Frank looked closely at the dead man to see if anything seemed out of place. “Do you remember exactly how he was sitting when you found him?”
“Much like this, except perhaps a bit straighter in the chair. His head was resting against the wing of the chair, and his eyes were closed, as if he had dozed off.”
Frank glanced around. “Mr. Decker said someone brought him brandy.”
“I did, but he only took a sip or two. I removed the snifter when Mr. Robinson arrived.”
“I’ll need to see the glass and the bottle you poured it from.”
“The glass had been washed.”
Frank bit back his irritation. “The bottle, then.” He didn’t think the man had been poisoned, but he wanted to be thorough. He turned to Decker. “I’ll need to call the medical examiner to take the body. They’ll have to do an autopsy to be sure what killed him.”
“Is that really necessary?” Decker asked with obvious distaste.
“Unless you want me harassing a bunch of rich people when the man really did die of a heart attack.”
Irritation registered on Decker’s face, but no trace of it was evident in his voice. “Hartley, show Mr. Malloy where the telephone is.”
DOC HAYNES BROUGHT TWO ASSISTANTS WITH HIM, TOO. As soon as they moved the body to the stretcher, Frank saw the bloodstain on the chair back.
“He didn’t bleed much,” Frank observed.
“Let’s take a look,” Doc Haynes said.
He had the two orderlies roll Devries over and lift his suit coat. The undertaker had obviously already made a similar examination. Devries’s shirttail was still out in the back. They pushed up the suit coat, vest, shirt, and undershirt, all of which bore evidence of the blood that had stained the chair. The stain on the undershirt was the largest. They grew progressively smaller until the one on the chair was only the size of a coin.
Haynes traced the tiny wound with his finger. If they hadn’t been looking for it, Frank would’ve missed it entirely. “A wound like this wouldn’t bleed much, and his clothes absorbed most of it, as you can see.”
“Could a wound that small have killed him?”
“Depends on what caused it. How long the weapon was, I mean. A stiletto makes a hole like this. So does an ice pick.”
“Or a hat pin.”
“You have a lot of experience getting stabbed with hat pins?” Haynes asked with amusement.
“If you mean for getting fresh with women on streetcars, no,” Frank said with a grin. “But I had a case once where a fellow got killed by one.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember it now. So you understand, it’s possible. Just depends how far the weapon went in and what it hit. Right here, now …” Haynes pointed to the spot in the middle of the right side of Devries’s back where the dried blood was starting to flake. “There’s probably a kidney an inch or two behind this hole. A knife or other sharp object stuck into a kidney, well, it would be just a matter of time until he bled to death internally unless he got help. Even if he did get help, probably. I doubt a surgeon would cut him open for something that small, at least not right away.”
“And later would be too late.”
“Yeah, by the time he started feeling sick, he’d probably be back at home. Or at his club.”
Frank didn’t return his grin. “Don’t forget to test the brandy, just to be sure.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll get him packed up and be on our way. I’ll send you word when I’m finished with the autopsy.”
Frank left Haynes and his helpers to their work and went in search of Decker. He found him in what was apparently the main room of the club, a large open area furnished with groupings of chairs and sofas. Decker was the only one there.
“Where is everybody?”
Decker rose as Frank approached. “I sent them home when we realized there was a question about Devries’s death.”
Frank resisted the urge to swear at Felix Decker. “I’ll need to know who was here, in case they know anything,” he replied, pleased to note that the fury roiling inside of him wasn’t evident in his voice.
“Hartley will make a list for you, but I already told you, he wasn’t attacked by anyone here at the club.”
“You’re probably right, but Devries might’ve said something about being attacked earlier today.”
“I didn’t think of that, but I suppose he might have. I’ll have Hartley ask all the members who were present if they spoke with Devries. Would that be satisfactory?”
Frank supposed it would have to be. “I need to go see his family. Has anybody notified them yet?”
Decker’s composure slipped a bit. “No, I…I was waiting until I had something more to tell them besides that he was…deceased.”
“Are you going to tell them yourself?”
“I feel it’s my duty, yes.”
“Then I’ll go with you. I need to see their reaction.”
“You can’t think anyone in his family is responsible!”
Frank gripped the back of the chair, glanced at the mantel clock, then back at his host. “First you tell me his friends couldn’t have done it. Now you tell me his family couldn’t have done it. Do you think some stranger just came up to him on the street and stuck a knife in his back for no reason?”
Color flooded Decker’s face as he obviously fought for composure as well. Frank knew he wasn’t used to being challenged by the help. “That would, of course, be my preference, but I suppose it’s too much to ask. I’ll have Hartley summon a cab for us.”
THEY COULD HAVE WALKED TO DEVRIES’S HOUSE MUCH more quickly than the cab carried them through the clogged streets, but Frank supposed men like Felix Decker didn’t walk in the city. Frank could think of no appropriate small talk to break the tense silence, and apparently, Decker couldn’t either.
Devries had lived only a few blocks from the Deckers’ residence on the Upper West Side, a place Frank had visited only once and not at Felix Decker’s invitation. The houses on these streets had been built to impress but not intimidate, the way the mansions on Fifth Avenue had. He’d been in enough of them to know what to expect, and he wasn’t surprised by anything he saw here.
