Murder on Lenox Hill

by Victoria Thompson

  “What was she saying to you?” Mrs. Evans asked. “She looked absolutely crazed.”

  “I . . . I really didn’t understand her,” Sarah lied, a little breathlessly. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Could she have possibly heard what she thought she’d heard? Could Reverend Upchurch really have done what his wife had implied?

  “We’ve invited the Lintons over for Sunday dinner, and I was wondering if you and the little girl would join us,” Mrs. Evans was saying.

  Sarah had to pull her attention back from the abyss of horror to focus on the present. Mrs. Evans had invited her and Aggie to dinner. She thought how much Grace and Aggie would enjoy being together, but she had urgent business that wouldn’t wait. She made her excuses and tried to ignore Grace and Aggie’s disappointment. She had to promise them both a visit very soon before they could escape.

  She and Aggie stopped at a coffee shop for a quick snack before taking the EL down to Malloy’s neighborhood. She just hoped he’d be home.

  MRS. MALLOY PRETENDED NOT TO NOTICE SARAH WAS accompanying Aggie and almost closed the door in her face.

  “Francis isn’t here,” she informed Sarah with a trace of satisfaction. By then Brian had run over to greet them. He was pulling Aggie over to his pile of toys, but he had to come back and give Sarah a hug when he saw her, too.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Sarah asked. “I have something important to tell him. It’s about a case he’s working on.”

  “Are you working for the police now, Mrs. Brandt, that you know so much about Francis’s business?”

  Sarah ignored the sarcasm. “I’m sorry he’s not here, but Aggie and I don’t have anything else to do this afternoon, so we can wait as long as we have to for him to come home.” She started to unbutton her cape.

  As Sarah had expected, the prospect of being stuck here with her all afternoon proved too much.

  “He’s down at the beer garden with his friends,” she reluctantly admitted. “If it’s as important as you claim, I can send a neighbor boy for him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll want to hear this news as soon as possible,” Sarah said to encourage her.

  She sniffed to indicate how put-upon she felt, but she said, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and walked down the stairs in search of an idle boy to send on the errand.

  Sarah took off her cape and Aggie’s coat and made herself at home. She was enjoying watching the children communicate in silence. Brian tried making signs, but he quickly realized Aggie didn’t know what they were and gave up. Sarah found herself wishing she knew some. How nice it would be to speak to Brian and have him understand.

  Mrs. Malloy was gone a long time. At first Sarah thought she must have had a hard time finding a willing boy, but then Sarah heard the heavy footsteps on the stairs coming up behind her. She’d obviously waited downstairs until Malloy had come so she wouldn’t have to entertain Sarah alone.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Malloy,” she said when the older woman came back into the flat.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” she said sourly and went into the kitchen.

  Malloy came in behind her. “Mrs. Brandt, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, with just a trace of his mother’s sarcasm. At the sight of him, the children came running.

  When they had been suitably greeted and returned to their play, Malloy took his coat off and hung it up.

  “Didn’t you get my note?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I decided to go to the Church of the Good Shepherd this morning to see if I could figure out how I could’ve made such a mistake.”

  He glanced at the children playing nearby. “Let’s go into the kitchen.” Brian couldn’t hear them, of course, but Aggie could, and this wasn’t a subject for young ears to overhear.

  Sarah preceded Malloy into the kitchen, earning another scowl from Mrs. Malloy, this time for invading her private kingdom without her permission.

  “We don’t want the kids to hear this,” Malloy told her and then ignored her cluck of disapproval. He held out a chair for Sarah.

  “I suppose you don’t want me to hear it, either,” Mrs. Malloy snapped.

  “Suit yourself,” Malloy said. “It’s about a Protestant minister Mrs. Brandt suspects of raping one of the girls in his congregation.”

  Mrs. Malloy murmured something under her breath and crossed herself, but Sarah noticed she stayed right where she was.

  Malloy took a seat at the kitchen table opposite her. “Did you find out something new this morning?”

