“But you can help each other now. The police think Grace Livingston killed Pendergast.”
“Grace? That’s the one you were looking for?”
“Yes.”
“How can they arrest her? After what he did?”
“You know how men are. Or maybe you don’t. Not all men, of course, but too many, unfortunately. They don’t like the idea of a female killing a man, no matter what the provocation.”
“But he kidnapped her!”
“He kidnapped all of you, but some will say you deserved it because you answered his letters in the first place, and then went to meet him, and then went home with him. They’d say you were no better than you should be and got what you deserved. They might even say that you stayed willingly.”
Fury bloomed in her face. “How could anyone think that?”
“People think what they want, and they think what they’re told. The newspapers will say awful things about her, about all of you—”
“No! They can’t!”
“They can and they will. I’m sorry. I’m only telling you what I know is true. I’ve seen it before, so I want to stop it. Mr. Malloy and I are trying to figure out what really happened to Pendergast and hoping we can protect all of his victims in the process.”
“Why do you even care?”
“Because when men like Pendergast are allowed to prey on innocent females, no female is safe. I have a daughter, and I don’t want her living in a world like that.”
Joanna stared at Sarah for a long moment. “That’s a good reason. I was afraid you’d pretend that you cared about me or those other women.”
“I don’t know any of you, not well enough to really care about you, but I do hate what happened to you. I hope you can believe that, too.”
“I might,” she said, still defensive. “But I can’t help Grace. I can’t help anyone.”
“Did you know Andy was trying to blackmail Pendergast’s friends? He wanted money to leave town.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know that?”
“Because Mr. Malloy caught one of them delivering money to him at Pendergast’s house.”
She smiled slightly at that. “Who was it?”
“Malloy didn’t get his name, and Andy didn’t get away because somebody had already killed him.”
This seemed to please her. “He deserved it, that nasty little rat.”
“They think a woman killed him.”
Her eyes widened again. “Why?”
“Something about the way he was killed,” Sarah hedged, not wanting to give too much information. “We were wondering if he was trying to blackmail Pendergast’s victims, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“The women, if they’d gotten away, they might have gone home. They wouldn’t have told their families what really happened to them, or very little of it, anyway. Then if Andy sent them a message, threatening to”—Sarah gestured vaguely—“I don’t know, threatening to tell their families or the newspapers or the world in general. He probably asked for money, and maybe one of them decided to get rid of him once and for all. With Andy and Pendergast dead, maybe their secret would be safe.”
“I doubt Andy was that smart.”
“Really? You don’t think he would have thought of blackmailing the women, too?”
“I don’t think he would have even known how to find them.”
“He probably knew how to find you.”
She stiffened. “He knew better than to bother me.”
“So you didn’t receive a threat from him?”
“No, I didn’t. And you’re wasting your time. He wouldn’t even have expected women to have any money to give him. He would’ve only gone after the men.”
“Did he threaten Mr. Neth?”
She pressed her lips so tightly together, they turned white. “He tried.”
“So he did send Mr. Neth a message.”
“Yes, but he never saw it. I burned it.”
Sarah found herself admiring her courage. “Why did you do that?”
“Because Neth would’ve paid him, and I didn’t want that little rat to have anything. After what he did . . .”
She looked away, seeing something dark and ugly. When she turned back to Sarah, she said, “They’re wrong. One of the men killed him, one of Pendergast’s friends. You find him and punish him.”
“Do you know their names?”
“Neth does. I’ll make him tell you.”
With that she pushed past Sarah out the door and back down the hall. Sarah followed, nearly running to keep up. When they reached the parlor upstairs, Joanna threw open the door without bothering to knock.
Neth and Malloy looked up in surprise.
“Did he tell you?” Joanna asked Neth. “Andy is dead.”
Neth and Malloy rose and stared at Joanna.
“Yes,” Neth said carefully. “He said Andy was murdered, and he thinks I did it.”
Joanna scowled at Malloy. “Are you crazy? He couldn’t hurt a flea. Besides, he was here with me all night. No, one of the others did it. One of those men Pendergast used to bring to his house. Give him their names.”
“Joanna,” Neth said patiently, “why would one of them have killed Andy?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because Andy was blackmailing them. Isn’t that true?” she asked Sarah.
“Yes, it is.”
“You see?” she told Neth. “He even tried to blackmail you.”
“No, he didn’t,” Neth said. “He probably knew I’d never pay him,” he added a bit smugly, earning a derisive snort from Joanna.
“Yes, he did. He sent you a message just like the others, but I never gave it to you. I knew you’d pay him, so I didn’t tell you. I burned it instead.”
“Joanna! What if he’d gone to the police!”
“And told them what? That his employer was kidnapping women and holding them prisoner and he was helping? He was stupid but not that stupid. He couldn’t say a word without tarring himself with the same brush. But don’t worry, because he’s dead now, and all you have to do is tell Mr. Malloy who the other men were. One of them did it,” she told Malloy, “but not Neth, because he didn’t even know he was being blackmailed.”
