Murder on Gramercy Park

by Victoria Thompson

  “Yes, yes,” Potter said quickly, before Malloy could administer any more blows. “I noticed it was missing. I knew if you’d found it, you would have arrested me when you came to my flat tonight. All I had to do was come back here and retrieve it, and you’d never connect me with Dudley’s death.”

  “Except Dudley isn’t dead,” Malloy pointed out. “And you attacked Mrs. Brandt and tore her dress. I don’t have much respect for a man who’d do something like that.”

  “I didn’t hurt her!” he exclaimed frantically. “I only tried to get the key from her. She was the one who attacked me!”

  Malloy considered Potter’s current condition for a long moment before turning back to Sarah. “You have to tell me how you did this.”

  She shrugged, it had been nothing at all. “A broom handle to the solar plexus.”

  “The what?”

  “Solar plexus. Right here.” She pointed. “One blow and the person is incapacitated for a short period of time.”

  Plainly, this came as no surprise to him except for one thing. “How would you know something like that?”

  Sarah gave him a smug smile. “There are things I know about the human body that would astound you, Malloy.”

  “No doubt,” he said, thumbing back his bowler hat in amazement. “Even still, you’re lucky he didn’t hurt you, and Dudley, too, for that matter. What were you thinking, sending Moran off like that?” He sounded exasperated, but not really mad.

  “I never thought about Potter coming back here. Why should he, if he thought Dudley was dead? In any case, no harm done.” She smiled again.

  He didn’t smile back. Plainly, he thought a lot of harm had been done, or at least could have been. “What about Dudley? How’s he doing?”

  “He’s sleeping. Morphine,” she added as an explanation.

  “Good for him.” He turned back to Potter, who had been listening avidly, probably hoping Malloy had forgotten about him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me about killing young Calvin, now would you?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” he insisted.

  Malloy glanced at Sarah, trying to determine how far he could go without incurring her displeasure or arousing her distaste. Probably not far enough, he judged, and turned back to Potter. “You know, I really liked that boy. He had a lot of guts coming to New York to find his old man. If you’d just stuck with Blackwell and Dudley, I wouldn’t feel quite so strongly about this case, but the boy’s death really bothers me. Lucky for you, Mrs. Brandt is here, so I can’t ask the kind of questions I’d like to. But don’t worry, I’ll call for a wagon and take you down to the station, where we can talk in private about everything.”

  Malloy’s mild tone didn’t fool Potter. The mention of the station house made his eyes widen. Sarah knew she should disapprove of Malloy’s methods, but she had also been fond of Calvin Brown. His killer deserved whatever Malloy saw fit to give him.

  “Will you be all right here while I go find a call box?” Malloy asked her.

  She gave him a pitying look, not bothering to remind him she’d been perfectly fine without him up until now.

  He went out, muttering to himself.

  16

  As FRANK HAD EXPECTED, BY THE TIME HE GOT Amos Potter into the bowels of the Police Headquarters building, he was white with terror. The noises and the smells were horrible enough, but seeing the derelicts and bums being dragged in, bloody and broken from their earlier encounters with police on this busy Saturday night could turn a strong man’s stomach. Amos Potter was not a strong man.

  Frank had hauled him into one of the basement interrogation rooms, shoved him into one of the chairs, and closed the door behind them with a decisive slam. Potter sat there fairly trembling, his eyes stretched wide.

  “Don’t hurt me,” he pleaded. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Do you still deny that you stabbed Peter Dudley?” he began pleasantly. “Bearing in mind that Mrs. Brandt found your watch fob under his bed and that Dudley will most likely identify you when he comes to.”

  “I ... Yes, I must admit that, I suppose. I mean, I did, of course,” he clarified at Frank’s frown of disapproval.

  “And exactly why did you think it was necessary to dispose of Mr. Dudley?” Frank asked.

  Potter took a moment to consider his response. “A lady’s reputation is at stake here, and—”

  “I already know that Dudley is the father of Letitia Blackwell’s baby, so you can forget protecting her,” Frank informed him.

