Murder on Trinity Place

by Victoria Thompson

  Sarah sipped her tea, wishing she could tell Jocelyn it actually was possible. But if she hoped to return to the world into which she had been born, she could not bring her illegitimate child along. “There’s no chance that the child’s father . . . ?”

  “No.”

  She offered nothing else, but the word itself was said with a finality that told Sarah all she needed to know. “You may find it difficult to make friends here.” Sarah chose not to acknowledge Jocelyn’s bitter smile. “But I am always available if you need to talk to someone. Just ask one of the midwives to send for me.”

  Jocelyn blinked a few times as she absorbed that kindness. Then she said, “You really aren’t an Irish upstart.”

  “My husband is. He was a policeman.”

  That shocked her, as Sarah had intended. Policemen were considered little better than street cleaners by the people who mattered in New York. “And your family accepted him?”

  “They learned to, yes.”

  “But he’s a fortune hunter!”

  Sarah laughed at that. “Actually, the fortune is his. I was earning my living as a midwife when we married.” Which was the truth.

  Jocelyn frowned as she considered this. “So you founded this clinic because you were a midwife.”

  “Because I saw the need for a safe place where women in your situation could go.”

  “And what happens to them after? To the ones without wealthy families, I mean.”

  “We help the women find jobs and a place to live.”

  “What about the . . . the babies?”

  “Sometimes the women keep them. Some charities provide child care for women who must earn their own livings.”

  “And the others?”

  “We place them in orphanages where they’ll be adopted.”

  “And are they? Adopted, I mean? Or do they spend their lives in some horrible place like the ones they write those awful novels about?”

  “We don’t send them to horrible places, Miss Vane, although I am sure there are many of those in the city. I don’t suppose your parents would take the child.”

  “Never.” That bitterness again.

  “Or another family member, so you’d be able to see the child from time to time?”

  She shook her head. “And don’t suggest I find a job and make a life for myself. I’m not trained to do anything useful. I can barely make a pot of tea, as you saw.”

  Sarah sighed. “I was the same, until I trained to be a nurse.”

  “But you didn’t have a child to provide for, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “The only vocation for which I am fit is to be the wife of a wealthy man. If a breath of scandal touches me, even that prospect will be denied me, and I’ll spend my days as the spinster aunt given a place to live out of pity.”

  And she would also know that her child, whom she would never see again, was out there somewhere. Sarah’s heart wanted to break, but that wouldn’t help Miss Vane in the slightest. “You’ll have a lot of time to think about the possibilities while you’re here. Perhaps a solution will present itself.”

  Jocelyn winced. “You mean a knight in shining armor will rescue me?”

  “Or perhaps you’ll figure out a way to rescue yourself.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Frank found Gino at the office, where he’d spent the morning writing up a report on the last case they’d handled. As a private investigator, Frank earned only enough to cover Gino’s salary and some expenses, but that was just fine. His personal fortune more than provided for his own family and allowed him to accept only the cases that interested him. He couldn’t imagine just sitting around being rich all day, and being a private investigator saved him from that fate. It also gave him some interesting mysteries to solve.

  “Was O’Connor glad to see you this morning?” Gino asked after greeting him.

  Frank hung his hat and coat on the coatrack. “Not at all. You won’t believe this, but Devery ordered him off the case.”

  “Off the Pritchard case? Why would Devery care about that?” Gino asked in amazement.

  “A very good question.” Frank pulled up one of the chairs provided for waiting clients, turned it around, and straddled it, resting his arms on the back. “I’m starting to think Pritchard’s murder was a lot more important that we imagined.”

  “If somebody paid Devery to stop the investigation, it must be,” Gino marveled.

  “So why would somebody with enough money and influence to bribe the chief of police be interested in a man who sells milk?”

  Gino leaned back in his own chair to consider. “Maybe he sells more than milk.”

  “You met Pritchard. Did he strike you as somebody who would be mixed up in something illegal?”

  Gino shrugged. “Can you really tell that just by looking at somebody?”

  “Probably not, but I guess we’ll have to find out, since Nelson has hired us to find Pritchard’s killer.”

  Gino perked right up at that. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “I guess his wife is happy. You said that’s what she wanted in the first place.”

  “Nelson is even happier because he didn’t have to tell her I refused. So we need to find out more about Pritchard.”

  “And more about his milk business. What could he be doing with that?”

  “I have no idea, but if there’s something fishy going on, I’ll bet Harvey Pritchard knows all about it.”

  Gino nodded. “And Harvey and his father weren’t getting along very well the last time I saw them.”

  “So we should start with him. Why don’t you go down to the dairy and see what you can find out? Talk to Harvey if he’s there, and get a good look around.”

  “And if he’s not there, I’ll see what the gossip is. What will you do?”

  “I think Sarah and I will pay a condolence call on Mrs. Pritchard and tell her Nelson has hired me to look into Pritchard’s death since the police won’t be doing it.”

  “That should be interesting.”

