by Brenda Joyce
“Francesca?” her father asked softly from the door.
Francesca leapt to her feet, stunned to see Andrew standing there. He looked uncertain and very weary. “Papa! What are you doing here?” she cried, filling with hope.
“I had hoped to find you at your sister’s, Francesca, but by the time I got there, you had already left. An officer downstairs told me you were here. May I come in?”
“Of course.” Francesca wrung her hands. She had missed Andrew terribly, and seeing him now made her realize that.
He smiled gently at her and stepped into the room. Automatically, Francesca went to him and they embraced as if nothing were wrong. She then straightened his dark blue tie. “You seem tired, Papa.”
“I am very tired,” he said. “How can I sleep when you have left the house? Francesca, I was at an important supper last night for the Citizens Union—we are planning our next electoral campaign. I got home after midnight, but your mother was still up and she told me what happened. Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” she assured him, smiling. “It was just a tap on the head. Someone does not want me following a certain lead. Have you heard? Hart was falsely arrested because he was framed.”
“I hadn’t heard, but I am happy for you. Did you see the morning’s papers?”
Francesca tensed with dread. “No.”
“The fact that Miss Jones was Judge Gillespie’s daughter is all over the news.”
For one moment, Francesca had been afraid that the fact that Daisy had been with child at the time of her murder had made headlines. She sighed with relief. “Papa, Hart is innocent.”
“I never said I thought him capable of murder!” Andrew exclaimed. “But the scandal has begun in earnest. He was actually a topic of discussion last night. Everyone wanted my opinion on the affair, due to your involvement with him.”
“And what did you say?”
“I said that he is innocent and I changed the subject. Did he end the engagement, Francesca?” Andrew asked, gently. “I read that press release, too.”
“Yes, he did. You see, he is noble, Papa. He insists on sparing me from scandal.”
Andrew pulled her into his arms. “And you will still defend him, won’t you? No matter what?”
“Of course. Nothing has really changed, except for a formality. I still love him, and he still loves me.”
Andrew stepped back. “The act was a truly selfless one,” he admitted.
Francesca bit her lip. “I am glad you can finally say something positive about Hart.”
“You still want to marry him, don’t you?”
Francesca didn’t hesitate. The truth was so obvious. She could claim she was eccentric and liberal, and that she had no use for traditional arrangements, but deep in her heart, she wanted to be his wife. She wanted that commitment the way she had never wanted anything else. But she was prepared to go forward with him with out any formal agreement if she had to. “Yes.”
“Will he be proved innocent?” Andrew asked.
Francesca nodded.
He touched her cheek. “When this is over, I will sit down with Hart and have a long talk with him.”
“What does that mean?” Francesca asked.
“It means I will try to lay my prejudices aside and genuinely comprehend the man. I will give him a chance, Francesca, to prove to me that he is worthy of being your husband.”
Francesca flung her arms around him. “Papa! I love you so much! I have hated being at odds with you this way.”
“Francesca, will you please move back home?”
In that moment Francesca realized just how much the living arrangement with her sister suited her. She had much more independence and the freedom to do as she pleased. “Papa, I am enjoying my visit with Connie. You know that we have not been spending very much time together, due mostly to my sleuthing, but now we get to see each other several times a day.”
“But you will come home?”
“In a few days,” she said, wondering how she could make her stay at her sister’s permanent.
Andrew smiled. “I am so glad we have worked things out.”
“So am I, Papa,” Francesca said, smiling happily in return. And then she saw Bragg appear in the doorway. He said, “Gillespie’s coming up.”
Francesca seized her father’s hand. “I have to go. We are interviewing a suspect.” She quickly kissed his cheek and ran after Bragg. In the hall, she saw Gillespie step out of the elevator with a uniformed officer. He seemed annoyed and angry.
“What is this about, Commissioner?” he demanded. “I was ordered by your men to come here.”
“We have some questions to ask you,” Bragg said, gesturing to his office. He nodded at the young officer, dismissing him.
“I don’t know what you could possibly wish to ask me,” Gillespie said, marching into the center of Bragg’s office. He did not sit down. “You arrested Calder Hart yesterday.”
“Hart was released on bail. More importantly, we have discovered he was framed. He was falsely arrested, Your Honor,” Francesca said.
“The charges have been dropped,” Bragg added.
Francesca hadn’t known that. She thought about Daisy’s letter. She was not going to show it to Bragg, no matter how guilty she felt for withholding it. Hart had been through enough. “Your Honor, sir, did you know that your daughter received a significant sum of money last month?”
He started. “No, I did not. How would I know that? I told you, I had no idea what had become of Honora until you showed me that sketch.”
Francesca exchanged a glance with Bragg. Softly, she said, “Sir, we have a witness who will testify that you were at Daisy’s home last month.”
He paled.
“And we also have proof that the money she deposited, all twenty thousand dollars, came from the First Federal Bank of Albany,” Bragg said.
“What in God’s name does this have to do with her murder?” Gillespie exclaimed.
