Murder on Trinity Place

by Victoria Thompson

  “Do they have any idea who killed him?” Frank asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if they sent for the police, although I suppose you have to when someone is murdered.”

  “And they’re sure he was murdered?”

  Mrs. Ellsworth winced. “That’s what Mr. Bergman said. I don’t think he would have put it like that if they weren’t sure.”

  “I’m so very sorry,” Sarah said. “Poor Theda.”

  “Losing her father was awful enough,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, “but her brother . . . He was so young, with his whole life ahead of him.”

  Frank noticed Maeve trying to get Sarah’s attention, so he gave her a little nudge. When Sarah looked up, Maeve indicated Jocelyn, who was watching the whole scene with dismay.

  “Malloy,” Sarah said, “would you look after Mrs. Ellsworth for a moment while I see to our guest?”

  With an efficiency that made Frank marvel, Sarah swept Jocelyn out of the room and organized Gino and Maeve to return her to the clinic, all in the time it took for Frank to pour Mrs. Ellsworth some more brandy. By the time they were out the door, the additional brandy was doing its work, and Mrs. Ellsworth was almost calm.

  “Where is Theda now?” Sarah asked when she returned.

  “Mr. Bergman took her back to Mrs. Pritchard’s house, and we sent word to Nelson to join her there. Before she left, Theda asked me to tell you what happened, Mr. Malloy, but I don’t know what you can do.”

  “Not much at the moment, I’m afraid,” Frank said. “We have to at least give the police time to investigate.”

  “Do you think they will?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

  “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.” It would depend on whether someone paid off the police commissioner again, though. Had the same person killed both Pritchard and his son? Frank couldn’t quite convince himself that two members of the same family had been murdered by different people in the course of two weeks. And if the same person had killed both men, would he use the same method to ensure he wasn’t caught this time, too?

  “But shouldn’t we be doing something?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

  “You should be going to bed,” Sarah said. “I’ll take you home and make you some warm milk.”

  “You can’t expect me to rest with all that’s happened, and besides, it’s the middle of the day,” she protested.

  “I know, but you need to conserve your strength. You’ll have to deal with Theda when she returns, and that will be difficult.”

  “Yes, it will. Poor child, she takes everything so hard, and this will be unbearable.”

  “Come along, I’ll take you home.”

  While Mrs. Ellsworth was buttoning her coat, Sarah pulled Frank aside. “What will you do?”

  “I think I’ll go over to see what’s happening at the dairy. Somebody will be willing to gossip.”

  * * *

  • • •

  By the time Frank reached the Pure Milk Dairy, things were very quiet. No crowds stood gawking. All the milk wagons had returned from their deliveries and were tucked away. The horses had been groomed and fed and stood dozing in their stalls. No policemen lingered. No coroner’s black ambulance waited for its cargo. Frank made his way unchallenged into the building and up the stairs.

  The workers were laboring away at pasteurizing the milk and bottling it in their snow-white cavern, although Frank thought the workers were quieter than usual. That would be only natural, under the circumstances. On the floor above, the clerks really were quieter, and they didn’t seem to be working quite as industriously as Frank had seen them work before.

  The young man at the front desk looked up, bleary-eyed, and frowned. “Who are you?”

  Frank decided to play dumb. “Frank Malloy. I’d like to see Harvey Pritchard, if he’s in.”

  A spasm of pain flickered across the young man’s face. “You’ve been here before. I remember now.”

  “Yes. I’m investigating Mr. Pritchard’s death.”

  “Just . . . Just a minute,” he said, rising rather uncertainly to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  He moved in the opposite direction of Harvey’s office—presumably the office where his body had been found—to one on the other side of the room. He stepped into it and had a whispered conversation with someone. In another moment, he returned, followed by Amelio Bruno, who was scowling ferociously.

  “Mr. Malloy, what are you doing here?” Bruno asked.

  “I had a few more questions for Harvey. Isn’t he here?”

  “No, he’s . . .” For a moment, Frank thought he would blurt it right out, but then Bruno glanced around and saw that every clerk had stopped even pretending to work and was watching eagerly to see what he would say. “Maybe you better come into my office.”

  Frank accepted the less-than-gracious invitation and followed him back. Bruno closed the door behind them, although Frank figured the flimsy walls provided little true privacy.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Malloy.” Bruno moved a chair that had been sitting against the wall to a spot closer to his desk.

  Frank sat and, with a practiced glance, took in the room. Bruno had been in this office a long time. He hadn’t bothered to make it more comfortable, but the amount of papers piled on every surface said that he had made the dairy his life’s work. Bruno waited until he was sitting, too—in the chair behind his desk so that Frank had to gaze at him over the mounds of paper that made him significant—before breaking the news.

  “Harvey Pritchard is dead.”

  “Dead?” This time Frank feigned confusion. “Oh, not the father. I’m looking for Harvey, the son.”

  “And Harvey the son is dead, too. We found him this morning.”

  “Found him where?”

  Bruno shifted uneasily. “In his office.”

