Murder In Chinatown

by Victoria Thompson

  Nothing in Frank’s life experience led him to believe this would be good news. “Yes, you have my word,” he promised, oddly flattered that a man like Decker would consider that promise valid, coming from someone like Frank.

  “You may know that our new president owes Commissioner Roosevelt a debt. Even though Theodore had reservations about McKinley in the beginning, he campaigned for him vigorously.”

  “And politicians always pay their debts,” Frank said, understanding the process only too well.

  “That’s right. He will be giving Theodore a political appointment soon, and when he does…”

  “Roosevelt will resign from the Commission.” Rumors were already circulating.

  “Roosevelt is an honorable man,” Decker said. “Honorable men are rare and usually despised by those who are not.”

  “He’s made a lot of enemies,” Frank agreed.

  “Enemies who will no doubt ensure an end to his reforms to the Police Department, among other things.”

  Frank remembered only too well how the police had operated before Roosevelt had taken office two years ago—the same way it had operated since the first men were issued the leather hats that marked them as law enforcement officers back in the twenties. Men were hired and advanced through the ranks not on merit but by bribing those in charge. Cops investigated crimes only when they were paid a “reward” for doing so. Justice came only to those with the means to pay for it.

  “I’d better find Dr. Brandt’s killer before Roosevelt leaves then,” Frank said. “How long do I have?”

  “A few weeks. A month at the most. There’s already speculation, so the newspapers may learn about it even sooner.”

  Frank understood. “Thank you for the information,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “I didn’t do it for you,” Decker reminded him. “I want to know what happened, for Sarah’s sake.”

  “So do I,” Frank assured him.

  MAEVE HAD INVITED MALLOY AND HIS SON BRIAN OVER for supper. She’d been wanting to show off her cooking skills, and Sarah had suggested these two guests in particular. She wanted an opportunity to speak with Malloy privately, and she knew he wouldn’t seek her out. After what had happened with Keely O’Neal, he was more determined than ever to keep Sarah away from him and the crimes he investigated.

  The meal was a great success, and Malloy was generous with his compliments, making Maeve blush more than once. Even Brian complimented her. Although the adults weren’t quite certain what he was saying with his hand movements, no one could mistake his enormously satisfied grin. Sarah’s favorite moment, however, was when Catherine whispered, “Good pie,” after she’d taken her first bite.

  Malloy had almost choked on his, but when he’d caught Sarah’s eye with an unspoken question, he’d taken her hint and pretended nothing untoward had happened. When the meal was over, he’d said, “Maeve, why don’t you take the children upstairs? Mrs. Brandt and I will clean up.”

  Maeve gave him a knowing look that made him blush, and dutifully ushered the children out.

  “How long has Catherine been talking?” he asked the instant they were alone.

  “Since the day Keely showed up on our doorstep,” Sarah told him and pretended not to notice his flinch. She started to clear the table.

  “That never should’ve happened,” he said.

  “I know. I was so determined not to put myself in danger because I have responsibilities now.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for a year,” he reminded her.

  “I remember,” she told him wryly and kept stacking the dishes.

  “Are you saying that you’re finally ready to listen?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what, exactly?” he asked with the slightest touch of irritation.

  “I realized that if I hadn’t been trying so hard to protect myself and my family, I probably would have figured out that Keely was the killer much sooner.”

  “You can’t know that,” he protested.

  “No, I can’t, but I also can’t be sure it isn’t true. In any case, I’ve also realized that no matter what I do—whether I get involved in solving murders or I just deliver babies that arrive at all hours of the day and night—I’m going to be in some kind of danger every day. None of us knows how long we have to live, Malloy, but if we sit quietly in our houses and try to stay safe, we’ll die without ever having lived.”

  “That’s…that’s crazy!” he insisted.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I think it’s the sanest thought I’ve had in a while. And as horrible as it was when Keely showed up here intending to kill me, it shocked Catherine into talking again. I wouldn’t trade that for any kind of safety, Malloy.”

  For the first time she could remember, Malloy was speechless. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, so she proceeded to prepare the dishwater, pumping the cold water into the pan and then drawing hot water from the reservoir on the stove and mixing it in. Then she gave Malloy a towel and started washing. Malloy needed no instruction. He dried the dishes as she handed them to him.

  After a few minutes of this, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve finally located all of those women your husband was…interested in.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “It’s been so long, I…I thought you’d given up.”

  “No, I just needed time to…There was a lot of investigating to do, and the families weren’t going to cooperate, so I had to do it…privately.”

  Sarah didn’t know what that meant, but if he’d wanted to explain, he would have, so she didn’t ask. The important thing was that he now had the information he needed. “What are you going to do next?”

  “I’m going to question the families. I’ve got the authority from Roosevelt and now I know where to find them all.”

  “You know I’ll help in any way I can,” she said.

  He gave her one of his looks. “Yeah, and your mother will help and Maeve will help and even Catherine will help, too,” he said sardonically.

  “Yes, they will,” Sarah informed him just as sardonically. “If that’s what it takes. We might even recruit Brian and your mother.”

  That surprised him into a grin before he regained his composure. “Whoever killed your husband probably knows who you are. You can’t be involved, Sarah.”

  She loved it when he called her by her name. For just that moment, they were alone in time and space and connecting in a way she’d never experienced with anyone else. She looked into his dark eyes and saw the fear that made him want to protect her. She saw something else, too, the feelings neither of them dared name. “You’ll keep me informed at least, won’t you?”

  “If I can,” he said.

  “And if you need anything, anything at all…”

  “I know, I’ll ask for it.”

  She knew he wouldn’t.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said gravely. “We don’t have much time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Roosevelt won’t be around much longer.”

  “What do you mean? Have you heard something?”

  “Not officially, but the rumors say he’s going to Washington. When he’s gone, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be allowed to work on this case.”

  They’d talked about this possibility before. Without Roosevelt and his high-minded reforms, Malloy believed the Police Department would revert back to its former state of corruption. “How long do you have?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, then,” Sarah said, going back to washing her dishes. “We’ll just have to do it quickly, won’t we, Frank?”

  Author’s Note

  I’VE LONG BEEN FASCINATED BY THE MYSTERIES OF CHINATOWN, so I was thrilled to be able to finally write about them. I have accurately described the way the immigration laws discriminated against the Chinese and how the Chinese managed to prosper through hard work and determination in spite of it.

  Please let me hear from you. I will
put you on my e-mail list and send you a reminder when the next book in the series, Murder on Bank Street, is published. Contact me through my website, victoriathompson.com.