Murder On Gramercy Park

13

FRANK FOUND MAURICE SYMINGTON IN HIS WELL-APPOINTED office in a building on upper Fifth Avenue. According to Frank’s sources, Symington owned property all over the city and made his living by collecting rents and spending as little on maintaining his buildings as possible. Most of his property was located in the poorer sections of the city, so the tenants didn’t complain much about their living conditions for fear of being evicted.

Anticipating the possibility that Symington would refuse to see him, Frank told the man’s secretary that he had some news about Dr. Blackwell’s death. Even so, Symington kept him cooling his heels for almost an hour, but finally the young man who handled the clerical work in the office invited him into the inner sanctum.

The office was large and meant to intimidate. The wall behind Symington’s desk was a huge window providing a panoramic view of the city below and the sky above. Symington looked up impatiently from a stack of papers on his enormous mahogany desk.

“What is it?” he demanded. “And make it quick. I don’t have time for any nonsense.”

“Calvin Brown is dead,” Frank said baldly, still standing because he hadn’t been invited to sit.

Symington’s gaze had returned to his papers, as if assuming Frank could have nothing interesting enough to say to distract him, but this time when he looked up, Frank had his undivided attention. “Who did you say?”

“Edmund Blackwell’s son,” Frank said politely. Symington knew perfectly well who he was talking about. “I know you were trying to be discreet when you pretended not to know who he was the other day with Potter, but Calvin told me he’d met with you. He said the only way he got in to see his father was because you intervened for him.”

Symington was a careful man. He took a moment to weigh his options. He could, of course, have called Frank a liar and ordered him from the room. He could have feigned ignorance and demanded an explanation. But he was too wise to take any chances. He understood that a scandal like this, involving the betrayed daughter of a wealthy and powerful man, would sell a lot of newspapers. The respectable papers wouldn’t publish it, of course, but there were many papers in the city that made no pretense to respectability. They would pay a large sum of money for the information Frank had, and Symington had no reason to trust Frank’s discretion.

“Please sit down, Mr. Malloy,” Symington said, instantly reasonable.

Frank did as he was told, noticing that the chair here was much more comfortable and expensive than the one in Blackwell’s former office. This one was leather and as soft as butter. A real man’s chair.

“How did the boy die?” Symington asked when Frank was settled.

“Arsenic. Somebody put it in a bottle of sarsaparilla.”

“Somebody?” he asked, not missing the implication.

“It could have been a suicide.”

Symington thought this over. “You don’t believe it was,” he guessed.

“I’m paid to be skeptical.”

“Do you know the entire story?” Symington asked, folding his hands on the desktop. “About the boy, I mean.”

Now it was Frank’s turn to be cautious. He certainly didn’t want to be the one telling Symington something he didn’t know about his own daughter. “I know that Blackwell used to be Eddie Brown and that Eddie Brown had a wife he’d neglected to divorce and three children he’d deserted in Virginia. I know Calvin had traced his father here and that they’d met. Calvin said Blackwell had promised to give him some money and start supporting the Brown family again. I only have his word on that, since Blackwell wasn’t around to confirm anything. Oh, and Amos Potter said Blackwell had gotten some money together and planned to meet with Calvin on the afternoon he was killed. The boy claimed nobody answered the door that day, so he never even saw his father, but nobody’s seen the money since, either.”

“Potter believes the boy killed Edmund. If he did, he could have killed himself out of remorse,” Symington suggested.

“That would make everything neat and tidy,” Frank pointed out. “But if he did kill Blackwell, why didn’t he take the money and leave town? Why stay around and put himself in the way of being caught? If Calvin didn’t kill his father-and that’s a pretty unnatural thing to do, no matter what your old man did to you-then somebody’s gotten away with murdering two men.”

“Two men about whom I care little, Mr. Malloy,” Symington pointed out without apology. “I do care very much about my daughter, however. Protecting her good name and that of her child must be my main concern.”

“Any father would feel the same,” Frank allowed. “Too bad Blackwell wasn’t as concerned about his children. That Calvin, for instance; he seemed like a good boy, and he’d gotten a pretty rough deal from his old man. Had to go to work when he was just a kid to help support his mother and two little sisters. Now his mother’s lost her husband and her only son. Don’t hardly seem fair to mark the boy a killer if he’s innocent.”

