Paradise Park (The William Muldoon Mysteries Book 1)

by L Mad Hildebrandt

  He reached down, took the maid by the hand, and pulled her upright. He stepped into the hall and looked curiously in the direction she kept staring. He was surprised to see the footman waiting patiently outside the open door.

  “May I help you?” he asked as he looked beyond the man at the carriage and four.

  “If you are a Mr. Muldoon,” the footman replied.

  “I am.”

  “My mistress would like a word with you, sir. In the carriage. If you would care to get your hat and coat, I will escort you back.”

  Muldoon raised an eyebrow, but returned within a moment, coat on and hat in hand. He wasn’t dressed for it, he knew. He wore rough woven brown pants and a plain shirt. He couldn’t match his new jacket over these pants, so he took his regular one, a coarse working man’s coat. And his hat was a flat, newsboy style cap, buttoned down to the short front brim, giving him a very working-class Irish appearance. He followed the man out to the carriage.

  The footman opened the door, and stood to the side. Muldoon waited for the occupant to lean out and speak to him.

  “Well, get in!” An impatient voice floated out of the darkness.

  Muldoon climbed up with a smile on his face, though he was rather embarrassed by his appearance. “Hello, Miss Smith,” he said, as he seated himself opposite her.

  “Mr. Muldoon.” She nodded.

  The driver grumbled almost inaudibly. “Never said she could pick up a man,” but he whipped the horses on. The footman closed the door behind him and climbed aboard, tapping for the coachman to get moving.

  He’d never ridden in a carriage before, and Muldoon glanced around at the beautiful appointments, trying not to look gauche. It was early Sunday afternoon and when they reentered a more fashionable district, they slowed to promenade pace along with the other carriages. Alva kept the curtains shut, and Muldoon knew she was embarrassed by him. She wouldn’t have hidden one of the beaux she had been with at the track, he knew. But then, if he was in his new suit, she might have opened the curtains.

  He looked at her, eyebrows raised. “I’m certain you didn’t just want a ride with me, agreeable though it may be. Did you have some news for me?”

  “I went to the Hamm residence this morning,” she said. “After Church. I know it was a bit awkward, visiting on a Sunday, but I needed to. She was my friend after all. I… I loved her!” She sat erect, her gloved fingers stiff in her lap, an angry, challenging expression on her face.

  Muldoon nodded genially. He knew the rich weren’t like the poor. In his neighborhood, all the visiting was done on a Sunday. During the week, folks were too busy working to waste time. Of course, it helped when everybody went to the same church. For him, it was the Catholic one several blocks away from his rooming house, though he rarely darkened that door.

  “You don’t need to justify it,” he said gently.

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  She

  didn’t know why she needed to defend herself, especially to him… a stranger. For some reason, she was angry with him. She didn’t understand it, just knew that she was. He was too damnably amenable. She was embarrassed even to think the word, blushed a bit as it passed through her mind.

  He looked at her with a quizzical expression, as if he wondered what she had thought about. And that made her even madder, that he could somehow read her emotions so easily! Still, she couldn’t help but admire him. He had shrugged out of his jacket, and placed it and his hat on the seat by his side. He sat across from her, leaning back nonchalantly with his legs rather farther apart than a man of her class would do, one foot braced against the base of her seat. She fancied she could see his muscles through the light fabric of his shirt, her eyes drawn to his chest on more than one occasion. And each time she blushed. And then he would smile that crooked not-quite-smile, one side of his mustache rising higher than the other. It was a wicked grin, as if he knew something that she didn’t.

  “I… I think she was expecting,” Alva suddenly burst out. She couldn’t believe she had said it! She really should have written it down, then she wouldn’t have had to endure the humor in his eyes. Just saying it brought her mind around again to… well… IT. The act of passion between a man and a woman. And she knew he had to be thinking of it as well, though maybe not in connection with her, as she definitely was thinking about him. She had to get control of herself. She had never been like this about a man before.

  “You don’t need to justify it,” he said gently.

