“He’s a policeman, Mark,” Reverend Upchurch corrected him gently. “A gentleman doesn’t use slang.”
Upchurch started down the aisle to where Frank stood. He wore a clerical collar with his black suit, but otherwise he didn’t look the way Frank had expected the minister to look. Tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, with a neatly trimmed beard, Upchurch strode toward Frank with strength and energy and confidence and a wide smile of greeting.
“Welcome to the Church of the Good Shepherd,” he said, putting out his hand for Frank to shake. His grip was firm, his palm rougher than Frank had expected, as if he were no stranger to hard work.
“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” Frank said.
This only made Upchurch grin more broadly. “I suppose you’re here for one of these boys,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at them. “They’re scalawags, every last one of them! You should take them all straight to The Tombs,” he added, using the nickname for the city jail.
The boys smiled at that. They truly had nothing to fear from the police, and even Frank had to smile at the thought of rounding up these fresh-faced lads and marching them into the dismal old jail. “I don’t have time to run them in today,” Frank said, “but if you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you about an important matter.”
“Anytime the police are involved, it’s always important,” Upchurch said, unruffled. “Isn’t that right, boys?”
“Yes, sir,” they agreed in voices that ranged from squeaky tenor to husky baritone.
“Let’s talk in my office, Mr. Malloy,” Upchurch said and started back toward the front of the church. “Isaiah, be careful on that ladder,” he called to the boy polishing the window. “Good job on those candlesticks, Nathan,” he said when they passed the boy working at the altar.
Frank couldn’t help but notice how the boys all watched Upchurch, eager for his attention and thrilled to receive it. Plainly, they adored him, and from his attitude, he was equally fond of them. If one of these boys had a dark secret, Upchurch would know it.
The minister’s office had been furnished long ago with heavily carved pieces that matched the beauty and elegance of the sanctuary, but Upchurch had shown little respect for the stateliness of the décor. In one corner lay a jumble of sporting equipment; baseball bats, balls of all descriptions, a catcher’s mask and glove, even a few hoops. On a small table sat a checkerboard with a pile of checkers on one side and a heap of chessmen on the other. His desk was covered with papers, and not the organized chaos he’d seen at Mr. Linton’s office. This was simply chaos, piles of books here and there, some open and turned face down to hold the place and others on the floor where they had fallen and been forgotten. A worn and moth-eaten sweater hung from a coat tree, telling Frank what Upchurch probably wore when no one was around, or when he was outside using some of the sports equipment.
“That’s for the boys,” Upchurch said, seeing Frank’s interest in the balls and bats. “The cleaning is for them, too. We have a man who cleans the church, but the boys need something to do to work off all that energy. I send them in when the weather’s too bad to play outside. If boys have too much energy and nothing to do, they get in trouble. But you probably know that better than I,” he added with a chuckle.
He indicated one of two chairs that sat near the pile of equipment, facing each other. They matched the formality of the other furniture, with intricately carved wooden arms and legs, but the once-grand upholstery was worn and faded. Frank figured this was where he counseled with parishioners.
Frank sat down, finding the chair surprisingly comfortable. Upchurch took the other chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and growing serious, but even still the energy radiated from him, as if he held himself still only with a great effort. “Now, what is it that brings you here, Detective? Nothing good, I’m sure.”
“You’re right, it isn’t good. It’s about a girl in your church,” he began, having carefully considered exactly what to tell the minister while still protecting the Lintons’ privacy.
Did he look surprised? Frank thought he saw a flash of it in those blue-gray eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be sure.
“Is she . . . in trouble?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Reverend Upchurch considered for a moment. “I’m going to assume this is more than a simple seduction, or the police wouldn’t be involved.”
“The girl is very young, too young for a seduction. Someone took advantage of her, and she can’t identify the man.”
“Can’t?” Upchurch frowned. “Or won’t?”
“We aren’t sure. Like I said, she’s young. He may have threatened her, or maybe she doesn’t want to get him in trouble, or maybe she just doesn’t know who he is.”
“Or maybe she knows him very well,” Upchurch suggested. “Have you considered incest? It’s a horrible thing, but it happens far more often than any of us would like to think.”
“I did consider it, and I’m convinced that’s not what happened.”
Now Upchurch just looked puzzled. “I’m not sure why you’ve come here, then. You said it’s a family in my church, and if you’ll tell me who it is, I’ll offer what comfort I can, but I’m not sure what else I can do.”
“I came because I think the man responsible might be a member of your church.”
Now Upchurch was concerned. “What makes you think that?”
“Because the girl is very protected. She doesn’t go to school, and she only goes out in company with her parents, and here to church. She spends a great deal of time here, as a matter of fact.”
“Many people do,” he said with a trace of pride. “We have Bible study classes and sewing circles and missionary circles and auxiliary meetings here almost every day of the week. Oh, and committee meetings and trustee meetings . . . the list is very long.”
“And do you have boys here every day of the week, too?”
Upchurch reared back at that, sitting up straight. All trace of kindness vanished from his pale eyes. “Are you insinuating that one of our boys would do a thing like that?”
