Symington was a careful man. He took a moment to weigh his options. He could, of course, have called Frank a liar and ordered him from the room. He could have feigned ignorance and demanded an explanation. But he was too wise to take any chances. He understood that a scandal like this, involving the betrayed daughter of a wealthy and powerful man, would sell a lot of newspapers. The respectable papers wouldn’t publish it, of course, but there were many papers in the city that made no pretense to respectability. They would pay a large sum of money for the information Frank had, and Symington had no reason to trust Frank’s discretion.
“Please sit down, Mr. Malloy,” Symington said, instantly reasonable.
Frank did as he was told, noticing that the chair here was much more comfortable and expensive than the one in Blackwell’s former office. This one was leather and as soft as butter. A real man’s chair.
“How did the boy die?” Symington asked when Frank was settled.
“Arsenic. Somebody put it in a bottle of sarsaparilla.”
“Somebody?” he asked, not missing the implication.
“It could have been a suicide.”
Symington thought this over. “You don’t believe it was,” he guessed.
“I’m paid to be skeptical.”
“Do you know the entire story?” Symington asked, folding his hands on the desktop. “About the boy, I mean.”
Now it was Frank’s turn to be cautious. He certainly didn’t want to be the one telling Symington something he didn’t know about his own daughter. “I know that Blackwell used to be Eddie Brown and that Eddie Brown had a wife he’d neglected to divorce and three children he’d deserted in Virginia. I know Calvin had traced his father here and that they’d met. Calvin said Blackwell had promised to give him some money and start supporting the Brown family again. I only have his word on that, since Blackwell wasn’t around to confirm anything. Oh, and Amos Potter said Blackwell had gotten some money together and planned to meet with Calvin on the afternoon he was killed. The boy claimed nobody answered the door that day, so he never even saw his father, but nobody’s seen the money since, either.”
“Potter believes the boy killed Edmund. If he did, he could have killed himself out of remorse,” Symington suggested.
“That would make everything neat and tidy,” Frank pointed out. “But if he did kill Blackwell, why didn’t he take the money and leave town? Why stay around and put himself in the way of being caught? If Calvin didn’t kill his father—and that’s a pretty unnatural thing to do, no matter what your old man did to you—then somebody’s gotten away with murdering two men.”
“Two men about whom I care little, Mr. Malloy,” Symington pointed out without apology. “I do care very much about my daughter, however. Protecting her good name and that of her child must be my main concern.”
“Any father would feel the same,” Frank allowed. “Too bad Blackwell wasn’t as concerned about his children. That Calvin, for instance; he seemed like a good boy, and he’d gotten a pretty rough deal from his old man. Had to go to work when he was just a kid to help support his mother and two little sisters. Now his mother’s lost her husband and her only son. Don’t hardly seem fair to mark the boy a killer if he’s innocent.”
“Many things in life aren’t fair, Mr. Malloy, as I’m sure you are well aware. But I would be happy to compensate Mrs. Brown for her loss. It’s not my responsibility, of course, but it’s the right thing to do. The poor woman has suffered too much already. There’s no reason she should be rendered destitute by the loss of her son, and I have the means to help her. I also feel some obligation because I allowed Edmund to marry my daughter in the first place.”
He’d be responsible for blackening Calvin’s name, too, which would be even worse, because he’d do it intentionally. Frank didn’t think reminding him of this would help the situation any, though. He was already dangerously close to having Symington order him to declare Calvin as Blackwell’s killer and close the case. A rich man had done this to him once before, and a word from Symington to Chief of Police Conlin was all it would take. Frank wasn’t going to let that happen again if he could help it.
“But what if somebody else killed both of them?” he suggested to Symington. “Somebody you don’t care about either. Somebody who’d be better off locked up. Somebody you’d also like to keep away from your daughter.”
Symington’s face hardened. “You seem to be speaking of someone in particular, Mr. Malloy. Is that the case?”