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  Sitting

  across from her, Muldoon couldn’t help but grin each time her gaze dropped to his chest… or lower. He rather fancied that this was a bit like what a woman felt when a man kept staring at her bosom. But of course, he wasn’t angry, or embarrassed. He wondered if women were truly either one of those, or if they flushed for the same reason he felt the blood surging through his own veins. Still, it was a bit fun, to be on the receiving end of that look for once.

  “Why do you think she was expecting?” He asked, raising one eyebrow. She seemed to deflate with his business-like tone. Had she wanted him to think of her in that way?

  “Well, because she went to the country with her mother. And then she didn’t come back… ”

  “Is there something unusual about that?”

  “No, not really.” Her eyes flashed with irritation.

  “Then, tell me what makes you think it.” He cocked his head to watch the fleeting expressions that chased across her face. Was it really just a hunch? Woman’s intuition? Or did she know something that she couldn’t, or was too embarrassed to tell him?

  “Well, I do think maybe it’s a little odd.” She tilted her head in an echo of his movement just seconds before. “And she never wrote to me. Not once.”

  “Maybe she didn’t like to write letters?”

  “Oh, she did. She wrote many letters each week.” Alva leaned toward him and spread her hands as if holding a stack of mail. “She must have written a letter each day, to cousins, and to friends. And then we would sit together, and read the answers. It was so much fun.” Her voice began to quaver, and she seemed angry with herself again, as if she shouldn’t have feelings. “I wrote to her so many times while she was away… and never once received an answer.”

  She was feeling sorry for herself, he could tell. But, he believed in women’s intuition. That’s one of the things about having an Irish mother. They almost always know what you’re up to. Sometimes, it seems, they know before you do yourself.

  Alva cleared her throat. “And then Melanie, that’s her little sister, said that Margaret was sick. That’s why she didn’t come home. But, her mother came home with the baby right after it was born. It seems to me that the person having the baby should be the sick one.”

  Muldoon found himself agreeing with her. It was beginning to sound a bit suspicious.

  “Have you any ideas who the father might be?” he asked. “If she really is the mother, I mean?”

  “Well, I think it might be the missing footman. I think his name is Martin.”

  “Why do you think that?” It made sense, he thought.

  “Because, Mrs. Hamm told the Colonel that it was somebody close to him, and then the footman was fired. Now what could she have meant by that? ‘That it was somebody close to him,’ unless they were talking about the baby’s father?”

  “You might be right, but that’ll be nearly impossible to prove.”

  They had come around again to his rooming house. “I’ll look into it and send you a note,” he promised. Then he alighted, and her carriage was gone. Carrying his hat and jacket in hand, he turned and went into the building. Judging by the slight movements of curtains, he would have some explaining to do at dinner tonight.

  CHAPTER 35

  April 26

  Muldoon

  hurried to the morgue. Margaret Hamm’s body hadn't been released yet, but he suspected the family’s mortuary would be collecting her this morning. And he needed to get some questions an
swered before she was lost to him. The door was still locked when he got there, and he waited impatiently, finally catching sight of the doctor as he strolled up the path.

  “You’re here early.” Gamble greeted him. He pulled out his keys and fumbled with the lock, until the door finally clicked open. “I don’t have any new ones… so, let me guess, you must be here about the girl.”

  “Aye,” Muldoon said, and pulled the doctor quickly inside.

  “Hurry up!” he called to Danny Ryan who had just appeared from around the corner, ever-present book in hand. The boy looked up in surprise, and then sprinted the final distance.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked as he slid to a stop.

  “We’ve gotta get in, quick.”

  Muldoon glanced up and down the sidewalk, and then pulled the door shut behind him. He latched it and moved further into the room.

  “Keep it down,” Muldoon said quietly, preventing Danny from pulling up the shade. “I need to know something, and I need to know it before the family comes to get her.”

  “It’s that important, is it?” The coroner smiled. “Okay, then. Danny, nobody gets in here until we say so.”