  “Not new, but I think I figured out what I’d misunderstood. I told you Reverend Upchurch liked little girls, but that’s apparently not what his wife said.”

  They both ignored Mrs. Malloy’s gasp.

  “Do you remember exactly what she did say?”

  “I’ve been trying all the way over here. She said her husband found her repulsive and that he liked other flesh, younger and more innocent.”

  Malloy stiffened as if she’d slapped him, and Mrs. Malloy gasped again.

  “What is it?” Sarah asked him.

  “Nothing, just something I was thinking yesterday when I was at the church. That’s all she said?”

  “Yes, and she must have known you questioned her husband yesterday, because she was furious.”

  “Why? I thought she wanted to get him in trouble.”

  “She was angry because I’d misunderstood her. We only had a moment together, but she specifically said, ‘He doesn’t like girls,’ and told me to remember who he spends all his time with.”

  Malloy ran a hand over his face and sighed wearily. “Ma, you don’t want to hear the rest of this.”

  “Aye, you’re right there, but I ain’t moving,” the old woman declared, crossing her arms belligerently across her chest.

  He looked at Sarah, his dark eyes full of disgust. “Do you know what she meant? Did you figure it out?”

  Sarah closed her eyes. She’d known, of course, even though she’d been hoping Malloy would have another interpretation to offer. She’d been hoping the truth wasn’t really as horrible as she knew it must be.

  “Oh, dear heaven,” she breathed. “It’s the boys, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why he spends so much time with them,” Malloy said. “It has to be. When I went in to question him, he was nervous about something. He was actually relieved when he found out I was talking about Grace. He wasn’t worried about some poor girl, because it’s the boys he’s involved with.”

  “Boys?” Mrs. Malloy asked. “What is this about boys, Francis? What are you saying?”

  Malloy sighed with resignation. “That he uses young boys for . . .” he searched for a word that he could use in front of his mother. “He uses them the way a man uses a woman.”

  “That’s not possible,” Mrs. Malloy insisted, her face flushed with outrage. “I won’t believe it.”

  “It’s better if you don’t. Go on now. You’ve heard enough.”

  Mrs. Malloy fled back to the front room, and Sarah wished she could do the same.

  “I didn’t think it could be worse than if he’d raped Grace,” Sarah said when she’d gone.

  “I told you not to get involved with this,” he reminded her.

  Sarah sighed. “And now we know about this, and it doesn’t even have anything to do with Grace.”

  “What do you want me to do now?”

  Sarah stared at him in surprise for a moment. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, do you want me to go after him? Because if you do,” he continued before she could reply, “remember that a lot of people will get hurt.”

  “Those boys are being hurt now!” she cried.

  “And if I don’t stop him, more boys will be hurt,” he said. “But if I do, then everyone will find out what happened to the boys. They’ll be humiliated, and their families will be furious. Some people will refuse to believe what happened and stand by Upchurch against them. They’ll accuse the boys of lying, just because they
can’t believe something so horrible could really happen. Some of their own families will probably refuse to believe the boys.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I’ve seen it before. If we’re really lucky, Upchurch will kill himself to avoid a scandal. If he doesn’t, and it’s not very likely he will, and if he decides to brazen it out and deny everything, then those boys’ lives will be ruined, and he’ll just keep on.”

  Horrified, Sarah could hardly make her mind absorb what he was saying. “Isn’t there any way? . . . Can’t we make him stop, at least? Could you frighten him enough to make him stop?”

  “I doubt it. If he knows I want to keep it a secret, he’ll know he doesn’t have to be afraid of me. Besides, he’ll just deny it. He’ll say the boys are lying, and that’s only if we can get the boys to admit what’s going on in the first place.”

  “Oh, dear heaven,” Sarah groaned, leaning her head on her hand. “What have I done?”

