Murder on Amsterdam Avenue

by Victoria Thompson

  “It’s odd you should have mentioned murder, though,” Mrs. Peabody said, “because I can’t help wondering if Hannah might not have started thinking she could do better for herself if only Charles were out of the way.”

  • • •

  Frank and Gino took the Ninth Avenue elevated train north to 104th Street. Then they got a cab to take them across to the East Side and over the rickety bridge at 110th Street to Wards Island and the newly minted Manhattan State Hospital.

  Most everybody still called it the Wards Island Asylum, though.

  From a distance, the buildings looked impressive. Four stories of ornate brickwork with towers and arched windows, the sprawling structure could have been a university or some other revered institution. Only when the cab lurched to a stop in front of the main entrance did that impression fade.

  Frank sensed rather than saw the despair that permeated the whole island. Decades ago, hundreds of thousands of bodies had been moved from cemeteries in Madison Square and Bryant Park to this desolate place for reburial. Later someone decided this small island off the East Side of Manhattan would be an excellent location for the city’s insane men, so they’d built the Asylum. Recently, they’d also begun moving the female population of Blackwell’s Island here, as well. When Frank went inside to inquire about speaking to someone who knew Charles Oakes, he was directed to Dr. Dent, who was the supervisor of the Women’s Department.

  Frank left Gino to wander around and see what he could learn from the staff or even the inmates while he spoke with Dr. Dent.

  “Who did you say you are again?” Dr. Dent asked when he’d invited Frank to take one of the straight-backed chairs sitting in front of his battered desk. The room had the cluttered look of a man with too much real work to do and not enough time for managing the paperwork.

  “I’m assisting Mr. Gerald Oakes in making some inquiries about the death of his son, Charles.”

  Dr. Dent wasn’t impressed by this piece of gobbledygook. “Which means that Mr. Oakes thinks his son met with some sort of foul play, I take it.”

  “That’s something he’s concerned about, yes. Do you know anything about Charles Oakes that might help us determine what happened to him?”

  “I hardly know anything at all about Charles Oakes, as a matter of fact.”

  “I thought he worked here.”

  “That is a matter of opinion, Mr. Malloy. Oakes was appointed to a position here with much fanfare, but like many government appointments, his position was not clearly defined as to duties and responsibilities.”

  Frank could see this didn’t sit well with the good doctor. “So you’re saying he had a job here but no real work to do.”

  “I’m sure he could have found something, but he rarely bothered to appear, so he never had the opportunity.” Was that bitterness in the doctor’s voice? “What is it exactly you want to know about Mr. Oakes?”

  “I was wondering if you saw him on the day when he first became ill.”

  “I see, because you think his illness was suspicious. Does that mean you think he was murdered somehow?”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s a possibility. He may have been poisoned. That’s why I’d like to know if you saw him and had a medical opinion about his condition.”

  “I had not seen him for at least a week before he died, and he seemed perfectly fine then.”

  “Can you think of any reason why someone would want to poison Mr. Oakes?”

  “Good God, man, that’s . . . How would I know something like that?”

  “We both know why a man like Charles Oakes gets appointed to a position here, and it’s not because he has any interest in the patients or the treatment of the insane.”

  “You are absolutely right, Mr. Malloy, although Charles Oakes did have some interest in at least one of the patients.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “A woman named Ella Adderly.”

  Frank managed not to react. “What sort of interest did he take in her?”

  “Not the kind you’re probably thinking. We’re very progressive here, Mr. Malloy, and I assure you that the female patients are not interfered with in any way by the staff. We treat insanity with the most modern methods, and many of our patients actually recover and return home to live perfectly normal lives.”

  “Was this Ella Adderly one of them?”

  Dr. Dent sighed. “Sadly, no. That is, she may yet recover, but when she left here, she was still somewhat delusional.”

  “And Charles Oakes was responsible for her leaving?”

  “Yes, he handled the paperwork himself and made sure the doctor who examined her provided the diagnosis necessary to get her released.”

  “Had he ever done this for any other patients?”

  “Never. He never even expressed any interest in the other patients. As I said, he spent little time here.”

  “Do you have any idea why he chose this Ella Adderly for special attention?”

  “Not really, although it isn’t difficult to guess. Her family must have, uh, asked him to get her released.”

  “Is that common?”

  “Mr. Malloy, when someone is judged insane and sent here for treatment, their family is usually ashamed. People don’t like their friends to know. It reflects badly on the entire family, you see. They are suspected of a certain weakness or lack of moral fiber, and all the family members are tainted with the idea of ‘bad blood.’”

  Frank knew this perfectly well. “What does this have to do with getting the Adderly woman released?”

  “Because of the taint, families often don’t want their loved one returned to them. In some cases, where the individual is completely recovered, they can make up a story about where the person has been and no one is ever the wiser. But if the person isn’t recovered, she will eventually call attention to herself and her condition and embarrass her family.”

  “So it’s not likely the family will want the person back if they aren’t recovered.”

  “No. In fact, they are usually more than happy to leave the person here with us indefinitely, even after they are completely recovered, just in case she might have a relapse someday.”

  “Why do you think the Adderly woman’s family wanted her released?”

