Absence of Mercy
Page 14
“I shall t-take that into consideration. So, we have a J-Janssen-Dunbarton-Sealy connection in that the three m-men played cards together.” He paused and then added, “I’ll have to ask Mrs. D-Dunbarton about that.”
“You’re goin’ to see her?”
“Did I n-neglect to mention she was at Mrs. J-Janssen’s house yesterday?”
“Er, yes, sir, you did forget to mention that.” So, working with the son of duke meant entry anywhere.
“We spoke briefly.” Lightner’s lips twisted into an odd smile.
“What did you think of her, sir?”
“V-Very intelligent, but, er, c-combative.”
Hy laughed at his careful description. “She sure gave her pa a piece of her mind that day. And then started in on me—tellin’ me about police incompetence.”
“Yes, I received a piece of her mind yesterday; I d-daresay Mrs. Dunbarton hands out p-pieces quite liberally.”
For once, Hy didn’t envy the man his ability to go places Hy himself would never be welcomed.
CHAPTER 14
Solange Dupuy was an extraordinarily lovely woman—one of the most beautiful Jasper had ever seen. She wore a thin red silk dressing gown that did more to enhance than conceal the curves of her lush body. As beautiful as she was, he was not drawn to her. Indeed, there was something repellent about Mrs. Dupuy.
“M-My men will need to question all your employees,” Jasper said, as he and the Frenchwoman sat in what looked to be her private sitting room.
“Again? They were here yesterday.”
Her accent should have been charming, but the acquisitive glint in her eyes was difficult to overlook.
“Most of y-your employees were elsewhere yesterday.” He gave her a polite smile. “I’m sure you wish to c-cooperate.”
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll send down the girls who are alone and see the other customers on their way—will that be enough for you?”
Jasper ignored her question. “Tell me about Mr. J-Janssen.”
She shrugged, her voluptuous body rippling beneath the blood-red silk. “There’s not much to tell. He was a good customer until about six or seven months ago, and then he stopped coming—at least for girls. When I asked him where he was getting—” She stopped and gave Jasper an assessing look. “I’ll put it this way: Mr. Janssen had expensive tastes that not many will supply.”
“P-Please don’t be coy,” Jasper said pleasantly, struggling to mask his revulsion. “We c-can just as easily have this c-conversation in a cell in the T-Tombs.”
Her nostrils flared, but she said, “He liked young girls.”
“How young?”
“Everything here is legal, and all the girls want to be here.”
“How young?”
She shrugged, her expression bored. “Always the legal age, but they must be la vierge. You understand?”
Jasper decided that the searching of her establishment would be very, very, very thorough. Indeed, it would likely require the closure of her business for several days, perhaps longer.
“You say he’d been going elsewhere for some t-time. Did he tell you where he was having his n-n-needs met?”
“No, he refused. He’d just smirk whenever I asked him where he was going.” He could almost hear her teeth grinding. “First it was Sealy, then Dunbarton and finally Janssen—three of my best customers, all lured elsewhere.”
Jasper pressed so hard that the nib of his pencil snapped and tore through the paper.
“I beg your pardon, what w-was that?” he asked, realizing he’d missed the last thing she’d said.
“I said those three paid top dollar, and for months somebody else got all their money. Well, until these past few months.”
“What happened these p-past few months?”
She looked at him as if he were an idiot. “They’re dead.”
“B-Before they died.”
“Oh. Well, Janssen came back.”
“But not Dunbarton and Sealy?”
“No, they just came here sometimes to drink and meet their cronies.”
“Dunbarton had meetings here? With whom?”
“Well, Janssen—those two were as thick as thieves.”
“Anyone else? S-Sealy?”
She gave an irritable shrug. “I don’t recall.”
“P-Perhaps you might check your b-book?”
She frowned. “How do you know I keep a book?” Jasper cocked his head, and she scowled. “Fine. I’ll check.”
“Was Janssen here Saturday night?”
“No,” she said sharply, and then muttered something indecipherable and angry sounding in French. “He was supposed to be here, because he made a special arrangement the last time he was here—a very expensive arrangement.”
“But you d-don’t know if he was here or n-not Saturday night, since you were—where was it again?”
“Boston—but I know he wasn’t here.”
“How?”
“I just do.”
“Do you have w-witnesses that you were in B-Boston?”
Jasper knew he was bad to enjoy her horrified expression.
“You can’t think I had anything to do with his murder?”
Jasper smiled.
“Yes, I have several witnesses,” she huffed. “Several respectable witnesses.”
