Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  “If the jury doesn’t know that he beat her, Nicholson may be right,” Mr. Decker said.

  “But you said you were sure Yorke didn’t kill him,” Maeve said. “We couldn’t let him be arrested if he didn’t do it.”

  “Just because Nicholson makes a jury think Yorke could have killed Pollock doesn’t mean the police will charge him, even if Mrs. Pollock is acquitted,” Mr. Decker said.

  “That’s right,” Gino said. “If the police are sure she did it, they won’t charge anyone else, no matter what the jury decides.”

  “I felt so sorry for Una when you told me her husband beat her,” Mrs. Decker said. “But now . . .”

  “We promised Mrs. O’Neill we’d help,” Maeve reminded her. “And if she really didn’t kill her husband, she still needs that help.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “I guess she was pretty upset when she saw her husband’s office,” Gino said.

  “Not nearly as upset as I expected,” Mrs. Decker said.

  “Yes,” her husband said. “She was more concerned about the damaged chairs than she was about the empty safe.”

  “Really?” Maeve asked. “Do you think she didn’t know what was in the safe?”

  “She seemed to think her husband would have kept his money in a bank,” Mr. Decker said. “So we didn’t correct her.”

  “She didn’t even have money for cab fare today,” Maeve remembered, “but when I asked her how she intended to pay the servants, she said she’d manage.”

  “Maybe Pollock did have money in a bank,” Gino said.

  “We didn’t find any record of that,” Mr. Decker said.

  “Oh dear,” Mrs. Decker said. “I just happened to think that whoever broke in must have known about the money in the safe, even if Una didn’t, so they must be wondering where it is, too.”

  “And they might think Una knows where it is,” Gino said.

  “And if they saw the article in the newspaper, they know she’s at her house alone and unprotected . . . ,” Mrs. Decker said.

  Gino sighed. “I guess I need to go back over there tonight.”

  Maeve didn’t look happy about that, he was gratified to note. “Is it really our job to protect her? She’s not actually alone in the house, after all.”

  “And you haven’t had supper yet,” Mrs. Decker said.

  “The Pollocks’ cook will give me something to eat, and I don’t think her servants will be much help if someone comes in looking for the money. I’d better go.” He rose.

  “I should go with you,” Mr. Decker said, rising as well. “To introduce you to Mrs. Pollock.”

  “Felix, dear, the servants know him,” Mrs. Decker said with some amusement. “And Gino is a police officer. He certainly doesn’t need help protecting someone.”

  Gino could see how much Mr. Decker wanted to take some action, but also how foolish his wife thought he was being to rush off to rescue Mrs. Pollock. “Is she really that beautiful?” he said, making it a joke.

  Mr. Decker smiled. “Not beautiful enough to make a man forget himself entirely, I guess. I’ll get the carriage for you.”

  “I can get there faster on the El. Mrs. Decker, I’m very sorry to miss having supper with you.”

  “And we’re very sorry to miss your company. We’ll make it up to you when this is all over.”

  He glanced at Maeve and was happy to see her disgruntled frown. “I’ll try to get away early in the morning so I can stop by and tell you what happened before I go on duty.”

  “I’ll be very interested to hear your opinion of Mrs. Pollock,” she said with just the slightest edge in her voice.

  He gave her a wink that brought color to her cheeks and made Mrs. Decker cough to cover a laugh.

  “Won’t you need some things if you’re going to spend the night there again?” Mrs. Decker asked.

  “I still have my bag from last night. I left it in the carriage.”

  “I’ll send one of the maids for it. Let me see you out,” Mr. Decker said.

  Gino caught Maeve’s eye one last time and was relieved that she still looked very unhappy to see him go.

  * * *

  “Do you think she’s really in danger?” Maeve asked Mrs. Decker when the men were gone.

  “I think she well may be. Someone was looking for the money from the investments, and they didn’t find it. Whether Una knew it was there or not, she is the most logical person to know where else Pollock might have hidden it, and we’re the only ones who know she doesn’t.”

  So many things about Una Pollock didn’t make sense. “I really expected her to be upset when she found out the house had been robbed.”

  “I did, too. Of course, if she didn’t know the money was in the safe, she couldn’t be upset to think it had been stolen, but the mere thought that someone had broken into my house would terrify me.”

  “Me, too. And if she did know the money was in the safe, why wasn’t she hysterical to find it was gone?”

  “These are all very good questions, Maeve. How do you think Frank and Sarah would go about finding the answers if they were here?”

  Maeve had been wondering that herself. “I think they would start by asking Una Pollock, but that would mean admitting that we knew about the money, too. I’m afraid to do that, because then she might figure out that you and I could have taken it. Now that I know Una better, she would probably have us arrested for stealing it.”

  “I think you may be right, and since you actually do have it, that would look very bad. So how can we pretend to find out about the money in some other way?”

  Maeve thought about this for a moment. “Mr. Decker seems awfully eager to help. Maybe he should go talk to some of the investors. He can tell them he discovered their names connected to Pollock somehow and wanted to let them know he was dead.”

