“First of all, I must explain that when I called on you yesterday, Mrs. Malloy, I was concerned because . . .” Her voice broke and she pressed her black-bordered handkerchief to her lips for a moment. Theda instantly slipped an arm around her shoulders, and Bergman took a step forward, ready to assist, but she recovered quickly and held up her hand to stop him. “I’m sorry. It’s so difficult when I remember what I was thinking then and how very unfair I was. You see, I imagined—I know, it seems ridiculous now, but it made perfect sense then—that Harvey might have had something to do with . . . with Clarence’s death.”
“Mother, how could you have thought such a thing?” Theda cried.
“I know, but if you’d been here these past weeks . . . Your father was so angry with Harvey. They hardly exchanged a civil word to each other. Your father was never an easy man, Theda, but lately he’d become impossible. Nothing I said would placate him. I feared he was going to drive Harvey completely out of the house. The poor boy never had a moment’s peace, so when your father was murdered . . .”
“I think mothers often imagine the very worst possible things,” Sarah said. “We can’t seem to help ourselves.”
“Yes, that’s it,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “I’ve always been like that. I didn’t think Harvey would hurt his father on purpose, of course, but I could easily imagine Clarence driving him to violence. Now I feel foolish and so very guilty. How could I ever think Harvey capable of such a thing?”
“Oh, Mother, Harvey could be impetuous,” Theda said. “So I guess I can understand why you could fear his emotion might have overcome his reason.”
“But now that I know how wrong I was, we need to find the real killer,” Mrs. Pritchard said.
“Mrs. Pritchard, we don’t know for certain that the police will fail to investigate Harvey’s death,” Frank said gently.
“I’m afraid I’ve completely lost confidence in the police, Mr. Malloy. If they’d done their job and found my husband’s killer, my son would still be alive.”
Frank had been working for almost two weeks and hadn’t found the killer yet. He doubted the police could have done any better, but he didn’t bother pointing that out to Mrs. Pritchard.
“Have you made any progress, Mr. Malloy?” Bergman asked. His expression was blank, but his voice held a note of challenge.
Frank wanted to grind his teeth, but he said, “We’ve learned a lot about Mr. Pritchard’s life, and we’ve identified several people who might have borne him a grudge.”
“Including me, I suppose.”
“Otto, really,” Mrs. Pritchard chided him.
“Yes, really, Uncle Otto,” Theda said. “Why on earth would you want to kill Father?”
So she really had no idea about her mother’s true relationship with Bergman.
Bergman smiled benevolently at the young woman. “I know you adored your father, Theda, but he could have been kinder to your mother.”
“But that’s hardly a reason to murder someone,” Theda argued.
“You’d be surprised,” Frank said. “I’ve seen murder committed for far less of a reason than that, and in a case like this, we have to consider everyone close to the victim.”
“Even their loved ones?” Theda protested.
“The people closest to us often cause us the most pain,” Sarah said.
“And people hardly ever kill strangers. The killer is usually a friend or a family member,” Frank added.
“Really? I guess I never actually thought about it,” Theda said.
“And why should you, darling?” her mother said quickly. “In any case, Harvey’s death does effectively clear him from the accusation, which is some tiny bit of consolation, I suppose.”
“But only a tiny one,” Theda said, dabbing at her eyes, “because I never believed for one moment that he’d killed Father.”
“And I certainly didn’t do it,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “So it must have been a stranger, as unlikely as that may be.”
Frank glanced at Bergman, who still managed to appear unmoved. “We have discovered some odd things going on at the dairy.”
“The dairy?” Mrs. Pritchard echoed.
“What kind of odd things?” Bergman asked, no longer unmoved.
“We’re not exactly sure,” Frank hedged, “but we think Mr. Pritchard may have been involved in something illegal.”
“Impossible,” Theda said. “My father would never have broken the law.”
