For some reason, Arburn found this information very disturbing. He needed a long moment to recover. “So what happened when he didn’t come? Did she just . . . leave?”
“No. We think she waited for him, and someone else showed up instead.”
“Who?” He really didn’t know.
“We don’t know, but that person killed her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Well, someone did, and we’re pretty sure it wasn’t Jack Robinson.”
Arburn groaned and rubbed his face again.
“What is it? What’s wrong, Arburn?”
“Nothing,” he claimed. “Keep going. What do you think happened next?”
“For some reason, the killer put her body in a trunk that was in the bedroom. We aren’t sure why, but we suspect he decided to get rid of the body. Maybe he didn’t want Jack to find it and figure out he’d killed her or something. Anyway, he left and came back later, when it was dark, and carried the trunk out.”
Arburn was starting to look sick, and Gino wondered if he was hungover. Maybe he should get a bucket just in case. He glanced around and saw a chamber pot sitting just under the bed. That would do in a pinch.
“What happened next?” Arburn asked hoarsely.
“The trunk must’ve been pretty heavy, so we think he got Freddie to help.”
Arburn nodded his understanding, so Gino continued.
“The two of them carried the trunk away, but Freddie must’ve gotten suspicious and figured out what was in it or something. Whatever it was, Freddie got scared and ran off and decided to hide until he could figure out what to do. So the killer had to leave the trunk where it was. Maybe he intended to come back for it or something, but Freddie made sure the police found it before he could.”
Arburn was staring off into space like he’d been poleaxed. Gino gave him time to think about it, and at last Arburn said, “Yeah, that’s pretty much how it happened.”
13
Frank stared at Horace Longacre for a long moment, trying to judge if he was telling the truth about not having done anything to send Estelle fleeing to the Bowery the day she died. “What did happen, then? I know something happened.”
“What makes you think so? Estelle left the house at all hours, whenever she wanted.”
“But she was murdered that night. And I know you went out that night, too. Did you follow her or did you already know where she was going?”
“I didn’t follow her!”
“So you already knew.”
“No! I didn’t know, and I didn’t follow her. I didn’t even know she’d gone out.”
“Where did you go, then?”
“Nowhere.”
“I doubt that very much.”
Longacre drew a long breath, as if to steady himself. “I felt good that day, better than I had for a while. I thought . . . I wanted to go to my club one more time. I wanted to see everyone and feel important one last time.”
“What club was that?”
“The Yacht Club. It doesn’t matter, though, because I never got there.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . . because I fainted. I was walking to the corner to find a cab, and I fainted before I got there.”
“Did anyone see you?”
The color had risen in his face, and Frank wondered if he was feverish or simply embarrassed. “Tom did. He’d followed me. He was worried, he said.”
Why hadn’t Tom finished the story when he told Frank that Longacre had gone out that night? But then, Frank hadn’t even thought to ask. He’d assumed the servants wouldn’t have known where he went.
“Tell Penny she’s too late,” Longacre said bitterly.
“Too late for what?”
“To ruin me. That’s what she wants, I’m sure, to shame me in front of my friends, but it’s too late. By the time she manages it, I’ll be dead, and she’ll be the only one left to suffer.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’ll know. Just tell her.”
* * *
As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Sarah asked Marie, “Was Estelle sick at all with the baby?”
“Not that I ever knew, although she might’ve been and just not told me. Something changed about her, though.”
“Maybe she was just in love.”
Marie made a rude noise. “Not that one. She didn’t believe in fairy tales. She might’ve been happy if she found a man who wouldn’t be afraid of her father, though.”
“I don’t think Jack Robinson is afraid of very much.”
“That’s it, then. Here we are.” Marie opened one of the closed doors along the second floor hallway.
Estelle’s room looked as if she’d just stepped away for a few minutes. The bed was made but rumpled, and clothes lay draped over it and various other pieces of furniture. She’d probably tried on several outfits before settling on what she would wear for the evening. The furniture itself was newer than that in most of the rest of the house. It had probably been purchased especially for her and was suitably feminine and delicate with gold leaf trim and porcelain knobs. The wardrobe stood open to display a jumble of dresses and skirts and jackets. Her dressing table was cluttered with bottles of different sizes and shapes and scattered hairpins and combs.
Sarah surveyed the room. Would Estelle have hidden the telegram? Or put it in a safe place? She didn’t see anything resembling the white square or the envelope it would have come in, so she moved to the dresser and began her search.
“Can I help?” Marie asked, and Sarah noticed the woman’s toughness had disappeared. She was gazing around the room with what could only be described as sadness.
“You could hang up the clothes, in case the telegram is under something. And check the pockets before you put them in the wardrobe in case she stuck it somewhere.”
While Sarah sifted through drawers, Marie eagerly began to gather Estelle’s garments and carry them to the wardrobe. As she lifted the last item off the bed, something fluttered to the floor. “Here it is.”
