Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery)

by Victoria Thompson

  “If he does,” Joanna said, “Andy can answer them.”

  “Who’s Andy?” Frank and Broghan asked in unison.

  “He’s Milo’s man,” Neth said. “Takes care of the house.”

  Joanna gave an unladylike snort.

  “Donatelli!” Frank called.

  Gino came scrambling up the stairs. “Yes, sir?”

  “You don’t need to call him sir anymore, boy,” Broghan said with a nasty smile.

  Frank ignored him. “Did you find anybody up in the attic?”

  “No, sir,” Gino said with a defiant glance at Broghan.

  “Any trace of anybody?” he continued, trying to be patient.

  “Well, one of the rooms looked like somebody lived there. We thought maybe he kept one of the women up there.”

  “Did you look in the drawers? Check for clothing?”

  “Uh, no . . .” Gino’s glance at Broghan was sheepish this time.

  “So where could this Andy fellow be now?” Broghan asked no one in particular. “Oh, maybe he just left like everyone else who might’ve helped solve this case.”

  “If he did, he’s probably the one who killed Pendergast,” Frank said. “He could’ve taken the knife with him, which would explain why we didn’t find it.”

  “Or maybe he ran away when the Livingston woman killed Pendergast,” Broghan said. Frank was sure he was just trying to make him mad. He couldn’t possibly think Grace Livingston killed Pendergast, not with the knife missing.

  “Can we go now?” Neth asked. “We’ve told you everything we know.”

  “And I assume Mr. Malloy has your address,” Broghan asked with just a trace of sarcasm.

  “I know where he lives,” Donatelli said.

  “That’s convenient,” Broghan said, still sarcastic. “So yes, you can go.”

  Neth and Joanna hurried away, down the stairs and out the front door as fast as they could go.

  Broghan turned to Frank. “You can go, too.”

  “What?”

  “I said you can go. I don’t need your help, and you’ve already done enough damage.”

  “I didn’t do any damage!”

  “You let the two women get away when one of them might be a killer.”

  “If one of them killed Pendergast, it was justified.”

  “Only if he was trying to kill her. Do you think he was trying to kill her?”

  Frank didn’t even know what to say to that. “Grace Livingston did not kill Pendergast.”

  “And the other woman was locked in a cage. So who did?”

  “Maybe this Andy fellow.”

  “If he turns up,” Broghan said, “I’ll ask him. Meanwhile, you can go, Mr. Malloy, and let the police do their work.”

  Frank thought he might choke on his rage, but he knew better than to challenge Broghan. He’d already insulted the man’s pride by interfering in the case. If Broghan got mad, he might lock Frank up just for spite. He’d done that himself a time or two to annoying citizens who had needed a lesson in respect.

  Gathering as much dignity as he could manage under the circumstances, Frank nodded to Broghan and Donatelli and made his way down to the first floor and out the front door. The Maria still sat where it had before, abandoned by the driver, who had probably joined his fellows in the house while they explored the horrors within. They would, he knew, find the idea of having naked females as prisoners at least somewhat appealing. Young men like them would seldom consider the horror and anguish those females must have endured. In fact, few would. Society in general would blame the women first for being foolish enough to have fallen into Pendergast’s trap and then for not having the courage to take their own lives rather than endure his abuse.

  Without conscious thought, Frank had instinctively headed for Sarah’s house. He needed to discuss all this with her to see if they could make any sense of it at all. Then he would have to figure out if he should call on Mr. Livingston one last time or if his responsibilities to the man were complete. Would he even want to see Frank again, since he’d be a reminder of all that poor Grace had endured? Sarah could probably advise him on that. At least he hoped she could. He doubted her finishing school had taught any etiquette rules for calling on the family of a kidnap victim.

  • • •

  Sarah and Maeve had been sitting at her kitchen table for a long time going over and over what they had learned about what had happened at Milo Pendergast’s house. Neither of them had even given a thought to fetching Catherine from Mrs. Ellsworth’s house, since they needed time to recover from their afternoon’s trials, and they couldn’t speak about them openly with an innocent child in the house.

  When someone rang Sarah’s bell, however, she realized Mrs. Ellsworth’s patience must have finally ended, and she had come to find out how their efforts to trap the kidnapper had gone.

  Sarah gave a cry of joy, however, when she found Malloy on her doorstep, instead. She pulled him inside and threw her arms around him, absurdly grateful for his mere presence. She wanted to weep out her anger and frustration against his chest, but she’d never been the kind of woman to weep about anything. Instead she drew back and looked into his eyes. “What happened after we left?”

  He looked past her, and Sarah realized Maeve had followed her out. She discreetly stepped out of Malloy’s arms. “Broghan got there finally. He heard what I had to say and then sent me on my way.”

  “I don’t suppose he was grateful for your help,” Sarah said.

  “He didn’t seem to be.”

  “Come into the kitchen. We’ve got some coffee,” Maeve said.

  When they were seated at the table and Maeve had found a cup for Malloy, he told them what little they had missed.

  “Did you see the room upstairs where the Andy person supposedly lives?” Malloy asked Maeve.