  “You found him dead in his office,” Frank repeated as if trying to absorb it. “What happened? Was it some kind of accident?”

  Bruno flinched ever so slightly. “The police say he was murdered.”

  “How?”

  “Strangled, they said.”

  “Like his father.”

  Bruno shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Not . . . exactly. They said someone choked him with their bare hands.”

  No, not exactly. “So if it happened in his office, you must have seen who did it.”

  “What do you mean?” Bruno asked in apparent surprise.

  “I mean if somebody went into his office and strangled him, there’s a whole room full of men who would have seen who it was.”

  “Oh, I see. No. I mean, it happened . . . Nobody was here when it happened. He’d been dead for hours when I . . . He didn’t come in this morning, you see. Nobody thought anything of it. He’s the boss now. He can come in when he likes. But I went into his office to get something and I found him. He was on the floor behind his desk, so nobody had noticed him before then.”

  “When was the last time anybody saw him?”

  “How should I know?”

  Fair question. “All right, when did you see him last?”

  Bruno frowned, as if he might refuse to answer, but he said, “Yesterday around five o’clock, when he left the office.”

  “He didn’t come in last night? To oversee the, uh, other activities?”

  “We didn’t have any other activities last night,” he said with what sounded like bitterness.

  “Why not?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but Harvey put a stop to it. He said it was too dangerous with you snooping around.”

  Bruno said that with some satisfaction, and Frank winced at a pang of guilt. Could stopping the nighttime deliveries have gotten Harvey killed? According to Jack Robinson, Harvey was involved with some very dangerous people, so it was entirely possible.

  “Did you send
for the police when you found Harvey’s body?”

  “Of course.” Bruno seemed offended by the question.

  “And are they going to investigate?”

  “I don’t know. They asked a few questions and then they left. You’ll have to ask them.”

  Frank intended to.

  * * *

  • • •

  Detective Sergeant O’Connor wasn’t very happy to see Frank. “It’s not even my case.”

  Frank had managed to catch O’Connor as he was leaving Police Headquarters, so he hadn’t had to go through the formalities of asking for the detective at the desk and being sent upstairs. “I just want to know if they’re going to drop it like they did his father’s murder.”

  “How should I know? Ask Devery,” he added with an evil grin.

  “I’ll do that, and I’ll be sure to tell him you sent me.”

  That wiped the grin off O’Connor’s homely face. “All right. What do you want?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “And I told you, I don’t know. It depends on who wanted the old man’s death covered up and if they’re the same one who did in the son.”

  “And who wanted the old man’s death covered up?”

  “How should I know?” O’Connor said in exasperation.

  “Because you hear the gossip just like everybody else. What are they saying?”

  “About the old man?”

  Frank gave him his best glare. He responded by spitting on the sidewalk.

  “Nobody will ever know who told me,” Frank tried.

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “But you can guess.”

  O’Connor glanced around to see if anyone was paying any attention to them. No one was, of course, but he still whispered it. “I heard it was Lawson.”

  “Lou Lawson?”

  “Shhh!” O’Connor said, glancing around frantically this time.

  Frank managed not to sigh. Why did everything lead back to Lawson? Sarah wasn’t going to like this at all.

  * * *

  • • •

  Sarah had been able to get Mrs. Ellsworth to lie down on the chaise in her own parlor and after a few more sips of brandy, she’d dozed off. After instructing the maid to send for her if Mrs. Ellsworth needed her, she returned home.

  Knowing she’d have to get Catherine at school if Maeve wasn’t back from the clinic in time, she had no choice but to wait. Fortunately, Maeve and Gino got back just in time for Maeve to go after Catherine. Sarah told Gino what little they knew about Harvey Pritchard’s death, and just as she finished, someone rang the doorbell.

  Sarah went herself, thinking it must be Mrs. Ellsworth’s maid come to fetch her, but it was a telegram being delivered instead. She tore it open before she even closed the front door, remembering Mr. Robinson’s caution to Malloy about confronting dangerous people on his own. If he had gone to see Lawson without telling her . . .

  “What is it?” Gino asked from the parlor doorway.

  Fortunately, it was not a message about Malloy being injured. “It’s from Mrs. Pritchard. She would like to see us—Malloy and me—as soon as possible.”

  “She’s changed her tune,” Gino marveled.

  “She certainly has. That poor woman. So much tragedy.”

  “I don’t think she considered her husband’s death much of a tragedy,” Gino said.

  “No, but her son’s is horrible.”

  “And this probably means she wasn’t involved in her husband’s murder. She might have had a good reason to want her husband dead, but probably not her son.”

  “You’re assuming the same person killed both of them,” she chastened him. “I don’t think we know enough about Harvey’s death to be sure of anything yet.”

  “You’re right. Mr. Malloy would probably have said the same thing, although it’s hard to believe two people in the same family would be murdered by two different people.”

  “Yes, it is, so I’m very anxious to hear what Mrs. Pritchard has to say. She seemed almost reluctant to find out who killed her husband, but now . . . Well, I guess we’re making another assumption as well.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That she’s sent for us to ask for help finding Harvey’s killer. Maybe she just wants to make sure we don’t look into his death at all.”