“Many things in life aren’t fair, Mr. Malloy, as I’m sure you are well aware. But I would be happy to compensate Mrs. Brown for her loss. It’s not my responsibility, of course, but it’s the right thing to do. The poor woman has suffered too much already. There’s no reason she should be rendered destitute by the loss of her son, and I have the means to help her. I also feel some obligation because I allowed Edmund to marry my daughter in the first place.”

He’d be responsible for blackening Calvin’s name, too, which would be even worse, because he’d do it intentionally. Frank didn’t think reminding him of this would help the situation any, though. He was already dangerously close to having Symington order him to declare Calvin as Blackwell’s killer and close the case. A rich man had done this to him once before, and a word from Symington to Chief of Police Conlin was all it would take. Frank wasn’t going to let that happen again if he could help it.

“But what if somebody else killed both of them?” he suggested to Symington. “Somebody you don’t care about either. Somebody who’d be better off locked up. Somebody you’d also like to keep away from your daughter.”

Symington’s face hardened. “You seem to be speaking of someone in particular, Mr. Malloy. Is that the case?”

“I’ve learned a few things about your daughter’s past that might give a man we both know a reason for wanting Blackwell out of the way,” Frank said, not really answering the question.

Symington was angry, although he was trying not to show it. “My daughter’s past is none of your concern, Malloy.”

“What if her past has moved into the present?”

Symington was angrier still, but he was also afraid of how much Frank might know and of what he might do with that knowledge. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about old friends suddenly showing up. Friends who might prefer it if your daughter wasn’t married anymore. A friend who might even want to marry her himself the way he tried to once before.”

“That’s impossible,” Symington insisted, but it sounded more like a frantic hope than a certainty.

“Peter Dudley visited your daughter just the other day,” Frank said.

“That son of a bitch.” Symington’s rage was interesting. He looked as if he wanted to shout and pound on his desk and even throw something out that impressive window. Instead, he merely turned a deep shade of purple and stared murderously at a spot somewhere over Frank’s left shoulder. Frank was afraid he might have apoplexy, and that wouldn’t serve Frank’s purpose at all.

“I also know the story of how Dudley tried to elope with your daughter,” Frank said, saving Symington the trouble of making up any lies about their relationship and, with any luck, distracting him from his own rage.

“That bounder has no principles at all,” Symington said with surprising restraint.

“So I gathered,” Frank said agreeably. “I don’t know what I’d do to a man who tried to steal my daughter and then left her an invalid.”

“I know what I wanted to do,” Symington admitted, this time surprising Frank with his candor. “He hardly seemed worth the effort, though. Have you seen him?”

Frank nodded.

“Then you know what I mean. How could I have imagined such a man was a threat to my daughter? If I’d ever dreamed a girl like Letitia would find a worthless creature like that appealing… But of course I had no idea. The next thing I know, he’s pounding on my door in the middle of the night, holding my daughter’s broken body in his arms.”

“It must have taken a lot of courage to face you like that,” Frank pointed out.

Symington snorted rudely. “I suppose you’re right. He could have left her lying in the road and run for his life. If he’d done that, I most certainly would have hunted him down and made certain he got what he deserved.”

“Instead you let him go,” Frank guessed.

Symington sighed. “My only concern was for Letitia. If he simply left the area, she couldn’t hate me for that, and I hoped she’d come to despise him for being a coward. He was terrified when he carried Letitia into the house that night, so it took only a hint to make him see the wisdom of vanishing from her life forever. Or so I thought,” he added wearily.

“Maybe he really does love your daughter,” Frank said, still playing devil’s advocate.

“What possible difference could that make?” Symington asked disdainfully. “And if he did love her, he’d have the decency to leave her alone. Anyone can see he’s completely unsuitable for her. You’re obviously a romantic, Mr. Malloy, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fortune hunter and always has been. As soon as he found out Letitia was a widow, he came sniffing around to try his hand with her again. I won’t have it, not this time. And this time I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back into her life.” He had made his resolution, and Frank sensed he would dismiss him in another moment. He had to act fast if he wanted a chance to find Blackwell and Calvin’s real killer.

“Mr. Symington, there may be more to this than you believe.”

“More to what?” Symington asked absently, already mentally making his plans for disposing of Peter Dudley.