“Somebody did,” Frank reminded him.
“Not my boys,” he said almost angrily.
“Your boys?” Frank echoed.
The color rose in his face, but he didn’t look abashed at the odd claim. “I feel very protective of them. The boys you saw in the sanctuary are very special to me. They are all fatherless, and their mothers have entrusted me to provide them with the kind of attention their fathers would have. I’ve taught them all to behave like gentlemen toward females. They hold them in the highest regard, and not one of them would take advantage of an innocent young girl. I would stake my life on it.”
Frank pitied anyone naïve enough to believe they could predict with certainty how another human being would act. “What about the rest of the boys in your church, the ones who do have fathers?”
Upchurch smiled with a touch of irony. “I’m afraid the rest of the boys, those with fathers and those without, only show their faces here on Sunday when their parents bring them. Believe me, the opportunities for taking advantage of a young girl during the Sunday morning worship service are very limited.”
Frank heard the thread of anger in his voice. His patience was wearing thin, but Frank’s was, too. “What about the men, then? In a case like this, it’s more likely, anyway.”
“The men in my congregation work for a living, Detective. Those who don’t are elderly and unlikely to have the inclination, much less the strength, to force a young girl. Men are also unlikely to be here at a time when the ladies are. They hold their Bible studies and meetings in the evenings, and the ladies are here during the day.”
“This is the only place she could’ve been assaulted.”
“I’m going to have to take offense at the implication that this church is a haven for criminals.” Upchurch was working himself up to full outrage. “And that this poor girl was assaulted here. This is a house of God, Mr. Malloy.” He sai
d Frank’s name with more than a trace of contempt. “Perhaps things like that happen at your church, but I assure you, they do not happen here!”
Frank was used to prejudice, but somehow he hadn’t expected it from this man. “Do you think Roman Catholics sacrifice virgins, Reverend Upchurch?” he asked mildly.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. “Mr. Malloy,” he said, having retaken control of his emotions, “Grace Linton was not attacked in this church.”
For a second Frank wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “What did you say?” he asked.
“I said Grace Linton,” he repeated impatiently. “That’s the girl we’re discussing, isn’t it?”
“What makes you think so?” Frank challenged, beginning to think Upchurch must know more than he’d let on.
“You said she was a girl who didn’t go to school. She’s old enough to bear a child, but she couldn’t tell who had attacked her. There’s only one girl in the church who could fit that description.”
So much for Frank’s efforts to protect her identity. “Her parents don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Of course not. If they want to tell me, I’ll pretend I had no idea. But she wasn’t attacked here. As I said, the church is a busy place. Too many people are here at all times, or at least the times when Grace would have been here. Had she gone missing for any length of time, someone would have noticed, and had she cried out, someone would have heard.”
“Maybe she didn’t cry out. Maybe she was too frightened.”
Reverend Upchurch sighed in exasperation. “And maybe it didn’t happen here at all. Such an act requires a certain degree of privacy, the kind found in a private home, for example.”
“Do you think she was attacked at her home?” Frank asked with genuine curiosity. “You know Mr. Linton. Do you think he’s capable of violating his own child?”
Reverend Upchurch’s face lost its robust color, and his expression grew hard and distant. “One cannot tell just by looking at a man of what he is really capable, Mr. Malloy. I’d expect you to know that.”
He did, of course. He was just surprised Upchurch would so quickly assume the very worst about a man he must know well.
“Do you have any reason to believe Mr. Linton is responsible?”
Upchurch seemed to catch himself and consciously shake off his dark mood. “I certainly didn’t mean to imply that. Mr. Linton is a fine Christian man. I can’t imagine him doing anything of the kind.”
“You probably can’t imagine anybody in your church doing it, because you only see people when they’re in church and on their best behavior,” Frank pointed out.
“Is that what you really think?” he asked in surprise. “Don’t let this collar fool you, Mr. Malloy. Ministers know all about the darkness of the soul and the evil of which man is capable. We see it every day. We counsel some of its victims, and we bury a few, and we baptize its babies. Churches are full of sinners, not saints, and I know too many men who would think nothing of harming a girl like Grace.”
“Maybe you could give me their names,” Frank suggested.
“I wish I could. I wish I knew who the guilty man is. I’d tie the millstone around his neck myself.”
“Millstone?”
“The Bible says a man who harms a child should have a millstone tied around his neck and be dropped into the sea.”
Since Grace’s rapist would probably never be punished under the law, Frank thought this sounded like an ideal alternative. “I hope you’d call me before taking the law into your own hands, Reverend Upchurch.”
His handsome mouth quirked into a smile. “Don’t worry. Millstones are hard to find in the city. Is there anything else I can do for you, Detective?”
“I’d like to talk to those boys in there,” he said, nodding toward the sanctuary, from which they could still faintly hear the shouts and laughter.
“Whatever for?” Upchurch asked, instantly protective.
“Since they’re at the church a lot, they might’ve seen something.”
