“Thank you,” Sarah said. “That’s a good idea.”
Malloy didn’t look like he thought it was a good idea. He didn’t seem to enjoy being the center of attention of a bunch of giggling girls as much as Sarah enjoyed watching it. “I can’t stay long. I have an appointment this afternoon,” he said.
Mrs. Keller smiled knowingly at his flimsy excuse. “The girls will be heartbroken, I’m sure. I’ll go let cook know you’ll be joining us.”
When they were alone, Sarah said, “Do you really have an appointment?”
He raised his eyebrows, as if he were offended that she doubted him. “Yes, I do.”
“With who?”
“Wilbanks’s lawyer wants to see me.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I know. He probably has some legal paper he thinks will force me to tell him where Catherine is.”
“Thank heaven we took her to my parents. Where is his office?”
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to meet him at his house.”
“His house? That’s strange.”
“Wilbanks told me his son-in-law is an attorney. Maybe he’s doing this because he’s family.”
“I’m going with you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I’m going with you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m tired of sitting at home waiting for you to come and tell me what you did.”
He looked like he sympathized, but he said, “Sarah, I can’t let you put yourself in danger.”
“How could I be in danger in an attorney’s house?”
“I don’t know. For all we know, the message is a fake and this Hicks fellow is the one who killed Miss Murphy. I’m not going to take you.”
Sarah sighed. “Then I’ll just have to follow you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Or I can look this fellow up in the City Directory. Hicks, you say? There can’t be too many attorneys by that name.”
Malloy looked like he might start shouting, but Mrs. Keller returned at that moment. “Cook is just putting out our dinner. I already told the girls you’d be joining us, and they’re very excited.”
* * *
FELIX DECKER HAD SPENT A PRODUCTIVE MORNING AT his club, learning almost everything he needed to learn about David Wilbanks. He knew his business dealings, his approximate net worth, his family connections, his social standing, and his tailor. Rumors abounded that his health was failing, and he had not been seen around town in weeks. Everyone believed his son, Oswald, would run through his fortune in less than five years after he died.
Decker located Wilbanks’s address and took a cab to his house. The maid showed him to the small room where unexpected visitors were relegated until the servants could determine if they were welcome or not and then took his message to Wilbanks. As he had expected, Wilbanks did not keep him waiting long. The maid escorted him into the well-appointed parlor where a man about his own age sat in an overstuffed chair beside a roaring fire.
“Mr. Decker, welcome to my home. Forgive me for not getting up, but I have not been well.”
Decker shook the man’s hand and realized that Wilbanks had probably not exaggerated his illness to Malloy. The skin stretched tightly over his once-handsome face, and his sunken eyes held a resignation he had seen more than once in those whom doctors had failed to help.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Decker said.
Wilbanks smiled slightly. “Did you really think I would refuse after you told me you wanted to discuss my daughter?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Please, sit down and tell me why you’re here.”
Decker took the nearest chair, although it was unnecessarily close to the fire. The room, he’d noticed, was too warm, but even still, Wilbanks wore a quilted dressing gown and had a lap robe thrown over his legs. He felt almost guilty taking advantage of a man so weak, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met, Mr. Wilbanks.”
“No, but of course I know who you are. The only thing I don’t know is why you’ve taken a sudden interest in me and my family affairs.”
“Because they are also my family affairs.”
Wilbanks considered this information for a moment. “I had a visitor yesterday who told me Catherine has been living with a family. Is it your family?”
“My daughter’s.”
“I see. Can you tell me how this came about?”
“Did Mr. Malloy tell you how the nursemaid dropped Catherine off at a settlement house here in the city?”
Wilbanks’s pain-filled eyes widened. “Malloy? Does he work for you?”
“You flatter me, Mr. Wilbanks. Although I have some minor sources of influence in the city, I do not control the Police Department. Even if I did, I do not believe Mr. Malloy is controlled by anyone.” Decker did not have to feign his annoyance at this fact.
“And yet he reports to you.”
“As a favor only.”
“He told me he knows the family who has Catherine. He knows your daughter?” His surprise that Decker’s daughter would know a policeman was plain.
“My daughter has always been a bit rebellious. She married against my will, and she has a rather unconventional circle of friends.”
“I should say. Malloy told me Catherine’s guardian was a volunteer at the settlement house.”
“That is how my daughter met her, yes. Catherine is much younger than the girls who usually go there. I believe their main purpose is to keep girls from turning to prostitution out of desperation.”
“Prostitution!” Wilbanks nearly choked on the word, and he turned scarlet. For a second Decker feared he might keel over with apoplexy.
“The Mission successfully keeps them from turning to it,” he hastily explained. “But the girls there are much older than Catherine. My daughter thought she needed a real home.”
“Of course she does, and I have a real home right here for her. I’ve contacted my son-in-law, who is an attorney. I believe he is meeting with Mr. Malloy today to discuss the legalities of the situation.”
“Mr. Wilbanks, I understand how you must feel—”
“Do you? Have you ever lost a daughter, Mr. Decker?”