“Theda is right,” Mrs. Pritchard said. “Mr. Pritchard had his faults, but he was scrupulously honest and demanded the same from everyone with whom he did business.”
“I don’t think he was a willing participant, but we know someone at the dairy was.”
“Who?” Theda demanded.
“We suspected Harvey,” Frank said.
No one sprang to Harvey’s defense, Frank noticed.
“Do you still suspect him?” Bergman said with just a trace of sarcasm.
“We think he was somehow involved, but others must have been as well.”
“What will you do now?” Mrs. Pritchard asked.
“Now we have to rethink everything we already know.”
“And you will do that, won’t you?” Mrs. Pritchard said. “You won’t let my boy’s killer get away.”
“We will do all we can,” Frank assured her. “Maybe you can help us a bit. When was the last time you saw Harvey?”
“I . . .” Mrs. Pritchard frowned. “I’m trying to remember. He didn’t come home last night, or at least not before I retired, but that wasn’t unusual. He was often out late with his friends.”
Gambling, Frank thought, but he said, “And you wouldn’t have seen him this morning, of course. Did you see him yesterday morning?”
“Yes, he was at breakfast. Then he went to the dairy, I believe. At least, that’s what he said he was going to do.”
“Did he seem worried? Upset?”
“He’s been very quiet since his father died, not himself at all,” Mrs. Pritchard said, “but I thought he was just grieving.”
“Did he mention anything that was bothering him?”
“No, nothing, but he wouldn’t tell me, would he? He wouldn’t want to worry me.”
He also wouldn’t want her to know what was going on. Frank looked up at Bergman and then at Theda. “Did either of you see him recently?”
“No,” Theda said. “I’ve seen Mother, but not Harvey.”
Bergman simply said, “No.”
“That’s not much help, is it?” Mrs. Pritchard asked.
“Don’t worry,” Frank said. “We’ll figure it out.”
* * *
• • •
Gino found the cook in the midst of preparing supper, but she greeted him with a sad smile. “Mr. Donatelli, what brings you back here?” Apparently, she’d forgotten how his last visit had ended.
“Hello, Mrs. Young. I drove my boss and his wife here in his motorcar. Mrs. Pritchard wanted to see him.”
“Oh yes, about poor Mr. Harvey’s death. It’s a sad day, Mr. Donatelli. That poor young man. He had his faults, you understand, but I’ve known him since he was a baby, and I’ll be mourning him till the day I die.” She used the back of her hand to wipe away a stray tear.
“Who are you talking to? Oh, Mr. Donatelli,” Mr. Zachary said, coming in from the butler’s pantry. “I hope you’ve come because you’re going to find out who killed poor Mr. Harvey.”
“I believe that’s why Mrs. Pritchard sent for my boss.”
“Sit down and I’ll pour you some coffee to warm you up,” Mrs. Young said.
Gino thanked them and took a seat at the kitchen table while Mrs. Young got a cup and filled it from a pot on the stove. The maid Daisy came in and gave Gino another smile.
“He’s going to find out who killed Mr. Harv
ey,” Mrs. Young told her.
“Maybe you can help us,” Gino said, accepting the cup of coffee from Mrs. Young.
“I don’t know how we could,” Mr. Zachary said with a worried frown.
“Remember I told you my boss said the servants always know everything? You may not realize it, but you probably know something that can help.”
To Gino’s surprise, they all exchanged a guilty look.
“What is it? You do know something, don’t you?”
“Well, I do, at least,” Zachary said, refusing to meet Gino’s gaze.
“About Harvey?”
“When you were here before, you were asking about the goings-on at the dairy.”
“And you said you didn’t know anything about that.”
“And we don’t . . . except for what we hear, like you said.”
Gino tried not to betray his excitement. “Did you hear something in particular?”
Zachary glanced at Mrs. Young again. She said, “When you were here before, you said there was gossip about Mr. Harvey. We knew he’d gotten himself in trouble at school and Mr. Pritchard was right put out with him, but we didn’t want to say anything about that. We didn’t want you thinking badly of him, because we knew he’d never kill his own father. That’s why we got so mad.”
