Murder in Chelsea

by Victoria Thompson

  She couldn’t bear pain like that. No one could. She would have to die herself.

  She lay there while the voices around her rose and fell. Sometimes she caught a word or a phrase, but nothing made much sense. Every so often she tried opening her eyes for a few moments before the pounding in her head forced her to close them again. There was something they could do. There had to be. If she could just think . . .

  Someone new was shouting now, someone who sounded like her father. He was berating someone for being reckless and foolish.

  A soft hand caressed her cheek. “Sarah, are you all right?”

  She opened her eyes again, and this time she saw her mother’s lovely face. “They took her.”

  “I know, my darling.” Her red-rimmed eyes flooded with tears. “We’ll find her. Mr. Malloy will find her.”

  Sarah clung to her promise, even though she knew it for a lie. A memory niggled at her. The driver. “John?”

  “He’s fine,” Maeve said, materializing behind her mother. Her eyes were red rimmed, too. “They have him down in the servants’ hall, and they’re looking after him. They used some drug on you both that put you to sleep.”

  “Chloroform.” Sarah could still smell it. “Help me sit up.”

  She realized she was on a sofa in Mr. Wilbanks’s parlor. Lynne Hicks hovered nearby, wringing her hands. Hicks, Malloy, and her father huddled on the other side of the room, deep in conversation. Ozzie and Gilda Wilbanks sat on the opposite side of the room, suitably solemn but offering no assistance.

  To her surprise, Gino Donatelli came in and glanced around. Seeing her, he strode over. “Mrs. Brandt, how are you feeling?”

  “What’s going on? Have they found Catherine?”

  “Not yet. Mr. Malloy has got everybody in the city looking, though. He told your father to telephone the mayor and the chief of police and everybody else he could think of. We already found the cabbie.”

  “What cabbie?”

  “Mr. Malloy said there was a cab at the end of the street when you got here. We think they were hiding in it, waiting until you came out so they could take the little girl. We found the cabbie they stole it from.”

  Hope burned like a tiny ember. “Then you know they took her in a cab?”

  “Only until they got around the corner and out of sight. They must’ve had another wagon or carriage or something. We found the cab, but they were long gone.”

  Who could have done this? She’d told them she didn’t want their money. She’d been so certain Catherine was safe. Dear heaven, how would they ever find her?

  “There must be something I can do,” her father said.

  “We’re already scouring the city,” Malloy said.

  “How do they even know where to look?” Sarah asked Gino.

  His handsome face tightened, and he shook his head. No one knew where to look. No one knew anything at all.

  Except that she knew no one in the Wilbanks family had done it. They’d all been right here. If only her head weren’t pounding so, maybe she could figure it out.

  “I could offer a reward,” her father said.

  “David would match it,” Michael Hicks said.

  “Where’s Mr. Wilbanks?” Sarah asked, able to see he wasn’t in the room now that she was sitting up.

  “We had to put him to bed,” Lynne said. “He couldn’t stop coughing. He’s beside himself, as you can imagine.”

  Sarah didn’t have to imagine. She felt exactly as he did. She rubbed her head, trying to clear the fog of the chloroform. How could you find one small child in New York City? The police were looking, but Catherine could be anywhere. You’d have to tell everyone in the city to look for her. But how could you tell everyone?

  “The newspapers,” she said.

  “What, dear?” her mother asked. She sat beside her now, holding her hand.

  “The newspapers could help. Father!”

  Startled, her father glanced over at her. “Sarah, are you all right?”

  “Father, you must tell the newspapers.”

  “Tell them what?” All the men were looking at her now.

  “Tell them about Catherine. Tell them she’s been kidnapped, and you’re offering a reward. We need everyone in the city looking for her.”

  “She’s right,” Malloy said. “The newspapers will be happy to print the story that David Wilbanks’s daughter has been kidnapped.”

  “No,” her father said. “The papers would have a field day with the scandal of his bastard child, and they’d miss the rest of the story. We’ll tell them my granddaughter has been kidnapped. That will be interesting enough.”

  “Oh, Felix, that’s a wonderful idea,” her mother said.