  “I don’t know, but I do know it was the worst thing they could have done. She is very fragile, and the slightest difficulty could shatter her mentally beyond repair.”

  “She came to Charles Oakes’s funeral.”

  “Oh dear,” Dent said, frowning. “I hope she wasn’t disruptive.”

  “She fainted and a man named Adderly took her home. Her husband, do you think?”

  “She wasn’t married, which was unfortunate. We see many old maids here. When a female doesn’t have the opportunity to fulfill her natural destiny as a wife and mother, especially if she is of a nervous temperament, her mind often turns inward.”

  Frank couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you saying that getting married prevents women from going insane?”

  “Not precisely, no, but any individual who finds himself with no outlets for his abilities and nothing to occupy his—or her—mind and energies, may succumb to despair and lose touch with reality.”

  “And this is what happened to Miss Adderly?”

  “I don’t know the specifics of her case, and of course it can’t possibly have any bearing on Charles Oakes’s death, but it seems likely.”

  “Then why do you think her family wanted her released?”

  “As I said, I have no idea. Perhaps you should ask them.”

  Perhaps he should. “What else was Oakes involved with? Was he in a position to give business to a particular company, for example? Or was he in charge of ordering food or supplies?”

  “He might have been, had he taken any interest in the running of the hospital. I’m afr
aid the only time I saw him exert himself was when he was being of service to Miss Adderly and her family.”

  “And of course he had to bribe the doctor to get him to certify her sane enough to be released,” Frank guessed.

  Dent stiffened, obviously insulted. “I told you, we are very progressive here. In the old days, the physicians might have taken a bribe to get someone admitted to the hospital who wasn’t insane, someone their friends or family wanted taken out of the way for some reason, but that would never happen now.”

  “Did that happen a lot?”

  “More often than anyone would like to think. Immigrants were often judged insane simply because they didn’t speak English and couldn’t understand what people were saying to them. Other people might be ill with a disease that caused them to have seizures or behave oddly. They would be locked away for years and receive no treatment for what was really wrong with them. Some of them did eventually go insane, as you can imagine.”

  “But that doesn’t happen anymore?”

  “Not here, Mr. Malloy. We also are usually very careful about who we discharge. We don’t want any of our patients to harm themselves or others after they leave here.”

  “Was this Miss Adderly someone who might do that?”

  “She was quite despondent when she arrived. As I recall, her family was afraid she might take her own life, but after only a few weeks here, she improved quite a bit, although not completely.”

  “Is she capable of hurting someone else?”

  “If provoked, perhaps. Any of us would do that and not be judged insane.”

  This was very true. “So what was the danger of taking her back home if the family wasn’t worried about her embarrassing them?”

  “There was always the chance that she would fall into despair again. We don’t know her circumstances, but whatever her life had been before, it would probably be the same once she returned home. If she wasn’t strong enough to cope . . . well, I’m sure you see the problem.”

  Frank did see the problem. “Might she blame Charles Oakes for sending her back home when she wasn’t ready?”

  Dr. Dent didn’t like this one bit. “I hope you aren’t accusing this poor woman of murdering Charles Oakes.”

  “I’m not accusing anybody of anything, but you’re the one who said your patients might hurt somebody else if provoked.”

  “I said anyone might do that, sane or insane.”

  “So you’re saying Miss Adderly might possibly have been angry with Charles Oakes and been provoked enough to poison him.”

  “I’m not saying anything of the kind, Mr. Malloy, and now I’m going to have to ask you to leave my office.”

  8

  Catherine’s happy squeals told Sarah that Malloy had returned home. She had left Maeve and Mrs. Malloy in charge of the workmen at the new house while she and her mother visited Mrs. Peabody. By the time Sarah returned from the visit, Mrs. Malloy had started supper, so they’d decided to eat together that evening.

  Sarah found Malloy and Gino in the front hall being greeted by Catherine and Brian. Maeve, Sarah noticed, was hanging back in the doorway to Mrs. Malloy’s parlor, although she was smiling. Gino was smiling back.

  “Did you have a productive day?” Sarah asked when the children had been properly greeted.

  “We had a busy one, but I don’t know how much we learned that will really help us,” Malloy said.

  “Mother came by earlier and convinced me to go with her to see a friend of hers, a Mrs. Peabody, who told us some very interesting things about the Oakes family.”

  Malloy glanced up at the ceiling with a frown. They could hear the muffled sound of hammering from above. “You left them alone?”

  “I left Maeve and Catherine in charge.”

  “I made sure they didn’t slack off,” Maeve assured him.

  “I’m sure you did,” Malloy said. He turned to Sarah. “Is your mother still here?”

  “No, she and Father had an engagement this evening, so she couldn’t stay. She’s very anxious to find out how things are going, though, so I’m sure she’ll be on my doorstep first thing tomorrow.”

  “And meanwhile, we need a quiet place to talk,” Malloy said, glancing at the ceiling again.

  “We put the front parlor to rights this afternoon,” Maeve said, pointing to the door across the hall from the rooms that were Mrs. Malloy’s. “Mrs. Ellsworth helped me.”