“I’ve learned a few things about your daughter’s past that might give a man we both know a reason for wanting Blackwell out of the way,” Frank said, not really answering the question.
Symington was angry, although he was trying not to show it. “My daughter’s past is none of your concern, Malloy.”
“What if her past has moved into the present?”
Symington was angrier still, but he was also afraid of how much Frank might know and of what he might do with that knowledge. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about old friends suddenly showing up. Friends who might prefer it if your daughter wasn’t married anymore. A friend who might even want to marry her himself the way he tried to once before.”
“That’s impossible,” Symington insisted, but it sounded more like a frantic hope than a certainty.
“Peter Dudley visited your daughter just the other day,” Frank said.
“That son of a bitch.” Symington’s rage was interesting. He looked as if he wanted to shout and pound on his desk and even throw something out that impressive window. Instead, he merely turned a deep shade of purple and stared murderously at a spot somewhere over Frank’s left shoulder. Frank was afraid he might have apoplexy, and that wouldn’t serve Frank’s purpose at all.
“I also know the story of how Dudley tried to elope with your daughter,” Frank said, saving Symington the trouble of making up any lies about their relationship and, with any luck, distracting him from his own rage.
“That bounder has no principles at all,” Symington said with surprising restraint.
“So I gathered,” Frank said agreeably. “I don’t know what I’d do to a man who tried to steal my daughter and then left her an invalid.”
“I know what I wanted to do,” Symington admitted, this time surprising Frank with his candor. “He hardly seemed worth the effort, though. Have you seen him?”
Frank nodded.
“Then you know what I mean. How could I have imagined such a man was a threat to my daughter? If I’d ever dreamed a girl like Letitia would find a worthless creature like that appealing... But of course I had no idea. The next thing I know, he’s pounding on my door in the middle of the night, holding my daughter’s broken body in his arms.”
“It must have taken a lot of courage to face you like that,” Frank pointed out.
Symington snorted rudely. “I suppose you’re right. He could have left her lying in the road and run for his life. If he’d done that, I most certainly would have hunted him down and made certain he got what he deserved.”
“Instead you let him go,” Frank guessed.
Symington sighed. “My only concern was for Letitia. If he simply left the area, she couldn’t hate me for that, and I hoped she’d come to despise him for being a coward. He was terrified when he carried Letitia into the house that night, so it took only a hint to make him see the wisdom of vanishing from her life forever. Or so I thought,” he added wearily.
“Maybe he really does love your daughter,” Frank said, still playing devil’s advocate.
“What possible difference could that make?” Symington asked disdainfully. “And if he did love her, he’d have the decency to leave her alone. Anyone can see he’s completely unsuitable for her. You’re obviously a romantic, Mr. Malloy, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fortune hunter and always has been. As soon as he found out Letitia was a widow, he came sniffing around to try his hand with her again. I won’t have it, not this time. And this time I’ll make sure he d
oesn’t come back into her life.” He had made his resolution, and Frank sensed he would dismiss him in another moment. He had to act fast if he wanted a chance to find Blackwell and Calvin’s real killer.
“Mr. Symington, there may be more to this than you believe.”
“More to what?” Symington asked absently, already mentally making his plans for disposing of Peter Dudley.
“Dudley didn’t just come back into your daughter’s life. They’ve been seeing each other secretly for over a year.”
For once Symington was unable to control his emotions. This time he did strike his desk, with a force that sent a pen clattering from its holder.
“I know this is an unpleasant subject for you”—Frank hurried on before Symington could be distracted by his own fury again—“but I’m sure you’ll agree that his involvement with her gives Dudley a very good reason for wanting to see your daughter a widow.”
Symington took a moment to absorb what the detective had said. He needed only that moment. “You think he killed Edmund,” he said baldly.
“It’s possible. He had a motive, and he has no alibi.”
“Then arrest him!” Symington exclaimed.
