“What business is it of yours?”
“It’s police business, and if you’d like to avoid spending a night locked up in a cell, you’ll answer me.”
“It’s all right,” Mrs. Richmond said wearily. “Who do you think visited me?”
“Did Devries himself call on you?”
Her eyes widened. “No!”
He looked at the landlady for confirmation. “It would’ve been last Tuesday.”
“Tuesday? No, and not any other day, either. The only one I know who called before you was the Italian.”
At least he wouldn’t have to ask Mrs. Richmond if Devries had undressed in her presence. He’d probably need more than smelling salts to revive her after that. “Devries is dead.”
Mrs. Richmond blinked. “What?”
“Devries?” Mrs. Higgins said. “That’s your daughter’s name, ain’t it? You mean her daughter’s husband is dead?”
“No, his father.”
Mrs. Richmond couldn’t seem to comprehend. “Dead? But how…?”
“Somebody stabbed him.”
All the blood drained from her face, and he was very much afraid she was going to faint again. “I…I need to go to my daughter.”
“Of course you do,” Mrs. Higgins said and turned to Frank. “You’ve done enough damage here. You’d better go.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
FRANK DIDN’T KNOW WHAT WAS WRONG WITH HIM. HE didn’t usually jump to conclusions, but after hearing Mrs. Richmond’s story about how Devries had cheated her husband, he’d assumed Devries had taken her daughter as his mistress. Maybe because he’d recently heard a story just like that. But Devries hadn’t taken her for himself. Instead, he’d married her off to his son. He really wanted to talk to Sarah about this, but he couldn’t possibly wake her up to talk about this now. He’d have to wait until this evening.
Meanwhile, he needed to see Miss Norah English.
Lizzie the maid opened the door. “You’re like a bad penny, ain’t you?”
“I’m glad to see you’re still here.” Frank didn’t wait for an invitation to come in, and Lizzie’s frantic attempt to shut the door in his face failed.
Sputtering indignantly, she slammed the door behind him, surrendering to the inevitable. “What do you want?”
“I want to see Miss English, if she’s still here.”
“Where else would she be?”
“I was afraid somebody would’ve sent her packing by now.”
“Why would you be afraid of that?”
“Because then I would’ve had to waste a lot of time hunting her down.”
“Lizzie? Who’s there?” Miss English called from upstairs.
“It’s that copper what was here the other day. Don’t you worry none. I’ll just—”
“Miss English, I need to speak with you again,” Frank called, silencing Lizzie with the glare that usually put a stop to interference.
“Don’t you go scaring her,” Lizzie whispered, not nearly as frightened as she should have been. “She never hurt nobody in this world, and you got no right to upset her.”
Frank would have told her he had every right, but Miss English appeared on the landing above them. Today she seemed even more innocent than she had two days ago. Her brown eyes wide and frightened, she stared down at him, her fingers fiddling nervously with the ruffles on her dress.
Frank tried a reassuring smile. At least he hoped it was reassuring. “I just have a few more questions for you, Miss English.”
She wrung her plump hands. “What should I do, Lizzie?”
Lizzie gave him a murderous look, but she said, “I guess you better talk to him. I doubt he’ll leave until you do.”
Miss English descended the stairs, still watching him warily, as if afraid he might do something terrible to her. He found himself feeling sorry for her, too, and instantly caught himself. He’d never felt sympathy for murder suspects before. What was wrong with him?
“You can go in the parlor,” Lizzie said when Miss English glanced around uncertainly.
“It’s cold in there,” Miss English said.
“He won’t be long,” Lizzie said, giving Frank a meaningful glance that he ignored.
He followed Miss English into the parlor and found the room was indeed cold. “Maybe you should get Miss English a shawl,” he said to the maid.
Lizzie stationed herself in the open doorway and crossed her arms. “She’ll be fine.”
Frank sighed. “Has anybody been to see you, Miss English?”
“You said Mr. Devries is dead,” she said.
“He means anybody else,” Lizzie said.
“But he’s the only one who ever came. He never let me see anybody else except Lizzie.”
“Maybe we could sit down,” Frank said, glancing at Lizzie in case she wanted to protest, but she nodded.
Miss English sat down on the threadbare sofa, and Frank took the nearest chair.
“I want to ask you about the morning that Mr. Devries died. The last time you saw him.”
She waited, still staring at him with her innocent brown eyes.
“Did he sleep with you that night?” Lizzie made an outraged noise, so he quickly added, “I mean, did he sleep in the same bed?”
“Yes. We only have the one bed. Well, and Lizzie’s bed, of course.”
“What did Mr. Devries wear to bed?”
“What in God’s name does that matter?” Lizzie asked.
Frank sighed again. “It matters. Now if you’d rather I took Miss English down to Police Headquarters to answer these questions, I’d be happy to do that.”
“I don’t want to go to Police Headquarters,” Miss English said.
Lizzie frowned ferociously, but she said, “He ain’t taking you anywhere. Just tell him what he wants to know.”
Miss English looked back at Frank. “What did you ask me?”
“What did Mr. Devries wear to bed?”
