Murder on Trinity Place

by Victoria Thompson

  “Oh no, nothing so outrageous. Otto bought a small house out in Harlem. No one knows us there. He has a housekeeper who lives in and turns a blind eye. But that’s only been since . . . He was married, too. Did you know?”

  “Theda told me.”

  “When he became successful, he decided to make a home for himself. He wanted a family, and he was always faithful to her. We were both faithful for years. Then she died, and . . . We had never stopped loving each other for all that time. But we were always friends, so Clarence never suspected a thing. I don’t suppose he could imagine anyone wanting me in that way. At any rate, Otto bought the house so we could have a place to be together. I don’t know how I would have survived without that.”

  “How did Mr. Pritchard find out?”

  Mrs. Pritchard had been lost in her memories and she looked up with a start. “What?”

  “How did Mr. Pritchard find out you were lovers?”

  “He didn’t. He never knew.”

  “But—”

  “He didn’t, Mrs. Malloy. Some men might have suspected but decided not to raise a fuss and just tolerate it, but not Clarence. He was . . . Well, you know how he was. He was always right, about everything. He was right about how milk should be produced. He was right about when the new century began. He was right about how long a sermon should be in church. He was right about how people should conduct themselves, and he wasn’t shy about telling them, either. If he had suspected for one moment that I had betrayed him . . .” She shivered.

  “Then you must have been terrified he would find out,” Sarah tried.

  “At first I was. I made myself sick with worry, but time passed and he never even noticed. We were careful, of course, but still, he never even objected to Otto coming to the house or escorting me and the children to things. I think Clarence was actually grateful that he didn’t have to bother with us.”

  What a sad commentary on her life. “I gather your children are fond of Mr. Bergman.”

  “Of course they are. He was good to them. Better than their own father in many ways.”

  “And what were your plans?”

  “Plans?”

  “For the future? Sooner or later Mr. Pritchard would have found out.”

  She smiled sadly. “And perhaps he would have been so outraged that he would have finally divorced me, but I doubt it. He would more likely have refused, knowing that he’d be denying me any hope of happiness.”

  “You don’t have to worry about the children anymore,” Sarah reminded her.

  “No. I could have simply left him, I suppose. I would have hated the scandal, especially dragging Otto into it, but Theda is married now, and Harvey . . . Well, boys aren’t tainted in the same way, are they?”

  “No, they aren’t.” And Harvey had sins of his own to atone for. “So you didn’t really have any plans?”

  “I suppose I always thought . . . Clarence is older than I. Almost ten years. I suppose I thought someday he would die.”

  And now he has, but Sarah didn’t distract her by pointing it out. “So you and Mr. Bergman were together on New Year’s Eve at your house in Harlem.”

  “Yes, we were. We couldn’t have killed Clarence.”

  “And I suppose the housekeeper was there and can verify that.”

  “Uh . . . She . . . Otto gave her the night off, because of the celebration. But Otto and I can vouch for each other.”

  Which really wasn’t much of an alibi at all.

  X

  Frank and Gino went to the house for lunch because they knew Velvet’s cooking would beat anything they could find at a restaurant near their office. Indeed, she’d put the leftover roast from Sunday’s dinner into a stew with carrots and potatoes and served it with a fresh loaf of bread. Maeve was home, too, so while they ate, they all got to hear Sarah’s account of her amazing visit with Mrs. Pritchard.

  “So she admits to the affair with Bergman,” Frank said.

  “I don’t suppose there’s a reason to deny it any longer,” Maeve pointed out reasonably.

  “I doubt she’s going to announce it to the world,” Sarah said, “but she did feel obligated to explain it to me. Besides, she needed an alibi for the night her husband was killed.”

  “It’s not much of an alibi,” Gino said.

  “Do you really think they’d lie for each other?” Maeve asked in mock astonishment.

  “If they wouldn’t, it wasn’t much of an affair, was it?” he retorted.

  “How romantic,” Maeve said with a wince.

  “Which is exactly why we can’t rule either of them out,” Frank said.

  “Do we really think Mrs. Pritchard followed her husband down to the church and strangled him?” Sarah asked.

  “Are you going to claim a woman couldn’t do something like that?” Maeve asked with a grin.

  “Of course not, but we have to decide if Mrs. Pritchard could have done it.”

  “Mrs. Frank is right,” Gino said, probably just to disagree with Maeve. “Not many women would go downtown alone at that hour of the night to find their husband in a huge crowd and strangle him.”

  “But it wasn’t just any night,” Maeve pointed out. “Lots of respectable people were on the streets because of the celebrations. She could have taken a cab, which would be fairly safe and not particularly unusual. Apparently, she often went out alone to meet her lover. And who says she went down there intending to kill him? Didn’t Harvey claim he went down to bring his father back before he got himself in trouble? Maybe she did the same thing, and when she saw him sitting on the bench, she just . . .” She shrugged.

  “She just suddenly decided she’d be better off if he was dead?” Gino scoffed.