Frank had him where he wanted him now. “I’d like to, except that I’m afraid if I do, he might implicate your daughter.”
“What? He wouldn’t dare!”
“He very well might, if he thought it would keep him from being executed. Or if he thought the threat of a scandal would frighten you into protecting him.”
Symington started to deny that he could possibly be influenced, but then he thought better of it. The threat was very real, and Symington did want to protect his daughter at all costs. Frank still wasn’t convinced he hadn’t killed Edmund Blackwell himself for that very purpose, either. “You’re not going to let him go free, are you?” he asked.
“Not if he killed Blackwell,” Frank said. “But I’ve got to be certain that he can be convicted of planning and carrying out the murder all on his own. I’ll need a little more time for the investigation before I can be sure.”
Symington nodded. He was sure that he and Frank understood each other, and that they both wanted the same thing. “Take all the time you need. I’ll make sure no one interferes with you.”
Frank was hard-pressed not to show his relief. “Thank you, Mr. Symington. I’ll do my best to get this matter settled as quickly as possible.”
Frank rose, ready to leave now that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from Symington and before the man could have second thoughts. He was almost to the door when Symington called out.
“Mr. Malloy.”
Frank turned back warily. “Yes?”
“When Peter Dudley is convicted of murder, you will receive a one-thousand-dollar reward from me.”
Frank almost winced. How easy it would be to make sure Dudley was convicted of the crime. Most detectives would gladly oblige for even a small portion of a reward like that. Unfortunately, Frank was no longer one of them. If Dudley turned out to be innocent, Sarah Brandt was going to have quite a bit to make up to him.
LETITIA BLACKWELL STARED at Sarah in astonishment, but only for a few heartbeats. Then she laid one small white hand on her bosom and said, “I believe I am going to faint. I must return to my rooms immediately.”
Instantly, Dudley was supporting her, making sympathetic noises and offering to assist her.
“If you faint, I’ll have to throw water in your face,” Sarah said brutally.
Letitia’s eyes grew wide. Apparently, no one had ever taken such a tone with her. Or failed to place her comfort above all other considerations. If she didn’t want to discuss anything unpleasant—and plainly she didn’st—she believed she should be excused from doing so. Sarah had no intention of letting her off that easily, however.
“Mrs. Brandt,” Dudley chided. “How can you say such a thing? Can’t you see how upset she is?”
“If you have so little concern for my health,” Letitia said haughtily, without the slightest trace of faintness, “then I’m afraid I’m going to have to dismiss you.”
“If you dismiss me, I won’t be able to care for your child, either,” Sarah reminded her. “But I’m sure you’ll be able to find another nurse who will be willing to keep your child’s illness a secret and treat it properly.”
“Illness?” Dudley echoed. “What’s wrong with him? He looked perfectly healthy to me. Letitia, what is it? If the child is ill, why didn’t you tell me?”
Letitia had gone scarlet with fury. So much for her fainting spell. “There’s nothing wrong with him at all. We’ll discuss that later,” she snapped at Dudley, then turned back to Sarah. “Say whatever you are so determined to say, and then leave us alone.”
“Calvin Brown has been murdered,” she said bluntly.
Their reactions were difficult to judge. Both looked surprised, and then they glanced at each other almost hesitantly, before turning back to her.
“Who—” Dudley began, but Letitia interrupted him.
“Who is Calvin Brown?” she demanded.
“Edmund Blackwell’s son,” Sarah said.
Neither of them looked particularly surprised, but perhaps they were simply confused.
“That’s ridiculous,” Letitia said after a moment. “Edmund didn’t have a son. He didn’t have any children at all.”
“Are you aware that Dr. Blackwell was married before?”
Sarah thought she’d catch her there, but Letitia said, “Of course, but that was a long time ago. His first wife died very young.”
A good story, and maybe even the one Blackwell had told her. “Did you know he had children by his first wife?” Sarah asked, playing along.