“Dudley didn’t just come back into your daughter’s life. They’ve been seeing each other secretly for over a year.”

For once Symington was unable to control his emotions. This time he did strike his desk, with a force that sent a pen clattering from its holder.

“I know this is an unpleasant subject for you”-Frank hurried on before Symington could be distracted by his own fury again-“but I’m sure you’ll agree that his involvement with her gives Dudley a very good reason for wanting to see your daughter a widow.”

Symington took a moment to absorb what the detective had said. He needed only that moment. “You think he killed Edmund,” he said baldly.

“It’s possible. He had a motive, and he has no alibi.”

“Then arrest him!” Symington exclaimed.

Frank had him where he wanted him now. “I’d like to, except that I’m afraid if I do, he might implicate your daughter.”

“What? He wouldn’t dare!”

“He very well might, if he thought it would keep him from being executed. Or if he thought the threat of a scandal would frighten you into protecting him.”

Symington started to deny that he could possibly be influenced, but then he thought better of it. The threat was very real, and Symington did want to protect his daughter at all costs. Frank still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t killed Edmund Blackwell himself for that very purpose, either. “You’re not going to let him go free, are you?” he asked.

“Not if he killed Blackwell,” Frank said. “But I’ve got to be certain that he can be convicted of planning and carrying out the murder all on his own. I’ll need a little more time for the investigation before I can be sure.”

Symington nodded. He was sure that he and Frank understood each other, and that they both wanted the same thing. “Take all the time you need. I’ll make sure no one interferes with you.”

Frank was hard-pressed not to show his relief. “Thank you, Mr. Symington. I’ll do my best to get this matter settled as quickly as possible.”

Frank rose, ready to leave now that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from Symington and before the man could have second thoughts. He was almost to the door when Symington called out.

“Mr. Malloy.”

Frank turned back warily. “Yes?”

“When Peter Dudley is convicted of murder, you will receive a one-thousand-dollar reward from me.”

Frank almost winced. How easy it would be to make sure Dudley was convicted of the crime. Most detectives would gladly oblige for even a small portion of a reward like that. Unfortunately, Frank was no longer one of them. If Dudley turned out to be innocent, Sarah Brandt was going to have quite a bit to make up to him.

LETITIA BLACKWELL STARED at Sarah in astonishment, but only for a few heartbeats. Then she laid one small white hand on her bosom and said, “I believe I am going to faint. I must return to my rooms immediately.”

Instantly, Dudley was supporting her, making sympathetic noises and offering to assist her.

“If you faint, I’ll have to throw water in your face,” Sarah said brutally.

Letitia’s eyes grew wide. Apparently, no one had ever taken such a tone with her. Or failed to place her comfort above all other considerations. If she didn’t want to discuss anything unpleasant-and plainly she didn’st-she believed she should be excused from doing so. Sarah had no intention of letting her off that easily, however.

“Mrs. Brandt,” Dudley chided. “How can you say such a thing? Can’t you see how upset she is?”

“If you have so little concern for my health,” Letitia said haughtily, without the slightest trace of faintness, “then I’m afraid I’m going to have to dismiss you.”

“If you dismiss me, I won’t be able to care for your child, either,” Sarah reminded her. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to find another nurse who will be willing to keep your child’s illness a secret and treat it properly.”

“Illness?” Dudley echoed. “What’s wrong with him? He looked perfectly healthy to me. Letitia, what is it? If the child is ill, why didn’t you tell me?”

Letitia had gone scarlet with fury. So much for her fainting spell. “There’s nothing wrong with him at all. We’ll discuss that later,” she snapped at Dudley, then turned back to Sarah. “Say whatever you are so determined to say, and then leave us alone.”

“Calvin Brown has been murdered,” she said bluntly.

Their reactions were difficult to judge. Both looked surprised, and then they glanced at each other almost hesitantly, before turning back to her.

“Who-” Dudley began, but Letitia interrupted him.

“Who is Calvin Brown?” she demanded.

“Edmund Blackwell’s son,” Sarah said.

Neither of them looked particularly surprised, but perhaps they were simply confused.

“That’s ridiculous,” Letitia said after a moment. “Edmund didn’t have a son. He didn’t have any children at all.”

“Are you aware that Dr. Blackwell was married before?”