  “What time is it?” Sarah asked. “They might be able to get out an extra edition this evening.”

  “Some of them will, at any rate,” Malloy said.

  “But how can we get them the news?” her father asked.

  “Down at Police Headquarters,” Gino said. “There’s always reporters from every paper in those flats across the street, just waiting for something to happen. I can take you down there and roust them out for you, Mr. Decker. They’ll be thrilled to get a story like this.”

  “Malloy, what do you think?” her father asked.

  Malloy nodded.

  “My carriage is outside,” her father said, “but I don’t have anyone to drive it.”

  “It’s faster if we take the El,” Gino said.

  “I’ve never ridden on the El,” her father said, and then they were gone. Another time, she might have smiled at the image of her father squeezing onto one of the crowded cars of the elevated train.

  Sarah rubbed her head again, willing away the lingering effects of the chloroform. She had to think. She had to help. They had to find Catherine.

  * * *

  FRANK LOOKED AROUND THE ROOM, STUDYING THE FACES, trying to read them. He had to concentrate. He had to stop thinking about Catherine. Every instinct told him to run out into the street and go after her, but he couldn’t search the city by himself. Dozens of other cops were doing that already, but they had no chance at all of finding her unless he could help them. He must forget his own pain and do what he would do if he’d been called into the case as a total stranger.

  How could this have happened? He turned to Hicks. “Who knew we were bringing Catherine here today?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. All of us, of course.”

  His wife immediately saw the purpose of his question. “The servants knew we were expecting guests, but not who they were.”

  “The maid who let us in knew who Catherine was,” Sarah said. “I could tell by the way she stared.”

  “That’s impossible,” Lynne Hicks said.

  “Servants know everything,” Sarah’s mother said.

  “But they wouldn’t have any reason to take Catherine,” Frank said. “Who else?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” Lynne said. “Not even our children.”

  “Nor did I,” Hicks said.

  Malloy looked over to where Ozzie and Gilda sat.

  “Why would we have told anyone?” Ozzie said. “We hardly want our friends to know about Father’s little bastard.”

  Frank wanted to punch the outrage right off his face, but that could wait until later. “Mrs. Wilbanks?”

  “Whom would I have told? Ozzie is right, we have no reason to want anyone to know about the child.”

  All of which probably meant that the culprit—and most likely the killer they’d been searching for—was in this room. All he had to do was figure out which one it was. “Mr. Hicks, you were the one who kept me here when Mrs. Brandt was ready to leave.” And he had let Sarah and Catherine go out alone, something for which he would never forgive himself.

  Michael Hicks frowned. “I simply asked you to tell us more about Miss Hardy’s death.”

  “You already knew about her death.”

  The unspoken accusation shocked Hicks, but before he could respond, Gi
lda Wilbanks rose and moved with a stately grace to her brother-in-law’s defense. “How dare you accuse him of having something to do with this.”

  “Gilda, really,” her husband said. “I don’t think—”

  “Nonsense! That’s exactly what he’s doing. He wants someone to blame for his own failure, so he’s chosen poor Michael. I won’t tolerate it another moment.”

  “You don’t really have a choice, Mrs. Wilbanks,” Frank said. “Hicks, why did you stop me?”

  He hesitated a second, then turned to Gilda. “Because Gilda asked me to.”

  “I did no such thing! I couldn’t wait for him to leave.”

  But Hicks was nodding slowly as he remembered. “We were standing by the window, and she said she wanted to know what had happened to the actress. That’s what she called Miss Hardy, the actress.”

  “Michael, how could you?” Gilda asked, her lovely cheeks flushing scarlet.

  Ozzie had finally bestirred himself, and he took his place by his wife’s side. “Michael, I must ask you not to upset Gilda.”

  Hicks ignored him. “She seemed quite concerned about your progress in finding Miss Hardy’s killer.”

  “I can’t believe you’d lie about me. Ozzie, make him stop!”

  Ozzie obviously had no idea how to go about such a thing. “Really, Michael,” he said, gesturing helplessly.