Sarah hurried over. The telegram looked exactly like the one they’d seen at Robinson’s house, except the message was different. This one said, “Meet usual place Sat five.” The signature was “J.R.” and the date was July 22, the same as the other telegram. The day Estelle had died.
How strange.
“What is it?” Marie asked, apparently alarmed by Sarah’s expression.
“Nothing,” Sarah said, schooling her face to show less emotion. “I guess I expected it would say more.”
“Maybe he was afraid other people would see it.”
“That’s probably it, and Estelle understood the message, which is all that would matter.”
“So he sent for her that night, the man she was seeing. Does that mean he killed her?” Marie was angered at the thought.
“We don’t think so. He’s actually hired Malloy to help find her killer.”
Marie frowned in confusion, but before she could manage another question, Malloy stuck his head in the door.
“Is this Estelle’s room?”
“Yes,” Sarah said.
“Did you find anything interesting?”
“We did, although I haven’t searched the whole room yet. Are you finished with Longacre?”
“For now. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“Fine.”
When he’d gone, Marie sighed and looked around again. “She was a good girl. Never gave me a minute’s trouble.”
“Did you know her all her life?”
“No. We’ve been here about ten years. Tom wanted to leave when I found out what was going on, but I couldn’t leave that girl all alone, could I?”
“You could go now.”
Marie’s grief hardened into resolve. “Not yet. We’ll wait unti
l he’s too sick to do for himself anymore. We’ll go then.”
* * *
Frank found Tom O’Day in the kitchen, sitting at the table with his head in his hands. He looked so beaten, Frank didn’t have the heart to berate him.
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened the last time Longacre went out?” he asked gently.
Tom looked up in surprise. “He begged me not to say a word. He cried like a baby that night. Didn’t want anyone to know how weak he was. Marie says I’m too soft.”
“She may be right, but I have to say I’m a little relieved. As evil as Longacre is, I’m glad to know he didn’t actually murder his own daughter.”
“I’m relieved for Miss Estelle, too. I expect it would be too horrible to spend your last minutes on earth knowing your own father wanted you dead.”
Frank sat down and sniffed the empty glass sitting there. “What’s this?”
“Sassafras tea. We drink it cold. I’ll get you some.”
A few minutes later, Sarah and Marie returned.
Marie didn’t even glance at Frank. She just slumped down into one of the chairs. Both she and Tom were spent, and since Frank knew what Sarah had questioned them about, he could understand why.
“Are you ready to go?” Sarah asked.
They thanked Tom and Marie for their help and let Marie show them out.
As soon as they were away from the house, Frank said, “It wasn’t Longacre. He didn’t follow Estelle that night. He was going to his club, but he fainted on the way. Tom had to bring him home.”
Sarah said, “But someone sent Estelle a telegram that day, asking her to meet at the usual place that night, which I assume meant Robinson’s flat.”
“So that’s why she went out. Who sent it?”
“The signature was Robinson’s initials, but we know he didn’t send it. He wasn’t even going to be in the city at five o’clock.”
“Five? I thought it was six.”
“Robinson’s telegram said six, but hers says five.”
They’d reached the corner, and they had to stop so Frank could hail a cab. That took a few minutes, and the instant they were settled in it and on their way, he said, “Do you have the telegram?”
“Of course.” She pulled it out of her purse and handed it to him.
The message definitely said five o’clock and the initials were Robinson’s, but who could have sent it and why?
“Someone wanted her to go to the flat that night,” Sarah said. “Someone who knew she was seeing Robinson and where they usually met.”
“And that someone wanted to kill her.”
“We don’t know he intended to kill her,” Sarah reminded him, “but at least he wanted to lure her there.”
“But wouldn’t he be worried about Robinson showing up?”
“No, because Robinson wouldn’t know anything about it.”
“But he got a telegram, too,” Frank insisted.
“No, don’t you see? The killer—or someone—sent Estelle this telegram to get her to the flat, but it came late in the day. She must have needed to change the time, to make it later. I think she wanted to get dressed and fix her hair. Her room looked as if she’d been very careful about her appearance that night, so she must have thought she was meeting Robinson. But for whatever reason, she wanted Robinson to know she’d be later than he’d requested, so she sent him a reply.”
“And if she hadn’t sent the reply, he wouldn’t have even known they were supposed to meet.”
“That also explains the odd wording of the second telegram,” Sarah said. “What did it say again?”
Frank pulled out his notebook and read the words aloud, “Change time today six instead.”
“We read it to mean change the time of their meeting to ‘today at six o’clock’ instead of tomorrow at two or whenever they usually met.”
“But because there aren’t any punctuation marks in telegrams, it could also mean to change the time of the meeting today to six instead of five.”