Sarah thought she’d catch her there, but Letitia said, “Of course, but that was a long time ago. His first wife died very young.”

A good story, and maybe even the one Blackwell had told her. “Did you know he had children by his first wife?” Sarah asked, playing along.

“I told you, he didn’t have any children. Of that I am quite certain.”

Sarah could have pointed out that even Letitia’s child wasn’t Blackwell’s, but she restrained herself. “Dr. Blackwell had three children by his first wife, and one of them was Calvin Brown.”

“Really, I won’t sit here and listen to this nonsense a moment longer,” Letitia insisted, rising to her feet.

“If you don’t care about yourself, surely you’re interested in protecting Mr. Dudley,” Sarah suggested, stopping her when she would have started for the door.

“Protecting him from what?” she asked, outraged or at least pretending to be.

“From being charged with murder.”

Dudley, who had risen along with Letitia, made a strangled noise in his throat and sank back down onto the sofa.

Letitia wasn’t quite so fragile. She merely glared at Sarah. “This is insane. Are you implying that Peter killed this… this Calvin person? Why should he? He had no reason to do such a thing. We don’t even know him!”

“I’m not implying anything. All I’m saying is that Mr. Dudley-and you, too, Mrs. Blackwell-both had a good reason for wanting to kill Dr. Blackwell. Anyone who sees your child will figure that out in an instant.”

Letitia gasped, and Dudley paled. His eyes were so wide Sarah could see the whites around the blue irises.

“But Peter and I were together when Edmund was killed,” Letitia reminded her. “We couldn’t possibly have done it.”

“The two illicit lovers swear they were together when the betrayed husband was murdered,” Sarah said, trying the theory aloud. “I can’t imagine a jury will believe you.”

“I told you,” Dudley said to Letitia. “That police detective said exactly the same thing,”.

She ignored him. “It doesn’t matter if they believe us or not. We didn’t kill Edmund, and we certainly didn’t kill this other fellow. Why should we?”

“Because he was going to cause a scandal,” Sarah told her.

“What kind of scandal?” she asked skeptically.

“Letitia,” Dudley tried, but she motioned him to silence.

“The scandal of bigamy,” Sarah said, trying to watch both of their faces at once. Dudley merely grimaced, but Letitia turned scarlet again.

“I haven’t committed bigamy,” Letitia insisted. “Peter and I only tried to elope. We were never actually married.”

“Edmund Blackwell was,” Sarah replied. “And his first wife, Calvin’s mother, is still very much alive. He didn’t bother with a divorce, either. He simply forgot about her and married you.”

If Letitia was shocked, she gave no sign of it. “That’s preposterous! No one would have believed a boy like that! No one would have even listened to him about such a thing. His name wasn’t even the same as Edmund’s!”

She seemed very sure of that for someone who had pretended not even to remember Calvin’s name.

“Are you saying you knew nothing about Calvin Brown and Dr. Blackwell’s other wife?” Sarah asked.

“I certainly am!” Letitia said with an air of triumph.

“That’s a pity,” Sarah said. “Because if you’d known, you would most certainly have been delighted to discover yourself a legally free woman. You and Mr. Dudley could have been married, and you would have been able to keep your child without fear of interference from Blackwell. Instead, you believed you were legally bound in a marriage with no escape unless your husband died.”

“Letitia, please, you must sit down,” Dudley said, hurrying to her and taking her arm solicitously. Indeed, she did look as if she really might faint this time. They both looked rather ill, in fact. She allowed him to lead her back to the sofa and seat her again.

“You have no right to upset her like this,” he said to Sarah. “You should be ashamed of yourself. A nurse should have more respect for her condition.”

“This gives me no pleasure, Mr. Dudley, I assure you. But the fact remains that someone killed Dr. Blackwell and his son. You and Mrs. Blackwell have more reason than anyone else to have wanted Dr. Blackwell dead.”

“But we had no reason at all to want his son dead,” Dudley reminded her.

Sarah bit her tongue. No one was to know that Calvin’s killer had tried to implicate him in Blackwell’s death. This was something only the real killer could know, and Malloy was using the information in hopes of tricking that person into betraying himself.

“I’m sorry our visit has been so uncomfortable to you,” Sarah said, “but I thought you might want to know this information. I’ll understand if you no longer want me treating the baby.”

