Murder on Trinity Place

by Victoria Thompson

  “Nothing,” Frank said quickly, hoping to calm him. “You did what you were told. That’s all any of us can do. But tell me about last night. You didn’t see Harvey, but White and Bruno were here?”

  “Well, Mr. White was. I didn’t really see Mr. Bruno, but when Mr. White is here, he tells everyone what to do.”

  “And were there other people here, too? To take the wagons out?”

  “No, not last night.”

  “Didn’t you think that was funny?”

  “I . . . It was still early. I thought maybe they’d be in later.”

  “And did they come later?” Frank asked.

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure?” Gino asked.

  “I know. Everybody knows. They see the wagons were disturbed and some of the horses are wore out. They never clean the wagons right either. Makes more work for everybody.”

  “I guess there was a lot of talk, then,” Frank said.

  “Not a lot, no. Just complaining about the extra work. Nobody wanted to lose their job. This is a good place to work, or at least it was when Mr. Pritchard was alive. Now . . . Well, I guess we was all worried about working for Mr. Harvey, but we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Who’s going to take over now, though?” the watchman asked.

  “I’m sure they’ll figure something out,” Frank said. “So the only person you saw last night was White?”

  “That’s right.”

  Frank exchanged a glance with Gino, who looked as puzzled as he did. “Do you know where I can find this Mr. White?”

  “No. He just shows up here on the nights when they take the wagons out. That’s all I know and all I want to know.”

  “Do you have any idea why Mr. Harvey would have been here last night?”

  “None at all, and no, I never saw him.”

  “What time did White send you home?” Gino asked.

  “I guess around ten. Maybe a little after. I didn’t pay particular attention. Look, you’ve got no business here, so you need to go.”

  “All right,” Frank said. “We’ll go, but first, did you tell the police all this?”

  “The police?” he echoed in surprise.

  “Yes, didn’t they ask you any questions?” Gino said.

  “No. I never even saw the police. They were gone by the time I came to work.”

  This time when Frank glanced at Gino, he saw his own amazement mirrored on Gino’s face. If the police were investigating, they were doing a pretty poor job of it.

  Frank pulled out one of his cards. “If you think of anything that would help us figure out who killed Harvey and Mr. Pritchard, here’s where you can find us.”

  “I don’t know,” the watchman said, shaking his head and making no move to accept the card.

  “What’s your name?” Gino asked.

  “Walter.”

  “Thank you for your help, Walter,” Gino said. “I’m sure Mrs. Pritchard and her daughter will be very grateful.”

  “You won’t tell Mr. Bruno, will you?”

  “No, we won’t tell anyone anything until we’ve figured out who killed these men,” Frank said. “But whoever is in charge of the dairy when it’s all over is going to be grateful.”

  Walter stared at the card Frank was still holding out to him for another few seconds and then he took it.

  As Frank and Gino walked back to the car, Gino said, “Do you think he knows who killed Harvey?”

  “I think he’s afraid he does.”

  “Because White was the only one here.”

  “That does look suspicious. Why send him home if they aren’t using the wagons that night?”

  Gino nodded. “Yeah, unless you’re going to do something you don’t want any witnesses to see. So how are we going to find this Mr. White?”

  Frank sighed wearily. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask Amelio Bruno.”

  “Do you think he’ll tell us?”

  Frank smiled grimly. “I don’t even think he knows.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Of course I’ll be happy to take the children on Saturday,” Sarah’s mother said. Elizabeth Decker was always happy to spend time with her grandchildren. “Although I’d love to attend the wedding, too. I’m sure I’ll never see another like it.” She had stopped by that morning on her way to her dressmaker’s to tell Sarah how sorry she was to hear of Harvey Pritchard’s death, and Sarah had asked her to take the children for the day on Saturday so Sarah wouldn’t feel guilty about leaving them two Saturdays in a row.

  “I’m afraid you aren’t invited to the wedding,” Sarah said with a smile, “because it isn’t an actual wedding. It’s really an elopement.”

  “I always think of elopements as exciting affairs with ladders leading up to bedroom windows and an irate father running down the street in his nightshirt, brandishing a shotgun.”

  “That’s a little too exciting, don’t you think?”

  “Probably, but still . . . I don’t suppose we could convince this Mr. Robinson to sneak his bride out of the clinic with a ladder, at least.”

  “Absolutely not. I just hope I’m doing the right thing.”

  “It’s not like you forced either of them into this, although I have to admit, you were quite clever to have thought of it in the first place.”

  “Do you really think so, Mother?”

  “It might be unorthodox, but it’s a sensible arrangement for both parties. Arranged marriages were always the way it was done for centuries, and things worked pretty well.”

  “It didn’t seem to work too well for the Pritchards.”

  “The Pritchards?” her mother echoed. “You mean the father and mother? Did they have an arranged marriage?”

  “More or less. I’m not sure they call it that when the families involved aren’t wealthy, and Mrs. Pritchard’s family certainly wasn’t, but Mrs. Pritchard was in love with someone else. Her parents pressured her to marry Mr. Pritchard instead because he was already a successful businessman.”