  Potter’s neck reddened, but he managed to maintain what little was left of his dignity. “I believe that he was trying to convince Mrs. Blackwell to marry him.”

  “A bit late, by my reckoning, but so what if she did?”

  Potter seemed shocked. “Don’t you understand? It would be scandal enough if she remarried anyone so quickly after Edmund’s death, but as soon as people saw him and ... and the child ...”

  “I understand the baby bears a striking resemblance to his father,” Frank said.

  Potter sighed. “Even if the red hair were merely a coincidence, it would be remarkable. People would assume the worst, regardless of the truth.”

  “And in this case, the truth is the worst,” Frank reminded him.

  Potter looked as if he’d like to defend Letitia’s honor, but he refrained. “Letitia would be a laughingstock, her reputation ruined. She would be shunned in polite society.”

  Frank could think of worse fates, like being stabbed to death, but he said, “So you felt it was your obligation to murder Dudley and protect her from this fate worse than death.”

  Potter didn’t appreciate his sarcasm, but he held his ground. “I can’t expect you to understand, but this is the only life Letitia has ever known. She would be devastated if she were to be excluded from society.”

  “She would have had the man she loves to comfort her,” Frank said.

  Potter made a rude noise. “She didn’t love Dudley. How could she? He was nothing and nobody.”

  “She tried to elope with him once,” Frank tried.

  “She was only an innocent girl then. Dudley beguiled her. What kind of a man would steal a young woman away in the middle of the night against her family’s wishes?”

  Frank had wondered the same thing, and meeting Dudley for himself hadn’t answered that question. The former schoolmaster still hardly seemed like the bounder and cad he would have had to be to seduce a young woman of good family into betraying everything she knew. Still, no one could deny that he’d done it, so he couldn’t be the well-meaning clod he appeared to be.

  “If she had married Dudley, she would have quickly regretted it,” Potter was saying. “He had nothing to offer her except ruin. Someone had to protect her.”

  “Didn’t you consider asking her father to do that?” Frank asked.

  “Mr. Symington could hardly be expected to deal with a situation like this. He failed to protect her from Dudley before, and she almost died as a result. Besides, I didn’t think he would ...”

  “He would what?” Frank prodded when he hesitated.

  “I thought he might be squeamish about ...” He made a helpless gesture with his hands.

  “About doing away with Dudley permanently?” Frank suggested.

  Potter nodded reluctantly. “Mr. Symington is a gentleman. How could he understand the determination of a man like Dudley? Even after nearly killing Letitia the first time, still he hunted her down and intruded on her life again. The man was relendess. I was afraid that if he didn’t win Letitia this time, he might resort to blackmail or something worse in order to humiliate her. Nothing short of death would have stopped him from pursuing her.”

  Dudley hadn’t struck Frank as relentless. Pigheaded, maybe, and foolish to a fault, but not relentless. Frank thought he just loved Letitia and wanted to be with her. But Potter didn’t have the benefit of actually knowing Dudley, so he could be forgiven for making incorrect assumptions about him. But not for tr
ying to murder him, of course.

  “So you sneaked into Dudley’s rooming house ... How did you know where he lived?”

  “I ... I followed him home from his place of employment,” Potter explained wearily.

  “How did you know where he worked?”

  “He told me, the day I met him at Letitia’s home.”

  Frank nodded his understanding. Potter had showed some cunning but not enough to keep from being caught. “I guess killing a man with a knife was more difficult than you thought,” Frank suggested.

  Potter nodded gratefully. “Yes, it was! I thought I could stab him while he slept and he’d never even know what happened. But the knife wouldn’t go in! And then he woke up and started to struggle. It was horrible!”

  “I’m sure it was pretty horrible for Mr. Dudley, too,” Frank reminded him.

  Potter had the grace to flush. He lowered his gaze.

  “All right, so I know why you tried to kill Dudley. It’s no mystery why you killed Calvin, either. How did you get him to drink the arsenic?”