A maid answered the door and her face lit with recognition. “Mr. Decker, I’m sorry, but Mr. Devries is not at home.”
“I know he’s not. Is Mrs. Devries here? I need to speak with her immediately.”
“Oh, dear, yes, of course. Please come in and I’ll see if Mrs. Devries can receive you.”
Frank watched alarm alter her features as she sensed the urgency and tried to decide how best to treat these unexpected visitors. She probably feared offending Decker if she showed them to the inevitably small, uncomfortable room near the front door where such guests usually waited while it was determined if they were welcome or not.
“We can wait in the front parlor,” Decker said, as if sensing her dilemma.
“Yes, sir,” she said with obvious relief, and led them upstairs into an oppressively overstuffed room obviously reserved for formal company. No fire had been lit, but Frank decided, despite the abundance of knickknacks cluttering every tabletop, velvets, and doilies, it would have been cold in any case. Nothing about it was comfortable.
“Sir, should I…?”
“Yes?”
“I mean, do you want to see just Mrs. Devries, or should I ask Mr. Paul to join you?”
“Please ask Paul to join us, too, if he’s at home.”
When the maid had closed the door behind herself, Decker turned to Frank. “I suppose I should have asked your permission to include Paul. That’s Devries’s son.”
Frank ignored the sarcasm. “If the wife is going to get hysterical, having the son here is a good idea.”
Decker made a rude noise, but Frank didn’t know what in particular had annoyed him, so he pretended not to notice his displeasure. Instead he glanced around at the enormous furniture upholstered in dark blue plush overwhelming the space. A large painting of a sour-looking gentleman hun
g above the fireplace in a hideous gilt frame, and dark landscapes depicting fox hunts adorned the others. Heavy drapes hung at the windows, trailing onto the floor and tied back with gold cords. No ray of sunlight had managed to enter the room.
Mrs. Devries didn’t keep them waiting long. He figured he had Decker to thank for that.
The wisp of a woman, dressed in a gown more suited to someone half her age, paused in the doorway and struck a pose, her finger to her chin as she gazed first at Decker and then at him. She wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. Her fair hair had been elaborately arranged but appeared stiff as straw. Like her face, it seemed a bit the worse for wear. After a moment, she tipped her head quizzically to one side and offered the hand not clutching a lacy handkerchief to Decker.
“Felix, what on earth brings you here at this ungodly hour? I hope the girl told you Chilton isn’t at home, and I have no idea when he’ll return. He never confides in me, you know. You have no idea how I suffer.”
Decker took her hand in both of his. “Lucretia, I know very well how you suffer. You tell me every time I set eyes on you. Please, come in and sit down. Is Paul here?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Paul never confides in me either. I’m always the last to know everything that goes on in my own house.”
This was going to be horrible, Frank decided. The wife would dissolve into hysterics and he wouldn’t be able to get a thing out of her. Then her doctor would come and give her laudanum, and he’d never be allowed back in the house again.
Mrs. Devries jabbered on about something or other that had caused her distress as Decker escorted her to a sofa. He had no sooner seated her than a young man appeared, still smoothing his suit coat as he strode into the room. “Mr. Decker, what a pleasant surprise.”
Paul Devries resembled his mother. A small man with delicate features and her fair coloring, he seemed nervous and uncertain as he ran a hand over his thinning hair. Frank wondered if this was his usual temperament or if Decker’s arrival had upset him.
“I’m very sorry to burst in on you like this, but I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Something that might have been alarm flickered over Paul Devries’s face but was gone before Frank could be sure.
“I’m sure I don’t want to hear bad news, whatever it might be,” Mrs. Devries was saying. “I have a very nervous disposition, you know. I cannot abide unpleasantness.”
“You will have to abide this, I’m afraid,” Decker said, plainly unmoved by her protests. “Chilton is dead.”
Both mother and son stared at him in what appeared to be genuine shock.
“Dead?” Paul echoed, as if he’d never heard the word be-fore.
“That’s impossible,” his mother said. “He was perfectly fine when he left the house this morning.”
“What time was that?” Frank asked from where he stood beside the cold fireplace.
Both Devrieses looked at him in surprise.
“I’m very sorry. I should have introduced you,” Decker said. “Lucretia, Paul, this is Detective Sergeant Malloy of the New York City Police Department.”
If anything, they looked even more surprised.
Paul blinked first. “Police? Why are the police here?”
“Because it appears your father was murdered.”
Frank braced himself for screaming, but to his surprise, the widow seemed more annoyed than upset.
“What on earth are you talking about, Felix? None of this makes any sense at all!”
“I’m afraid I’ve made a botch of this, although I’m sure you can understand I have never had occasion to notify a family that one of their members has been…killed.”
“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Paul said, moving somewhat awkwardly to the nearest chair and lowering himself into it.
To Frank’s surprise, Decker looked over at him, as if to get his approval. Frank nodded, then watched carefully for their reactions.
“Chilly came to the Knickerbocker this afternoon.”