  “No, I didn’t go up to the attic with Officer Donatelli. I stayed with Miss Livingston while Mrs. Brandt went downstairs to help with the woman they found in the cellar. Miss Livingston didn’t want to be alone.”

  “So Gino searched the attic himself. That explains why he didn’t realize a man was living in that room. He’s smart, but he still has a lot to learn.”

  “But you think I would’ve figured it out if I’d gone with him?” Maeve asked, obviously pleased.

  “Yes,” Malloy said with a ghost of a smile. “Women are just naturally nosier than men.”

  Maeve stuck her tongue out at him.

  Sarah shook her head. “So this Andy person might well be the killer.”

  “The fact that he’s missing seems to indicate something isn’t right, at least. He could have killed Pendergast and run out, still holding the knife without even realizing it. That would at least explain what happened to it.”

  “But there’s no explanation for what happened to the knife if Grace killed him,” Sarah said. “And even if Grace did kill that man, surely no one would consider it a crime after what he’d done to those women.”

  “I hope not,” he said.

  Maeve frowned. “Does that mean that you’re not sure?”

  “It means Broghan is a drunk, and he’s mad at me for going behind his back and trying to trap Pendergast myself. He might do any stupid thing just to annoy me.”

  “That’s horrible!” Maeve said.

  “Yes, it is, and we won’t let him get away with it,” Sarah said.

  Malloy just took a sip of his coffee, reminding Sarah with his silence that they couldn’t depend on the police to do the right thing in any circumstance.

  Before anyone could think of something else to say, someone tapped on Sarah’s back door. Mrs. Ellsworth had, at last, reached the end of her patience. She came in with Catherine and a roast chicken that reminded everyone it was suppertime.

  No one mentioned a word about the afternoon’s activitie
s during supper, and Malloy took his leave shortly afterward. He wanted to see his son, Brian, before he went to bed. Sarah saw him to the door so they could enjoy a good-night kiss in private.

  “I think I should call on Mr. Livingston tomorrow,” he said. “What do you think?”

  “That would be very nice. He’s bound to have some questions, and he won’t want to upset Grace with them, I’m sure.”

  “I probably don’t know the answers to his questions.”

  “No, but you can at least hear him out. He’ll be angry and upset. Which makes me think I should go with you. Grace might welcome some female company who can understand what she’s been through.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll . . .” He frowned.

  “What is it?”

  “I started to say I’ll try to get away early, but I just realized I don’t have anything to get away from anymore. It’s hard to get used to.”

  Her heart ached for him. As much as he’d had to compromise in his job as a police detective, the position had given him a measure of pride in doing his job well. Now that the Livingston case was solved, he had nothing challenging to do anymore. She realized that she would most likely find herself in the same position after having supported herself as a midwife for all these years. “I suppose we’ll get used to it, or find something to do with our time.”

  “I guess.” He didn’t look like he believed that, though.

  “So we’re agreed,” she said briskly, determined not to worry about the future. “We’ll both call on the Livingstons tomorrow. What time shall we go?”

  “What time do morning calls start?” he asked with a smile.

  “You know very well they start in the afternoon. We should probably give Grace time to sleep late if she can. Come for me around one o’clock.”

  He kissed her then, making her forget for a moment all the ugliness in the world.

  • • •

  FRank hired a cab to fetch Sarah for their trip to the Livingston house. They could have walked, but he wanted some privacy so they could talk on the way. In the confines of the cab, he took her hand.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I can’t say I’m eager to relive Grace’s experiences, but reliving them is nothing compared to what she went through actually living them. I can’t even imagine how horrible it was. What kind of a man does that to helpless women?”

  “I hope you never find out. It really irks me that Vernon Neth is getting off scot-free in this. He was definitely planning something for Maeve. Maybe he thought he could set up his own operation, just like Pendergast.”

  “I don’t think he’s clever enough to be as successful as Pendergast was, if successful is the right word. Besides, I can’t see Joanna allowing it.”

  “She was his prisoner, or rather Pendergast’s prisoner. You can’t think Neth would listen to her about anything.”

  She gave him a pitying look. “Didn’t you notice? He listens to her about everything. I have no idea what really happened, but I’m guessing that Joanna was more clever than most of the women Pendergast kidnapped. She recognized a potential protector in Neth and somehow convinced him to ‘save’ her from Pendergast.”

  “I did ask her why she hadn’t gone back home when Neth took her away from him, and she said her family would be ashamed to take her back if she came home unmarried.”

  “That’s probably true. They wouldn’t care that she was kidnapped and held prisoner. They’d just worry about how to answer their friends’ questions about where she’d been all the time she was missing.”

  “If she’s got so much control of Neth, I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten him to marry her, then.”

  Sarah smiled at that. “Maybe she doesn’t want to marry him.”

  Frank had a difficult time believing that, since marriage was the ultimate goal of practically every female alive. “Why wouldn’t she? She could at least see her family again.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to see them. Maybe she wants to be free to make another choice. Who knows? But ask yourself this: Would you want to marry Vernon Neth?”

