by Rhys Bowen
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“You’re most kind, my dear, but I don’t want you catching anything. Go on up then, will you?”
I nodded and made my way up the stairs. At Daniel’s desk I found writing paper and asked him to call at Patchin Place at the earliest possible moment, as I had a matter of great urgency in which I needed his help. As I was writing I couldn’t help thinking of the last time I left a note for somebody, and couldn’t fight back the feelings of guilt that swept over me. If Anson Poindexter somehow got wind of the fact that Fanny had hired a detective to keep tabs on him, and that she was planning to divorce him, might I not have forced his hand? I remembered when I had seen him on Saturday afternoon—his grim face as he ran up to Fifi’s door and then left again. And then Fifi had left soon after him. Had he warned her to get out of town?
I felt quite sick as I went down the stairs again and made my way home. I was tempted to go to police headquarters and see if I could seek out Daniel there, but I decided against it. I didn’t want to be known as the annoying woman in Daniel’s life who wouldn’t leave him alone at work. So I waited patiently—or rather not too patiently—until that evening. When I had just decided to fix myself some supper, he showed up on my doorstep.
“Molly, are you all right?” he asked, bursting into my house with a look of concern on his face.
“I’m just fine, thank you,” I said.
“But your note. I got the feeling that something was horribly wrong.”
“Not to me,” I said, “but I have a case that I think might be a matter for the police.”
“Really?” He came into my kitchen. “My, but that smells good.”
“It’s only some neck of beef I’m making into a stew. There will be plenty, if you like to stay.”
“I’d like to but I should really get down to headquarters,” he said. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down with a sigh of relief.
“Have they made you work all of Sunday again?”
“Actually, not today,” he said. “I went out to Westchester to see my mother.”
I told myself that I was a petty sort of person to feel jealous that he had wanted to spend his one day off with his mother again, rather than with me.
“That was nice of you,” I managed to say. “So how was she?”
“Not doing too well, as a matter of fact. Still grieving terribly for my father,” he said. “Those two were married for forty years, you know. It’s not going to be easy to adjust to life without him.”
“Forty years, fancy that.” I tried to picture myself and Daniel after forty years together. Did one not grow tired of the other person after all that time?
“Can you picture us after forty years together?” Daniel asked, echoing my sentiments. “We’ll probably have killed one another by then!”
“So about this case,” I said, hastily changing the subject. “It’s a suspicious death, possible poisoning.”
“Poisoning? How on earth did you get yourself involved with something like that?”
I told him the basic details of my dealings with Emily and Fanny Poindexter.
“And what grounds does your friend have for thinking this Mrs. Poindexter was poisoned by her husband?” Daniel asked.
“Intuition, mainly.”
“Intuition?” He uttered a disparaging bumpf. “I’d need more than that to call a death suspicious. And you tell me she came down with influenza and died of breathing complications?” He shook his head. “What has that to do with poisoning? Didn’t I tell you about the number of cases I’ve seen of healthy people dying from this flu?”
“You did,” I agreed, “but apparently she was having stomach troubles as well and Emily thought that Fanny’s husband might have taken the opportunity of her weakened condition to get rid of her.”
“And why would he want to do that?” Daniel asked.
“To get his hands on her fortune and to be free of her.” I glanced up at him. “This is strictly between the two of us, but Fanny Poindexter hired me last Monday because she suspected that her husband was keeping a mistress. If that did prove to be true, then she planned to divorce him, and her money would go with her.”
“I see,” he said. “A strong motive then. And does he have a mistress?”
“He does. A dancer called Mademoiselle Fifi. I saw him going into her house and she was described to me by one of the waiters at Delmonico’s.”
“You’re getting quite good at this detective business, aren’t you?” he said with a smile.
“I don’t know about that, Daniel,” I said. “I left a note for Fanny the other day because she was sick and they wouldn’t let me see her. I was careful not to say anything specific in it but I’m now worrying that her husband deduced something from the note that made him realize she was on to him. I’m really concerned that I precipitated her death.”
“Presumably a doctor signed a death certificate?” he asked.
“He did, I’m sure. But he wouldn’t have thought to check for arsenic or any other kind of poison, would he?”
Daniel sighed. “Molly, I’m snowed under with work. I’ve got Chinese tongs trying to kill each other to gain control of the opium trade. I’ve got opium smuggling that we can’t stop and I’ve got random arsenic poisonings all over lower Manhattan.”
“So what would the symptoms of arsenic poisoning be?” I asked.
“Severe gastric distress. You had it yourself, remember?”
“I remember very well,” I said, my thoughts going back to that mansion on the Hudson and the vomiting that had brought me close to death, “but would there be any hints left on the body?”
“An autopsy would reveal traces of arsenic in the system,” he said. “The stomach would appear inflamed. And if the victim had been fed small doses so that death didn’t occur immediately, then it would affect the liver and the victim would appear jaundiced.”
“Meaning that her skin would look yellow?”
“And her eyes. Bloodshot and yellow probably. It can also produce a blotchy rash.”