“Your Honor!” Francesca was stern. “You have lied to me and you have lied to the police. You knew that your daughter was here in the city, using the name Daisy Jones. Yet you have insisted you knew nothing. Why, sir?”
Gillespie sank into a chair. “Why do you think?” He covered his face with his hands, apparently about to weep. “I am an elected official. My daughter turned herself into a whore. Why do you think I denied ever knowing of her and her new life?”
Francesca went to him, clasping his shoulder. “I am sorry,” she said. “And I understand. When did you first learn that she was in the city?”
“I ran into her by accident, outside of a restaurant. There had been no word, for eight endless years. We hired private investigators, Miss Cahill. They worked for me for two years, but they turned up nothing. We had given up!” he cried. “But on May 3, I saw her on the street as she was getting out of a handsome coach, looking as elegant as any lady. I knew it was my beautiful daughter the moment I first saw her.”
“And she invited you home?” Francesca asked.
He nodded, wiping at his tears.
“Did you tell your wife and daughter?” Bragg asked.
“No! They know nothing! They knew nothing—not until after she was murdered.”
Francesca knew that was a lie, for he could not look at them now. Had he returned to Albany and announced his discovery of Honora’s whereabouts? Or had he privately confided in Martha? Perhaps Lydia had somehow overheard what had transpired. How ever it had happened Francesca was quite certain that had all three of them had known about Honora’s life as Daisy by the night of her murder. “And the money?”
“I am her father,” he said. “It was a gift. I was hoping she would change her life. We wanted her to come home.”
“We?” Bragg demanded.
“A figure of speech. Martha and Lydia grieved for her for years, Commissioner.”
“I have one more question. When did she tell you what she had become?”
“She didn’t.” He paus
ed. “But she was living alone, unwed, and she would not come home. It was obvious that someone was keeping her.” He covered his face with his hands again.
Francesca took the opportunity to look at Bragg. He shook his head. Clearly, he also smelled a rat.
“Sir?” An officer knocked on the open door. “Rose Cooper is here, and she has asked to speak with you.”
“Bring her up to the conference room.” He turned to Gillespie. “Excuse us.”
“How long will I have to be here?” the judge asked, clearly intent on leaving.
“Just a few more minutes,” Bragg assured him.
Francesca followed him out. The moment his office door was closed, she tugged on his sleeve. “Rose must have some information she wishes to share,” she said in excitement. Perhaps this would be the break they needed.
“I doubt it is a confession of murder,” Bragg said mildly.
Rose appeared at the far end of the corridor. Although immaculately dressed, she was haggard with strain. Francesca wasn’t certain if she remained stricken with grief or if some other event had occurred to distress her. “Rose? Are you all right?”
Rose paused before them, shaking her head. “I doubt I will ever be all right again.”
“Let’s go inside,” Francesca suggested. She guided Rose into the conference room, Bragg following. She hesitated and then decided not to waste time. “We know about your relationship with Chief Farr.”
Rose turned white. “You must tell him I never said a word!”
“It’s all right. He knows that. Joel was following him and he saw you together.”
Alarm immediately showed on Rose’s face. “Are you sure he doesn’t think I told you the truth?”
“Has he threatened you?”
“Of course not! But he is chief of police. He can make my life miserable!” She glanced at Bragg with more worry.
“Did Farr promise you protection in exchange for your services?” he asked.
Rose shook her head. “No. I…I like him. We’re…lovers. That’s all—and that’s no crime.”
Francesca had never despised Farr more. She had not a doubt he had availed himself of Rose’s services simply by threatening to arrest her if she refused him. “Were you with Farr the night Daisy was murdered?”
“No,” she whispered. “I lied. I never had a customer. I’m not stupid—I know how it looked. I knew you’d think about all the fights I’d had with Daisy after she took up with Hart. And I really thought he did it…but now I am not so sure.”
Francesca was eager. “What has changed your mind?”
“Her father,” Rose said, her tone stricken. “I have been thinking about him all night, ever since you told me that you found Daisy’s family. Then I read in the newspaper this morning that he is here to bury her. And I can’t let that happen!” She began to cry.
Francesca put her arm around her. “What is it that you are not telling us? Why don’t you want Daisy’s father to bury her? Rose, what do you know?”
“I promised,” Rose wept. “I swore to Daisy, and I promised I would keep her secret forever. But how can I do that? She’s dead and I think her father did it.”
Francesca trembled. “Rose, whatever you promised Daisy, if keeping this secret is preventing us from finding her killer and bringing him to justice, she would want you to come forward now.”
“I’m not sure she would ever want me to come for ward, Francesca. We only spoke of it once, long ago, when we first became friends.”
“Rose, you can be subpoenaed to testify in court. Refusal to do so would merit charges and a jail term,” Bragg said quietly.
She looked at him through glazed eyes, and then at Francesca. “Daisy hated him. She hated him with a passion. She wished him dead, Francesca! He was the reason she ran away from home.”
Francesca nodded. “Why? Why would she hate her own father so much? Did he betray her mother—did she catch him with another woman? Was he cruel, or punish her with force?”