  Frank grinned. “I’m counting on it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  One of the midwives, Miss Kirkwood, had returned to the clinic just as Sarah and Jocelyn were finished with their tea and she gave Sarah a report on all the women currently in residence. Sarah was praising her efficiency when Jocelyn returned to the kitchen.

  “Mrs. Malloy, there’s a gentleman here to see you.”

  “A gentleman?” Who on earth could that be?

  “You didn’t let him in, did you?” Miss Kirkwood asked in alarm.

  “Oh no. I left him standing on the porch.” The rule against admitting men was not only for the safety of the women living here, but it also protected the clinic from gossip.

  “It’s not my husband, is it?” Sarah couldn’t imagine who else would know to find her here.

  “He didn’t say.”

  Definitely curious now, Sarah followed Jocelyn through the house to the front door with Miss Kirkwood close behind to investigate this strange turn of events.

  Sarah opened the door to find an old friend standing there.

  Black Jack Robinson quickly removed his silk hat. “Mrs. Malloy, how are you?” He looked even more dapper than usual in a sealskin topcoat and leather boots so shiny, Sarah was sure she’d be able to use them to check the arrangement of her hair. His own hair was pomaded into an elaborate style, and his impressively appointed carriage stood waiting at the curb.

  “Mr. Robinson, what a surprise.”

  “I heard that you were visiting the clinic and that you’d arrived on foot, and as I was passing, I thought I’d offer to drive you home. It’s looking a bit like snow.” He squinted and tipped his head a little as if he could check the sky
from where he stood, although he would have had to go out to the middle of the street and look straight up to really do that.

  “Are you having me followed, Mr. Robinson?” she asked in amusement.

  He feigned shock. “Certainly not! But very little happens in my neighborhood that I don’t hear about. Of course, if you haven’t finished your business here yet, I can come back . . .”

  Which meant he was very anxious to speak with her. He could have simply called at her house, although she supposed a man of his reputation would hesitate to call on a respectable lady unless invited. He had shown himself once before to be sensitive to the requirements of polite society, and he would care about imposing on her, even if she didn’t.

  “As a matter of fact, I was just finishing up here, and I would very much appreciate a lift home. If you’ll just give me a few minutes to get my coat . . .”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t invite you in to wait.”

  “That’s all right. I understand completely. The charming young lady who answered the door explained your very sensible rules quite well.” He smiled and turned his gaze to something behind Sarah. She glanced over her shoulder to see Jocelyn lurking just behind Miss Kirkwood and watching them with great interest.

  “Thank you. I’ll only be a moment.” Sarah closed the door and turned to face Jocelyn and Miss Kirkwood.

  “Is that Black Jack Robinson?” Miss Kirkwood asked with obvious disapproval.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “How did he know you were here?”

  “I imagine most of the children in this area earn their spending money by keeping him informed of who comes and goes in this neighborhood.”

  “Who is he?” Jocelyn asked, not disapproving at all. Jack was awfully attractive, Sarah had to admit.

  “He’s a criminal,” Miss Kirkwood said.

  “I don’t think so,” Sarah said kindly. “He’s never actually been convicted of anything, but he does own a number of illegal businesses in the city. In fact, he used to own this very house before he sold it to me.”

  That shocked Miss Kirkwood into silence, allowing Sarah to take her leave. When she had fetched her coat from the kitchen and returned to the front door, Jocelyn was waiting to let her out.

  “Is he very rich?” she asked in a whisper. “Mr. Robinson, I mean.”

  “I’m sure he is. Why do you ask?”

  But Jocelyn only smiled and opened the door. Jack still stood on the porch, in spite of the wintery wind and the threatening snow.

  “Thank you for waiting,” Sarah said.

  “My pleasure. And thank you for your help, miss,” he added with a tip of his hat to Jocelyn, who simply nodded because it would have been improper to do anything more with a man to whom she had not been properly introduced.

  Jack took Sarah’s arm to help her down the porch steps and then assisted her into his carriage, which was even more luxurious inside than it was outside. He provided her a thick, fur lap robe before asking her the address. When they were on their way, he said, “Is that young lady one of your midwives?”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because she obviously isn’t the type of woman who takes refuge in your clinic.”

  “You seem to know a lot about the clinic.”

  He smiled. “I have kept track of it, yes, and I must admit, I’ve heard only good reports. You’re doing wonderful things there.”

  “That was my intention.”

  “Now that I know how much help it is, I realize I should have given you the house for nothing.”

  “If you’re that grateful, you can make a donation. Most of the women there are unable to contribute to the cost of their support, so we rely on others to provide it.”

  “I will be happy to. I also wanted you to know that after . . . after what happened, I have closed all of my, uh, disorderly houses.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” she said, although she knew his gesture would make little difference in a city that had far more brothels than churches.

  “Don’t be too glad. I’m not becoming completely respectable. There are plenty of other sins that I can make a living on. I just couldn’t bear the thought of making money from the misery of helpless females anymore. Your and Malloy’s meddling has given me the beginnings of a conscience.”