I shook my head. “She looked perfect. Like a white marble statue.”
“I really don’t think you have enough to go on to warrant investigating further here, Molly,” he said. “It all boils down to one woman’s intuition and I have to tell you that female intuition is not as reliable as word would have it.” He smiled and patted my hand in a rather annoying way.
“So you’re not going to do anything?” I asked.
He sighed. “I could go and see her doctor if it would make you happy. I expect I can find the time to do that for you. If he shows any concerns at all about the cause of her death, then I’ll move to the next step.”
“Which would be?”
“Ordering a test for poisons. But from the way you described the body, I think we can rule out the other common poisons—strychnine, cyanide, as they usually leave signs of extreme distress on the face. And the skin could looked flushed as well or the lips have turned blue.”
“She looked serene,” I said.
“As I said, I suspect this is all the result of an overactive imagination on the part of your friend.” He got up again. “I really should be going. Give me the name and address of the deceased woman and I’ll do what I can.”
“Thank you.” I went across the kitchen and lifted the lid from the pot on the stove. “This is just about ready,” I said. “Can you not stay long enough to have a bite to eat?”
“I suppose I could do that,” he said. He glanced back longingly at the stove, then sat down again. “By the way. What was that strange note I received from you asking if I had been inside your house while you were out?”
“I came home to find the pile of papers on my table had been disturbed,” I said. “Some of them were on the floor.”
“And you thought that I might have sneaked into your house and gone through your papers?” His voice rose angrily. “To what purpose? To spy on you?”
“Keep yo
ur hair on, Daniel,” I said. “Of course I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that I know you have a key and I couldn’t otherwise explain the papers on the floor.”
“I can think of several reasonable explanations myself,” he said. “Your skirt brushed them as you passed. A wind came from the front door as you opened it? The pile was too high and collapsed.”
“I know,” I said. “I suppose you’re right and I got upset over nothing. I just had this horrible feeling that someone had been in my house.”
“And why would they be doing that?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
He gave me a long, hard look. “Molly, is there something you’ve not been telling me? You’re not working on any dangerous cases at the moment, are you?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Finding out about some missionaries is hardly dangerous.”
“And were there any signs of breaking and entering?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I’d say it was another case of overactive imagination,” he said with a relieved smile. “No, don’t throw that spoon at me!”
“The police have ways of collecting fingerprints, don’t they?” I insisted. “We could check my door and windowsills and my desk to see if someone had been here.”
“And what good would that do, my sweet?” he asked. “Unless we have a criminal’s fingerprint on file to compare the prints, we’d be no nearer to telling you who had been here. And frankly I suspect that we’d find a good many fingerprints on your window ledges and doors—don’t look at me like that. I know you dust as well as anyone else, but it’s true. The mailman and the milkman and the window cleaners would all have put their hands on your door at some time. And your friends and neighbors and acquaintances.” He smiled. “To be frank, fingerprinting is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s never been allowed as evidence in court, either. I can see that one day it will be a marvelous tool, but until we’ve built up files in the way we have with Bertillon measurements, we can take prints but we can’t easily compare them.”
“I see,” I said. “I suppose that means no.”
“If your door had been bashed down, your window broken, and your belongings scattered in disarray, I’d be happy to take fingerprints for you. But in this case I have to say that you’d be wasting police time and resources.”
“Hmmm,” was all I could think of saying.
Sixteen
I suppose I should have been content to leave everything to Daniel after that. But never having been of a patient disposition, I was itching to do something myself. I wouldn’t have been as willing to agree with Emily’s suspicion had not Mr. Poindexter claimed to have been out of town from Friday morning until Saturday evening, when I knew very well he was in the city on Saturday afternoon. It seemed that he had gone out of his way to establish this alibi for himself—although of course he might have spent Friday night with Fifi and not have wished to disclose that fact.
I paced around my house, trying to think through how a real detective would approach this matter. Obviously test for the poison, which I couldn’t do. Interview the attending physician, which Daniel was now doing. But if Anson Poindexter was away, then he would have relied on someone else to deliver the fatal dose. I could probably find out more by speaking to the Poindexters’ maid. Unfortunately, I didn’t think it would be as easy to get the servants alone in a large apartment building as it would have been in a private house, where I could simply slip around to the servants’ entrance. I’d just have to play it by ear and take my chances. I put on my black dress again, arranged a black lace shawl over my shoulders, and went uptown to the Dakota.
On the way there I decided that I should go first to Emily’s and let her know about my meeting with Daniel the night before. She might also want to come with me to Fanny’s place during her lunch hour, and two of us might be a distinct advantage. I glanced into the shop window, with its intriguing glass globes that glowed in the morning sunlight and its displays of various preparations. I wondered if one day I’d have money to spend on my appearance and if I’d ever be as concerned about my appearance as Fanny and her friends seemed to be. Maybe there was something to an existence of hardship like mine. At least I was seldom bored!
The bell jangled as I opened the door. I was surprised to see Ned at the counter.
“Miss Murphy, wasn’t it?” he said, giving me a friendly smile.