“And if Robinson had sent the first telegram, it would make perfect sense to him. But of course he didn’t. So now all we have to do is figure out who sent the first telegram. Can we do that?”
Frank nodded. “We can start by finding the office where it was sent.”
“How do we do that?”
“By using this code here.” He pointed at the series of letters and numbers at the top of the message.
Frank reached up and knocked on the roof of the cab. The driver, seated high on the back of the cab, opened the trapdoor and peered down at them. “What is it, mister?”
“Can you take us to the nearest Western Union Office on the way?”
* * *
“What do you mean, that’s pretty much the way it happened?” Gino asked, every nerve in his body tingling the way it did whenever he knew he was onto something.
Arburn rubbed his face again. “Can you give me my pants at least? If I promise to answer you?”
Arburn would be far less likely to run without the pants, but he might also be more cooperative if he could regain a little dignity. Gino snatched up the pants in question and tossed them over. When Arburn had donned them, he sat down on the bed again and put his head in his hands.
“Are you saying you killed her?” Gino asked cautiously.
Arburn’s head jerked up. “No! She was dead when I got there.”
“All right,” Gino said even more carefully. “Start at the beginning.”
Arburn sighed wearily. “I was going to meet a girl at the flat that night. A different girl.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Opal, and you can ask her. She’ll tell you. We were supposed to meet about eight o’clock. I got there a bit early. I wanted to make sure the room wasn’t messed up or anything. Girls don’t like it if it looks like somebody was there before them.”
“Right,” Gino said, although he had no idea. “And was the room messed up?”
“Not much, except that Estelle was laying on the floor, dead.”
“Any sign of her killer?”
“No, and she was cold when I found her. Whoever did it was long gone.”
“And who do you think did it?”
Arburn sighed again. “I thought it was Jack, but you said he wasn’t in town that day.”
“That’s right. He said he didn’t get back until late.”
“Maybe he’s lying, though. Maybe he just said he was away so you wouldn’t suspect him.”
“Maybe, but you thought he killed her,” Gino prompted.
“Who else could it be?” Arburn wailed. “He was the only one who’d meet her there. She wouldn’t dare use those rooms with anybody else.”
“Except you.”
“That was different. That was before he met her. And I was the one who set it up because I knew when Jack was going to be there and when he wasn’t.”
“And you knew he wasn’t going to use the rooms that Saturday night.”
“He never went there on Saturday. He was too busy checking on his businesses.”
“So you found Estelle dead, and you thought Jack had killed her. What did you do then?”
“I figured he must’ve panicked and taken off. Nobody was going to come in and find the body right away, or at least that’s what he’d think, but I knew Opal was coming any minute. I remembered the trunk in the bedroom and that it was almost empty, so I put her in it.”
“That was a good idea,” Gino said by way of encouragement.
“I thought so. Then Opal showed up. It took me nearly an hour to finish with her and get her out again.”
Gino gaped at him. “Wait. You took her to bed with Estelle’s body in the same room?”
“Yeah. I guess it does sound strange when you say it like that, but she didn’t know so . . .”
He shrugged.
Gino shook his head to clear the images. “So when you were, uh, finished, you sent Opal away?”
“I took her away. We went to a dance house, but I kept thinking about Estelle and how pleased Jack would be if she just disappeared and he never had to think about her again. I’d be sure he knew it was me who took care of it for him, too. He’d be grateful.”
“And he’d always know you knew about the murder, too.”
Arburn shrugged again. “He’d have to reward me.”
Or kill him, but Gino didn’t bother to point that out. No use upsetting Arburn. “So you went back.”
“I had to act like nothing was wrong, for Opal’s sake, so I stayed awhile at the dance house. But I had business to take care of, so I finally picked a fight with her and walked out.”
“And when you got to the flat?”
“I realized I couldn’t carry the trunk away by myself, but luckily Freddie was already there. He knows Jack doesn’t use the rooms on Saturday, so he was going to sleep there.”
“And you asked him to help you.”
“I told him Jack wanted to get rid of the trunk.”
“Didn’t he notice how heavy it was?”
“Of course, but I told him I didn’t know what was in it. I just knew Jack wanted it moved and it was locked. I told him I’d pay him so he helped me.”
“When did he notice Estelle’s hair sticking out of it?”
“How’d you know that?” he asked in amazement.
“I’m a detective.”
“Oh. Well, yeah, he saw it when somebody opened a door in the alley and there was some light for a minute. He dropped his end pretty quick.”
“He knew who it was?”
“I don’t know what he knew. He didn’t stay around long enough for me to ask. He just kind of yelped and dropped the trunk and took off running.”
“That ruined your plan, didn’t it?”
“I didn’t know it then, but yeah, it did. I went to get somebody else to help me, but by the time we got back, the cops had found the trunk and it was too late.”
Murder in the Bowery Page 22