“But now we’re pretty sure he didn’t,” Gino said, “so anything you can tell me could help us find out who did.”
Zachary shook his head. “I don’t know about that, but I do know Mr. Harvey got himself in bad trouble here in the city, too.”
“That’s why Mr. Pritchard was so mad,” Daisy said, earning a sharp look from Mrs. Young. “Well, it was!”
“I guess you heard them arguing about it,” Gino said.
Zachary nodded. “Oh yes.”
“Because of his gambling?”
“You knew about that, did you?” Zachary said. He dropped his gaze, as if ashamed.
“We discovered that he was in debt to a very dangerous man. We wondered why Mr. Pritchard didn’t just pay the debts,” Gino said, to see what they’d say.
Zachary looked up instantly. “He tried!”
Gino blinked in confusion. “He did?”
“Of course he did. He was mad as a wet hen, but he couldn’t let some gangster threaten Mr. Harvey.”
“But you said he only tried to pay the debts.”
“That’s right. Mr. Pritchard went to see him, but he wouldn’t take the money. He said Mr. Harvey had already taken care of it.”
This time Gino blinked in surprise. “If Harvey had paid the debt, then why—?”
“He didn’t pay it,” Zachary said. “He took care of it. Mr. Harvey had made some kind of deal with the man.”
“And it somehow involved the dairy and the milk wagons,” Mrs. Young added.
“Which is why Mr. Pritchard was so mad,” Daisy added, earning another black look from Mrs. Young, which she ignored.
Now everything was starting to make sense. “But Mr. Pritchard wouldn’t have liked having his dairy involved in something illegal,” Gino mused.
“No, he would not,” Zachary confirmed heartily. “Mr. Pritchard, he didn’t put up with anything the least bit shady, so he wasn’t going to have a criminal using his wagons.”
“But how could he stop it?” Gino asked, not really expecting an answer.
Zachary had one anyway. “He was going to go to the police.”
“He was? Did he say that?”
“Oh yes. That night, New Year’s Eve, he and Mr. Harvey were arguing again. Mr. Harvey said Mr. Pritchard should be grateful because once his debts were settled, this man was going to pay them to keep doing whatever it was. They’d make a fortune.”
“But Mr. Pritchard couldn’t stand the thought of it,” Mrs. Young added. “He might’ve shut his eyes for a little while to get Harvey out of trouble, but he wasn’t going to do something illegal for profit.”
“He told Mr. Harvey he was going to the police right after the holiday,” Zachary said. “So Mr. Harvey stormed out of the house.”
To do what?
Gino could think of several things, any one of which could have led to Clarence Pritchard’s death.
XII
Maeve had already put the children to bed by the time Frank, Sarah, and Gino returned home from the visit to the Pritchard house. Gino had told Frank and Sarah what he had learned from the servants, and all the way home they had been discussing that and their reactions to Mrs. Pritchard’s summons. Maeve and Mrs. Malloy were waiting for them in the parlor.
“Come along to the kitchen,” Mother Malloy told them. “Velvet put supper by for you. I’ll heat it up.”
They gathered at the kitchen table while Mother Malloy bustled around, clanging pots and pulling dishes from the cabinet. By the time they’d finished telling Maeve what they’d learned, their plates were full.
“So now what do you do?” Maeve asked.
“I think we need to find out exactly what’s going on at the dairy,” Malloy said. “That means we need to talk to somebody besides Bruno, who obviously doesn’t want us to find out anything.”
“Do you want to go there tonight? We could follow one of the wagons. Maybe the driver would talk to us,” Gino said. “Somebody might have seen something last night, too.”
“Bruno said they didn’t take the wagons out last night, which is convenient,” Malloy said.
“But he might be lying,” Sarah pointed out.
