Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery)

by Victoria Thompson

  “Someone’s father. I didn’t know it was my father,” Grace said, still not looking up. “But I hoped. I knew he’d look for me when I didn’t come home, but I couldn’t imagine how he’d ever find me.”

  “The man was Vernon Neth, then,” Sarah said, glad they could be sure now. “Pendergast sent him to meet Maeve, the girl who supposedly wrote him the letter.”

  “What else do you remember?” Rose asked, leaning forward.

  Grace shook her head, and for a moment Sarah thought she wouldn’t reply, but she said, “They kept talking, but he wasn’t shouting anymore, the other man, so I couldn’t hear. I was out in the hallway, hiding, trying to keep out of sight so he’d leave me alone.”

  Rose nodded. Of course she’d understand.

  “I moved closer to the door, hoping to hear something else, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.”

  Sarah glanced at Rose, whose expression was either eager or anxious. Sarah couldn’t be sure which. “What do you remember, Rose? What were you doing?”

  “I . . . I was listening, trying to figure out what was happening. I . . . Then, right after the shouting stopped, I heard the back door.”

  “The back door?” Sarah echoed.

  “Yes, it . . . it opened and closed. I waited, but it got very quiet, so I knew Andy had gone out.”

  “Yes,” Grace said almost eagerly. “He wouldn’t have stayed around if there was trouble.”

  Sarah watched Rose’s face, trying to read her expression and wondering what she was thinking and what she knew and was holding back. “That’s when you left your cell and went upstairs, isn’t it?”

  Rose looked up in surprise. “How did you know that?”

  “What did you see?” Sarah asked, ignoring her question.

  Rose frowned. “Not much. I got to the top of the stairs, but I still couldn’t hear anything.”

  “So you went on upstairs,” Sarah said.

  But Rose shook her head. “No, I . . . I couldn’t.”

  “She was naked,” Grace explained. “She didn’t want anyone to see her.”

  The two women exchanged a look of complete understanding that made Sarah want to weep. “So you just stood there at the top of the stairs?”

  “Until I heard him leave,” Rose said. “The man who’d been shouting, I mean.”

  Sarah turned to Grace. “When he left, was Pendergast still alive?”

  She smiled bitterly. “Oh, yes. He walked the man out, patting him on the back and telling him not to worry. As if he had anything to worry about.”

  “And then?”

  “Then he came looking for me,” Grace said. “He was furious. I tried to hide.”

  “You did hide,” Rose said, nodding. “I heard him banging around, looking for you.”

  “But I couldn’t leave the house, not in just my shift, and he knew that. So he found me.” Grace closed her eyes, squeezing out a tear.

  “Don’t cry,” Rose said. “He’s dead. Don’t forget that!”

  Grace raised her chin and dashed the tear from her face. “Yes, he is.”

  “So he found you,” Sarah prodded. “What did he say to you?”

  “He was furious, like I said. I guess he was pretty sure it was my father who had followed that other man.”

  “My father is dead,” Rose said. “I told him that in my letters.”

  “I’m sorry,” Grace said automatically, good manners demanding the response.

  Rose waved away her concern. “What did he do when he found you?”

  “He . . . he slapped me. More than once, I think. He . . .” She shook her head.

  “I know,” Rose said. “You don’t want to remember, but I can guess. He told you how ugly you are and how grateful you should be that any man looked at you.”

  Grace nodded miserably. “I wanted to cover my ears, but he pulled my hands away, and he just kept talking, saying the most horrible things about me and how it was all my fault that he was going to have to get rid of me.” She looked up, her eyes wide. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

  Her eyes filled, but this time she pressed her fingers against them, stopping the tears before they could fall.

  “But that’s not all, is it, Grace?” Sarah said.

  Grace lowered her hands and stared back warily. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Pendergast had opened his trousers. That’s how we found him. He was going to assault you, wasn’t he?”

  Grace looked down at her hands again. This time they were closed into fists.

  Sarah turned back to Rose. “And that’s when you went upstairs, isn’t it?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  Sarah blinked in surprise. “You didn’t? What did you do, then?”

  “I went back to the cellar because I heard someone coming.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see because I ran back downstairs when I heard someone at the back door. I thought it was Andy returning.”

  “Someone came in the back door?” Sarah asked, trying to make sense of this.

  “Yes, while Pendergast was looking for Grace. I heard footsteps on the porch and I ran, so I didn’t see who it was.”

  “And you didn’t go upstairs?” Sarah asked again.

  “No, not at all. I went back into the cell.”

  Sarah believed her. “So, if you didn’t go upstairs, it must have been the person who came in the back door who killed Pendergast.”

  “It must have been, because I didn’t remember you being so tall,” Grace said again.

  The other two women stared at her for a long moment.

  “What do you mean?” Sarah asked.

  “Just that. I remember . . . I remember someone standing behind Pendergast and a flash of light and then the blood. So much blood.” She shuddered.

  “But the person standing behind Pendergast wasn’t tall?”

  “No. I couldn’t see her face.”

