Murder On GramercyPark

by Victoria Thompson

  Potter seemed offended at the very suggestion. “Mr. Symington told me to proceed with the arrangements. I felt that was all the authority I needed. I assure you, Mrs. Blackwell will not be troubled in the slightest. Her well-being is my foremost concern, and I would never do anything that might cause her distress.”

  Frank could believe that. The man seemed extraordinarily concerned with Mrs. Blackwell’s well-being. “I appreciate the opportunity to meet Dr. Blackwell’s friends and associates,” Frank said. “It should help me in my investigation.”

  Potter’s round face grew red. “It would not be appropriate for you to question people during a funeral, Mr. Malloy. No one there will know anything anyway. You’d do better using your time to search for young Calvin.”

  “Who’s Calvin?” Mrs. Brandt asked, and Frank winced. He’d been trying to keep her out of this, and now Potter had hooked her right in.

  Frank considered trying to brush off her question, but she’d never allow that. He could tell by the expression on her face that she was like a hound on the scent now. In any case, Potter was already telling her everything she needed to know.

  “Calvin Brown. He’s a young man who had a… a certain grudge against Dr. Blackwell. I believe he is the one who killed Edmund,” he added with more authority than he had any right to feel. At least he hadn’t given her all the dirty gossip, Frank thought.

  She turned to Frank expectantly. “If this man is the killer, why haven’t you arrested him yet?”

  “Because no one knows where he is,” Frank replied, managing not to sound testy. It was a pure act of will.

  “Oh, my, that is inconvenient, isn’t it?” she asked without a hint of sympathy.

  “Very,” Frank agreed.

  “If you could find him, you probably could have arrested him yesterday by, oh, I don’t know, say by nightfall,” she said.

  Frank gave her a thin smile that she returned with a smirk.

  “Oh, yes,” Potter was saying, although no one was paying him any particular attention, “I’m sure this boy is the one who killed poor Edmund. He had an appointment with him that afternoon, and no one else was even in the house at that time. The servants had the afternoon off, and Mrs. Blackwell was out doing her visits. Who else could it have been? And now, of course, he’s nowhere to be found. I’m sure that proves his guilt, the fact that he’s vanished. Don’t guilty men usually flee?” he asked Frank.

  “If they can,” Frank replied. At least Mrs. Brandt would think the killer was beyond their reach. Maybe she would lose interest in the case or maybe there wasn’t really a case at all. Either possibility would keep her out of it.

  This pleasant thought was interrupted by a commotion out in the hallway.

  “What on earth?” Potter muttered, but Frank beat him to the door.

  When he slid it open, he saw Granger confronting a roughly dressed boy of about sixteen who seemed determined to gain entry into the house over Granger’s equally determined efforts to keep him out.

  “There is a police officer here,” Granger was saying with unmistakable warning. “Must I summon him?”

  “Summon whoever you want, you old windbag,” the boy said. “I come to see my father, and I ain’t leaving until you tell him I’m here!”

  “What’s going on here?” Frank demanded, and Granger half turned to acknowledge him.

  “This young man is obviously at the wrong house,” he told Frank. “He insists on seeing his father, even though I have assured him there is no such person here. He was here the other day, too, and I had to run him off then as well.”

  Frank looked the boy over. “What’s your name, son?”

  The boy pulled himself up to his full height, making him still half a head shorter than Granger. “My name is Calvin Brown.”

  4

  C ALVIN BROWN! SARAH THOUGHT. HE’S THE ONE Potter thinks killed Dr. Blackwell! But he was just a boy, hardly more than sixteen or seventeen, and he certainly didn’t look like a killer. Besides, if he’d killed Dr. Blackwell, he’d hardly be demanding admittance to his house today, would he?

  Sarah heard Amos Potter gasp, and then he said, “That’s him! The one I told you about. Arrest him, Malloy!”

  The boy’s face blanched, but he didn’t look particularly intimidated. Quite the contrary, he looked even more defiant than he had before. “Arrest me for what?” he challenged. “Ain’t no crime to come to see your old man!”