  “He doesn’t really appeal to me,” Frank said to make her smile, “but I see what you mean. As long as she’s not married to him, she can leave if she wants.”

  “Marriage can be another kind of bondage, if you’re married to the wrong person. I think Joanna knows this.”

  They rode in silence for a few minutes. “What will happen if you figure out who killed Pendergast?” Sarah asked.

  “If it’s one of the women, the police should call it self-defense and forget about it.”

  “How could they call it anything else?”

  He shrugged, wishing he didn’t have to ruin any more of Sarah’s illusions. “Lots of men get upset when a woman kills a man. They think about all the reasons they’ve given women to kill them, and they start to worry about what the females might do if they know they can get away with it.”

  “So they would deny a woman the right to defend herself and her honor?”

  “A lot of them would, yes. You’ve seen it yourself.”

  She nodded, frowning at the memories. “You’re right, I know, but in this case . . .”

  “This case is even worse, because even other women won’t sympathize with the victims.”

  “I know. It’s horrible the way females turn on their own. I’ve tried to figure out why, but it just doesn’t make any sense to blame the woman when a man attacks her.”

  “I think if they can convince themselves that the woman brought it on herself by doing something stupid—something they would never do—then they can believe they’re safe from whatever happened to her.”

  “I’d hate to think that’s true, but you’re probably right, Malloy. But what will happen if this fellow Andy is the killer? Or another man?”

  “I hope he confesses, because if he doesn’t and it goes to trial, they’ll call the women to testify.”

  “Why would they have to do that?”

  “The killer will probably claim he was trying to protect the women, so they’ll have to testify about what Pendergast did to them.”

  “Dear heaven!”

  “Yes, and every newspaper in town will report every scandalous detail.”

  “And make up more. And ruin the women’s lives completely! They’ll never want to show their faces in the city again.”

  “And if they decide one of the women did it, she’ll go on trial, and it’ll be even worse.”

  “This Broghan, will he find the real killer?”

  “He might, but I think the most we can hope for is that he decides Pendergast deserved what he got and catching his killer isn’t worth the effort.”

  “I should probably want to see justice done, but I do think Pendergast got what he deserved.”

  “That’s justice,” Frank pointed out.

  “I guess it is.”

  The cab dropped them at the Livingstons’ brownstone town house, and Sarah took Frank’s arm as they made their way up the steps to the front door. They had to knock several times before a maid, looking harried, opened the door for them. She stared at them blankly for a long moment, as if she had forgotten what she was supposed to do when someone came to the door.

  “Daisy? It’s Frank Malloy,” he said. “I’m here to see Mr. Livingston.”

  She blinked and her expression hardened. “You’re with the police. We don’t need no more police here. You can be on your way.” With that, she tried to slam the door in their faces, but Frank threw up a hand to stop it.

  “Wait! Don’t you remember? I’m the one who helped find Miss Livingston.”

  “And now you’re here to take her to jail!” she cried, struggling mightily to close the door.

  “Daisy!” Sarah said in the voice Frank had heard rich people
use with unruly servants. The girl froze, responding instantly to the tone of authority. “I’m Mrs. Brandt. I’m here to help Miss Livingston, and Mr. Malloy is no longer with the police at all. What’s this you’re saying about her going to jail?”

  The girl opened her mouth to reply but burst into tears instead. Frank took the opportunity to ease the door open wide enough for Sarah to slip in, and then he followed, closing the door behind them.

  Sarah put her arm around Daisy and started crooning comforting words to her.

  “Daisy, what is it? Who’s there?” Mr. Livingston called from upstairs.

  “It’s Malloy and Mrs. Brandt,” Frank called back.

  “Oh, Mr. Malloy, please come up.”

  Daisy recovered herself enough to lead the way, using her apron to wipe her face as she climbed the stairs. Livingston was waiting for them at the top.

  “Oh, Mr. Malloy, I’m so glad to see you,” Livingston said. “I had no idea how to reach you.”

  “What’s going on?” Sarah said. “Your maid said something about taking Miss Livingston to jail.”

  “Mrs. Brandt, it was good of you to come, too,” Livingston said. “Please come into the parlor so I can tell you what’s happened.”

  He sent Daisy off to get them some tea, then ushered them into his parlor and closed the door behind them. “Please, sit down,” he said.

  Livingston was pale, and his hand shook as he gestured toward the sofa. Frank and Sarah sat down.

  “Please, Mr. Livingston, tell us what’s happened,” Sarah said.

  Livingston made his way to an armchair opposite where they were sitting and lowered himself carefully. He drew a deep breath, as if he needed to fortify himself for the explanation. “A police detective came here earlier today. He really was an obnoxious fellow, I must say. He wanted to speak with Grace, and he became very belligerent when I told him she wasn’t able to receive visitors yet. He said the most awful things, Mr. Malloy. He said Grace was a cold-blooded killer and she’d cut that man’s throat and that they’d be coming back to arrest her and put her on trial.”

  Frank wanted to swear, but he managed to swallow down his fury. “They won’t do that, Mr. Livingston. He was just trying to frighten you.”