“Oh, hello, Ned,” I said. “I just stopped by to give Emily a message. Is she out making deliveries again?”
“No, ma’am. She’s off sick today. That’s why I’m finding myself manning the counter.”
“Off sick? What’s wrong with her?” My face must have registered alarm.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She just sent a message with a neighbor’s son to say that she wasn’t well and she wasn’t coming in. Mr. McPherson wasn’t pleased, I can tell you.” He glanced into the back room, where his employer could be seen with his back to us, opening one of those tiny drawers.
“Oh dear,” I said. “I better go and check on her, I think.”
“You’ve gone quite pale, Miss Murphy,” he said. “Can I get you a glass of water?”
“No, thank you. It’s just that one of her friends has just died and . . .”
“And you suspected that what she had might be catching?”
“Well, yes,” I said, not wanting to hint at the real reason for my concern. “She died of complications of influenza, so we were told. Very sad. A young woman who had everything. Life isn’t fair, is it?”
“No, it isn’t,” he said with such vehemence that I looked up. “Take Emily,” he went on rapidly. “She is turned out into the world through no fault of her own while her friends live in palaces. And she is such an angel that she never complains about the unfairness of it all.”
“We all have our crosses to bear,” I said. “I’ve been struggling on my own, as I know you have, and yet we’re coming through quite well.”
“So—who was this friend who died?” he asked. “Someone who lived close by?”
“Her name was Fanny Poindexter. I believe you’ve heard Emily talk about her.”
“Indeed I have,” he said. “Formerly Fanny Bradley. She was Emily’s roommate at Vassar, wasn’t she? Married well and lived not far from here.”
“That’s right.”
He made a face. “Poor Emily, that will be cruel blow to her. Fanny was like a sister to her. A cruel blow to Fanny’s family too, I shouldn’t wonder.”
I nodded. “I gather she was an only child. Her parents are taking it very hard.”
“Yes, I expect they would.” He glanced back nervously at the inner sanctum again, to see if Mr. McPherson was about to reprimand him for gossiping. “So it was the influenza she died of?”
“So it appears.”
He nodded. “I knew she wasn’t well because Mr. McPherson had me make her up some of the stomach mixture she liked last week, but there was no hint that it was so serious. Dear me, that is a shock, isn’t it?”
“Of course we don’t know yet whether it was influenza or something more serious,” I went on.
“What do you mean? A doctor was called, wasn’t he?”
“Oh yes, and he signed a death certificate, but no autopsy has been—”
“Autopsy? Why should there be an autopsy?”
I realized I had let my mouth run away with me again. “No reason at all,” I said quickly. “It’s just that you don’t expect healthy young people to die of influenza, do you?”
“This year they are seeming to,” he said. “If I had more resources, I’d like to be working on a cure, instead of wasting time here making up stomach mixtures and tonics for ladies who don’t need them.”
“Do you think someone will discover a cure for diseases like influenza one day?”
He nodded. “One day they’re bound to. Now that we’re in the scientific age.”
A cough from the back room made Ned jerk to attention. “I’d better
get back to work,” he muttered. “Let’s hope Emily hasn’t come down with the same influenza. Tell her I’ll try and visit her tonight after work, will you?”
“I will indeed. Thank you, Ned.”
“My pleasure, miss.”
As I left the shop a thought crossed my mind. I wondered if Ned might have the knowledge and equipment to test substances for traces of arsenic or other poisons.
I knocked on Emily’s door and waited what seemed like an eternity. My heart started to beat faster. Had our visit yesterday made Anson Poindexter suspicious? Was there any chance that Mademoiselle Fifi and her maid had seen me and described me? A redheaded Irish woman does rather stand out in a crowd.
“Emily?” I called through the keyhole at last. “It’s me. Molly. Are you all right?”
At last I heard slow footsteps and the bolt slid back from the door. Emily stood there, blinking in the light, a blanket around her shoulders. She looked terrible.
“Emily, what is it?” I asked nervously. “Are you very ill?”
She frowned and put a hand up to rub her forehead. “Just one of my sick headaches, I’m afraid. I’ve always been prone to them when I’m badly upset, and seeing Fanny yesterday was just too hard to bear.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked. “Can I bring you something from your chemist’s shop?”
She shook her head with a tired smile. “There’s nothing that works for it apart from resting in a darkened room until it passes, I’m afraid.”
“I went to McPherson’s to see you and I can’t tell you how worried I was when I heard that you were ill. Ned’s worried about you too. He sends his best and says he’ll try to visit you this evening after work.”
“He’s such a sweet boy.” She managed a smile. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Nothing too important. Just to tell you that Daniel has agreed to speak with the doctor.”
“That’s good.”
“And I am going to see if I can talk to Fanny’s maid. I came to see whether you wanted to come with me, but obviously not today. Should I postpone it until you’re well, do you think?”
“No, please go, by all means,” Emily said. “I wouldn’t know what to do there anyway and I really don’t think I could handle seeing Fanny again.”