  Danny winked conspiratorially, and then nodded his head. He was enjoying the game. He set his book on top of his desk, and walked back to a small closet just down the hall. Pulling out a broom, he began to sweep.

  “I’ve been so busy sweeping, just in case the mortician fella peeks in, that I couldn’t hear anyone knocking. How’s that?”

  “Thanks, boy-oh,” said Muldoon with appreciation. He turned to follow Gamble to the back room.

  “I need to know if Margaret Hamm had a baby,” Muldoon said as he closed the door behind them.

  “I thought it was much more than that,” Gamble laughed. “That’s an easy request, it doesn’t even take any cutting. I didn’t consider that in my report, because we were just dealing with an obvious murder. But let’s take a look here.”

  He pulled the body out of its niche and uncovered its lower half. “A large number of women, those who have given birth that is, have perineal tears. And if the birth was recent, we should still see some evidence of swelling, even without the tear.”

  Within moments, the doctor stood, shaking his head. “I’m sorry Muldoon. I didn’t think it was necessary. You’re right. She’s had a child, within just a few weeks of her death.”

  Muldoon stroked his mustache. The whole scenario had just changed. This meant the child that Colonel and Mrs. Hamm claimed as their own was really their grandson. And it meant that he’d found an awfully good motive for murder. Now he had to find the footman. Clearly, that’s who the Colonel suspected as the father… or did he know it? But then again, Muldoon wasn’t ready to set aside the Colonel, himself. He was certain the man hit his wife. And the man was a clear bigot, a member of a secret society based on prejudice. Could his biases turn to murderous anger over a daughter gone bad? Especially if Martin turned out to be Irish?

  “What Should I do?” Bob Gamble pushed the gurney back into place, and turned to Muldoon.

  “About what?” Muldoon looked back at him, confused.

  “I’ve already turned in my report. Cause of death: strangulation. I didn’t mention this… I didn’t even know. God, man! I should have looked. My report was incomplete, like I was an amateur.”

  “Just write an addendum. You know I’m not going to say anything.” Muldoon knew he was thinking of his job, afraid he would lose it. “You can date it back to when you looked at her first, if you like. And I’ll witness it. But then file it away, lose it somewhere. She’s a part of the Knickerbocker crowd, and you’re bringing out something ugly… something they don’t want to see. And, the Hamm’s have already claimed that child as their own.”

  “I know,” said Gamble, his voice dropping low. “I don’t want to have that kind of wrath come down on me.”

  “Just put it away. It doesn’t matter, yet. We may need the report, when it comes to a trial… but if we don’t need it, I’ll never say a thing.”

  Gamble thanked him, then turned to pull out another corpse. Muldoon walked back up the cold hallway, passing Danny along the way. He winked as he opened the door, and came face to face with an irate little man standing out on the step. A black wagon waited on the street “Tilden’s Mortuary” stenciled on the side.

  “Sorry,” Muldoon said. “I must have locked it on the way in.”

  He ambled nonchalantly away, the balding mortician cursing indignantly. Then, as he noticed the looks he attracted, the man obliterated the anger from his face, and plastered on an undertaker’s vacant, slightly concerned expression. He entered the morgue to collect Margaret Hamm’s body. But not without one last, piercing glare. Muldoon laughed.

  CHAPTER 36

  Suddenly

  , Muldoon was making headway in the case. All he needed to do, he thought, was find the footman and he would probably have his murderer.

  “O’Malley here?” he asked the desk Sergeant as he entered police headquarters.

  “Nope.” Tim Foley looked up from his paperwork. “He’s out on the beat. Captain wouldn’t let him out of it. Not even to help on your case.”

  “You mean, especially not to help me.” Muldoon scowled.

  “Aye, more likely that.” Foley threw a sympathetic look at him. “But Benson’s here. He’s in a right jubilant mood, he is. He solved his case.”