  “I guess anything is possible. Theda will want you to investigate, though. More than ever, in fact.”

  “You’re right, and her mother probably won’t be able to discourage her, if that’s her plan.”

  “I think I need to drive you and Mr. Malloy to this appointment in the motorcar, so I don’t have to wait to find out what Mrs. Pritchard wants.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The winter sun had already sunk low enough so the tall buildings obscured it with their false horizon by the time Frank returned and they set out for the Pritchard house. On the way he told them about his visit to the dairy and Police Headquarters.

  “I don’t like this at all,” Sarah said. She was pinching her lips together, which told Frank she was being totally serious and would brook no arguments from him. “If this Lawson character is as dangerous as he sounds, there’s no reason you have to risk your life to solve this case, Malloy.”

  “I’m not planning to,” he said.

  “And Mr. Robinson said he’d go with you to make sure nothing happened, didn’t he?” Gino said, earning a glare from Frank that he didn’t even see because he was paying too much attention to his driving. Of course, Frank appreciated that, but still.

  “Besides, I’m no threat to Lawson,” Frank said. “I’m not with the police, so I’m not going to charge him with a crime. All I want to find out is if he’s behind these murders. If he is, I can’t do anything about it. The law won’t go after him and he knows that. The best I can do is give Theda a reason why her father and brother died.”

  “And what if he’s so insulted by your questions that he decides to kill you on general principles?” Sarah asked.

  “I don’t think gangsters have general principles.”

  “Malloy, this isn’t funny.”

  “I’m not laughing. At least wait until we’ve talked to Mrs. Pritchard. We may not need to talk to Lawson at all.”

  Except Frank was pretty sure he’d end up there eventually. Lawson’s name had come up too many times already.

  Mrs. Pritchard’s maid let them in and invited Gino to warm himself in the kitchen while he waited for the Malloys to finish their business with Mrs. Pritchard. Obviously, the boy had made an impression when he’d been here questioning the servants last week. Gino readily accepted the invitation, giving Frank a wink to let him know he’d see what the servants might have overheard. The maid then escorted Frank and Sarah into the parlor to see Mrs. Pritchard.

  She was sitting on a sofa with Theda. They had obviously been weeping earlier but had settled into their grief now and were calm. Frank also wasn’t surprised to see Otto Bergman with them, although he wondered why Bergman hadn’t talked Mrs. Pritchard out of sending for them. He rose to greet Frank and Sarah.

  While Sarah went straight to Mrs. Pritchard and Theda to express her condolences, Bergman said to Frank, “Thank you for coming so quickly. I . . . I’m afraid I owe you an apology for my conduct yesterday.”

  “Yes, you do.” Frank was delighted to see the color rise in Bergman’s face.

  “I hope you won’t let your feelings for me affect the way you deal with Mrs. Pritchard.”

  “I’ll try not to. Whose idea was it to send for us?”

  “Ilsa’s. Theda suggested it immediately, but she didn’t have to work very hard to convince Ilsa.”

  “And you allowed it?”

  “I have no control over Ilsa, but I didn’t even try to stop her. It
’s obvious we need help to find out who has done this.”

  “It must have been quite a shock.”

  “Worse than a shock,” he said grimly. “I’m not sure Ilsa will ever recover.”

  “Do they have any idea what happened?”

  “The policeman who came here didn’t tell us much. I went down to the dairy right away, but all they could tell me was that he must have been killed sometime last evening or during the night. Someone strangled him. I gathered Amelio Bruno found him in his office late this morning.”

  So they didn’t know anything more than Frank had been able to find out this afternoon. “Did they give you any idea if they were going to investigate?”

  “The young man who came was just sent to deliver the news. He didn’t know anything else. We can offer a reward, of course, but I don’t have much confidence in them now.”

  Frank nodded and went to pay his respects to Mrs. Pritchard, whose eyes reflected the agonizing shock of sudden loss. He’d seen that expression on too many women during his years with the police. Far too often he’d also had little to offer in the way of justice to help alleviate their suffering, but he hoped this time would be different.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Pritchard was saying. “I’m afraid I was extremely rude to Mrs. Malloy at our last meeting, and now I must beg her forgiveness and yours and hope you will be kind enough to continue your investigation in spite of my ingratitude.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Pritchard,” Frank said. “We understand. We’re used to dealing with families who are upset.” He glanced at Bergman, who had the grace to flush again.

  “Besides, I was the one who hired them, Mother,” Theda said.

  “And I must be grateful you did, darling. If we had to rely on the police, I don’t know what would become of us. Please, won’t you both sit down? I have so many questions for you.”

  Frank and Sarah sat down in the chairs opposite the sofa where Mrs. Pritchard and Theda were sitting. Bergman wandered over to the fireplace and leaned against the wall, as if he wanted to be ready in case called upon to do whatever service Mrs. Pritchard considered necessary.