  “Or maybe something happened that we don’t know about,” Frank said. “Maybe her husband did finally figure out she was having an affair, so she suddenly had a good reason to do something she wouldn’t normally have done.”

  “Let’s hope killing one’s husband isn’t something a woman would normally have done,” Sarah teased.

  “I always hope that,” he replied.

  “Mr. Malloy is right, though,” Maeve said. “We only have her word that her husband didn’t know about the affair, and she’d have every reason to lie about that if it’s the reason she or Mr. Bergman killed him.”

  “Which reminds me,” Frank said. “Mrs. Pritchard didn’t have to go downtown alone at all that night. She could have taken Bergman with her, and they could have killed him together.”

  “Or Mr. Bergman might have done it alone,” Sarah said.

  “How would we ever find out, though?” Gino said. “They aren’t going to admit it.”

  “He might say something incriminating, if you get to him before she can warn him,” Maeve said.

  “Do you think you could?” Sarah asked Frank.

  “I could try, but I don’t have any idea where to find him.”

  “He’s probably listed in the City Directory,” Maeve said. “I’ll get it.”

  “Even if she manages to warn him,” Gino said while they waited for Maeve to return, “it would be good to see his reaction when you ask if they were together that night.”

  “That’s true. I’d also like to hear his justification for having an affair with another man’s wife for all those years, too.”

  Maeve returned with the City Directory, and they found a home and business address for Otto Bergman. Frank and Gino decided to head out to find Bergman while Sarah finally was able to leave for her visit to the clinic. Maeve remained behind to do her nanny duties and pick Catherine up at school.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sarah was once again disappointed that no one was in labor when she arrived at the clinic, but she did get to visit the little girl who had been born overnight. To her surprise, she found Jocelyn holding the child w
hile the mother slept.

  “I never knew much about babies,” she said to Sarah when she’d returned the infant to her cradle. “They’re really rather helpless, aren’t they?”

  “Completely. They’re also demanding. Are you having second thoughts about your decision?”

  “Second and third and fourth thoughts,” Jocelyn confided as they slipped out of the room. Jocelyn led Sarah to her own room, where they could speak privately. “I change my mind a dozen times a day. But in the end, I always have to admit that the thought of never seeing my child again makes me want to scream, so I think I must do whatever I can to keep it.”

  When they were in her room with the door closed, Sarah said, “Did you get my message about Mr. Robinson wanting to see you again?”

  “Oh yes, which is why I’ve been thinking so much. You’re sure he is going to propose marriage?”

  “I don’t think he would violate my trust by suggesting anything else, although I suppose anything is possible.”

  “I couldn’t help him rise in society if I was only his mistress, which makes me think his intentions are honorable, at least.”

  “And you’re willing to accept him if he does propose?”

  Jocelyn sat down on her bed and closed her eyes for a long moment, as if trying to shut out whatever she was thinking. “Suppose I marry him, and when the child is born, he decides he doesn’t want it after all? I’d be powerless to prevent him from simply giving it away.”

  Oh dear, she really had been thinking about this. Sarah considered the question for a few moments before replying. “I don’t think he could expect you to fulfill your part of the bargain if he didn’t fulfill his.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but it’s also possible he won’t find being accepted into society as rewarding as he imagines.”

  “He may not, but that won’t be your fault either.”

  She smiled sadly. “I’ve noticed that doesn’t stop most men from casting the blame anyway.”

  “Jocelyn, this is a big decision, and I can’t make it for you. I do, however, think you would do well to raise all these issues with Mr. Robinson. You may find he has considered them himself. For example, what is to stop you from leaving him once your child is born? You’ll have the protection of his name for the baby and only a divorce to cause you any scandal. While that’s considered a serious breach in some circles, a few women have managed to maintain their social standing after obtaining one and even to make a good second marriage.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right, of course.” She smiled a little less sadly. “I didn’t realize he might also be worried.”

  “I’ve been married twice, and I believe I can safely say that men often worry just as much as women do. The best way to deal with it is to talk about it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Frank and Gino easily found Bergman’s home on a quiet street in the Lenox Hill neighborhood, not far from the Pritchards’. It was just what Frank would have imagined a successful businessman would own, a brownstone town house with a tiny but tidy front yard fenced in wrought iron. The maid told them he was not at home, and she felt sure they could find him at his office. She even confirmed that they had the correct address, which was a building a few blocks away on Sixth Avenue.

  The office building had a directory in the lobby, telling them Mr. Bergman’s office was on the third floor. The elevator operator took them up, and a discreet sign beside one of the doors in the hallway said BERGMAN ENTERPRISES.

  They entered to find a girl secretary typing at a desk in the nondescript reception area. She was a strapping Irish girl with a mass of auburn hair only slightly tamed into a bun and green eyes that told them instantly she would brook no nonsense from them. A brass nameplate on the desk said she was Kathleen Denson.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” she asked without the slightest indication she wanted to help them at all or even that she really considered them gentlemen.