“Did she catch him with another woman?” Rose laughed bitterly, hysterically. “She was the other woman, Francesca.”
For a long moment, Francesca did not understand.
Bragg said, “Are you saying what I think you are?”
She nodded. “She was only a child. She was twelve years old when it started—that is what she said. Gillespie was sharing her bed.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Friday, June 6, 1902—Noon
FRANCESCA WAS IN SHOCK. She looked at Bragg, whose expression was filled with revulsion. She finally began to understand. Daisy had been molested by her father, perhaps even raped. No wonder she had left home.
“You may have to testify to this in court, Rose,” Bragg said.
She nodded, wiping her eyes.
Francesca faced her. “Did you know Gillespie was in town last month?”
“She never mentioned it, Francesca, just like she never mentioned the money,” Rose whispered hoarsely. “Just like she never told me she was with child.”
Francesca ran to the door, tearing it open. Bragg raced after her. “Wait! You had better let me handle this.”
Francesca did not pause. “How much do you want to wager that Daisy was blackmailing her father? No wonder he claimed he did not know who she was!”
Bragg seized her arm outside of his office door. “You are too upset to interrogate him!”
“Upset? That hardly describes how I feel—I am ready to commit murder myself! That man deserves the death penalty, Rick.”
“There is no death penalty for molestation or rape.”
“There is for murder.” She turned and pushed open the door.
Gillespie was standing by the window, staring out of it. Abruptly, he turned. “Am I free to go?”
“I don’t think so,” Francesca said.
Bragg took her arm. “Your daughter was blackmailing you, wasn’t she?”
Gillespie stepped back. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Francesca shook Bragg off. “We know why she ran away. And we have a witness—Daisy’s best friend—who will testify in court that you were molesting your own daughter when she was twelve years old.”
Gillespie stared, and then his face began to collapse.
“You horrid, despicable, inhuman man!” Francesca exclaimed, shaking. And tears finally filled her eyes.
“Francesca, stop,” Bragg said softly.
Gillespie sank into a chair and began to quietly cry.
“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Francesca demanded.
“I didn’t know she hated me so much until I saw her last month,” he whispered, not looking up. “I loved her. I loved her so much. And she hated me. She said such ugly things. She told me she was a whore, she told me about all of the men. She was so cruel, so hateful! And then she wanted money. I didn’t even have it, but she threatened me. My beautiful, beautiful daughter! I only loved her and I never meant to hurt her…I dreamed she would come home one day. I never meant for any of this to happen.” He looked pleadingly at Francesca. “I love her.”
Francesca was ill, but she could not look away from the quivering, depraved man sobbing in the chair. “Bragg, he has motive, he has means.”
“Judge, I am afraid you are not leaving, not yet,” Bragg said. “I’m sure you know the law. I can hold you for twenty-four hours and that is what I intend to do.”
Gillespie leapt up, realization dawning. “I didn’t do it! I didn’t murder my own daughter!”
VERY SLOWLY, FEELING FAR more ancient than her twenty-one years, Francesca walked up the corridor of the sixth floor where the Gillespies had their suite of rooms. She was sick to her stomach and she had the urge to flee to Hart and bury herself in his arms, where she could cry for Daisy’s life, but that would not solve the case. She had no doubt now that Daisy had hated her father enough to threaten him with exposure—her own exposure. The problem was that Gillespie’s denial had rung true. As mentally ill as he was, as sexu
ally depraved, she could not be certain that he had murdered his own daughter.
Poor Daisy. The words were a litany in her mind. She could not imagine how the twelve-year-old girl had felt or what she had gone through. But now, somewhat, she could understand the woman she had become. No wonder Daisy had wanted Hart back. He had given her a life of freedom and independence and he had been kind.
Francesca paused before the Gillespies’ door, struggling for some composure. Had Martha known what was going on under her very roof? Had Lydia? She needed to learn exactly what mother and daughter really knew. If Gillespie was innocent and if Rose was also innocent, then she was at a loss for suspects and she was running out of clues—and time. Family members usually filled out the roster of suspects, but for the life of her, she could not imagine why either Martha or Lydia might want Daisy dead. If anything, she thought grimly as she knocked, they would want to murder Gillespie instead.
But Francesca knew Lydia was hiding something, and it was time she came clean.
Lydia opened the door, looking surprised to see her. Francesca tried to smile. “May I come in? I have some questions for you and your mother.”
“Of course.” Lydia opened the door and stepped aside so Francesca could enter.
Francesca glanced around the elegant sitting room, but apparently Martha remained in one of the bed rooms. She waited until Lydia had closed the door. “I just saw your father.”
Lydia’s expression was strained. “What is it that you wish to say, Miss Cahill?”
“I have learned why Daisy ran away.”
Something flickered in Lydia’s eyes. She walked away. “Then maybe you should share that information. I would like to know why my sister abandoned me.”
Francesca went to her, mulling over Lydia’s choice of words. She decided to take a terrible risk. “Did he go to your bed, too?”
Lydia jerked. “I don’t know what you are talking about!”