  “Because she was behind him,” Sarah said. “And she wasn’t tall enough, so you couldn’t see her face.”

  “I thought you killed him,” Grace said to Rose, her shoulders sagging.

  “I know. That’s why I came, so you’d know it wasn’t me, although I wish I had. I wish I’d thought of it. I . . . I wish I’d been brave enough.”

  “But if you didn’t kill him,” Sarah said, “and we know Grace didn’t, then who did? Grace, do you remember anything else about the killer at all? Anything that would help? You said you couldn’t see ‘her’ face. Do you think it was a woman?”

  Grace frowned. “It sounds silly, but it’s something I remembered today. At least I think I remembered it. It’s so odd that I can’t be sure I really saw it, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “I . . . I think the person who cut Pendergast’s throat was a maid.”

  13

  The hairs on Sarah’s neck stood up. “A maid?”

  “I know, it sounds ridiculous, but when I try to remember, that’s what I remember.”

  “But Pendergast didn’t have a maid,” Rose said.

  “No, he didn’t,” Sarah said. “But someone else did. I think I know who killed him now.”

  “Who?” the other two women said in unison.

  “She . . . Well, she was another one of Pendergast’s victims. He’d . . .” Sarah hesitated. She didn’t want to tell them Pendergast had sold Joanna to Neth. No use adding to the list of horrors they must try to forget. “He’d released her. She lives with Vernon Neth, the man who argued with Pendergast right before he died.”

  “What will happen to her?” Grace asked.

  Sarah had no idea. Would Neth help her? Pay for an attorney? Pay bribes to the police? What about her family? She’d been sure they wouldn’t want her back, so what would they d
o when she was charged with murder? “I don’t know what will happen to her, but if the police try to arrest either one of you, we’ll have to tell them about her. And if they charge her and bring her to trial, the whole story will come out, and you two will probably have to testify in court.”

  “Testify? You mean tell what happened to us?” Rose asked.

  “In public?” Grace added.

  “Yes,” Sarah said, feeling sick as she saw the reality of it dawning on them. “The newspapers will report it, too. They’ll make it sound even worse than it was, and everyone in the city will know what happened to you.”

  The two women exchanged a look, and instead of dissolving into tears, as Sarah expected, they appeared to come to another silent agreement. When they turned back to Sarah, Rose said, “Then we have to figure out how to keep her from being arrested.”

  • • •

  Frank wasn’T sure where he could find Sarah, but he knew that, eventually, she’d return home, so that’s where he went. Maeve and Catherine greeted him enthusiastically and insisted on feeding him, since he admitted he hadn’t eaten all day. He spent a happy hour with them until Sarah got home.

  Catherine beat him to the front door, but Sarah smiled her beautiful smile when she saw him.

  “Malloy, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

  He wondered if she’d reached the same conclusion he had, but they couldn’t talk until Catherine had adequately welcomed Sarah home and Maeve had made her a sandwich and then enticed Catherine upstairs so the grown-ups could talk.

  “When we’re married, I hope you’ll be easier to find,” he said as she sat down with him at the kitchen table to eat her sandwich.

  “At least we’ll always be coming home to the same place.”

  “If we ever find a house,” he added with a smile. “Have you made any progress?”

  “I haven’t had time. Besides, I’m waiting to see what Mrs. Ellsworth comes up with first.”

  “Is she looking?” he asked in amazement.

  “Oh, yes. Maeve thinks that if she finds the right house, she might even ask the current owners to move out to make way for us.”

  Frank didn’t doubt it for a moment. “So what do you have to tell me?”

  “I think I’ve figured out who actually killed Pendergast.”

  “Not Grace Livingston or Rose Wolfe,” he guessed.

  “How did you know?”

  “Because Joanna did it.”

  She gaped at him. “How did you figure that out?”

  “How did you?” he countered.

  “It was easy. When I spoke with Grace, she asked me to tell Rose that she had no memory of who killed Pendergast. That made me think Rose had done it.”

  “Which she could have, because she wasn’t really locked in the cellar.”

  “Yes, but when I delivered the message to Rose, she realized the same thing, that Grace thought she’d done it, but she knew she hadn’t, so she asked me to take her to see Grace.”

  “You’ve had a busy day,” he marveled.

  “I certainly have. So I took Rose back to the hotel where Grace is staying, and as soon as Grace saw her, she knew Rose wasn’t the killer.”

  “How did she know that?”

  “Because Rose is so tall. That’s the first thing Grace said when we walked into the room. She told us that she couldn’t see the face of the person who had killed Pendergast because that person was too short. Rose’s face would have been visible above Pendergast’s shoulder.”

  “But if she didn’t see the killer’s face, how do you know it was Joanna?”

  “Because Grace remembered an impression she had of the killer, one that didn’t make any sense to her. She thought the killer was a maid.”

  “And Joanna was dressed like a maid that day,” Frank remembered.

  “Yes. She’d taken off her apron and cap, but that black uniform dress is unmistakable. So what made you think Joanna was the killer?”