  She found that amusing as well. “I hope you aren’t finding it too much of a burden.”

  “Not likely. But enough about me and my conscience. You never answered my question about that young lady.”

  Sarah settled back against the leather seat and adjusted her lap robe as she studied Black Jack Robinson. Could he somehow be molded into a knight in shining armor?

  IV

  What do you think Robinson really wanted?” Frank asked when he’d returned and heard how Robinson had insisted on driving Sarah home.

  “Oddly enough, I got the feeling he was simply lonely.”

  “How can a man like that be lonely?”

  “Easily, I think. Remember, his fondest desire was to make a new life for himself and be accepted into polite society.”

  “By marrying a woman who would make him more acceptable.” Frank well knew how much help the right woman could be to a man, so he couldn’t fault Robinson for that.

  “He may have lost the woman, but he apparently didn’t lose his desire to become respectable. He told me he’s closed all the brothels he owned.”

  “That’s a step in the right direction, but I imagine the rest of his business is still pretty shady.”

  “I’m sure it is, but the same could be said for many men in the Social Register.”

  “So he’s still looking for a proper wife.” He gave her a suspicious frown. “I hope he didn’t make you an offer.”

  That made her laugh, as he’d intended. “Not yet, but he did hint rather broadly that he’d appreciate any help I could give him in that direction.”

  “And I’m sure you know a lot of society women who would love to marry a gangster.”

  To his surprise, she smiled mysteriously. “I might know one or two. Now, tell me how your meeting with O’Connor went.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The Pritchards lived in the Lenox Hill neighborhood, which was home to many successful businessmen. Their town house was well kept and impressive, but not ostentatious, Sarah noted when she and Malloy arrived that afternoon. A mourning wreath hung on the door, and a maid admitted them.

  She seemed a bit flustered. “I’ll . . . I’ll just see if Mrs. Pritchard is receiving.”

  “Please tell her we want to speak with her about the police investigation into her husband’s death,” Malloy said, which did nothing to reassure the poor girl.

  She left them standing in the foyer when she scurried off.

  “Did we break some etiquette rule by calling?” Malloy asked.

  “No,” Sarah said, still trying to figure out what was going on. “Maybe she’s new and not sure about whether she should admit visitors when the family is in mourning.”

  “Wouldn’t Mrs. Pritchard have explained all that to her?”

  Before Sarah could reply, the maid came out of the room into which she’d disappeared and hurried back to them. “Mrs. Pritchard asked would you make yourselves comfortable in the parlor and she’ll be with you in a moment.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she opened the doors to the parlor in question, which was immediately to their right. Only belatedly did the girl realize she should first take their coats. When the coats were hung and they’d been escorted into the parlor, she disappeared again, closing the door behind her.

  The room was formally furnished with a collection of matching plush sofas and chairs. Small tables bearing a large assortment of knickknacks were scattered around in convenient spots. Heavy velvet drape
ries hung at the windows, and darkly flowered wallpaper added to the overpowering dreariness of the decor. It was a room seldom used, but kept at the ready for formal visitors.

  Mrs. Pritchard made them wait only a few minutes, and she also appeared a bit flustered when she finally came in. To make matters even more odd, a gentleman was with her. He looked vaguely familiar, but Sarah was sure they had never met.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Malloy, what a surprise,” Mrs. Pritchard said. She wore black, as Sarah had expected, but she looked no more grief stricken than she had on New Year’s Day.

  “We’re sorry to intrude,” Sarah said, “but Mr. Malloy has some important news for you.”

  Mrs. Pritchard glanced at Malloy with what Sarah could only call alarm. “Annie said it was about the police investigation.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Why don’t we all sit down,” the man with Mrs. Pritchard said suddenly and with an air of authority. “And Ilsa, you can ring for some coffee. I’m sure your guests would appreciate something to warm them up.”

  “Oh yes, of course. What was I thinking?” Mrs. Pritchard said, casting him a grateful glance. “Please, sit down.” She hurried over and pulled the bell cord.

  “I’m Otto Bergman,” he said, offering Malloy his hand.

  “Oh, where are my manners?” Mrs. Pritchard said, hurrying back to make the introductions. “Otto is one of my oldest friends,” she added when she’d finished.

  “We grew up in the same tenement in Kleindeutschland,” Bergman said, naming the predominantly German neighborhood in the heart of the city. He and Mrs. Pritchard exchanged a look of affection that told of years of pleasant memories. How nice that she had a good friend to comfort her.

  Assuming, of course, that she needed comforting.

  But how unusual that her good friend was a man.

  Just as they had all finally sat down, the maid came in and was instructed to bring them coffee. When she left, Mr. Bergman turned to Malloy. “Did you say you had something to tell us?”

  Sarah and Malloy were sitting on one of the sofas, and Mrs. Pritchard had taken a chair opposite them, while Bergman sat in a chair to Sarah’s left. Although Bergman had asked the question—and had strangely used the word us—Malloy looked only at Mrs. Pritchard while he explained.