  Frank stared at Gilda Wilbanks, at her beautiful face and her perfect hair and her expensive clothes, and wondered if it was even possible.

  “It had to be a woman,” Sarah said, struggling to stand. Her mother helped her, and Maeve hurried to her other side. “Remember? At the boardinghouse. We thought it was Emma.”

  They had. They’d thought Anne Murphy would only have invited a female to her room at the boardinghouse, and that woman had to be Emma. But when a man killed Emma, they’d changed their minds. Could a woman have killed Anne and a man killed Emma?

  “How did you manage to stab Anne Murphy without getting blood on you, Mrs. Wilbanks?” Frank asked.

  Her eyes widened, then narrowed with loathing. “I’m the one who told you what was happening out there.” She gestured to the window, where she’d been standing when Catherine had been taken.

  Frank nodded slowly. “Yes, but too late for me to stop them. You waited until they’d gotten away before you said anything, didn’t you?”

  “Gilda,” Lynne Hicks said, and the word held wonder and disgust.

  “Ozzie, are you going to allow this lout to speak to me like that?” Gilda asked.

  Ozzie looked confused, but he said, “Mr. Malloy, your behavior is appalling. You can’t speak to a lady like that.”

  “I’m not speaking to a lady, and we know she had help, Wilbanks. A man killed Emma Hardy, and it wasn’t Emma’s lover.”

  “But you said it was,” Ozzie said, even more confused. “You said her lover had killed her.”

  “Oh, Ozzie!” Gilda cried, clutching her hands against her heart the way the heroine in a play would do. “You shouldn’t have! I know you hated her, but murder?”

  Ozzie looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, then glanced at the rest of them, probably searching for a friend. He found none.

  “Was Emma happy to see you, Mr. Wilbanks?” Frank asked, willing to play his part in Gilda’s little drama. “Maybe not at first, but I’ll bet you offered her money to go away and not bother your father anymore. She didn’t really want to marry him anyway.”

  “I didn’t . . . I never saw her,” he said.

  “What did you put in the whiskey? Laudanum, maybe, or something else. A druggist will come forward to tell us what you bought when he reads about you in the newspapers. He’ll want to see his name mentioned, too. It will be good for business.”

  Ozzie’s eyes were wild. “I never bought any drugs. I’d never do that. Lynne, tell them.”

  “I guess you were disappointed when Emma wouldn’t drink the whiskey, though,” Frank said, taking a step toward him and watching him recoil in terror. “It would’ve been so much easier if she was unconscious, but you still had to kill her, didn’t you? Gilda told you that you did, and you didn’t dare leave her alive. How else were you going to make sure she didn’t marry your father?”

  Ozzie shook his head frantically. “No, I didn’t do any of that!”

  “Yes, you did, because you’d do anything for your wife, and that’s what she wanted. She didn’t want to share your father’s money with Emma and her child, and neither did you.”

  “No, I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t want him to marry her, but I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t do that to anyone. Lynne, tell him!”

  “He’s right,” Lynne Hicks said.

  Frank looked at her, expecting outrage and seeing only disappointment.

  She sighed. “I know you think I’m just defending him because he’s my brother, but that’s not true. I’m telling you he didn’t kill that woman because he’s too much of a coward to kill anyone. I told you that before, and you didn’t believe me, but now you can see for yourself. He’s not the one she sent to kill Emma Hardy.”

  “No, he’s not,” Sarah said. “She sent Terrance Udall.”

  Hicks and his wife gasped, and Gilda pretended to.

  “Terrance knows nothing about this,” Gilda said.

  “He knows everything about this,” Mrs. Decker said helpfully. “Don’t you remember? He was here when we visited with you.”

  Gilda sent her a murderous glare, which lasted only until Frank grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. “Where is he? Where has he taken her?”

  Most women of her class would have been terrified of him, but she simply lifted her chin and glared. “Take your hands off me!”

  “Let her go!” Ozzie shrieked.

  Frank shook her instead, shocking the arrogance out of her. “Tell me or I’ll beat it out of you.”

  “I’ll help you,” Sarah said.