  “Felix is very clever. I’m sure he’ll figure out a story to tell them.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said, coming back into the room. “What story are you sure I’ll figure out?”

  “A story to tell the investors. We realized that we can’t admit we know about the money because Una might figure out that we’re the ones who took it.”

  “How would she figure that out? Isn’t she most likely to think whoever broke in stole it?”

  “Yes,” Maeve said, “but she’s acting like she doesn’t know about it at all, so how would we unless we’d looked in the safe?”

  “You’re absolutely right. I hadn’t thought of that. I do hate leaving that poor girl penniless, though.”

  “She didn’t seem too worried about it when I asked her how she was going to pay the servants,” Maeve said.

  “And she did seem very certain that her husband kept his funds in a bank,” Mrs. Decker reminded him.

  “And we certainly won’t let her starve to death,” Maeve said.

  “But if she figures out that we have Pollock’s money, she might accuse poor Maeve of stealing it,” Mrs. Decker said.

  “We can’t have that,” Mr. Decker said.

  A tap on the door was the maid telling them supper was ready. They spent the majority of the meal rehashing everything they had learned about Pollock’s murder and realized they still had learned practically nothing of importance.

  * * *

  Once again, Harlem had settled down for the night by the time Gino arrived at the Pollock house. He’d decided to pretend he didn’t know Mrs. Pollock had been released and was just planning to guard the house overnight as he had the night before.

  Strangely, no one answered his first knock. He pounded the knocker a second time with much more enthusiasm. This time Hattie opened it just a crack until she saw it was Gino.

  “Oh, Officer Donatelli, thank heaven you’re here.” She threw open the door and ushered him inside.

  He’d e
xpected her to be happy to see him, but she looked harried instead. “Is something wrong?”

  “That Mr. Truett is here. He’s in with Mrs. Pollock, and we heard him shouting at her, but we didn’t know what to do.”

  “Mrs. Pollock is here?” he said with what he hoped sounded like genuine surprise.

  “Oh yes, sir, she got released today and come home.”

  Just then he heard a man’s voice raised in anger. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was enough.

  “I’ll take care of this.” He handed his bag to Hattie and hurried over to the parlor door. He was just about to open it when he noticed Eddie lurking in the hallway. He looked furious, and Gino could imagine his frustration at wanting to help his mistress but knowing he didn’t dare.

  Gino pushed the parlor door open, startling both occupants into silence. Mrs. Pollock sat on the sofa near the fire, and he saw instantly that Mr. Decker had been wrong. She was beautiful enough to make a man forget himself. She also looked as if she wanted to cry, which only made it worse. Truett, however, was a toad of a man, short and stocky and crammed into a checked suit that wouldn’t have flattered anyone. His face was beet red, and Gino had surprised him in mid-shout. He closed his mouth with a snap, like a fish latching onto a hook.

  Truett turned to her in outrage. “Did you send for the coppers?”

  Gino had forgotten he was in uniform.

  “Of course not. What are you doing here?” she asked Gino, rising to her feet. She looked even better standing up.

  “I’m Officer Donatelli. Mr. Decker sent me to guard the house overnight. I didn’t know you’d been released, Mrs. Pollock.”

  Recognition flickered in her eyes. “Yes, Hattie told me about you.” She turned to Truett. “After the robbery, Mr. Decker thought the servants would feel safer if someone was here.”

  Truett turned his wrath on Gino. “Since when does anybody feel safer with the cops around?”

  Gino decided not to respond to that, since Truett was only too right. “Mrs. Pollock, is this gentleman annoying you?”

  “Annoying her?” he snapped. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Mrs. Pollock totally ignored his question and rewarded Gino with a small smile. “Mr. Truett was my husband’s business partner. He tells me some . . . important papers are missing, and he won’t believe I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Very valuable papers,” Truett said, glaring at her.

  Gino supposed that greenbacks could be called “valuable papers.” “Mrs. Pollock was in the Tombs when the house was robbed,” Gino said, giving her a pretty good alibi.

  Several emotions flickered across Truett’s fleshy face, with anger being the most prominent. “I didn’t say she did it.”

  “Thank you for that, at least,” she said. Even her voice was beautiful. Most men could probably listen to her all day.

  “If you have any ideas about who did rob the house, I’d be happy to hear them,” Gino told him.

  “Why? So you could steal the stuff back for yourself?” Truett asked.

  Gino had to admit that the reputation of the police could be embarrassing at times. He also noticed that Truett didn’t seem the least bit interested in figuring out who had robbed the house, just as Una Pollock hadn’t been. That seemed strange, unless Truett was the one who had done it. If so, he would still be looking for the money, which he apparently was. Very interesting.

  Before he could ask Truett a pointed question about all this, someone pounded loudly on the front door.

  “Good heavens, who could that be?” Mrs. Pollock asked.

  Gino was very much afraid he knew. He went to the front window. About a dozen people had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the Pollock house and more were cruising down the gaslit street toward it on their bicycles. “It’s the Wrecking Crew and their friends.”

  “The what?” Truett said, hurrying over to see for himself.

