Frank stared at Hatch, trying to judge whether he was serious or not. “Do you really believe all that?”
“I have chosen to believe it, because if a parent asks me a question about the subject, this is what I will tell him. You see, Mr. Malloy, I am determined to avoid even the faintest suspicion of improprieties. Even though the English ladies won their lawsuit, their school was ruined and no parents would ever entrust their daughters to them again. That will not happen here.”
Frank saw it very well. Hatch was prepared to do anything necessary to save his school. “You understand that if these women were murdered because of their . . . their romantic friendship, and the killer goes on trial—”
“—the newspapers will turn it into a circus. I can understand that very well. Your job is to prevent that.”
“Prevent what, exactly?” Frank asked, growing more and more annoyed with Hatch with every word he spoke. “Prevent word of their romantic friendship from getting out or prevent the killer from being caught?”
“I thought you understood that I want the killer caught so he cannot harm anyone else.”
“Anyone else at the school, in particular,” Frank said.
“I’m most concerned about our staff and students, of course, but I’m willing to protect the general population as well,” Hatch allowed.
“That’s generous of you.”
Hatch ignored his sarcasm. “I thought I made it clear to you that I wanted to avoid a scandal of any kind as well. I’m sure the Northrups share my concern. They won’t want their daughter’s good name tarnished in any way.”
“So I’m back to my original question: What if the women were killed because of their romantic friendship?”
“When you find out who killed them and why, I think you will need to consult with me and the Northrups to determine what action we should take.”
“And are you prepared to let the killer go free in order to protect the school from scandal?”
“You are ahead of yourself, Mr. Malloy. That is a decision I cannot possibly make at this time. And please, don’t bother me again until you have something to report.”
Frank thought he’d bother Hatch whenever he needed to, but he wasn’t going to give the man warning, so he took his leave without another word. In the outer office, he found Alice had been waiting for his return. She jumped up again and closed Mr. Hatch’s office door. At first, Frank thought she was simply being considerate of her employer’s privacy, but then she came up to him and whispered, “Did you find out who did it?”
“Not yet,” Frank said and watched her shoulders slump. “Can you tell me if Miss Northrup tried to meet with Mr. Hatch on the day she died?”
Alice’s eyes widened. “I’d forgotten all about that. She did! She came here early that morning and asked to see him.”
“And did she?”
“He wasn’t in yet. I told her she could wait, but she had classes to teach, so she made an appointment for . . . Let me check.”
She hurried around to her desk and opened a book that lay on the corner, flipping pages until she found the one she wanted. “Yes, she made an appointment to speak to him at three o’clock that day.” She sighed. “I guess Tobias found her in the gazebo before that, and I never thought of it again. Is it important? That she had an appointment, I mean?”
Frank gave her a smile, the kindest one he could manage. “It makes me pretty sure President Hatch didn’t kill her.”
Alice made a startled sound and covered her mouth with both hands. When she lowered them, she was smiling back.
13
Gino felt a little foolish. He shouldn’t have acted so disappointed when Mr. Malloy told him he wouldn’t need his help at the brothel. He didn’t want Mr. Malloy to think he was interested in going to a brothel. It was just that he’d never been inside one before. This had seemed like the perfect opportunity to see what it was like without any complications or embarrassment. Instead, he was left to deal with a disgruntled Luther Northrup.
Getting the brothel’s name and address had been the work of a moment, and then Raymond and Mr. Malloy had both left them.
Luther groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. “I was supposed to start work today.”
“Then start. You can take me to Rudy first, though.”
“I need to get dressed.”
“Then do it.”
Gino plopped himself down in the other chair, making it clear he had no intention of letting Luther out of his sight. Luther pushed himself to his feet and plodded back to the other side of the room and began to rummage around. Gino didn’t actually watch the young man stripping out of his long underwear and putting on the snug-fitting outfit that seemed to be a uniform for the staff here. Still, he couldn’t help noticing how muscular Luther was, just like the fellows he’d known in the army who spent a lot of time in clubs like this. Maybe he should look into this athletic business. He wondered idly if they allowed Italians to join.
When Luther was dressed and had shaved and carefully slicked back his hair, he turned to Gino with a resigned sigh. “Let’s go.”
Luther didn’t bother to summon the elevator. Instead they descended the several flights of stairs more quickly than Gino would have, had he been setting the pace. He was a little breathless when they reached the lobby, although he couldn’t help noticing that Luther wasn’t winded at all.
Ledbetter looked up guiltily when he saw Gino, but he smiled at Luther. “You’re starting today?”
“That’s right,” Luther said. “Say, Rudy, could you give my friend here some information? He’ll tell you what he needs.”
Ledbetter’s smile faded when he glanced at Gino again. “Sure,” he said, not sounding sure at all.
To Gino’s dismay, Luther slipped away without another word, obviously anxious to separate himself from Gino’s shady dealings. Gino knew better than to appear dismayed, however. Instead, he turned his wrath on Ledbetter, who certainly deserved it. “Thanks for sending Raymond up. Saved us from having to find him.”