  “That’s very sensible, I suppose. We all want the best for our children. Was the man she loved not as prosperous?”

  “He was still very young at that time, but he became just as wealthy as Mr. Pritchard.”

  “How ironic.”

  “And sad. They’re apparently still in love.”

  “Mrs. Pritchard and the other man? Oh my, this sounds like a novel.”

  “Not a romantic novel, I’m afraid. More like a potboiler.”

  “Then you don’t think they’ll come together now that Mr. Pritchard is dead?”

  “It’s certainly possible . . . unless one or both of them had something to do with Mr. Pritchard’s death and ends up in jail.”

  “Oh dear, you did say it was a potboiler, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “But surely neither of them would have wanted to kill the son. Especially his mother. Losing a child . . . You never get over it.”

  Sarah took her mother’s hand as they both remembered Sarah’s sister, gone far too long now. “No, I’m sure Mrs. Pritchard couldn’t have done it, but who knows about the other man?”

  Her mother considered that for a moment. “I don’t know. Would he want to hurt her that way? No matter how much he might want to be rid of the son?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to judge. But if he was willing to do that, I don’t see how they could ever be happy together, even if she never knew.”

  “I think you’re probably right. He wouldn’t be the man she thought he was.”

  “Maybe her parents were right not to let her marry him,” Sarah said with a sigh. “So this is another good argument for my arranged marriage.”

  “I’m not s
aying arranged marriages work all the time, mind you, but whenever you have both parties providing something of importance to the union, I think your chances for success are greatly increased.”

  “And in this case, they are providing each other with something they couldn’t provide for themselves, so that’s even better. Thank you, Mother. I feel better.”

  “I’m happy to help. And be sure to let me know when the Pritchard funeral will be, too. I’ll be happy to take the children that day as well.”

  “Mrs. Ellsworth just sent me word that it’s going to be tomorrow.”

  “Then I’ll pick them both up from school. Mrs. Malloy will want to attend the funeral to support Mrs. Ellsworth, so that way she won’t have to be worried about Brian.”

  “Have I told you how grateful I am that you’ve taken such an interest in Brian?”

  “And why should we not? If he’s your son, he’s our grandson. Besides,” she added with a tiny grin, “just between us, I think your father enjoys having a boy to fuss over. Did you know he’s been secretly practicing signing?”

  “He has?” Sarah could not have been more surprised if her mother had said her father was learning to speak Chinese.

  “Oh yes. He said what was the use of having a grandson if he couldn’t speak to him? I had to agree.”

  Sarah had to blink furiously to keep from tearing up. Her mother pretended not to notice. She said, “But poor Theda. She must be devastated over losing her brother, too.”

  “She is, of course, and I know just how she feels. I only hope we can bring them some peace by finding the killer and seeing that he’s punished.”

  “Does Frank have any idea who did it?”

  Sarah sighed. “He went out to the dairy again this morning. We’ve discovered that some gangster had forced Mr. Pritchard to let him use the milk wagons to transport stolen merchandise around the city.”

  “My goodness, how clever,” her mother said. “Nobody would look twice at a milk wagon. How did they convince him to do this?”

  “It seems Harvey had run up some rather large gambling debts, and this was a way of working them off.”

  “Why didn’t Mr. Pritchard just pay the debts?”

  “We heard that he tried, but the gangster refused to accept payment. He liked the arrangement and he even wanted to continue it after Harvey’s debts were paid.”

  “But why would Mr. Pritchard continue to allow it?”

  “Apparently, the gangster was going to pay and thought that would be incentive enough.”

  “Pay whom? Mr. Pritchard?”

  “I suppose, but Mr. Pritchard wasn’t going to let him. He told Harvey the night he died that he was going to the police.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Yes, oh dear. So we think that’s why Mr. Pritchard was murdered.”

  “But why kill his son?”

  “We aren’t sure, but we suspect Harvey may have tried to back out of the deal, too.”

  Her mother frowned, not at all happy with that logic. “Even if he did, why kill him?”

  “Because . . .” Sarah realized she couldn’t come up with a logical reason. “I think we just assumed the gangster killed Mr. Pritchard because he believed Harvey would continue the arrangement, and when Harvey refused . . .”

  “They killed him, too, but who’s to say the next person in charge would agree? They might end up killing a dozen people and still not get one who would go along with their scheme.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Mother. So maybe we’re wrong about the gangster. But if we are, then we have no idea who might have killed those two men.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Frank’s morning visit to the dairy had been a waste of time, and he already regretted sending Gino to the office. Amelio Bruno had actually refused to see Frank at all, sending him away without even hearing his questions. Maybe Gino would have had better luck, but it was too late. So now Frank was knocking on a familiar door, and a man with a familiar face answered it.

  “Mr. Malloy, how nice to see you again,” the man dressed as a butler said as he ushered Frank into the well-appointed home.

  “It’s nice to see you again, too, Tom. Mr. Robinson told me he had hired you and Marie.”