  “I tried to see the men Andy had been blackmailing. I found only one at home today, but that turned out to be enough. He told me Andy’s letter had mentioned that he knew who had killed Pendergast.”

  “But he wasn’t even in the house when Pendergast was killed,” Sarah said. “Rose heard him run out when Neth got there and started shouting at Pendergast.”

  “Then we’re sure it was Neth?”

  “Grace heard them arguing. She said the man told Pendergast someone’s father had followed him to his house. That could only be Neth.”

  Frank nodded. “So, even though he couldn’t have, Andy’s letter said that he knew who the killer was, which I thought was odd, because this fellow I visited, Traynor, didn’t kill Andy, so he probably didn’t kill Pendergast either.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because he went to see Andy earlier in the day, before I got there, and when I got there, the door was locked. That means Andy locked it behind Traynor and whoever else had visited him that day, but when the killer left, it was unlocked because it couldn’t be locked from the outside.”

  Sarah nodded. “That makes sense, I guess, but why was it odd that Andy told him he knew who the killer was?”

  “You mean besides putting himself in danger from the real killer? He was obviously too stupid to realize that part, but he may have thought the killer would pay more or something. So I’m guessing he put that in all the letters he sent, hoping to scare the real killer.”

  “Including the letter he sent to Neth.”

  “Especially the one he sent to Neth, because he must have known it was Neth who’d come to the house and was furious at Pendergast for getting him in trouble.”

  “So Neth was the most likely prospect,” Sarah said.

  “And he would’ve been for us, too, except we knew Neth never even saw Andy’s letter.”

  “But Joanna did and, unfortunately for Andy, she believed him when he said he knew who the killer was.”

  “When we were there, she told me Neth was home with her all evening,” Frank recalled. “He’d already told me he was at his club, though. At the time, I just thought she was trying to protect Neth, but she was really trying to give herself an alibi.”

  “And she may not have thought she needed one for Pendergast’s death, because Grace wouldn’t have known who she was, so she couldn’t identify her.”

  “What I don’t understand is why she killed Pendergast in the first place. I can understand why she’d want to, of course, but why do it then, when she was already free of him?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that ever since I figured out she was the one,” Sarah said. “I think she must have been trying to protect Neth.”

  “Neth? Why would she want to protect him?”

  “He’s certainly no prize, as you’ve pointed out, but he’d gotten her away from Pendergast. Joanna seemed very sure that her family wouldn’t have taken her back after what happened to her, so she must see Neth as her salvation.”

  Frank snorted his disgust.

  “Well, think about it. If her family wouldn’t take her back, what would have become of her? Neth gave her a home. She probably felt safe there, at least until we barged in telling her Neth was trying to kidnap a young woman.”

  Frank could see it now. “She must’ve been furious at Pendergast for putting Neth in a position to get caught by the police.”

  “Or maybe she was just furious because Pendergast seemed to have convinced him to start his own kidnapping operation. I think that might have been more threatening to her even than seeing Neth arrested.”

  “You think she was jealous?”

  “Not jealous.” Sarah thought about it for a moment. “She must have convinced herself Neth was a better man than Pendergast, which is why she could stay with someone she knew had participated in humiliating the wo
men Pendergast had kidnapped. If Neth was going to start kidnapping his own women, though, she’d have to admit he was no better than Pendergast.”

  Frank sighed. “So now we know who killed Pendergast and his man, but what are we supposed to do about it?”

  Sarah sighed, too. “I know. We wanted to protect Grace and then Rose, but doesn’t Joanna deserve to be protected, too? She was a prisoner in that house, just like they were. Besides, if Joanna is tried for murder, the other two women will be dragged into it along with her. They’ll be ruined just as thoroughly as if they had actually killed Pendergast themselves. And for what? Didn’t Pendergast deserve to die?”

  “Mrs. Brandt,” Frank said in mock outrage, “since when did you become so bloodthirsty?”

  “Since I’ve seen how seldom men like Pendergast get the punishment they deserve and how often women like his victims get blamed for his crimes.”

  Frank had to admit she was right. Too often, the law didn’t provide true justice. “All right, but do you have any idea how we can manage to protect all three of them?”

  Sarah smiled apologetically. “You’re rich now. Could you bribe Broghan?”

  “I honestly don’t know. His nose is out of joint already because he thinks I butted into his case.”

  “Probably because you did.”

  “Well, yes, but he might be mad enough about it that he wants to show me up more than he wants me to bribe him.”

  “And if you make him an offer and make him madder . . .”

  “He’ll take it out on those poor women.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Before Frank could answer, someone rang Sarah’s front doorbell.

  “Maybe it’s Mrs. Ellsworth, come to tell us she found a house,” Sarah said with a small smile, although they both knew it was probably a summons to a birth.

  They heard Maeve and Catherine clattering down the stairs to answer it, but no one called her to the door. Instead, Maeve and Catherine came into the kitchen.

  “This came for you,” Maeve said, handing Sarah an envelope bearing her name and address but no stamp.

  “Someone delivered it?” Sarah asked, tearing it open.

  “Yes, and he’s waiting,” Maeve said.