  “Who is his father?” Sarah asked of anyone who would listen.

  Young Calvin was the only one listening. “He’s Eddie Brown, but that’s not what he calls himself these days. Calls himself Edmund Blackwell, but that don’t change who he is, does it?”

  It took Sarah only a moment to judge that the woman upstairs, who was the current Mrs. Blackwell, could not possibly have given birth to this boy. She was no more than five years older than he, if that. Dr. Blackwell had a very interesting history, if Sarah was any judge, but she could tell from the look Malloy was giving her that she’d better not inquire too closely into the subject just now.

  Malloy stepped forward, forcing Granger to stand aside so Malloy could confront the boy. “Dr. Blackwell is dead,” he said baldly.

  Sarah winced at the coldness of it. If the boy was truly Blackwell’s son, this was needless cruelty.

  The boy blinked in surprise, not yet comprehending what Malloy had said. “Dead? How could he be dead? Wasn’t nothing wrong with him a couple days ago.”

  “There wasn’t nothing wrong with him at all until somebody shot him on Tuesday,” Malloy replied.

  The boy’s jaw dropped, but he still wasn’t ready to believe. He glanced around wildly until his gaze settled with desperation on Sarah. “Is that true, ma’am?”

  Sarah was touched. He’d chosen her as the most trustworthy person in sight. “I’m afraid it is, Mr. Brown,” she told him as gently as she could.

  They all watched as the emotions played across his young face-shock, confusion, despair, and finally anger. “Well, that’s just something, ain’t it?” he asked of no one in particular as he blinked back tears. “He’s run out on us twice now, and this time it won’t do no good to find him.”

  The story was coming clearer to her now. Dr. Blackwell-or whatever his real name was-had abandoned this son and the rest of whatever other family the boy had, changed his name, and made a new life for himself. Somehow the boy had found him, though, and… Oh, dear heaven! No wonder Potter thought Calvin might have killed his father. Potter had said the boy held a grudge against Dr. Blackwell, but this was far more than a grudge. Could such a young, innocent-looking boy have fired a bullet into his father’s brain, no matter what that father had done to deserve it?

  “Mr. Malloy, are you going to do your duty and arrest this boy?” Potter was asking, his tone outraged.

  Malloy gave him a quelling look that silenced him, then turned back to the boy. “Why don’t you come into the parlor with me, son. I’ve got some questions to ask you.”

  “You think I killed him?” the boy asked, even more outraged than Potter had been. “My own father?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Malloy reminded him, taking his arm in his strong grip.

  The boy instinctively tried to pull away, but the resistance lasted only a moment, until he saw the expression in Malloy’s dark eyes. He seemed almost to shrink with his surrender to Malloy’s superior strength and power. His bravado evaporated, and he was an uncertain boy again.

  “Excuse us, please,” Malloy said with uncharacteristic courtesy as he forced Sarah and Potter to give way and allow him and the boy to enter the parlor.

  Sarah had a powerful urge to follow them in. Only her knowledge that Malloy would immediately-and not very politely-order her out prevented her from acting on it. She sighed as the parlor doors closed in her face.

  “Will he arrest him?” Potter asked her anxiously.

  Sarah glanced at the butler, who was listening to every word with the discretion to which he had b
een bred. His expression betrayed nothing, but Sarah imagined he was mentally recording every word and would repeat it belowstairs to all the servants as soon as he got the opportunity.

  “Perhaps we should step into another room,” she suggested. She could simply have brushed off his question and taken her leave-she had no real answer to give him, after all-but she felt certain he had a lot of answers to give her, if she simply asked the right questions. She wasn’t going to ask them in front of the butler, however.

  “Oh, yes,” Potter said, instantly realizing they needed some privacy for their discussion. “We could use the study, if you don’t mind…”

  The room where Dr. Blackwell had been murdered. Little did Potter know a woman had been murdered in the parlor they had just left, and Sarah had found the body. Sarah wasn’t afraid of the dead. “Not at all,” she said, and allowed him to precede her and open the door.