“I told you, he didn’t have any children. Of that I am quite certain.”
Sarah could have pointed out that even Letitia’s child wasn’t Blackwell’s, but she restrained herself. “Dr. Blackwell had three children by his first wife, and one of them was Calvin Brown.”
“Really, I won’t sit here and listen to this nonsense a moment longer,” Letitia insisted, rising to her feet.
“If you don’t care about yourself, surely you’re interested in protecting Mr. Dudley,” Sarah suggested, stopping her when she would have started for the door.
“Protecting him from what?” she asked, outraged or at least pretending to be.
“From being charged with murder.”
Dudley, who had risen along with Letitia, made a strangled noise in his throat and sank back down onto the sofa.
Letitia wasn’t quite so fragile. She merely glared at Sarah. “This is insane. Are you implying that Peter killed this ... this Calvin person? Why should he? He had no reason to do such a thing. We don’t even know him!”
“I’m not implying anything. All I’m saying is that Mr. Dudley—and you, too, Mrs. Blackwell—both had a good reason for wanting to kill Dr. Blackwell. Anyone who sees your child will figure that out in an instant.”
Letitia gasped, and Dudley paled. His eyes were so wide Sarah could see the whites around the blue irises.
“But Peter and I were together when Edmund was killed,” Letitia reminded her. “We couldn’t possibly have done it.”
“The two illicit lovers swear they were together when the betrayed husband was murdered,” Sarah said, trying the theory aloud. “I can’t imagine a jury will believe you.”
“I told you,” Dudley said to Letitia. “That police detective said exactly the same thing,”.
She ignored him. “It doesn’t matter if they believe us or not. We didn’t kill Edmund, and we certainly didn’t kill this other fellow. Why should we?”
“Because he was going to cause a scandal,” Sarah told her.
“What kind of scandal?” she asked skeptically.
“Letitia,” Dudley tried, but she motioned him to silence.
“The scandal of bigamy,” Sarah said, trying to watch both of their faces at once. Dudley merely grimaced, but Letitia turned scarlet again.
“Edmund Blackwell was,” Sarah replied. “And his first wife, Calvin’s mother, is still very much alive. He didn’t bother with a divorce, either. He simply forgot about her and married you.”
If Letitia was shocked, she gave no sign of it. “That’s preposterous! No one would have believed a boy like that! No one would have even listened to him about such a thing. His name wasn’t even the same as Edmund’s!”
She seemed very sure of that for someone who had pretended not even to remember Calvin’s name.
“Are you saying you knew nothing about Calvin Brown and Dr. Blackwell’s other wife?” Sarah asked.
“I certainly am!” Letitia said with an air of triumph.
“That’s a pity,” Sarah said. “Because if you’d known, you would most certainly have been delighted to discover yourself a legally free woman. You and Mr. Dudley could have been married, and you would have been able to keep your child without fear of interference from Blackwell. Instead, you believed you were legally bound in a marriage with no escape unless your husband died.”
“Letitia, please, you must sit down,” Dudley said, hurrying to her and taking her arm solicitously. Indeed, she did look as if she really might faint this time. They both looked rather ill, in fact. She allowed him to lead her back to the sofa and seat her again.
“You have no right to upset her like this,” he said to Sarah. “You should be ashamed of yourself. A nurse should have more respect for her condition.”
“This gives me no pleasure, Mr. Dudley, I assure you. But the fact remains that someone killed Dr. Blackwell and his son. You and Mrs. Blackwell have more reason than anyone else to have wanted Dr. Blackwell dead.”
“But we had no reason at all to want his son dead,” Dudley reminded her.
Sarah bit her tongue. No one was to know that Calvin’s killer had tried to implicate him in Blackwell’s death. This was something only the real killer could know, and Malloy was using the information in hopes of tricking that person into betraying himself.
Murder on Gramercy Park Page 25