  For a moment, Muldoon’s heart leaped, but then he realized it was the robbery case. Good for him, he thought, but these murders were more pressing. He wasn’t getting the kind of cooperation out of Benson that he expected. Then again, that might have been the Captain’s plan, pushing so hard for Benson to solve the theft. The murder had been shuffled onto Benson’s back plate, leaving only Muldoon to investigate. And knowing Captain Hayle, he expected Muldoon to fail. Then, he would turn around and blame them both for allowing a dangerous killer to remain loose on the streets. And since the victim was an innocent debutante, the Captain would have the support of society’s elite—the ‘400’—and would finally be able to drum both Muldoon and Benson out of the Department. Boss Tweed be hanged.

  He strode purposefully down the hall and pushed open Benson’s door. The man sat at his desk, a young patrolman in the lone visitor’s chair.

  “Hello, Muldoon.” Benson half-rose from his chair and motioned toward the occupied chair, as if offering him a seat. “Have you heard my news? I’ve solved the case. And now the Captain’s given me a new one, another burglary. I rather enjoy them. Much better than looking at dead bodies. So, how’s your case going?”

  My case? Up until now, it had been Benson’s, and he was just the assistant. He glanced at the young patrolman who looked at him as if he was the stranger here. Muldoon remained awkwardly standing, hat in hand.

  “It seems to be going well,” Muldoon said. “I may be getting close to solving it.”

  “Good, good.” Benson sat back down, elbows on the desk, and hands spread over the open files. “We’re just going over the details of the new case… oh! You don’t know Stanley, do you? He’s just been appointed. He’s going to be working with me for a while.”

  And, what’s going to happen to me? Muldoon pictured himself back out on the beat, replaced by ‘young Stanley.’ The kid might be all of nineteen. He couldn’t even remember being nineteen. For Muldoon, life seemed to begin with the war… and then he was old. Or felt like it, anyway.

  “Robert Stanley,” said the boy, just barely rising out of the chair, and leaning forward to shake Muldoon’s hand.

  Muldoon forced a smile to his face, but his muscles felt frozen. It was clear he was being pushed out. Captain Hayle had decided on the lesser of two evils—him or Benson—and he’d definitely lost. In a wry sort of way, he felt rather proud that he was the greater threat to Hayle’s equilibrium.

  “If that’s all, Muldoon?” Benson began. “We really need to get back to work.”

  Muldoon smiled, a slow crooked smile. “Aye, Ben
son. But I do have something to ask you.”

  Benson raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Have you found the footman?”

  “Oh,” Benson said. “That’s right. No… no, I haven’t had time, what with these other cases the Captain’s loaded me down with.”

  Muldoon couldn’t believe it. Benson had so quickly forgotten the importance of this case. But then, Kelly McAllister was Muldoon’s problem… not the detectives’. He nodded slowly. “Well, that’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”

  As he stepped out, he pulled the door nearly shut behind him, but left it open just a crack as Benson liked it. He could hear the young officer whispering excitedly to Benson, asking him if that was really the famous William Muldoon.

  His spirits were low. Benson had taken on a new assistant, and was busily tackling fresh cases. At least he seemed to enjoy them. He was better off with burglaries anyway, Muldoon rationalized. The man hated visiting the morgue—he left it to Muldoon time after time. Perhaps he would be happier now, maybe drink a bit less. But, that didn’t help him with this case. He didn’t even have O’Malley, since the Captain wouldn’t let him off the beat. No. Muldoon would have to go back to the Hamm’s himself and question the staff. It would take longer, going it alone. And time was growing short.

  He walked out to Bowery Street, caught a streetcar and rode the long distance to 32nd. A gray, ominous looking sky threatened more rain. He hoped it would hold off until the evening, but he doubted it would. As long as he got to the Hamm’s before it broke, he thought. He traced his footsteps of days before, but instead of entering by the front, he stepped through the gate, and walked to the back servant’s entrance. Even back here the path was neatly cobbled. As he rapped at the door the first drops of rain splashed down.

  CHAPTER 37

  A

  large, buxom woman opened the door. She looked him up and down slowly, taking in his uniform. “You must be the policeman,” she said with a strong German accent. “We are expecting you. If you will come in, I shall send the little girl to get the butler.”