“Or maybe whoever killed Harvey knew nobody would be there last night so it would be a good time to kill him.”
“But if nothing was going on, why was Harvey at the dairy last night?” Gino asked.
“And why kill Harvey at all?” Maeve asked. “He wasn’t as honest as his father, and he didn’t strike me as the type to turn down an opportunity to make more money.”
“The last time I spoke with him, Harvey was surprised when I asked him about the milk wagons going out in the evening,” Malloy said. “He seemed to think that had stopped.”
That made no sense. “Why would it have stopped? With Mr. Pritchard dead, there was no reason to,” Sarah pointed out.
“That’s true,” Gino said.
“But if Harvey thought it had stopped and it hadn’t, who was keeping it going?” Maeve asked.
“That’s easy. Amelio Bruno,” Malloy said. “I think we need to visit the dairy tonight. And stop frowning, Sarah, my girl. We can take care of ourselves.”
“I certainly hope so.”
* * *
• • •
Gino and Frank parked the motorcar out of sight of the dairy and walked over, but they saw no signs of activity inside. They were peering into one of the windows when a voice called out.
“What are you doing there?”
Frank jumped guiltily and Gino instinctively ducked. When they saw a shadowy figure that was obviously not a policeman, Frank felt more than a little foolish. “We’re looking for Amelio Bruno,” Frank said with what he hoped sounded like confidence.
“Nobody’s here now. The dairy is closed,” the voice said.
“Who’s that?” Gino called. “Don’t I know you?”
The figure emerged from the shadows. He was an older man, wearing a uniform that marked him as one of the dairy’s employees. He had a club of some kind, but it was dangling from a strap around his wrist, so he obviously didn’t consider either of them any more of a threat than they considered him. “I remember you,” he said to Gino. “You’ve been nosing around here before.”
“Yes, I have. Mr. Malloy, this fine gentleman spoke to me the first time we visited the dairy. He’s worked here for many years,” Gino said.
“Is that so?” Frank said.
“Yes, it is, and he also told me not to ask questions, but now Mr. Pritchard and his son are b
oth dead, and Mrs. Pritchard has hired us to find out who killed them.”
“Did she, now?” the man said.
“Yes, she did,” Frank said. “So we can probably ask whatever we want. But meanwhile, what are you doing here?”
“I’m the night watchman,” he said a little indignantly. “It’s my job to be here.”
“And were you here last night when Harvey Pritchard was killed?”
“Was he killed last night?” the man said in dismay. “Nobody told me when it happened.”
“That’s what the police think. Did you know he was here?”
“Nobody was here last night,” the man said.
“Harvey was,” Gino said.
“And his killer was,” Frank said.
“So maybe you killed him,” Gino said.
“What? No, I never . . . I wasn’t even here!” he cried.
“I thought it was your job to be here,” Frank said.
The man’s frightened gaze darted back and forth between Frank and Gino. “They . . . they told me to go home.”
“Who did?”
“Uh, Mr. White.”
“So somebody was here. Why did you lie to us?” Frank asked.
“I didn’t . . . I mean, they . . . They always send me home when they’re using the wagons.”
“Why do they send you home?”
“I don’t know. They say they don’t need a night watchman if there’s other people working here.”
“Or maybe they just don’t want you to see what they’re doing,” Frank said.
“Everybody knows what they’re doing,” the watchman said with contempt.
“Even Mr. Pritchard?” Frank asked.
The man glanced around, as if making sure no one was nearby to overhear. “He knew. He knew everything.”
“And I guess Harvey did, too.”
“Of course he did. He set it up, didn’t he? Poor Mr. Pritchard didn’t know a thing about it until it was too late, though.”
“And did Mr. Pritchard know you weren’t doing your job?” Gino asked.
“I did what they told me to do! Mr. Bruno, he’s my boss and he tells me when to work and when to go home. And he paid me even when I didn’t work, so what was I supposed to do?”
Murder on Trinity Place Page 20