. It seems we were wrong about why he killed Calvin, too.”

  “Wrong? How could we have been wrong?”

  “Because Potter didn’t kill Calvin to cover up Blackwell’s murder. Well, at least that wasn’t the main reason.”

  “What was the main reason?” Sarah asked, mystified.

  “To keep me from questioning Blackwell’s patients.”

  “Clients,” Sarah corrected automatically. “Why on earth would he care about that?”

  “Because he wanted to continue Blackwell’s business. If I offended the clients by accusing them of murder, they wouldn’t be likely to seek out Amos Potter’s services.”

  “They wouldn’t have been likely to do that anyway,” Sarah reasoned, but Malloy just smiled sadly.

  “Amos Potter didn’t know that. He also didn’t know who had killed Blackwell, but he wanted the case settled quietly and with no unpleasantness that would harm his future business.”

  “But surely he was also trying to protect Letitia,” she argued.

  “That’s another thing we were wrong about,” Malloy told her.

  “Don’t tell me he’s not in love with Letitia!” she exclaimed.

  “Oh, yes, very much so, but he wasn’t concerned about a scandal ruining her. He lied about that. In fact, he was the one who sent Calvin’s mother the poster of Blackwell’s lecture and the train ticket so Calvin could come to New York and find his father. Potter was hoping for a scandal that would ruin Blackwell and drive his clients away and ruin Letitia’s reputation. It seems he was more realistic than either of us realized. Potter knew she’d never be interested in him if she had any other choice, and he also knew Blackwell’s patients would never come to him unless Blackwell was discredited. He hoped the bigamy scandal would bring him both things at once.”

  Sarah stared at him in amazement. “It does sound logical in a strange way,” she admitted. “But then you were going to offend the clients with your investigation, so he had to put a quick end to it by killing Calvin. How awful.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself for not sending him home when I had the chance.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” Sarah reminded him. “And you didn’t hurt him, Potter did.”

  He didn’t look convinced. Sarah knew the guilt of having needlessly caused another’s death, so she didn’t press him on the subject. “How’s Dudley doing?” she asked instead to change the subject.

  “Still alive, last I heard. You might want to stop in and see him while you’re here. I doubt his lady love bothers to visit him in a place like this.”

  “I still can’t believe they sent him to the hospital,” Sarah said in disgust.

  “Did you expect Letitia to take him into her house?” Malloy asked with a grin.

  “No, but she could have made arrangements for a private nurse in a better lodging house or something. Anything would be better than lying in a charity ward.”

  “I figured Symington put him in the hospital hoping he’d die. You saw how disappointed he was when I told him Dudley was still alive.”

  “Letitia wasn’t exactly happy, either,” Sarah said. “Apparently, her father had convinced her that protecting her reputation after Blackwell’s murder was the most important thing she could do, and a dead Dudley could never embarrass her. Do you think she’ll ever marry him now?”

  “You’re the one who understands female reasoning,” he reminded her with a smirk. “You tell me.”

  “I don’t understand this,” she admitted, “but I have a feeling Mr. Dudley will be retiring to the country with a broken heart.”

  “He should be thankful it’s still beating, at least. He got off a lot luckier than the other men who were involved with Letitia.”
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br />   “I got a letter from Mrs. Brown,” Sarah told him. “She appreciated the nice things I said about Calvin. Poor woman. What will she do now?”

  “She’ll make out somehow,” Malloy said. “What other choice does she have?”

  Sarah didn’t feel like being philosophical today, so she let that pass as well. They sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting as people do when they have no other choice. Sarah thought about the sad things that had happened to so many people as a result of Edmund Blackwell’s lies and wondered what kind of a life Letitia’s baby would have without either of his fathers and a mother who was more interested in her morphine than in him.

  Malloy interrupted her thoughts. “Doc Woomer knew your husband.”

  “Yes,” she said, a little surprised by the change of subject. “Tom knew most of the other doctors in the city, I suppose.”

  “I asked him what Dr. Brandt was like,” he said, and cleared his throat. “It sounds like he was a good man.”

  For a moment Sarah remembered Tom completely— his deep voice, his laughing eyes, his big, gentle hands, but most of all his kindness to even the most unworthy or unlovable. The memory was so real it took her breath with the bittersweet shock of love and loss. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, and she was alone again with Frank Malloy.

  And Malloy was even more real, solid with his strength and his determination and his unbreakable will. Different from Tom in so many ways she could hardly count them all, but still, somehow, the same.

  She reached out and laid her hand on his. His skin was warm and alive beneath her palm. “You’re a good man, too, Malloy.”

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I hope you enjoyed Murder on Gramercy Park. The more I learn about the turn of the last century, the more I understand how little things have changed in the past hundred years. The wonders of technology have improved our quality of life, but they haven’t changed the things people care about and are willing to live—and die—for. In spite of all the advances in medicine, people are still searching for something that works better through alternative, herbal, and holistic medicine and are still seeking to escape the problems of this world through the use of narcotic drugs.