  “You haven’t done nothing yet,” Mrs. Malloy informed her. Malloy and Sarah looked up in surprise to see her standing in the kitchen doorway. Apparently, she’d changed her mind about knowing more. “You haven’t done nothing until you’ve put this fellow under lock and key so nobody else’s boys will be defiled by him.”

  Malloy just looked at Sarah, waiting for her decision. She didn’t want that responsibility. She didn’t want to be the one to cause so much pain to so many people. She thought of Upchurch with his charming smiles and his pious sermons fooling so many people. No one knew from looking at him that inside he was rotten, like a festering sore on society. Mrs. Malloy was right, he did need to be put away. She remembered seeing surgeons amputating rotten flesh. Sometimes they had to cut away some healthy flesh, too, in order to save the patient.

  That’s what they would have to do now.

  “Your mother is right. We have to stop him,” she said.

  “Nobody at Police Headquarters is going to be happy about going after a minister for something like this without a lot of proof, and all we have right now is suspicion.”

  “You’ll have to talk to the boys,” Sarah said.

  “They might not admit anything, either. They’ll be ashamed, and they won’t want to get Upchurch in trouble, either.”

  “After what he’s done to them?” Sarah cried in outrage.

  “They love him, don’t forget. He’s like a father to them. And even if the boys will accuse him, that’s not enough. We’ll need at least one of the families to make a complaint, but they aren’t going to want anyone to know what happened to their sons.”

  “Even if we can’t get him arrested, we can let him know that he’s been found out. That might frighten him.”

  Malloy didn’t look convinced. “Before we start making accusations, I’ll need to talk to the boys and their families. Can you find out their names and where they live?”

  Sarah thought about going back to Mrs. Linton for that information. The poor woman couldn’t think her any stranger than she already did, and Sarah could probably think of a logical reason for wanting to know that information. Or at least she hoped she could.

  FRANK CONSULTED THE LIST SARAH HAD SENT HIM TO verify the house number of the first boy. As good as her word, she’d called on Mrs. Linton on Monday and somehow obtained the names and addresses of all of Upchurch’s boys.

  Since he wasn’t officially assigned to investigate this case, he’d waited until the end of the day to start looking for them. They would’ve been in school all day, anyway, he’d reasoned. Now all he had to do was convince the mothers to let their boys talk to the police about something he couldn’t explain to them.

  Frank had chosen the oldest boy on the list first, Isaiah Wilkins. According to Sarah, he’s the one Mrs. Upchurch had been flirting with. He was also the most likely to understand the situation and to make a credible witness if it came to that. He was also the most likely to understand the reasons for keeping Upchurch’s sins a secret.

  A wide-eyed maid admitted him, and after a few minutes escorted him into a fashionably furnished parlor to see Mrs. Wilkins and her son. Mrs. Wilkins was a plump partridge of a woman with a smooth, slightly stupid face. She looked bewildered and a bit frightened. She rose to her feet when Frank entered, clutching a handkerchief in one hand and pressing it to her bosom.

  “You’re from the police?” she asked apprehensively.

  “Yes, Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Wilkins.”

  “Is there something wrong in the neighborhood? Has there been a crime?” she asked.

  “Yes, there has,” Frank said, grateful she’d given him the perfect excuse. “I’m questioning some people we think might have seen something.”

  “I’m sure I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary,” Mrs. Wilkins said. “I can’t be of any help to you.”

  “I know. I need to talk to your son, though, and I wanted your permission,” Frank said.

  “Isaiah?” she asked, even more alarmed now. She glanced over at where he stood, staring sullenly at Frank, whom he recognized from seeing him at the church. “I’m sure Isaiah would have told me if he’d seen anything untoward, wouldn’t you, dear?”

  “Yes, Mother, I would have,” he agreed with a defiant glare at Frank.

  “He might not realize that what he saw was important,” Frank said, relentlessly patient. “Would you mind if I asked him a few questions if it would help catch a criminal?”