Letitia Blackwell didn’t even look at her. She was staring off into space, her face creased into a frown of concentration. “Peter, do you know what this means?”

“No, my dear, I don’st,” he said, still worried. Perhaps he was afraid the shocks of the past few minutes had unhinged her mind.

“If my marriage to Edmund wasn’t legal, then my child is illegitimate. My father should have no objections if I marry quickly to give my child a name.”

“Letitia, dear,” he began, his face reflecting his serious reservations, but she paid him no heed.

“I’ll send for him at once. He can’t stop us this time. I’m of age, and he doesn’t control my life any longer. Besides, I have to think of my child’s reputation. And my own,” she added, still thinking out loud.

Dudley looked terrified. Most likely, he saw the flaws in this plan and realized that Symington could, and most certainly would, have many objections to it.

Sarah could have given them both some advice on how to handle the situation, but she doubted they would welcome it. Or that Letitia would even allow her to speak. She would have given a lot to witness the scene between father and daughter with the daughter’s feckless lover cringing in a corner. Too bad she’d have to miss it.

“I’ll be going now,” she said, but neither of the lovers even glanced at her.

Dudley was too busy trying to get Letitia to pay attention to him and listen to reason, but she was having none of it. For the first time Sarah saw the side of Letitia Blackwell that had led her to risk her father’s wrath and elope with a penniless schoolmaster. Stubborn to a fault, she was. Well, she wasn’t Sarah’s problem.

Without bothering to bid them farewell, Sarah let herself out. She certainly hoped Malloy planned to visit her tonight. She had a lot to tell him.

AT THE END of the day, Frank made his way to Sarah Brandt’s house on Bank Street without even bothering to question himself. He could pretend he was going there to finish examining Tom Brandt’s files in an effort to find someone who might have had a motive for killing him. He’d come to realize they were both pretending that now. Frank had long since realized he would find nothing in the files, and he suspected she knew it, too. It was just an excuse for him to go over there.

Really, he just needed to see her to talk about the Blackwell case.

The evenings were growing cooler. Winter was coming, lurking just out of sight. Soon the winds would start to prowl between the city’s buildings, taking men’s hats and catching ladies’ skirts. Frank imagined a winter’s evening sitting in Sarah Brandt’s comfortable kitchen. Good thing the case would be solved long before then, and he’d have no more reason to meet with her. He could get very used to such comfort if he wasn’t careful.

Mrs. Ellsworth came out onto the porch with her broom in hand, even though the light was far too dim now even to see to sweep. She just wanted a word with Frank, and he was growing more patient with her. He’d learned that nosy neighbors could be quite helpful now and then.

“Good evening, Mrs. Ellsworth,” he called. “You’re out late.”

“It’s not so very late,” she said. “I just wanted to see if the moon was up yet. If there’s a halo around it, that means it will rain tomorrow. I was hoping to go shopping, but not if I’m going to get wet.”

Frank looked around, but he couldn’t see the moon. The tightly packed buildings permitted only a limited view of the sky, and that was more or less straight up. “The paper said it would be fair tomorrow, but if you’re determined to find the moon, you’re better off to look from an upstairs window,” he advised. “Or even the roof.”

“You’re probably right,” she said. “How was your day, Mr. Malloy?”

“Like all the rest of them,” Frank said noncommittally.

“I imagine all your days are very interesting,” she said with a smile that rearranged her wrinkles.

“Probably not as interesting as you think,” Frank said, thinking of the drunks and derelicts and thieves and killers he usually dealt with. “Police work can be pretty boring.”

“Oh, pshaw, Mr. Malloy. It’s not nice to tease an old lady. But you get along now. Mrs. Brandt has a lovely chicken roasting, and I’m sure there’s more than enough for you, if you haven’t eaten yet.”

A man didn’t need police training to understand Mrs. Ellsworth’s intentions. “I’ll be sure to get my share of it,” he said with a smile. “Good evening, and good luck with your weather predictions.”

Sarah Brandt was waiting at the door when he arrived at her porch. Her knowing grin told him she’d witnessed the exchange with Mrs. Ellsworth.

“Is the chicken ready?” he asked as he mounted the front steps.

“It’s started to get a little dried out. You’re later than usual. I was afraid you weren’t coming at all.”