“A nightshirt.”
“I’ll need to see it. In fact, I’ll need for you to pack up all of his clothes. I’ll take them back to his house.”
“How do I know you won’t just keep them for yourself?” Lizzie asked.
“You don’t, but I need to look at his clothes, and if you won’t pack them up for me, I’ll ask somebody from Mr. Devries office to come here and do it, and when they realize you’re living here for free, they’ll probably throw you both out into the street.”
“I knew that’s what would happen,” Miss English said. “I told you, Lizzie.”
“I’ll give him the clothes. Nobody’s going to throw us out, not yet anyways.”
Frank didn’t acknowledge her surrender. He kept his gaze on Miss English. “Did you get up at the same time as Mr. Devries that last morning he was here?”
“No, not that morning. I usually do because he always wants to—” Her eyes widened as she realized what she’d almost confessed. Her smooth, round cheeks flushed becomingly, and she glanced at Lizzie in dismay.
“But he didn’t want you that morning?” Frank asked.
“Don’t you have no manners at all?” Lizzie asked.
“Not when I’m investigating a murder. So he usually wanted you in the mornings, but not that day. Is that why you argued?”
“Why would they argue about that?” Lizzie asked.
“I’m asking her.”
Miss English blinked her big, brown eyes. “I didn’t argue with him, not ever.”
“How could she?” Lizzie said. “If he got mad at her, he could put her out.”
“But you did complain about not being able to go out, didn’t you?”
“I asked him if I could go to a play or something, and he got mad. He said I shouldn’t cause him any bother. He said …” Her voice broke and she looked down to where her hands were twisting in her lap.
“What did he say?” Frank asked as gently as he could.
She drew an uneven breath. “He said there were lots of girls who would take
my place in a minute.”
“Did that make you angry?”
She looked up in surprise. “Oh, no, not angry. It just made me scared. He’s right, you know. There are lots of girls who would take my place.”
“But that was a mean thing to say. Didn’t it make you mad, too?”
“It made me mad, I can tell you,” Lizzie said. “Old goat.”
“Did you have an argument with Devries?” he asked her.
“Me? I’m not likely to argue with the likes of him, am I? If there’s lots of girls to take her place, there’s thousands to take mine.”
Frank turned back to Miss English. “You said he didn’t want you that morning. Was that something new?”
Lizzie muttered her disapproval, and Miss English turned red again. “I…Not…Sometimes …”
“Did he seem to be losing interest in you?” he tried somewhat desperately.
“Yes.” She sighed, relieved he had finally asked a question she could decently answer.
“How long since you first noticed he wasn’t as…attentive?”
“A few months, I think.”
“He still came here regular,” Lizzie said. “I think he just liked being away from his wife, if you want the truth.”
“But he wasn’t as interested in Miss English as before.”
“He said I was boring.”
“Boring,” Lizzie sniffed. “Can you imagine?”
Actually, he could. “Do you think he had another mistress?”
The women exchanged a puzzled glance. Lizzie said, “Why would he keep two women? If he was tired of Miss English, why not just put her out and put the one he liked better in here?”
A good question, Frank thought. Devries wasn’t known for his kindness, so that couldn’t be the reason. Maybe he just hadn’t gotten the new woman to agree yet, if there even was a new woman. And if there was, how would he find out? At least Devries hadn’t had time to visit her the day he died. Or had he?
Frank felt a headache coming on. He stood. “Thank you for answering my questions, Miss English.”
“What’s going to happen to us now?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you going to tell them about us?” Lizzie asked. “The people at Devries’s office, I mean?”
“No, that’s none of my business. You can stay here forever as far as I’m concerned.”
“But we don’t have any money,” Miss English protested.
Frank couldn’t help her there. “Can you pack up Mr. Devries’s clothes for me?” he asked Lizzie.
She grumbled a bit, but she stomped off.
Frank realized this was his chance to question Miss English alone, but he couldn’t think of anything of importance that he hadn’t already asked her about. “How did you meet Mr. Devries?”
“My uncle.”
“Your uncle introduced you?”
She shrugged. “He was my guardian after my father died. He had to support us, and he didn’t like it. He said we cost too much money. One day he told me he’d found somebody who would take me off his hands. I thought I was going to get married.” She gave him a sad little smile.
“Who is us?”
“Me and Lizzie.”
“Has she always worked for you?”
“Oh, no, she’s …” She quickly covered her mouth.
“She’s what? Not your maid, I guess. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”
“My stepmother. My father married her after my mother died, so he’d have somebody to take care of me, but then he died, too.”
Although he’d never given it much thought before, Frank realized he hated the fact that women like Mrs. Richmond and Garnet and Norah English were at the mercy of men like Chilton Devries. A decent woman left penniless and alone had few options in life, and those that didn’t require the kindness of some man were immoral or illegal. He’d once looked down on women who worked for their living, like Sarah Brandt, but now he understood how difficult and amazing it was for a woman to make her own way in the world. No wonder Garnet Devries had been interested in how Sarah had accomplished it.
“Do you think your uncle would take you back?”