  Sarah looked around with interest at the room which Edmund Blackwell/Eddie Brown had made his own. The furnishings were decidedly masculine: dark woods polished to a bright sheen, overstuffed chairs, several built-in bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, English hunting scenes hanging in heavy frames on the walls. Nowhere did she see any signs of the man himself, though. The desk had been cleared, of course, and it may have held some personal items that would have given her a clue as to his character. Nothing of him now remained except a dark stain that had been ineffectively scrubbed away from the carpet, so she was left to reconstruct his personality from what others said about him.

  “Will Mr. Malloy arrest him?” Potter asked again when they were safely behind closed doors.

  Sarah had an urge to check to make sure Granger wasn’t eavesdropping, but she resisted it. “If he decides that the boy killed Dr. Blackwell, he will,” she hedged. “What makes you think he did? He’s awfully young.”

  “A viper doesn’t have to be large to be deadly, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with some force. “I suppose you have surmised the relationship between the boy and Dr. Blackwell.”

  “Dr. Blackwell was his father,” she said, confirming his suspicion. “And I gather Dr. Blackwell must have deserted the family.”

  “Yes, he… he left his first wife and children several years ago. It wasn’t intentional,” he assured her quickly.

  Sarah raised her eyebrows, wondering how such a thing could be unintentional, but she didn’t have to ask the question aloud. Mr. Potter anticipated her.

  “He explained it all to me. You see, he was always a healer by profession, but he was doing very poorly in Virginia. That’s where he lived then. He couldn’t support his family, so he traveled to Boston to study with a well-known practitioner of the art of magnetic healing there. He thought if he could improve his talents, he could be more successful. He worked as much as he could and continued to send money home to his family. He never intended to leave them permanently.”

  “At some point he apparently changed his mind,” Sarah pointed out. “Was it when he met Letitia Symington?”

  “Oh, it wasn’t like that at all! Letitia would never… She’s much too… Oh, no, it had nothing to do with her at all!”

  “Then what did it have to do with?” Sarah prodded, wondering why Potter felt he had to justify Blackwell to her but glad for his need nonetheless.

  “He became quite proficient in the new art of magnetic healing, and so he came here to the city and began to build a following. He lived frugally, still sending money home when he could and depending on his satisfied patients to recommend him to their friends. One of those patients recommended him to Mr. Symington.”

  “For his daughter,” Sarah said. “I understand she’d been severely injured in a riding accident.”

  “Yes, and her father was desperate to see her whole again. Letitia’s mother had died years earlier, so she was all he had. He’d called in every doctor he could find, but nothing had made her any better. Edmund was the only one who was able to help her at all, and within days she was out of her bed for the first time in a year. It was like a miracle.”

  “I’m sure the Symingtons were very grateful to him,” Sarah said, encouraging him in his tale.

  “You can’t know how grateful. Mr. Symington would have done anything to repay Edmund, but all Edmund wanted was for them to help spread word of what he had done for Letitia. Mr. Symington offered to rent a hall for Edmund so he could give a public lecture about his techniques, and when Edmund explained that he needed someone to speak who could personally testify to Edmund’s abilities, Mr. Symington eagerly gave his permission for Letitia to do so.”

  “How did she feel about that?” Sarah asked, already knowing but wondering what Potter would say.

  “Oh, she’s very refined, and it was difficult for her, but she was so grateful to Edmund, she overcame her natural reserve. People openly wept when she told the story of how he had cured her. After that, Edmund’s success was assured.”

  “I’m sure it was. He must have treated many wealthy people after that.”

  “Well, it’s not so easy as it sounds. Many people were still skeptical, of course. His practice grew slowly at first.”

  “So he felt the need to do more lectures,” Sarah guessed.

  “It’s important to educate people. You would be amazed at how many people distrust medical treatment of any kind.”

  “No, I wouldn’st, Mr. Potter. I’m a nurse and a midwife by profession, remember.”

  “Oh, of course,” he corrected himself quickly. “I did not mean any offense.”