“I . . . I figured . . . You’re welcome,” Ledbetter managed.
From Ledbetter’s expression, Gino judged that the lessons Malloy had taught him about how to intimidate someone had taken. “I figure you’re still working off Mr. Malloy’s tip, so you’ll get me what I need for free. I need a list of the members who were here on these afternoons.” He gave Ledbetter the dates.
But instead of going to a log book, the way he had when Mr. Malloy asked him if Luther had been at the club on a certain day, Ledbetter just frowned. “You mean the ones who just came in for some exercise or a meal?”
“That’s right.”
“We don’t really keep records of that. Members come and go whenever it suits them, and they might leave by a side door when they’re finished, so even if I saw them come in, I wouldn’t know when they left.”
“But you knew Northrup and Raymond had spent particular nights here,” Gino reminded him.
“We keep records of that because we charge extra for the sleeping rooms. We put the charges on their bill.”
Gino managed not to grind his teeth and glanced over at the door through which Luther had disappeared.
“I can’t let you go in by yourself,” Ledbetter said nervously. He obviously didn’t want to displease Gino again, but he also didn’t want to lose his job. “You have to be escorted by a member.”
“Donnie!” a voice called, and Gino looked up to see Fred Vander Hooten, who had just come in from outside. “Back again?”
“Just the man I came to see,” Gino lied, forgetting his grievances with Ledbetter. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Sure. I was just going up to have some breakfast. Have you eaten?”
So once again his old army friend had rescued him. Gino was more than happy to have a second breakfast, and over coffee he told Vandy tha
t he was back to find out more about Luther Northrup.
“A second woman has been murdered,” he explained.
“How awful!” Vandy said. “Do you think the two deaths are connected?”
“Oh yes. The second woman also taught at the college with Abigail Northrup, and Abigail was renting a room in the woman’s house.”
“Then they must be connected. Say, you don’t think Luther is involved, do you? Luther wouldn’t kill his own sister, surely.”
Gino shrugged off his concerns. “I don’t think so, but my boss . . . Well, you know how it is. He says we have to be careful and check his alibi.”
“Alibi? What’s that?”
“It means where he was and what he was doing at the time and can anybody vouch for him.”
“How exciting,” Vandy said, although Gino didn’t find it the least bit exciting. Rich men must have really boring lives. No wonder Mr. Malloy started the detective agency. “When does he need somebody to vouch for him? Maybe I can do it.”
Plainly, he’d be terribly disappointed if he couldn’t. “Well, I know he was in the city when the women were killed, but I need to know if he was here or not when the women were actually murdered. That’s what he claims, at least. That would be Saturday afternoon and a week ago Wednesday, the day Miss Northrup died.”
Vandy was terribly disappointed. “Wasn’t here on Saturday. My cousin got married, don’t you know? And I wasn’t here the day the Northrup girl died either. I know Northrup was here when the word came, though, if that’s any help. Everybody was talking about it the next day, how he turned white and had to sit down when he heard the news. Must’ve been an awful shock.”
Gino hoped it was. “I guess I’m going to have to ask Northrup who he remembers seeing on those days, and then ask if they remember seeing him, too.”
“That could be a little embarrassing for him,” Vandy said. “I wouldn’t want somebody checking up to make sure I didn’t kill somebody, especially my own sister. What will people say?”
“I know, but we need to make sure—”
“Say, I know! I could help you,” Vandy said. “Nobody’d think a thing of it if I started talking about Northrup’s troubles. Everybody’s been doing it. I’ll tell them there’s been a second murder, and that’ll get the talk started again.”
“But you can’t just ask anybody in the club. You need to know who might’ve actually seen him. Let’s find Northrup and get him to tell us who he remembers was here on those days.”
“Good idea,” Vandy said. “But . . . what if he can’t remember?”
“Then he’ll still be a suspect.”
* * *
Frank realized he remained an object of curiosity among the young ladies at the Normal School. Apparently, a lot of them were still in residence and attending classes, or at least wandering around the building and gossiping in small clusters. The mood was somber, since they’d heard by now of Miss Wilson’s murder, and he guessed that had been the main subject under discussion, at least until they saw him descending the stairs from Hatch’s office. They seemed to have a lot to say about him after he passed each group. He reached the lobby and stopped, wondering if he should try to see anyone else while he was here, although he wasn’t sure who might have something to tell him, since Miss Wilson’s death had taken place somewhere else.
“Mr. Malloy, sir,” a voice called.
Frank turned around to see Tobias hurrying toward him across the expanse of the lobby.
The janitor nodded when he reached Frank. “Thank you for stopping, sir. I just wanted to say I was right sorry to hear about Miss Wilson. She was a real nice lady.”
“I’m sure she was.”