“Not now. I’m a fallen woman.”
Frank doubted the uncle would see that as hypocritical. “I’ll bet if you write him a letter telling him Devries is dead and he’s got to take you in again, he’ll find you another protector, at least.”
“Oh, my, I never thought of that! You’re very clever.”
Frank didn’t feel clever. He felt ashamed of all the men who had abused this poor girl and who would continue to. She’d said they didn’t have any money, and she would need some to tide her over. He glanced around, trying to spot anything of value that she could sell, and something shiny on one of the tables caught his eye. A fancy silver bowl with a handle, half full of walnuts. The nutcracker and other implements lay nestled in the nuts. Chilton Devries had been fond of walnuts, he remembered.
“If that’s real silver, you could pawn it.”
Miss English stared at him in shock. “I couldn’t do that! Mr. Devries would never…Oh!”
“Right. He won’t know. And nobody else will know what was here, either. You should probably gather up everything you could pawn and sell it right away. You don’t know how much longer you’ll be here, and if somebody evicts you, it’ll be too late.”
“What’re you telling the girl?” Lizzie asked from the doorway.
“He said we should sell the nut bowl, and there’s another one upstairs. He said we should do it right away, before they put us out. Oh, and Mr. Devries’s shaving set. That’s silver, too.”
“Hush,” Lizzie said, frowning at Frank.
“Don’t worry, I don’t care what you do.”
“Here,” she said, thrusting a bulging pillowcase at him. “That’s all his clothes. You can be on your way now.”
Frank wanted to look through the clothes, but he could wait. He took his leave, and as Lizzie was closing the door behind him, he heard Miss English say, “He said we should ask Uncle Ned to find me another protector.”
Frank shook his head.
FRANK STOPPED OFF AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS AND WENT through the bag of clothing. He found the nightshirt and several changes of linen, but nothing had a hole in it. If Norah English had stabbed Devries, she’d done it while he was naked. The trouble was, he didn’t think she had. She was just too simple to lie well, and a girl too honest to hock someone else’s silver would never be able to hide a murder.
He’d put it off as long as he could. He needed to report what he’d learned to Felix Decker. As much as he would have enjoyed chatting with Mrs. Decker, he figured he shouldn’t risk the old man’s wrath by going to his house again.
He reached the office by midafternoon, half frozen and cursing the wintry wind that whipped mercilessly down the city’s streets. Decker’s secretary—an old-fashioned, middle-aged gentleman; no girl secretaries for Felix Decker—recognized him and only kept him waiting a few minutes before ushering him into the inner office.
Decker didn’t rise, but Frank noticed he’d put aside the papers he’d been working on to give Frank his full attention.
“Mr. Malloy, I’d given you up.”
“I had to go see Miss English, too.”
“The mistress? Was that Italian supposed to kill her, too?”
“Not that I know of, but I figured if I found a nightshirt with a bloody hole in it at her house, we could all rest a little easier.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And what about this Mrs. Richmond? Is she still alive?”
“Oh, yes. She’s also Garnet Devries’s mother.”
“Good God!”
“I thought you must know that.”
“No, not …” Decker shifted uneasily.
“But you knew the name Richmond when I said it yesterday.”
Frank watched Decker’s inner struggle. Normally, Decker probabl
y wouldn’t share much information with anyone, not even his closest friends. An intensely private man, he had also assigned Frank a difficult task, and withholding information would only hinder him in accomplishing that task. “I knew a man named Richmond.”
“Devries cheated him in a business deal.”
“No, he didn’t. At least he didn’t actually cheat him. He merely offered him the opportunity to invest. He gave me the same opportunity.”
“And did you take it?”
“Yes, but I wasn’t impressed with the possibilities, so I only put in fifty thousand.”
Frank didn’t think he’d ever heard the word only used in conjunction with fifty thousand dollars. “And you lost your money?”
“Along with everyone else who invested. The difference was that I could afford to lose. Richmond couldn’t.”
“Then why did he do it?”
“Why does anyone do something stupid? He wanted to make money, I suppose, but more likely, he wanted to be seen as an equal to men like Devries.”
“And you.”
Decker shrugged. “Richmond came to the club when he heard the deal had gone sour. He made an ugly scene and had to be escorted out. I saw his obituary two days later.”
“He killed himself, leaving his wife and daughter with nothing.”
Decker considered this information. “What does this have to do with Chilton’s death?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to figure out why he wanted Mrs. Richmond dead.”
“Then you think the Italian was telling the truth?”
“Mrs. Richmond said he came to see her. He told her Devries had hired him to have her killed.”
“He must be a charming man.”
“She was pretty scared, but Angotti just wanted to know why Devries wanted her dead. I got the feeling from Angotti that he wasn’t above having one of his men kill a woman if she deserved it, but he wanted to be sure, so he asked her. She didn’t know why Devries wanted her dead, but she told him her story, and Angotti decided not to kill her.”
“A compassionate gangster.”
“Thank God for that. The important thing is why did Devries want her dead in the first place? I think it has something to do with her daughter.”
Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery Page 13