  “We’d like to see Mr. Bergman, if he’s in,” Frank said, trying a little of his charm, although Sarah had warned him it wasn’t nearly as good as Gino’s.

  “I don’t suppose you have an appointment,” Miss Denson said, “because if you did, I’d know about it.”

  “No, we don’t, but we’re here on some business for Mrs. Pritchard, so we thought he might see us anyway.”

  “Mrs. Pritchard, is it?” Kathleen obviously did not approve, although Frank had no idea what it was she did not approve. The affair? Mrs. Pritchard in general? The fact that Frank had mentioned her name? Or just Frank in general? “I’ll see if he’s available.”

  She rose and walked to one of the doors leading to what must be adjoining offices. She tapped lightly and entered without waiting for a reply. She also closed the door behind her, which Frank found excessively discreet. Was Bergman concerned about being overheard when he refused to see visitors?

  Before Frank could really consider his own question, the door opened again and Miss Denson said, “Mr. Bergman will see you.”

  Frank exchanged a glance with Gino, who looked as intrigued by all this as Frank was, and then Gino followed him into Bergman’s office. This space was also modestly furnished. Frank had carefully considered the decoration—or rather the lack thereof—for his own offices, not wanting to mislead potential clients with lavish furnishings. As a businessman, wouldn’t Bergman want to give the opposite impression, that he was highly successful and had money to waste on carpets and draperies? But maybe Bergman wasn’t as successful as they had been led to believe, although his suit was certainly well made. Of course a tailor would own nice suits, he supposed, no matter what his income.

  “Mr. Malloy,” Bergman said without much enthusiasm. At least he rose from his chair and put out his hand for Frank to shake. Frank introduced Gino, and when they were seated in the visitor’s chairs in front of Bergman’s desk, Bergman took his own seat and stared at them in uncomfortable silence for a long moment. “My secretary said Mrs. Pritchard sent you,” he said at last.

  “I said we needed to see you on some business for Mrs. Pritchard,” Frank clarified. “She doesn’t know we’re here.”

  “I see.” Although plainly, he did not.

  “We need to ask you where you were on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Why?”

  Not any of the possible answers Frank had been expecting. “Because we are checking on the whereabouts of everyone who might have had a reason to kill Clarence Pritchard.”

  Frank had to give him credit. He looked truly astonished. “And you think I am one of those people? What possible reason could I have for killing him?”

  Frank leaned back in his chair and let some seconds tick by before he said, “Because you have been having a love affair with Mrs. Pritchard for a number of years.”

  “Who told you such a scandalous lie?” Bergman asked with credible outrage.

  “Mrs. Pritchard.” As expected, this silenced Bergman. He stared back at Frank in shock, and Frank let him absorb the information before adding, “So you see, we need to know where you were the night Pritchard died.”

  Bergman shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I was . . . at home.”

  “You didn’t go out to celebrate?”

  “I’ve always felt it was silly to celebrate the New Year. It’s really just another day.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “What does that matter?”

  Frank smiled benevolently. “Can anyone else verify that you were at home?”

  “No,” he said tightly.

  “Not even your servants?”

  “I gave them the night off.”

  “The servants at both of your houses?”

  Frank watched in fascination as the color rose in Bergman’s face. He was hating this, and even worse, he was furious, which meant Mrs. Pritchard had definite
ly not yet told him about her conversation with Sarah.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Mrs. Pritchard also told us about the house in Harlem,” Frank said, keeping his voice free of all emotion.

  “And did she tell you where she was on New Year’s Eve?”

  “She did, yes.” Frank had no intention of revealing what she’d said.

  “Then you know we were together.”

  He did, of course, but exactly where were they together? “Can anyone else confirm that?”

  “I don’t know why anyone else would need to confirm it.” Bergman was no longer bothering to hide his annoyance. “You have our word. We were together, so we can vouch for each other. Neither of us killed Pritchard.”

  “Did Pritchard know about your affair?”

  “What kind of a question is that?”

  “An important one, I think.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but since it eliminates any reason I might have had for wishing him harm, no, he did not.”

  Of course, it didn’t really eliminate all the reasons he might have had for wanting to kill Pritchard. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Had he known, he never would have allowed me in his house again, and he probably would never have allowed Ilsa out of it.”

  “But what if he’d only just learned of it that day, so he hadn’t had time to take any action?”

  “He would have made the time. Believe me, Clarence Pritchard was not a man to postpone his vengeance, and if he knew he’d been cuckolded, he would have sought immediate vengeance on everyone involved.”

  “Do you know of any other reason someone might have killed Pritchard?”

  Bergman sighed in exasperation. “I’ve been very patient with you, Mr. Malloy, because I care very much for Theda and I know she wants justice for her father, but I will not submit to any more of this. I will also thank you to leave Mrs. Pritchard alone. Neither she nor I had anything to do with Clarence’s death, and I won’t have her upset any more over this.”