  “Well,” she said, glancing at Isaiah and back to Frank again. “I suppose it would be all right, so long as he isn’t in any danger.”

  “He won’t be,” Frank said, glad she hadn’t mentioned his being in any trouble. Frank would have had to lie about that. “Just a few questions, that’s all.”

  “Very well,” she reluctantly agreed. “You don’t mind, do you, Isaiah? If it will help?”

  The boy didn’t answer. He just kept glaring at Frank, as if he knew why he’d come and was daring him to proceed.

  “Go ahead then, and ask your questions,” she said, taking her seat again.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to see him alone,” Frank said, still calm and patient.

  “Alone? Whatever for?” She was alarmed again.

  “Well,” Frank said, giving Isaiah a meaningful glance, “You know how boys are. Even good boys don’t always tell their mothers everything they do.”

  “You said Isaiah hadn’t done anything wrong,” she protested.

  “I don’t think he has, but he’s more likely to be honest with me about what he saw if his mother isn’t listening.”

  Frank waited, not stirring, not betraying any hint of the impatience he felt, knowing she would give in if he didn’t press her.

  She gave her son a questioning look.

  “Go on, Mother. Don’t worry about me,” he said. Did he look worried himself? No, Frank decided. He was just angry.

  After another protest or two and a warning to her son that he didn’t have to say anything he didn’t want to, she left them alone.

  The door had hardly closed behind her when the boy said, “She sent you, didn’t she?”

  “Who?” Frank asked, wondering how he could have known about Sarah’s involvement.

  “Mrs. Upchurch. What did she say about me?”

  “Nothing in particular,” Frank said.

  “She sent you, though, didn’t she?”

  “Yes, she did. I guess she doesn’t like what’s going on.”

  “I thought she liked it fine.” His smirk set Frank’s teeth on edge.

  “What made you think that?” Frank asked, wondering if Upchurch could have told the boys that his wife knew about his perversion and approved.

  He shrugged, still oddly cocky. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Nothing. I just need you to tell me the truth about Upchurch. I know all about your private times with him and what he does—what he does with all the boys. You know it’s wrong, don’t you?”
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  Isaiah’s smirk vanished, and his face flushed crimson. “You don’t know anything!”

  “I want to stop him, Isaiah,” Frank said. “When did he start with you? How old were you?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” he said. “My mother told me I didn’t, and I’m not going to.”

  “Did he tell you he loved you, Isaiah?” Frank asked. “He says that to all the boys, but he doesn’t really love you. If he did, he wouldn’t make you do those things.”

  “I’m not going to talk about him, no matter what you do to me, so you might as well leave,” Isaiah said, his voice rising.

  “What did he tell you, Isaiah? Did he make you promise to keep it a secret? Why would he do that if it wasn’t wrong?”

  The boy’s eyes grew wide. They held emotions Frank didn’t even want to name. He was close, so close to breaking. What would push him over the edge?

  “You missed having a father, didn’t you? He pretended to be a father to you, but he wasn’t. A father wouldn’t do those things. A real man wouldn’t use boys the way he used you.”

  “You don’t know anything about it!” Isaiah challenged desperately.

  “I’ve got a son of my own. I’d kill any man who did those things to him.”

  “Is that what you’re going to do, kill Reverend Upchurch?” he scoffed.

  “The law will punish him,” Malloy promised rashly, knowing it was probably a lie.

  “No, it won’t. He told me. No one will believe me. No one will take my word over his, and people will laugh at me. You can’t do anything to him.”

  “Then you admit that he—”

  “I don’t admit nothing,” the boy insisted. “And you can’t make me. If you try, I’ll say you tried to force me to lie about him. They’ll believe that, and you’ll be the one in trouble.”

  He was right, of course, and Frank swore under his breath. “What about the other boys? And the ones he hasn’t started with yet? He’ll just keep finding new ones unless somebody stops him.”

  “Why should I care about the others? Nobody cared about me!” he cried.

  “I care about you. I want to stop him.”