“I told you—”
“I know, you don’t think it happened here, but the man might’ve seen her here first. Maybe he’s been paying particular attention to her or watching her.”
“And you think those boys would’ve noticed?” Upchurch scoffed. “They’re boys, Detective. They don’t notice anything. Besides, I can’t give you permission to speak to them. You’d have to ask their mothers, and then you’d have to explain to them why you wanted to speak with them, and soon rumors would be flying, and someone would guess about Grace, just as I did. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for that.”
Frank wouldn’t, either. He rose from his chair, knowing when he was defeated. “Thank you for your time, Reverend Upchurch.”
The minister shook his hand, and once again Frank was impressed by his grip. “I wish I could’ve been more help.”
“If you think of anything or remember someone who paid Grace particular attention, please let me know.” He gave the minister one of his cards and left, exiting back out into the sanctuary.
The moment Frank emerged into the sanctuary, the boys stopped their work and fell silent. They watched him warily as he moved down the aisle, six pairs of eyes full of mistrust, until he passed through the large double doors into the street.
He shouldn’t feel like a failure. He’d known finding Grace Linton’s attacker would be nearly impossible. He wouldn’t even really be disappointed if he didn’t have to tell Sarah Brandt.
FOR ONCE SARAH HAD ENJOYED A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP, uninterrupted by a late night delivery. She was enjoying a leisurely second cup of coffee when her doorbell rang. Maeve and Aggie beat her to it, admitting a red-cheeked Frank Malloy.
“No, Brian’s in school today,” he was explaining to the girls as Sarah came into the front room. “I’ll bring him next time.”
Aggie pushed out her lower lip in a pout, but Malloy reached down and tickled her tummy until she giggled.
“Good morning, Malloy,” Sarah said, inexplicably happy just to see him.
“Good morning,” he replied, apparently pleased to see her, too.
“Maeve, take Mr. Malloy’s coat, will you?” Sarah asked, and waited until he’d shed the coat and hat and muffler he’d worn against the winter chill.
“Come on upstairs, Aggie,” Maeve said when she’d taken care of his things. “Mrs. Brandt and Mr. Malloy will want to talk in private.”
Aggie lingered just a moment, making eyes at Malloy and inching closer and closer until he took the bait and gave her tummy another tickle. With a shriek of laughter, she turned and ran for the steps. Maeve followed, shaking her head at the child’s antics.
“She likes you,” Sarah said. “And she’s not afraid of you. Whatever happened to her, it didn’t make her afraid of men.” They both knew only too well the horrors that could befall a small child in this vast city, and something had made Aggie mute with terror.
“Don’t try to figure it out,” Malloy warned her. “Whatever it was, you’re better off not knowing.”
“That’s cowardly,” she argued.
“And safe,” he argued right back. “I visited the Lintons’ church yesterday,” he added to change the subject.
“Oh, good. Come into the kitchen. The coffee is hot, although I’m afraid I don’t have any pie to offer.”
“Maybe Mrs. Ellsworth saw me coming down the street and will bring some over,” he said with a sly grin.
This time Sarah shook her head and led him into the kitchen.
He was chafing his hands and rubbing the warmth back into his face while she poured him a cup of the coffee.
“Did you learn anything interesting?” she asked, taking her seat opposite him at the table.
“Their minister is interesting,” he said. “He’s got a pack of boys who spend a lot of time at the church with him.”
“Boys without fathers,” Sarah remembered. “Mrs. Linton told me tha
t. He doesn’t have children of his own, apparently, so he looks after those who need a male influence.”
“Too bad more men in this city don’t do the same thing,” Malloy said, probably thinking of the hundreds of homeless children running the streets of New York.
“What did you think of the boys? Could one of them have attacked Grace?”
“According to Upchurch, the minister, nothing like that could’ve happened at the church.”
“Upchurch? What an appropriate name,” she observed. “How can he be so sure?”
“Mainly, I think he just doesn’t want to believe anyone in his church could do a thing like that, but he’s right that an attack would take some time and some privacy, neither of which would be easy to find at the church.”
“I’d think there’d be lots of secret places at a church where it could happen,” Sarah said.
“But someone would notice if Grace went missing for any length of time, and if she cried for help, someone would’ve heard her.”
Sarah frowned, considering this possibility. “I suppose she’d have been upset and frightened afterwards, too. And her clothes would’ve been in disarray. Someone would have noticed that, at least, even if she hadn’t been gone long and had been too scared to cry out.”
“Upchurch thinks it must’ve happened in a private home.”
Sarah considered this possibility. “But that would be the same situation. Grace only goes visiting with her mother, and she would have to disappear for a while and return disheveled and upset. Surely, her mother would have noticed if that had happened.”
“Unless it was her own home.”
“Are we back to Mr. Linton, because I can’t believe—”
“I don’t believe it, either,” he assured her. “But you may have to accept the fact that you might never find out.”
“And a rapist is free to hurt how many other girls?” she asked angrily.
“Now you know what it’s like to be a policeman, Mrs. Brandt,” he informed her. “You don’t always solve the crime.”
Murder on Lenox Hill Page 8