Tobias glanced around to make sure nobody was close and lowered his voice. “I saw you was upstairs meeting with Mr. Hatch. I’m wondering, is you going to help find out who killed Miss Wilson, too?”
“That’s very observant of you, Tobias. As a matter of fact, Mr. Hatch did ask me to help with that.”
“Do you figure the same person done killed both of those ladies?”
“It’s possible, but it’s also possible different people did it.”
Tobias nodded, as if he’d suspected that very thing. Then he glanced around again. Still satisfied that nobody was near, he said, “I saw her . . . Miss Wilson, that is. I saw her and Mr. Pelletier talking on Friday.”
“Talking?”
“Well, she was upset, like. Not yelling or anything. Ladies like Miss Wilson, they don’t get all emotional, at least not in public. But I could see whatever she was saying to Mr. Pelletier was important.”
“How was he acting?” Frank asked with interest.
“Real serious. Didn’t look like he said much, but seemed like he was trying to calm her down.”
“That’s interesting. Thank you for telling me, Tobias. Do you know where Mr. Pelletier is?”
“Well, now, I don’t rightly know. He was teaching Miss Northrup’s class and his own this morning, but I think he done left. Probably didn’t feel like sitting around here, what with Miss Wilson dying like that and everything.”
Frank would love to find out what Miss Wilson had been discussing with Pelletier the day before she turned up dead. “Do you happen to know where Mr. Pelletier lives, Tobias?”
“Oh no, sir. That ain’t no concern of mine, but Miss Alice upstairs, she can tell you that directly,” Tobias informed him with a satisfied smile.
* * *
Pelletier wasn’t at home either, so Frank found the office of the coroner who had taken Miss Wilson’s body. It was on a side street in Morningside Heights. Frank wished she’d been taken to Doc Haynes or at least to someone he knew would have done a thorough autopsy, but the police here hadn’t found that necessary. Or else Miss Billingsly had chosen not to defile her friend’s body. But the city was full of men calling themselves “coroners” who were really undertakers and did nothing more than embalm bodies, and some weren’t even particularly good at that. Miss Wilson had been sent to one of them.
Frank was just grateful that Hatch knew where she’d been taken.
A ragged youth slouched on a chair in the corner of the small office of Jerusalem Moody, coroner. The place was dirty and the boy was dirtier. He jumped to his feet when Frank entered.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Is Mr. Moody around?”
“No, sir. He went out to pick up a body.”
“Well, then, maybe you can help me. I’d like to take a look at Miss Wilson’s body. She’s the lady who was strangled on Saturday.”
The boy frowned. “You said you want to look at her?”
“Yes.” He considered giving the boy his business card but decided he might not be able to read it. “I’m a private investigator. I’ve been hired to find out who killed her, and I need to take a look at her neck to see how she was strangled.”
“Oh.” The boy looked confused.
“Is there some reason why I can’t see her?”
“Oh no, sir, I don’t think. See, we usually charge, if somebody wants to fiddle with one of the bodies, but I don’t think there’ll be a charge for what you want. If looking is all you want, that is.”
“Fiddle?” Frank asked, wondering if the boy meant what he thought.
The boy just shrugged. “She’s in the back.”
The back room was much larger, and three bodies lay on tables, in various stages of embalming. Miss Wilson’s seemed to be complete. She lay in repose, covered by a dirty sheet.
“We’re just waiting for her clothes to come. Don’t know when the funeral is yet,” the boy said.
Frank went over to where she lay. She looked very small and insignificant, as most dead people did. Her hair was a tangle and would have to be arranged, and her cheeks were a bit more sunken than he recalled, but all evidence of her dying struggle had been era
sed from her expression. He pulled the sheet down a bit to examine her neck.
He could see the marks where she had been strangled. Hatch had said the police told him a scarf had been used. He could see that. A cord or something thin would have left one even mark. This was more like a mass of small lines where the various folds of the scarf dug into her skin. The marks were a solid mass across the front of her neck, too, which meant she’d been strangled from behind.
This was interesting, because she would have been caught by surprise. Her killer might have even been walking with her and simply dropped back a few steps before pulling out the scarf and looping it over her head. He reached under the sheet and pulled out one of her hands.
“She put up a fight, looks like,” the boy said.
Frank agreed. The nails had been trimmed, but they’d obviously been broken in the struggle. Two were ragged below the quick.
“Did she have any skin under her nails?”
The boy gaped at him in surprise. “We don’t look for that. Why would we?”
Frank sighed, missing the experienced hand of Doc Haynes. “Because that would mean she’d scratched her attacker.” Frank would then look for marks on a suspect’s face or hands. But in this weather, the killer could’ve been wearing gloves that would’ve protected his hands, and if he was behind her, it’s unlikely she could reach his face in the few moments before she lost consciousness. “Did she have any bruises anyplace else?” he asked, reluctant to look at her naked body himself.
“No, sir. Just that on her neck and her fingers.”
Murder in Morningside Heights Page 22