The question was like a physical blow, the pain as fresh as the day it had happened. “Yes, I have. But your daughter isn’t dead, Wilbanks. She’s well and happy.”
Somewhat taken aback, Wilbanks still did not give an inch. “I only have your word for that.”
“If you know anything about me at all, you know my word is good.”
“That’s cold comfort to a dying man.”
“Suppose I do tell you where your daughter is? What then?”
“My son-in-law assures me he will have that information for me in a matter of days with no assistance from you.”
“Does he have an investigator working on it?”
“Of course.”
“The same one who failed to find her the first time?”
Wilbanks’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you come here, Decker? Just to torture me? Are you one of those holier-than-thou do-gooders who thinks I should be punished for my immorality?”
“Of course not,” Decker said, pushing aside his personal distaste for Wilbanks’s moral failings. “I came to see if we could work out a compromise that would be in Catherine’s best interest.”
“Catherine’s best interest is to be with her father.”
“Is that the only solution you’ll accept?”
“Why should I accept any other?”
“Because you’re dying, Wilbanks. Even if you manage to live another year or two, Catherine will still be very young. What will become of her when you’re gone?”
“I’ll leave her with a fortune. She’ll never want for anything.”
“And who will manage that fortune for her? Who can be trusted not to squander it all before she comes of age? Or cheat her out of it in some other way? And if someone did murder the nursemaid because they didn’t want
you to find Catherine, what’s to stop them from murdering a child to keep her from collecting her inheritance?”
The color had drained from Wilbanks’s face, and he reached blindly for a carafe sitting on the table beside him. He knocked a book onto the floor and nearly toppled the carafe. Decker caught it just in time and poured some water into a glass for Wilbanks, who gulped it down. When Wilbanks had recovered himself, Decker picked up the book and laid it back on the table. It was the new volume by H. G. Wells, The War of the Worlds.
“What makes you think you can protect her better than I can?” Wilbanks asked when he could speak again.
“For one thing, I’ll be here to do it. For another, if no one knows where she is, no one can hurt her.”
“You said she lives with your daughter.”
“We’ve taken her to a safer place for the time being. Not to hide her from you, but to keep her away from the killer. You can’t possibly fault us for that.”
Wilbanks leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “No. No, I can’t fault you for that.”
“Give us a few days to see if Mr. Malloy can find out who killed Miss Murphy.”
“Is there any hope of that?”
“I have learned to respect Mr. Malloy’s abilities. If anyone can do it, he can.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“You have every right to your child, Mr. Wilbanks, but allow me to suggest that you consider her future without you.”
Anger flared in his eyes. “Do you think I haven’t done that already?”
“I’m sure you have, but until yesterday, you didn’t know about Catherine’s current situation or the danger she might be in.”
“And now I do. You aren’t the only one with influence in the city, Decker. I can protect Catherine, too.”
“From whom?”
Wilbanks narrowed his eyes again. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. Do you know from whom you are protecting her?”
“No, and neither do you.”
“That’s true, but I’m in a position to protect her from everyone, at least for the time being. Are you prepared to consider everyone you know as a potential threat to her, even your other children?”
“What do you mean? My other children are no threat to her.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!”
“I think you’re allowing your emotions to cloud your judgment, Wilbanks. I can’t fault you for not wanting to suspect your own children of murder, but who would have more to gain if Catherine disappeared?”
* * *
WHEN THE TIME CAME, MALLOY SURRENDERED WITH grace and made no further protests to Sarah’s plan to accompany him to see Wilbanks’s attorney. They’d gone only a few steps down the sidewalk, however, when one of the girls from the Mission came running out of the alley beside the house to intercept them.
“Mr. Malloy, please wait!” She beckoned them to join her in the relative privacy of the shadowed space between buildings.
“What is it, Carrie?” Sarah asked.
A frail girl of about fourteen, Carrie glanced over her shoulder and wrung her hands before replying. “I didn’t want to say nothing in front of Mrs. Keller. I didn’t want her to think I lied to her before.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t think that,” Sarah said, trying to keep her voice calm, even though her heart was pounding.
“And I didn’t, not really. All she asked us was did anybody come around when she wasn’t here, asking about the ladies who volunteer here. I told her no, because that’s not what happened at all.”
“What did happen?” Malloy asked in the gentle voice he always used with Catherine.
“A woman came by when I was sweeping the front steps. Mrs. Keller was inside, so she was here, and she only asked us did somebody come by when she wasn’t here, so I wasn’t lying, was I?”
“No, of course not,” Sarah said. “What did she want?”
“I didn’t know at first, did I? So I asked did she want to see Mrs. Keller, but she said no. She was just wondering if we had any little children staying here. Said she was looking for a friend whose little girl had gone missing. I told her we’d only ever had one little girl here, but that was a long time ago. She asked me what happened to her, and I said she got taken in by a nice lady. I didn’t tell her your name, though, Mrs. Brandt. I’m sure I didn’t. I’m so very sorry!”
“That’s all right, Carrie. You didn’t know.”