“As was his habit,” Mrs. Devries said. “But surely you know that.”
“Yes, well, in any case, he went to the library to read the newspapers. The staff noticed he seemed to have dozed off, but eventually, when he did not respond to a disturbance, they realized he had passed away.”
“In his sleep? Just like that?” Mrs. Devries said.
“That hardly sounds like murder,” Paul said with a trace of outrage.
“We sent for an undertaker, and when he moved the body, he discovered some blood. The source of the blood was a wound on Chilly’s back. Someone had stabbed him.”
“Are you saying someone at the club stabbed him?” Mrs. Devries asked. “How could such a thing happen?”
“We believe someone stabbed him before he arrived at the club.”
“Are you saying my father was fatally stabbed, and yet he walked away, went to his club, and sat down to read the newspapers without saying a word to anyone?”
“The wound itself is quite small and on his back, and it bled very little. He probably had no idea how seriously he had been injured. It may even have been an accident,” Decker added, with a glance at Frank, who chose not to contradict him. Maybe it had been an accident.
“How could such a small injury have killed him, then?” Mrs. Devries seemed offended at the thought.
“I am sure the medical examiner will be able to explain that after the autopsy.”
Paul jumped to his feet. “Good God, they’re not doing an autopsy!”
“I’m afraid they must. We have to be sure what killed him, you see.”
“So there is still some doubt?” Mrs. Devries said. “He may not have been murdered at all?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Decker said.
Frank caught his imploring glance and took a seat near Paul Devries. When Frank sat down, Paul resumed his seat as well. “When did you last see your husband, Mrs. Devries?”
She widened her eyes at him, then looked him over with disdain. “Felix, really, is this necessary?”
“I’m afraid it is. If someone murdered Chilly, you want them found, don’t you?”
Mrs. Devries seemed to consider her answer carefully, but before she replied, her son said, “Of course we do. I saw my father this morning, before he left the house. He was perfectly fine, and I saw no one attack him.”
“It must have happened after he left home. There can be no other explanation,” his mother confirmed. “No one here would have stabbed him, I can assure you of that.”
Frank looked from mother to son and back again. Had either of them realized they had not expressed the least bit of anguish or grief at hearing the head of their family was dead? “As Mr. Decker said, it may have been an accident, but we need to be sure. Who else lives here?”
“The servants, of course, and my wife,” Paul said.
“Your wife?”
Paul bristled. “You can’t think she stabbed my father in the back.”
Frank had to admit it sounded unlikely, but he hadn’t met her yet, so he would reserve judgment. “Any other family members?”
“My two daughters are married, so of course they don’t live here.”
“Can you tell me what time Mr. Devries left the house today?”
“I certainly cannot,” his wife said. “Mr. Devries comes and goes as he pleases without consulting me.”
“Do you know what his plans were for the day?”
Mrs. Devries glared at him. “I told you, Mr. Devries does as he pleases.”
Frank was starting to wish she’d gotten hysterical.
“Roderick will know. That’s his valet,” Paul said.
“I’ll need to talk with him and with your other servants, too,” Frank said.
“Is this necessary? I don’t want the household upset,” Mrs. Devries said. “My nerves won’t stand it.”
“Mother, there’s no help for it. With Papa dead—”
“Dead?” a new voice said.
They all looked up. A young woman had entered the room. She wore a simple gown, and her rich, dark hair had been brushed into an ordinary bun, but her unadorned beauty far outshone Mrs. Devries’s frippery. This must be the other Mrs. Devries.
The men rose instantly to their feet.
“Who’s dead?” she asked.
“Oh, Garnet,” Mrs. Devries said, her voice rising into a wail. “Mr. Decker has come to tell us poor Papa is dead.” The tears Frank had expected earlier began to flow, making him wonder if she’d just been waiting for the right audience.
Paul immediately went to comfort his mother, leaving his wife to her own devices. She looked at Felix Decker. “Is it true? Is the old man really dead?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say.”
Frank watched the emotions flicker across her face too rapidly for him to identify, and then to his surprise, she broke into a dazzling smile. “He’s dead,” she said with what could only be called exultation, and she began to laugh.
2
NOW THIS WAS AN INTERESTING REACTION TO NEWS OF A family member’s death. It also drew Paul’s attention away from his mother. For a few seconds they all stared at Garnet Devries. She must be hysterical, but the only cure Frank knew was to slap her, and slapping Garnet Devries would not improve his chances of interviewing the rest of the family more thoroughly. Fortunately, Felix Decker had no such concerns.
He grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a shake that snapped her head back. Her laughter ceased at once, and she gazed up at him in surprise for a moment before she went limp. Decker caught her before she could fall, and Paul rushed over. Together they got her into a chair. Her color was high, and her eyes glittered from some inner fire.
“Get her some brandy,” Decker told Paul.
“Good heavens, not brandy,” Mrs. Devries said. “Sherry should do the trick.”
Paul went to a sideboard and found whatever he had decided to give his wife. He brought it back in a crystal tumbler. Frank expected him to put the glass to her lips, but he merely held it out to her at arm’s length. She didn’t even notice it.
Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery Page 2