He felt a funny little spasm in his chest that might have been his heart, even though he knew perfectly well she was just teasing him. She had that cat-in-the-cream grin on her face, the way she always did when she was trying to get the best of him. “If I’d known you had a roast chicken for me, I would’ve been here earlier,” he teased her right back.

“I’m going to have to speak to Mrs. Ellsworth about being more discreet,” she said, closing the door after him. “She obviously led you to believe I got that chicken just for you.”

“Didn’t you?” he asked innocently, hanging his hat on the rack by the door.

“Of course. I needed a way to keep you occupied so you wouldn’t interrupt me when I tell you all the things I learned this afternoon.”

He didn’t know how she always managed to best him in these little verbal matches they played. Probably because he liked the way she grinned when she won.

The chicken wasn’t dry at all, and she’d fried potatoes just the way he liked them. She’d even gotten some beer from her neighbor for him.

“What have you been up to, Mrs. Brandt?” he asked suspiciously as she smiled smugly at his reaction to the meal.

“I visited Mrs. Blackwell today,” she said.

“Do you go there every day?” he asked with a frown.

“Just about. I have to look after the baby, you know,” she added when he would have scolded her. “Do you know she hasn’t named him yet? He’s more than a week old and doesn’t even have a name.”

“I’m sure she’s had other things to worry about,” he said to annoy her. “So you visited Mrs. Blackwell. What happened?”

“She had another visitor already when I arrived.”

“Dudley?” he guessed hopefully.

“He’d apparently come to see the baby. The three of them were in the parlor together, alone.”

“Very cozy,” Frank noted.

“Especially because Amos Potter arrived right after I did. He was so desperate to see Mrs. Blackwell that I decided he should finally get the chance.”

“I’m surprised that butler didn’t physically stop you from intruding on her,” Frank said.

“Oh, I almost forgot: Granger is ill. He hasn’t been well for several days. Turns out he was just sick with guilt for not getting home first the day Blackwell was killed so he could’ve discovered the body instead of Mrs. Blackwell. Even the butler adores her. What is it about that woman that turns men into idiots?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said.

She sniffed derisively, but she was too eager to tell her story to stop and argue. “Anyway, Granger was sick in bed with an upset stomach, so that little maid who let me in before was the only one guarding the door. It was easy enough to get past her with Potter.”

“I guess Potter was surprised to see Dudley.”

“Surprised? He was horrified. I told you the baby has red hair just like his. No one could miss the resemblance. Potter isn’t a fool. I’m sure he figured it out as quickly as I did, and he obviously knew that Letitia had had a lover before Blackwell. He asked a few leading questions and quickly determined Dudley was the man.”

“That must have been a blow. He thought Letitia would be his now that Blackwell is gone.”

“What was I just saying about her turning men into idiots?” she asked. “Potter couldn’t have Letitia if he were the last man alive on earth.”

“You can’t fault a man for dreaming.”

She just rolled her eyes. “Needless to say, Letitia wasn’t too happy to have Potter there-or me either, for that matter. She sent him on his way pretty quickly, and she tried to get rid of me, too, but I refused to leave.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment. I know how stubborn you can be,” Frank said, taking another bite of his chicken.

“I’m not stubborn, I’m determined,” she insisted good-naturedly. “As soon as Potter was gone, I broke the news to them that Calvin Brown was dead.”

“You did what?” Frank shouted, nearly choking on his chicken.

“Oh, dear, was that the wrong thing to do?” she asked.

“I told you, only the killer would know about the suicide note!” He couldn’t believe she’d ruined his plan already.

“I didn’t tell them about that!” she said indignantly. “I just said he was murdered. They pretended they didn’t know who he was, but I could tell Dudley knew, at least.”

“Of course he knew. I told him the other night.”

“You did?” she asked, disappointed. “When did you see him? What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t kill Blackwell or Calvin. What do you think he said?” Frank was remembering why he’d once vowed never to see Sarah Brandt again and certainly never to let her become involved in another of his cases.

“Well, I think Letitia knew about him, too,” she said, still not showing any sign of understanding how she’d ruined the investigation. “She claimed that Blackwell had told her he’d been married before but his first wife had died young and that he didn’t have any children. She’s a good liar, so I wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth or not.”