  Potter raised his eyes. “I deeply regretted having to kill the boy. I know he never did any harm, but—”

  “Potter, don’t make me hit you,” Frank warned. “And if you keep pretending you’re sorry you killed that innocent boy, I might have to break your jaw. And a few ribs if I don’t think you’re repentant enough.”

  Potter swallowed nervously. “What do you want to know?”

  “Just tell me how you did it,” Frank said through gritted teeth. “And try not to say anything stupid enough to make me forget I want you in one piece until you’ve finished your confession.”

  “I brought him the sarsaparilla,” he said quickly. “I told him it was a treat, to make up for how badly things had been going for him. He was very pleased.”

  “I’m sure he was.” Frank restrained himself with difficulty.

  “After he started getting sick, I helped him get to bed and offered to fetch a doctor. Then all I had to do was wait until he passed out. I’d already written the note, so I put it and the arsenic on the bureau. When everyone else in the house had gone to bed, I left.”

  Frank managed to hold his fury in a tight, white ball inside of him. He’d let it go in a minute, just as soon as he had the last of Potter’s confession. “Now tell me why you killed Blackwell.”

  Now Potter looked really frightened. He swallowed again. “Could I have some water?”

  “No, just start talking.”

  “Well, you know what Edmund had done. He’d involved Letitia in a bigamous marriage, and the scandal was going to break unless someone stopped Calvin Brown.”

  “I thought Blackwell was going to pay him off and send him away.”

  “Edmund thought that would be enough, but I knew that a blackmailer is never satisfied. The Browns would have wanted more and more from Edmund. You can’t keep a secret like that for long, either. Edmund had enemies, doctors whose patients he’d been able to cure where they had failed. They would have been only too happy to expose him as a bigamist. They wouldn’t care if they destroyed Letitia’s life in the process.”

  “So you decided Blackwell had to die?” Frank asked incredulously.

  “Don’t you see? It was the only way! If he was dead, the Browns couldn’t blackmail him. Letitia would be a respectable widow and ...”

  “And what?” Frank insisted.

  Potter lifted his chin defiantly. “She would have had people who truly love her to look after her best interests.”

  “Like you?” Frank suggested.

  “I will always be Letitia’s devoted servant.”

  Frank managed not to choke. “I guess you knew Blackwell would be alone in the house that afternoon,” he suggested.

  “I knew he was going to meet with the boy. He’d asked me to help him get the money together, you see.”

  “That’s right, you already told me that part. Did he also ask you to be with him when he met with Calvin?”

  “No, I went there on my own, knowing he’d be alone. I tried to convince him once more not to allow himself to be blackmailed, but he wouldn’t listen to me. We quarreled bitterly, but I still couldn’t persuade him. I could see reasoning with him was hopeless, so I reached into the drawer where I knew he kept his pistol.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “He’d shown it to me on several occasions. Having a gun for protection is only effective if people know you have it, Mr. Malloy.”

  “Did Blackwell think he needed protection from you?” Frank asked with interest.

  “I don’t believe he did,” Potter replied stiffly.

  “So you pulled out the gun. Wasn’t Blackwell sitting right there at the desk? Didn’t he try to stop you?”

  “I don’t suppose he thought I was any danger to him. In any case, he didn’t do anything to stop me. He just sat there and ... and stared at me. I knew what I had to do, so I pointed the gun at his head and fired.” He looked at Frank expectantly, although Frank didn’t know what he was expecting.

  “Then what happened?” Frank asked.

  “He ... he slumped over the desk, just like you found him. And I left the house. No one saw me.”

  “What did you do with the gun?”

  “The gun?”

  “Yes, did you take it with you?”

  “I ... no, of course not, I ... I must have dropped it. I really don’t remember.”

  “Did you touch anything on the desk or in the room?” Frank prodded.

  “I ... I don’t remember. It was so horrible. I think I just ran out.”

  “Didn’t you take the money Blackwell had gotten to give Calvin?”

  “Certainly not! I’m not a thief,” Potter insisted, offended. Apparently, he felt he could commit murder but still maintain some integrity by not stealing from the dead man.

  “Then what happened to the money?”