  “You gave none. So I’m assuming that Blackwell didn’t become an overnight sensation.”

  “It may have seemed like it to some, but he struggled for months before he could consider himself comfortable. By then he’d fallen in love with Letitia, and she with him. You may wonder that so young a girl was taken with a much older man, but Edmund is… was a very attractive and charming man, and women are often attracted to maturity. It was all very romantic, as you can imagine.”

  “I’m sure Edmund’s first wife wouldn’t agree,” Sarah pointed out.

  “Oh, you’re right, I’m sure, but sometimes… Well, while I cannot condone what Edmund did, forgetting about his first wife and family, I can certainly understand it. Letitia is like no other woman. Her beauty and charm are irresistible, and knowing how much she adored him, Edmund couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her.”

  “Wasn’t he afraid she’d be even more disappointed when she found out he was already married and she was living in sin with a man who had cruelly deceived her?” Sarah asked in amazement.

  “I’m sure he intended that she never find out,” Potter assured her defensively. “Edmund would have died rather than hurt her.”

  “He did die, and he still hurt her,” Sarah pointed out.

  For a moment Potter was nonplussed and stammered around for a reply. Sarah waited patiently, knowing there was virtually nothing he could say that would excuse Blackwell’s behavior, and while she waited, a new thought occurred to her.

  “Who else knew about Blackwell’s other family?” she asked.

  Potter stared at her stupidly. “No one. I am the only one in whom he confided.”

  “Are you sure? Did Letitia know? Or her father?”

  “I can’t imagine Edmund would have told anyone at all, particularly Letitia or her father,” he sniffed. “A scandal like this would have ruined him. He intended to pay Calvin off and thus buy his silence. I’m sure he wouldn’t have spoken of it to anyone else.”

  “Why did he tell you, then?”

  Potter was beginning to dislike Sarah. She could see it in his tiny, mud-brown eyes. “I was Edmund’s business associate and dearest friend. He needed advice from someone, and I was the only one he could trust.”

  Sarah was sure she now understood. “And you helped him get the money to bribe Calvin.”

  “Really,” Potter huffed, so thoroughly offended that Sarah knew she had guessed the truth. “I’m sorry to have bothered you with this,
Mrs. Brandt. You must think me terribly inconsiderate. A female must find this entire business extremely distressing.”

  Sarah wanted to tell him she’d seen birth and death and murder and murderers enough that hardly anything shocked her anymore, but she simply smiled sweetly, playing to Potter’s prejudices. “You needn’t worry that you have distressed me, Mr. Potter. I’m simply concerned for Mrs. Blackwell’s health. A scandal could be very detrimental to her recovery.”

  “Oh, dear, of course. I should have thought of that. I was merely concerned with her mental state. I never thought… But you needn’t worry, Mrs. Brandt. I am completely trained in the healing arts that Edmund practiced. If Letitia suffers a relapse, I am more than competent to attend her.”

  “I’m sure she’ll find that a comfort, Mr. Potter,” Sarah said, although she believed no such thing. “And speaking of comfort, I should check on Mrs. Blackwell. I want to make sure she wasn’t disturbed by Calvin’s arrival. The less she knows about this the better, as I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  Potter did not protest her departure. He obviously had grown uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. And clearly, she had gathered all the information he had to give her at the moment, although she doubted the accuracy of some of the details. Potter’s version of events was colored by his loyalty to Blackwell-or his eagerness to whitewash Blackwell’s reputation so he wouldn’t be hurt too much by his association with him. At least she knew the bare facts now, however. Blackwell was a bigamist who had deceived a wealthy young woman from a powerful family. If that wasn’t a motive for murder, Sarah would dance naked down Fifth Avenue.

  CALVIN BROWN DID not resist when Frank pushed him down into one of the overstuffed chairs in the parlor. The boy’s clear blue eyes were wide with fear, although he was doing his level best to pretend he wasn’t afraid at all. Frank had to admire his spirit.

  “Now, Calvin,” Frank began, taking a seat opposite him, “tell me what you’re doing here today.”