“When did this happen?” Malloy asked.
“I don’t remember exactly. Four or five days ago, I think.”
Malloy nodded his approval. “What did the woman look like?”
Carrie frowned. “I don’t rightly know. She was wearing this big hat with a veil, so I didn’t get much of a look at her.”
“How old was she?” he prompted. “About Mrs. Brandt’s age? Or older, like Mrs. Keller?”
“Like Mrs. Brandt, I’d guess, from her voice. She had a real nice voice.”
“How was she dressed?” Sarah asked.
“Oh, real pretty. Her dress was kind of reddish, only not flashy. Stylish, it was.”
“Did she say anything else?” Malloy asked.
“She thanked me for my help. She said she guessed her friend’s little girl wasn’t here, and she walked away. She seemed real disappointed, and I was sorry I wasn’t able to help her. Please don’t tell Mrs. Keller, will you?”
“We won’t,” Sarah said. “But thank you for telling us.”
With a last, apologetic look, the girl scurried away.
“I don’t think it was Anne Murphy,” Sarah said. “I thought maybe she’d come back trying to get more information, but this was someone else.”
“Young and stylish,” Malloy said. “Could have been Emma Hardy.”
“If Emma was looking for Catherine here, she must have seen Anne at some point and found out what Anne had done.”
“I wonder if Emma has a temper,” Malloy said.
Sarah thought about how she might react if someone she trusted had lost Catherine. Would she be angry enough to stab that person? “I know how I’d feel, but Emma had already left her child for nearly a year.”
“That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t be mad about not being able to get her back. Even if she didn’t care about Catherine, as long as she had her, she’d always be able to get money from Wilbanks.”
“Would she have known Wilbanks was dying? That could have made her more desperate, too.”
“Yes, she might think this was her last chance to get a settlement out of him or something. In fact, she wouldn’t even need Catherine. She could just tell him he’d never see her again unless he gave them the money, and then she could leave town without producing the child. So maybe she wasn’t as desperate as we think.”
“If she was devious enough to think of that,” Sarah said. “I don’t think I would have, but then, I don’t want to think Catherine’s mother is anything but kind and loving and frantic to see her again.”
“Just keep thinking that. Meanwhile,” he said, taking her arm, “that attorney is waiting for us, and I’m dying to find out what he wants.”
They took the elevated train up Third Avenue. The tracks lay three stories above street level, and riders amused themselves by looking into the windows of the tenement buildings only a few feet away as the train rolled past. This time of day, the El wasn’t too crowded, so they easily found seats for the relatively brief ride that could have taken hours in the traffic-choked streets below.
When they emerged from the covered stairway at the Fifty-ninth Street Station, they might have been in a different city. Here no street vendors hawked their wares and no bedraggled children or mangy dogs raced down the sidewalks. Tree-lined streets ran between rows of well-kept houses. Decorative wrought-iron fences separated the tiny front lawns from the sidewalk. The people who lived here never had to worry about dodging the landlord or going to bed hungry.
Michael Hicks live
d in a red brick town house with lace curtains. A maid admitted them and took them right upstairs to the formal parlor, where company would normally be entertained. A well-dressed man whose thinning hair and thickening waist marked his entry into middle age stood to welcome them, and to Sarah’s surprise, a woman stood beside him.
Neither was smiling, since this wasn’t a social call, and the woman looked as surprised to see Sarah as she was to see her. The woman’s gaze swept her from head to foot, taking Sarah’s measure as women did, judging and categorizing her in an instant. For a moment Sarah regretted not having dressed for the occasion. Then again, nothing in her current wardrobe would have indicated she was anything other than a midwife to the working class of the city. Besides, she’d long since stopped caring about such things as appearances. These people would soon have reason to judge her on who she was, not what she wore.
“Mr. Malloy,” the man said. “I am Michael Hicks, and this is my wife, Lynne.”
The two men shook hands, and Malloy nodded to Mrs. Hicks, then said, “And this is Mrs. Brandt,” which was all they had decided to reveal at this point, although their host looked more than curious.
Hicks was too well mannered to leave guests standing while he interrogated them, so he invited them to be seated, and Mrs. Hicks offered them refreshment and rang for the maid to bring it. When the girl had gone to fetch it, the four of them sat for a long moment in silence. Only then did Sarah notice how tense the Hickses were. She and Malloy were anxious, of course, but she hadn’t expected Hicks to be, and she hadn’t expected Hicks’s wife at all. Yet when she met Mrs. Hicks’s eye, she saw her own anxiety mirrored there.
“Are you Mr. Wilbanks’s daughter, Mrs. Hicks?” Malloy asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“Yes, I am.” She was an attractive brunette who wore her age well, but Sarah was fairly certain she was not someone Carrie would have called young and stylish. “And you must be the woman who has the little girl.”
“Your sister, yes,” Sarah said, wanting to see her reaction. She winced slightly, and Sarah realized she couldn’t blame her. How would she have felt to learn her father had a young child by a mistress?
Murder in Chelsea Page 8