  That made Gilda smile. “Go ahead and try. I’ll tell you nothing.”

  Lynne Hicks made an impatient sound. “As much as I’d like to see you beat her, I know where he lives. I always wondered why he’d moved out of his parents’ home and taken a flat, and now I understand. It’s so you’d have a place to meet him, isn’t it, Gilda?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Frank shoved her away from him, afraid he might snap her neck if he held on to her another moment. “Where does he live?”

  Lynne gave him the address.

  “He might not be there,” Hicks said. “I’ll go with you, and if he’s not there, we can go to his family. They might know something.”

  Frank could only nod, grateful for his help. He went to Sarah. Her eyes were clear now, and in spite of her terror, he saw the hope she had in him. “I’ll find her.”

  She could only nod. They both knew he might not find her alive.

  “Mr. Malloy, I’ll take Sarah back to our house to wait for you,” Mrs. Decker said.

  “And I’ll wait here with Father,” Lynne Hicks told her husband. “We don’t want to leave him here unprotected,” she added with a meaningful glance at Gilda, who simply turned her back.

  Ozzie tried to comfort her, but she shook him off and stalked back to the window.

  Fear and rage welled in Frank as he left the room with Hicks in his wake. He wanted nothing more than to run all the way to Udall’s flat, but Hicks stopped him when they reached the front door.

  “I didn’t want to say anything in front of the ladies, but I don’t think we’ll find him at his flat.”

  “I know,” Frank said. “But we’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “He couldn’t have done this alone.”

  “No, he probably hired someone. That’s easy enough to do if you know the right people. Do you have any idea who it could have been?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Frank gaped, but only for an instant. “Who?”

  “He’s a client of mine. He, well, as soon as Mrs. Brandt said Terrance’s n
ame, I remembered how friendly he’d been with Klink. And if I wanted to hire some kidnappers, I’d go to him myself.”

  Frank decided not to tell Hicks his opinion of attorneys who did business with people like this Klink. “Then take me to him.”

  Frank had kept a half-dozen officers with him in case he needed help. He sent two of them to Terrance Udall’s flat, just in case. He and Hicks took two more and headed downtown to visit the mysterious Mr. Klink.

  14

  “MRS. HICKS, WOULD YOU RING FOR THE MAID? I’D LIKE to see if our coachman is recovered enough to take us home,” Sarah’s mother asked.

  Sarah couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from Gilda Wilbanks. She stood ramrod straight with her back to them, feigning interest in something out in the street. She’d been standing like that the whole time Wilbanks had been visiting with Catherine. Had she somehow signaled the kidnappers? Of course she had. She’d planned everything.

  “Shouldn’t someone tell Mr. Decker about this Udall character?” Maeve asked.

  “Yes,” Sarah said, tearing her attention away from Gilda. “The newspapers need to say we’re searching for him as well.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Gilda said. “You’ll ruin him with your innuendos!”

  “Good,” Lynne Hicks said. “Should I send one of the servants?”

  “I’ll go,” Maeve said. “I need to do something, and a servant might not be able to get to him.”

  “Oh, Maeve.” Sarah reached out and embraced her, hugging her fiercely. “Be careful.”

  “We’ll find her, Mrs. Brandt,” she said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a promise.

  * * *

  IT’S EARLY, BUT I THINK WE’RE MOST LIKELY TO FIND Klink at his saloon,” Hicks said as they hurried down Avenue B in the heart of the German neighborhood known as Kleindeutschland. “As far as I know officially, you understand, Klink is a respectable businessman, but one hears rumors.”

  “I don’t come to this part of the city much,” Frank said, “which means there’s not a lot of violence here.”

  “That’s because men like Klink keep it out.”

  Even though the winter sun hadn’t set yet, the bar was already crowded with workingmen enjoying a beer after their half day of work. They wouldn’t be drunk enough to be rowdy for a while, though, and they showed only the usual interest in the well-dressed attorney and his companion that strangers would elicit in any neighborhood bar. Frank had left the two uniformed patrolmen out in the street. No sense alarming anyone unnecessarily.