  “Oh yes. We were thinking of retiring, but Mr. Robinson made us a good offer, so we decided we were too young to retire.”

  “Do you like working for Mr. Robinson?”

  “Indeed we do. He’s particularly grateful for all we do, and Marie was very happy to hear he’s taking himself a bride. But then you know all about that.”

  “Yes, I do. My wife and I are looking forward to the wedding. I’m hoping to finally get to taste Marie’s meat pie.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t serve that at a wedding. Not fancy enough. But wait until you see the cake. Now, I suppose you’re wanting to see Mr. Robinson.”

  “Yes, I am. Is he in?”

  “He’s in, but he’s not receiving visitors yet. He keeps late hours, you know.”

  “I do know, but I’ll be glad to wait while he makes himself presentable. He told me to call on him if I ever needed help, and that’s why I’m here.” Sarah wouldn’t like it, but by the time she found out, it would all be over.

  “He’s probably feeling generous because of what you and your wife are doing, so I’ll go tell him you’re here. Meanwhile, why don’t you go say hello to Marie? She’ll be glad to see you.”

  Tom escorted Frank to the kitchen.

  “Look who’s come calling,” Tom said as he held the kitchen door open for Frank before going to find Jack Robinson.

  Frank braced himself for Marie’s sharp tongue, but to his surprise, she greeted him with a warm smile. “I hear you’re coming to the wedding on Saturday, Mr. Malloy.”

  “Yes. I’m the best man, it appears.”

  “Oh, I think Mr. Robinson is the best man,” she told him with a grin. “He’s the one getting married, after all. So what’s the bride like? Mr. Robinson has been singing her praises, but we think he might be a bit prejudiced.”

  “She has a lot of potential, I think,” Frank said. “And I’m sure she’ll benefit from your guidance.”

  “She’ll get that, all right. Of course, I wish he was marrying our girl, but . . .”

  To Frank’s surprise, she had to stop and use the corner of her apron to wipe away a tear.

  “Yes, I’m sure he wishes that, too,” Frank said.

  Marie lifted her chin determinedly. “But he can’t, so if this girl can give him some comfort and a little happiness, we’ll be grateful.”

  “Yes, we will. Now, where’s this cake I’ve heard so much about?”

  Marie, of course, would not allow anyone to see the cake, but while they waited for Tom to return she did manage to find out everything Frank knew about Miss Jocelyn Vane.

  Robinson received Frank in the dining room. He was still in his dressing gown. Tom served them both coffee and, a few minutes later, brought Robinson a hastily prepared breakfast.

  “I’ve seen this White around,” Robinson said when Frank had told him what they knew. “But I wouldn’t know where to find him. Men like him don’t have offices.”

  “What about Lou Lawson? Does he have an office?”

  Robinson rubbed his unshaved chin. “I think I mentioned that Lawson is something of a recluse.”

  “Did you? I thought you just didn’t know him very well.”

  “No one knows him very well. In fact, hardly anyone has ever seen him.”

  Frank frowned as he tried to remember what he’d heard about the man during his years on the police force. “Now that you say it, I know I’ve never seen him, but I’d never seen you before either.”

  “And that’s the way I like it. I pay off the top people at the police and the courts and no one bothers me. In the
old days, I had to do a lot of the work myself, but now . . .” He shrugged. Frank knew Robinson had many people working for him, managing and operating his businesses. They were the ones who got arrested if the police decided they needed to stage a raid to give the public the idea they were doing something about crime. Nobody would bother Jack Robinson, though, no matter how loudly the public clamored about law and order.

  “Are you saying I won’t be able to find Lawson?”

  “I’m saying you won’t be able to find him on your own. I can, though. Is that what you want?”

  “I can’t say I want to find him, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to get to the bottom of this without at least talking to him.”

  “He’s a dangerous man, Malloy. Are you sure about this?”

  “Now you sound like my wife.”

  “And I’m thinking about what I’d say to her if anything happened to you.”

  Frank sighed in exasperation. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m not planning to accuse him of anything. I just want to know about his arrangement with Pritchard and find out if he knew Pritchard had decided to go to the police.”

  “And of course you also want to know if he had Pritchard and his son killed,” Robinson reminded him.

  “I wouldn’t expect him to admit it, even if I asked him, and I have no intention of asking him.”

  Robinson popped the last bite of toast into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “And what if he admits it?”

  Frank hadn’t even considered that. “Do you think he would?”

  “To intimidate you, maybe.”

  “Why would he want to do that? I’m just a private detective. I can’t arrest him.”

  “You can cause him trouble.”

  “How? The police have already been paid off—probably by him—so they aren’t going to pay any attention to anything I accuse him of.”

  “You could go to the newspapers. Or to the reformers who would go to the newspapers. This would be a great story—evil gangster blackmails honest businessman into helping him steal from honest merchants. And the honest businessman sells milk, of all things! What could be more wholesome? Suddenly, everybody knows about Lou Lawson and everybody wants his scalp.”