  “It looks very nice,” Sarah confirmed. “They arranged the new furniture and dusted everything.”

  Malloy glanced meaningfully at the children. Maeve said, “I’ll take them. Let’s go see what Mrs. Malloy is making for supper,” she said, signing to Brian who nodded eagerly in return. He and Catherine darted away, down the hall to the kitchen, but Maeve lingered a moment longer, exchanging another glance with Gino. “You must be thirsty. Should I bring you some lemonade?”

  “That would be lovely,” Sarah said, then gestured to the parlor door. “Shall we?”

  “After you, Mrs. Brandt,” Malloy said with a grin.

  Sarah led them into the front room that they would use to entertain guests after they were married. Maeve and Mrs. Ellsworth had done a fine job of arranging the new furniture. A gold velvet sofa and several upholstered chairs were grouped around the fireplace, and several small tables sat conveniently nearby. Lace curtains hung over the windows, filtering the late afternoon sunlight that gave the room a golden glow.

  “This is nice,” Gino said.

  “It is nice,” Malloy said, looking around. “I’m starting to think this house might really be livable someday.”

  “Someday soon, I hope,” Sarah said.

  Malloy gave a long-suffering sigh, and Sarah bit back a grin.

  He joined her on the sofa, leaving Gino his choice of the chairs. “Why don’t you tell us what you and your mother found out today?”

  “You already knew that Jenny Oakes is originally from Georgia.”

  “Yes, and that she grew up on a plantation and owned slaves. One of those slaves works in her house.”

  “Really? I didn’t know she brought anyone with her when she came North.”

  “She didn’t. This woman spent the last thirty or so years trying to find her. She finally got to New York a couple years ago, but she still didn’t find Jenny until recently.”

  Sarah frowned. “That’s a long time to be looking for someone.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Was Jenny happy to see her?”

  “Not very, but she did tell us about her. Daisy is her name. She’s about Jenny’s age, so they probably grew up together.”

  Sarah tried to imagine what that must have been like for both girls, one rich and privileged, the other her property with no rights at all. “Is this Daisy angry that Jenny left her behind all those years ago?”

  Malloy glanced at Gino, who said, “She didn’t act like it, but maybe that’s because she was so scared of me.”

  “Scared of you?” Sarah scoffed. “What did you do to the poor woman?”

  “Nothing. I wasn’t even being mean.”

  “He couldn’t be,” Malloy said with a grin. “The butler wouldn’t leave her alone with him.”

  “You let the butler stay when you questioned her?” Sarah asked in surprise.

  “She was so scared, she was shaking, so Zeller wanted to stay. I figured she’d feel better if he was there, but I didn’t realize he’s sweet on her.”

  “Sweet on her,” Sarah echoed in delight. “This is very interesting!”

  “Yes, it is,” Malloy agreed. “Especially when I found out that this Daisy was alone with Charles Oakes the night he died, and she was the one who gave him the poisoned milk.”

  “Do you think she put the poison in it?”

  Malloy turned to Gino. “Tell her what you found out about the milk.”<
br />
  “The milk had been delivered that morning. Several other people drank some of it, both before and after Charles died.”

  “So the crock wasn’t poisoned,” Sarah said.

  “Right. The cook heated the milk for Charles, then gave it to one of the maids, Patsy, to take upstairs. She said no one else touched it until she handed it to Daisy.”

  “And nobody else was in the room with her and Charles from then until the poison started to take effect and he got really sick.”

  “Did the cook or this Patsy have anything against Charles?” Sarah asked.

  “According to them and everybody else, they adored him,” Gino said.

  “So you think Daisy is the one who poisoned him?” Sarah asked.

  “Gino doesn’t think so,” Malloy said.

  “She doesn’t act like a killer,” Gino said. “And besides, they all told us that they don’t keep any arsenic in the house.”

  “Mrs. Oakes, the oldest one, told me the same thing,” Malloy confirmed. “She’s got this strange fear of poisons and doesn’t allow it.”

  “So someone would’ve had to get the arsenic deliberately and secretly,” Sarah said. “But if nobody had a reason to kill Charles . . .”

  “Tell her about Daisy,” Malloy said to Gino.

  “What about her?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t think she told me everything that happened that night.”

  “He didn’t want to push her too hard with Zeller in the room,” Malloy said.

  “So she’s hiding something, and she did have a good reason to kill Charles,” Sarah said.

  “If she was after revenge, she did,” Malloy said. “She didn’t have an easy time of it after Jenny left her behind. Maybe she was planning to get even with her old mistress, and she decided that killing her only son would be a good way to do that.”

  “But wouldn’t Jenny have suspected she was out for revenge when she arrived here after all that time?”

  “Would you have?” Malloy asked her.

  Sarah had to think about that. “I can’t speak for Jenny, but I think I would’ve felt very guilty when Daisy showed up on my doorstep after so many years. I would’ve tried to make it up to her by giving her a job and a home, just like Jenny did. I think I also would’ve expected Daisy to be grateful for my kindness. Remember, Daisy was her slave. Why would either of them think Daisy should have gone North with Jenny in the first place or that she deserved the kind of good fortune Jenny had when she married Gerald?”