Neth sank back into his chair as if afraid his legs would no longer hold him. He stared at Joanna with a curious mixture of awe and terror. Then he turned to Malloy. “She’s right; I didn’t know. I had no idea.”
Sarah believed him, and she wondered if Malloy did. Malloy hardly ever believed anyone, which was probably a consequence of having been a policeman for so long and hearing so many lies.
“You need to listen to her,” Malloy said. “You need to give me the names of the other men.”
“I can’t give their names to the police,” Neth said. “They’ll be furious. They’ll throw me out of the club!”
“That stupid club,” Joanna snapped. “How can you care what those good-for-nothings think of you?”
“They’re my friends!” He was whining now, setting Sarah’s teeth on edge.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Sarah said. “They’ll never know you gave their names. Besides, Mr. Malloy isn’t with the police, and if they’re innocent, they’ve got nothing to fear.”
Neth still hesitated, his eyes darting nervously while he actually wrung his hands.
Suddenly, Joanna gave an exasperated sigh and stormed out of the room.
“Joanna, where are you going?” Neth cried, jumping to his feet again. But he obviously didn’t care enough to go after her and find out. Instead he turned to Malloy. “Is it true? Can you keep my name out of it? I don’t want them thinking I betrayed them.”
“What about those women?” Sarah said. “Didn’t you already betray them?”
Neth spared her only a glance. “You understand, d
on’t you?” he asked Malloy. “I just can’t . . .” He shrugged.
Malloy looked as if he didn’t understand at all. “Why did Joanna pick you?”
Neth frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Just that. I haven’t met all the others yet, so maybe you really are the cream of the crop, but what made her think you were the one who’d save her from Pendergast?”
Neth took offense at the implied insult, stiffening and making a disgruntled face, but before he could reply, Joanna returned holding a booklet bound in red paper. She walked straight up to Malloy and gave it to him.
“That’s a list of the members of his club. Only a few of them went to Pendergast’s house, but if he won’t tell you which ones, just start at the beginning and be sure to tell all of them that Neth sent you to them. I’m sure he’ll change his mind when a few of the innocent ones let him know how angry they are.”
“Joanna, how could you?” Neth cried. He looked for all the world as if he was going to weep.
Malloy flipped the pages of the book, then tucked it into his suit jacket when Neth tried to reach for it. “Thank you, Joanna. That’s very good advice. Mrs. Brandt, I think our business here is done.”
Sarah had to bite back a smile when Neth cried out in protest.
“You can’t! I’ll be ruined!”
“Then make me a list,” Malloy said.
Neth gave Joanna a murderous glare. “Give me a few minutes,” he said, then stomped out of the room much as she had done.
Only then did Sarah wonder at the possible consequences of Joanna’s act. “Will he be angry with you?”
“Of course, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s a coward. I told you, he couldn’t hurt a flea, which is why he couldn’t have killed Andy.”
Sarah felt sure Joanna was right, which only made her more curious as to why she had picked Neth as her savior. Even more surprising was that he really had rescued her.
“What about Pendergast?” Malloy said “We know he was there right before Pendergast died.”
“So what if he was? He didn’t do that either. I’m telling you, he could never bring himself to do it.”
“Even still, he’ll be angry with you. If you feel you’re in danger, we can find you a safe place,” Sarah said, thinking about the Mission, where she did volunteer work.
Joanna gave her a pitying look. “I’m not in danger here, and I’ll never be in danger from him. Why don’t you both sit down? He’ll be a few minutes with his list. He’ll want to get it just right.”
Sarah took the chair Neth had vacated and Malloy resumed his seat. Joanna walked over to the front window and pretended to stare out of it. She probably just didn’t want to make conversation with them while they waited. Only when she sat watching Joanna at the window did Sarah realize she wasn’t dressed as a maid today. She wore a simple dress she’d probably purchased at Stewart’s or Macy’s, which made her look like a middle-class matron. Was she changing her status in Neth’s household from servant to . . . well, to whatever you called the lady of the house when she wasn’t the wife? She would love to discuss the matter with Joanna, but she decided not to risk offending her, at least as long as they still needed her help.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes until Neth finally returned with a handwritten list. He thrust it at Malloy, his expression mutinous.
“If you so much as mention my name, I’ll have your job.”
Sarah wondered if he had any idea how ridiculous that threat really was.
Malloy took the paper, glanced over it, then folded it carefully into thirds and stuffed it into his inside jacket pocket. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Neth,” he said.
“I don’t want to see you here again,” Neth said in what he probably thought was a threatening tone.
“I don’t want to be here again,” Malloy replied amiably. “Let’s just hope neither one of us is disappointed.”
Neth glowered and Malloy ignored him. “Mrs. Brandt?”
Sarah started for the door, and Malloy followed.
“Joanna, see them out,” Neth said, but she merely cast him a withering glance and resumed staring out the front window.