  Potter looked genuinely baffled. “I have no idea. Probably one of your policemen took it. Or one of the servants. How should I know?”

  Frank sighed. “All right, so you ran out. Where did you go?”

  “Back to my flat. I ... I waited awhile. Then I was going to go back to discover the body. I didn’t want ... Well, I certainly didn’t want Letitia to find it.”

  “Of course not,” Frank said. He’d proven he’d do almost anything to protect Letitia Blackwell from unpleasantness. Unfortunately, he’d also just proven he hadn’t killed Edmund Blackwell.

  SARAH HAD MANAGED a few catnaps during the night but nothing approaching real rest. Since the room was warm, she’d appropriated Dudley’s blanket and made herself a crude pallet on the floor. She could have slept even in such uncomfortable conditions, but Dudley kept waking up from pain or thirst all night. She’d changed his bandages once when he’d opened one of his sutures, and just when she’d finally dozed off the last time, the landlady had come pounding on the door, demanding to know if Sarah wanted some breakfast brought up.

  The next time Malloy needed a nurse, he could just hire one.

  Dudley woke up moaning as the landlady delivered the breakfast tray.

  “He ain’t going to die, is he?” she asked Sarah. “I don’t need nobody dying here. It’s bad for business.”

  “I’ll do my best to see that he doesn’st,” Sarah assured her. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you in any way.”

  The sarcasm was wasted on the landlady, who just nodded her approval and left.

  Sarah checked Dudley for fever. He seemed warm, but not too bad. No signs of serious infection yet, but it was still early. “You need to eat something,” she told him when she’d examined his bandages. “Do you think you could manage it if I help you?”

  “I don’t ... I’ll try,” he said. “It hurts, though.”

  “I don’t want to give you any more medicine until you’ve tried to eat,” she explained. “The medicine always makes you fall asleep too quickly.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes against the pain while she pul
led the chair closer so she could feed him. Sarah had asked for soft foods, and that’s what she’d gotten. Milk toast and something that might have been porridge.

  He managed to swallow a few bites, and then he said, “Was I dreaming, or did you tell me that it was Mr. Potter who tried to kill me?”

  “You weren’t dreaming. He’d lost his watch fob in the struggle with you, and I found it last night, under your bed. Mr. Potter realized he’d lost it and came back looking for it. Since he thought you were dead—that’s what Mr. Malloy told him—he thought it would be safe. Instead, he got caught.”

  She didn’t see any point in telling him how she’d fought and overpowered Potter. She wasn’t interested in impressing him, in any case.

  “He was here?”

  “Yes, you slept through the whole thing. Mr. Malloy took him away.”

  “And did you say that Potter had killed Dr. Blackwell and that poor boy, too?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Dudley closed his eyes and shuddered slightly.

  “If the pain is that bad, I can go ahead and—”

  “No, no, I’m fine,” he assured her, opening his eyes and managing a strained smile. He swallowed a few more bites before he said, “Don’t let Letitia come here. I don’t want her in this place.”

  Sarah couldn’t tell him that Letitia still thought he was dead, so she was unlikely to try to visit him at all, but of course, Malloy would soon be informing her that her husband’s killer had been caught and Dudley was, in fact, alive. Sarah couldn’t help wondering if Letitia would then even want to visit Dudley. Sarah knew that if the man she loved had been lying grievously wounded, nothing could have kept her away, but she couldn’t imagine that sort of devotion from Letitia Blackwell. But maybe she was doing the woman an injustice.

  “I’m sure she’ll want to arrange for a better place for you to stay when it’s safe to move you,” she said, hoping that, at least, was true.

  “She will, but she probably won’t think of it herself. She’s really quite naive about things. That’s why she needs someone to look after her. Blackwell never took proper care of her.”

  Which was, of course, why you felt obligated to commit adultery with her, Sarah thought, but of course she didn’t say that. “Oh, yes,” she said instead, not above a little shameless gossiping, even if it involved a dead man. “You started to say something last night about her being afraid of Dr. Blackwell. Was he abusive to her? Did he hurt her, I mean?”