  “Reporters,” Gino said.

  “You mean from the newspapers?” she asked in alarm.

  “Yes,” Gino said. “The World had a small story about your release in the evening edition. I guess it took a while for them to find out where you live.”

  Hattie appeared in the still-open parlor doorway, looking frightened. She jumped when someone pounded on the door again.

  “Don’t open the door,” Gino told her.

  “Who is it?” Hattie asked.

  “Reporters,” he said. “They’ll probably be out there every day from now on.”

  “Every day!” Mrs. Pollock cried. “Why on earth would they be here every day?”

  “Because,” Truett told her with way too much satisfaction for Gino’s taste, “they want to know all about the beautiful woman who murdered her husband.”

  “I didn’t murder my husband,” she said.

  Eddie appeared beside Hattie in the doorway. “Should I run them off, missus?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “If only you could, my dear boy.”

  Gino looked at Truett, suddenly realizing how to get rid of him. “They’ll want to know who you are and why you were visiting the widow. I’m guessing they’ll have sketch artists out there to capture your likeness, so you can be on the front page.”

  “I can’t have that,” Truett said, his eyes wide with panic.

  “Then you’d better slip out the back way while you still can,” Mrs. Pollock said.

  Someone pounded on the door again. Mrs. Pollock sighed wearily, and Truett glared at her again.

  Hattie darted away, and for a moment Gino was afraid she was going to open the door, but she quickly reappeared. “Mr. Truett, here’s your things.” She held his overcoat and hat. “I’ll take you out the back.”

  He turned to Mrs. Pollock. “This isn’t finished.”

  “I can’t help you, Gordon. He never told me anything.”

  Truett made a humphing noise and strode out. Hattie scurried after him, still carrying his coat.

  Gino made careful note that Una had called Truett by his first name. That was interesting.

  The pounding started again.

  “This is going to drive me insane,” she said.

  “I can’t make them go away, but maybe I can make them stop knocking,” Gino said.

  “I’d be grateful.”

  When Gino reached the parlor door, Eddie stepped aside, his expression murderous. Gino hoped he was only angry with the reporters.

  “Come with me,” Gino said, “and hold the door to make sure they don’t force their way inside. We don’t want them to get to Mrs. Pollock.”

  The boy’s eyes widened in alarm, but he followed Gino and stood by, eager to help.

  As soon as the pounding stopped, Gino threw open the door, surprising the half-dozen men clustered on the stoop. Before they could react, he shoved the front two backward so he could step outside and close the door behind him.

  “Get off the porch. You’re trespassing.”

  “And who are you?” one of the reporters asked, pad and pencil ready to jot down his name and make him famous. Or infamous.

  “I’m a police officer sent to protect Mrs. Pollock. She doesn’t want to talk to you bums, so get off the porch and stop banging on her door.”

  They didn’t move except to take notes. Gino thought he saw someone down on the sidewalk with a big pad of paper, working feverishly to sketch his likeness.

  “We just want to get her side of the story, Officer,” one of them said. “Doesn’t she want the world to know she didn’t do it?”

  “She wants some peace and quiet. Now get off the porch before I have to start throwing you down the steps.”

  The threat seemed to impress them a little. The reporters farthest from the door started to retreat, and then someone shouted. Like hounds on the scent, every one of them turned toward the sou
nd, which had come from the side of the house.

  A young man in a bowler hat came running up from between the houses. “A fellow came out the back door.”

  The reporters on the sidewalk took off down the side of the house. Gino hoped Truett could outrun them. The ones on the porch turned back to Gino and started shouting all at once.

  “Who was it?”

  “Is it her lover?”

  “Did he kill Pollock?”

  “Are they in it together?”

  “How much money did he leave her?”

  “Did she kill him for the money?”

  “We’ll pay you for the story.”

  Gino was sure they would. They wouldn’t even care if what he told them was true. And if he didn’t tell them anything, they’d make something up. Which was worse? He had no idea.

  “Just let us see her for a minute!” one pleaded.

  “Is she as pretty as they say?”

  “Doesn’t she want to see her picture in the newspapers?”

  “I don’t think she does,” Gino said. “Now, I warned you about getting off the porch.” He pulled out his nightstick. Luckily, he’d thought to put it back in his belt when he retrieved his bag from the Deckers’ carriage earlier.

  The sight of the nightstick sent the reporters stumbling back.

  “No reason to get mean!”

  “We’re just doing our job!”

  “We just want to tell her story.”

  Gino took a step forward, raising the locust-wood stick.

  The reporters scrambled down the steps, shoving and tripping one another until they were safely on the sidewalk again.

  “Who are you, copper?”

  “Are you her lover?”

  “Did you kill Pollock?”

  “What’re you doing here?”

  “If anybody pounds on the door again, I’ll club him,” Gino shouted down to them.

  They glared up at him, but nobody said a word. Gino noticed the sketch artist had flipped the page and was drawing again.

  With a sigh, he turned back and found the front door bolted securely. “You can let me back in now, Eddie,” he called, setting off another chorus of questions.