Frank sighed. He would have known, but now he wouldn’t have the chance. “What else did you tell them?” he asked wearily.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” she said defensively. “I just pointed out that if they didn’t know about Calvin, they both had a very good reason for wanting her husband dead.”

“And if they did, they had a good reason, too,” he reminded her.

“So either way, they’re still good suspects. Unless Mr. Fong gave them an alibi,” she remembered.

“He didn’t.”

“He didn’t?” she asked with delight.

“Mr. Fong is a good businessman. He doesn’t know anything about his clients, including their real names. And he certainly doesn’t make note of their comings and goings. That saves him the trouble of being involved in unpleasant things like murder investigations. You should follow his example,” Frank pointed out.

She just gave him one of her looks. “There was one unfortunate result of my visit this afternoon,” she admitted.

“I’ve already counted more than one.”

She wasn’t the least bit repentant. “When I pointed out that Letitia’s marriage to Blackwell wasn’t valid, Letitia decided to inform her father that she was going to marry Dudley immediately. I guess she doesn’t feel the need to mourn a bigamous husband any longer, and she mentioned something about her child needing a father.”

“Her father will be pleased to hear that. He offered me a thousand dollars to arrest Dudley as the killer.”

“What?”

“It’s a reward,” he said a little defensively, “not a bribe.”

“It’s not a bribe unless Dudley is innocent. Does he really think he’s guilty, or does he just want to get rid of Dudley? And when did you see Symington?”

He didn’t feel he needed to explain his activities to her. “I think he wants to get rid of Dudley and hopes he’s the killer.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “A thousand dollars is a lot of money. Some detectives would make sure Dudley was found guilty whether he was or not.”

“Do you think I’m one of them?” he asked, stung.

She was so surprised he knew she hadn’t even thought of this. “Of course not! I know you better than that! But Symington doesn’t. I was just thinking he must believe he’s made sure he’ll be rid of Dudley and have Blackwell’s murder settled, too. What an evil man!”

Frank felt a pang of guilt. Sarah Brandt was sure he wouldn’t take a bribe to convict an innocent man, but he knew his honesty was inspired only by the fear of seeing disappointment in her eyes. In his own way, he wasn’t any better than Maurice Symington. “Maybe Symington thinks Dudley is really guilty. In any case, he’s just trying to protect his daughter.”

“He’s done a poor job of it so far. First he lets her get involved with Dudley and nearly elope with him, then he gives her to that charlatan Blackwell, and all the time she’s using morphine. Heaven help her if he’d been neglecting her!”

She was right, of course. “Maybe Dudley really did kill Blackwell, though. He’s still a good prospect.”

“And so is Symington,” she reminded him. “Maybe he’s trying to make sure you don’t look any farther than Dudley. That way, he’d get rid of Dudley and save his own neck in the process.”

“Do you think a man like Symington would do his own killing?”

She considered this for a moment. “Probably not. On the other hand, maybe killing Blackwell was an accident or a crime of passion. He hadn’t planned it, and when it happened, he had to cover it up. He couldn’t trust anyone else to keep his secret, so he had to kill Calvin himself, too, and try to convince the police the boy was Blackwell’s killer.”

“Blackwell’s death wasn’t an accident or a crime of passion, either,” Frank reminded her. “He was sitting at his desk, calmly writing a letter, while his killer snuck up behind him. He probably didn’t even know his killer was there until he got shot.”

She frowned. She didn’t like being wrong. That was too bad. “So we’re back to Dudley.”

“Or Letitia,” Frank said. “Wouldn’t you like for her to be the killer?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “but even if she was, she’d never be convicted. Can you imagine a jury of men sentencing her to death? They’d all fall in love with her and let her go free in the hopes that she’d marry one of them out of gratitude.”

Frank had to bite his lip to keep from smiling at that picture. “But she’d probably marry Dudley. Wouldn’t that be punishment enough?”

“It would be for me, but for some reason she seems to love him. I wonder what she sees in him.”

“Don’t ask me. Maybe she likes having a man she can control.”

She considered this. “I think you may be right, Malloy. She lived with a controlling father all her life, and she wanted someone who’d let her do what she wanted.”

“Or someone who would do what she wanted.”

“The only question now is did she want him to kill Blackwell.”

Frank considered this. “Maybe I’ll ask him just that.”