Sarah didn’t bother to bite back this smile. Joanna was going to lead him a merry chase.
• • •
Outside in the street, Frank offered Sarah his arm and she took it as they strolled away from Neth’s house. “That was interesting,” he said.
“Joanna is interesting. I would love to hear the conversation they’re having now.”
“We thought he might be a killer, but she’s not a bit afraid of him,” Frank marveled.
“But he’s afraid of her, I’m sure. He pretends he isn’t, but it’s clear.”
Frank was a little afraid of her himself. “I think I also believe that he wouldn’t hurt a flea. I accused him of killing Pendergast, and he was more insulted than scared. He asked me why he’d even want to kill Pendergast, and the only reason I can think of is that he got really mad that Pendergast tricked him.”
“So you don’t think he killed Pendergast anymore?”
“I’m pretty sure he didn’t. When I accused him of it, he said Grace was there and she’d know he didn’t do it.”
“And he doesn’t know she can’t remember, so I guess he didn’t do it.”
“That seems likely.”
“Then you don’t think he’s the one who was arguing with Pendergast either?”
Frank had to think about that one for a minute. “I guess it’s possible that was someone else, but it’s also possible that Neth confronted him and then left, and somebody else killed Pendergast.”
“The same person who killed Andy?”
“That would make things simpler.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So you think a woman killed both of them?”
“Women had the best reason to kill both of them.”
“Then I guess you won’t need those names Neth gave you.”
“Oh, I’ll pay them all a little visit. We could be wrong. Maybe one of these men killed Pendergast, and someone else killed Andy.”
“How many names did Neth give you?”
“Four. I’m thinking Pendergast wouldn’t have trusted his secret to many others, and Neth would make five.”
“I guess I’m relieved he only had five friends he thought would enjoy his ‘entertainments.’ But even though Joanna is sure one of them killed Andy, you still think a woman did it.”
“Which is why I’m going to send you to see Grace Livingston and Rose Wolfe again.”
“You can’t expect me to ask them if they killed Andy!”
“No, but they should be warned that Broghan might decide they did. If he can’t find Grace, he might go after Rose.”
“Would he even know where to find her?”
“He could look through the letters the same as I did.”
“I guess he could. You’re right, we need to warn them.”
He glanced up at the sky. The sun had sunk behind the buildings, and although the sky was still light, darkness wasn’t far away. “So you can do that first thing tomorrow morning, but for now, I’m taking you home.”
• • •
Sarah slept poorly that night. She kept thinking about the three women she knew who had been Pendergast’s victims and wondering how she could protect them from the scandal that would surround a murder trial. When she managed to stop worrying about them, she thought about the woman who had summoned her yesterday and wondered if she would really go into labor before Sarah could get to see Grace and Rose tomorrow and, if so, if Broghan would try to arrest one of them before she was finished with the birth.
She’d finally fallen into a sound sleep around dawn, only to be awakened less than an hour later by Catherine, who was overjoyed to find her at home. The three of them made
a breakfast of pancakes and bacon, and Sarah started feeling more alive after a third cup of coffee. She dressed carefully, wishing for the first time in years that she had a more extensive wardrobe. She would like to have something fashionable for her visit to Rose Wolfe, although Franchesca Wolfe was the one who would notice Sarah’s utilitarian suit.
She told herself she was only concerned because she didn’t want Franchesca to discount her warning because of Sarah’s inferior social status. Still, she had to admit that the lovely Franchesca had made her feel a bit dowdy, most likely without intending to and certainly without realizing it. Sarah would have to tell her mother she was ready to start selecting her trousseau. She couldn’t think of anything that was likely to please her mother more.
She decided to go to the hotel where Grace Livingston was staying first. She wasn’t sure about the rules for visiting people who lived in hotels, but they couldn’t possibly be as strict as the usual rules, where “morning” visits were actually held in the afternoon. What she hadn’t figured on was the hotel’s rule about unescorted females.
“I’m here to see Miss Grace Livingston,” Sarah informed the desk clerk.
The middle-aged man with carefully pomaded hair and a sleek little mustache eyed her suspiciously. “Is Miss Livingston expecting you?”
“Uh, no, but if you’ll let her know I’m here, I’m sure she’ll see me.”
He looked her over again, which Sarah found annoying. “We do not typically admit unescorted females who arrive without luggage.”
Sarah managed not to sigh. “I’m not trying to check into the hotel. I just want to visit with one of your guests.”
“Yes, well, that’s typically what unescorted females with no luggage want to do.”
Sarah glared at the man. How anyone might consider someone wearing her admittedly dowdy ensemble a female of easy virtue was beyond her. Of course, he probably just enjoyed abusing his authority to terrorize defenseless women. In his way, he was no better than Milo Pendergast and his cronies. She considered her various options and decided directness was probably the best. “Are you accusing me of being a prostitute?” she asked in a loud voice.
Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) Page 19