“Good. You can g-give their names and addresses when we take your statement. When was the last t-time you saw Janssen?”
“Last month,” she said without hesitation. “A week or so before his usual night—”
“Usual n-night?”
“Yes, he always came on the second or third Saturday of the month—well, that is what he used to do.”
“You’re saying he c-came here for a prostitute last month?”
“Yes, and he was very pleased after his last visit, so he made an arrangement for this past Saturday.” She stopped and grimaced. “But he didn’t come, and now I’m stuck with—” She glanced at Jasper and changed tack. “Who knows if I’ll make my money back from someone else?” She looked to him for sympathy and found none.
“What w-would you say if I told you that M-Mr. Dunbarton had been murdered near your alley d-door—and then m-moved?”
Solange flinched slightly but then laughed. “I’d say you were lying.” The Frenchwoman was an excellent liar herself, but Jasper had seen the flash of worry in her eyes.
“I’d like to s-see that book you m-mentioned. The one with all the names and d-dates.”
She gave a rough, bawdy laugh that did not match her delicate features. “And why would I do that?”
“I should hate to have to sh-shut down your p-place of business,” Jasper lied.
Her eyes narrowed. “I have powerful friends, Detective. I should hate to have to ask them for help.” Jasper smiled, and she recoiled. When he didn’t respond to her threat, she said, “I keep my book in French. You wouldn’t be able to read it.”
“Let me w-worry about that.”
Jasper could hear the gears grinding in her clever mind. “You promise not to take action about anything you read?”
Jasper laughed.
“Then why should I give it to you?”
“To stop me from tearing your p-place apart brick by b-brick to find it.”
Her eyes sparked with intense dislike; Jasper seemed to be making enemies without even trying: Featherstone, Davies, Mrs. Dunbarton, Ryan, and now this woman. He’d been here less than two days; who knew what the rest of the week would bring?
* * *
Mrs. Dunbarton’s school for young ladies was just behind Canal on Lispenard Street.
Jasper would have walked, but he wanted a few minutes to look at the book Solange had grudgingly given him. And so here he was, in another hackney. As ever, the street traffic was a snarl of carts, pedestrians, and the ubiquitous omnibuses.
He could see immediately that it was a daily journal that recorded business rather than private musings. Judging by the dates, this one began a
t the first of the year. It was in French—a language in which he was fluent—and had neat columns of women’s names on each page. Beside each name were other names—male—and dollar amounts.
Some of the women’s names appeared only once, and the amounts next to those names was staggering; these had to be the young girls.
Jasper flipped through the pages, feeling sicker with each name. In addition to Janssen’s name last month, he saw several men listed whom he’d heard of—a prominent banker and a politician. He worked his way back from today, counting the female names that appeared only once; he counted fifty-nine names. Fifty-nine. The number was horrifying; where were all these girls coming from?
The cab rolled to a stop, shaking Jasper from his grim musing. The hackney deposited him in front of a neat, tidy building sandwiched between two ramshackle tenements. A prim, simple sign reading The New Beginnings School for Young Ladies hung above the front door.
Jasper let himself into a smallish foyer that looked freshly painted and smelled of beeswax. The dark-wood wainscoting was glowing.
“How may I help you, sir?”
The question came from a young woman seated behind an imposing mahogany desk in front of double doors; the arrangement put him in mind of a gatehouse protecting a castle.
“I’m Detective Inspector J-Jasper Lightner with the M-Metropolitan Police.” He handed her a card. “I’m here to speak to Mrs. D-Dunbarton.”
The girl’s eyes widened when she saw the honorific on the card, and she sprang to her feet, exposing a modestly designed blue stuff gown with a long white pinafore like Mrs. Dunbarton’s. “One moment, er, my lord; I’ll go find her.”
“Thank you,” Jasper said, but she’d already yanked open the door and fled.
He examined the foyer walls, which had a series of framed prints extolling the virtues of diligence, education, and cleanliness.
“Ah, Lord Jasper.”
He turned, his lips curving into a smile at the sound of the acerbic voice. “Mrs. D-Dunbarton, thank you for seeing me. I apologize f-for not coming yesterday.”
She strode toward him and shoved her hand at him. Today he knew what to do with it. She was dressed identically to yesterday, and Jasper suspected Mrs. Dunbarton favored black even when she was not in mourning.
“I imagine you were quite busy yesterday,” she said, her head cocked as she looked up at him with her appraising stare.
“D-Do you have a few moments?”
“A very few.” She gestured to the door behind the desk. “I’ll be in the teacher’s sitting room, Miss Kitchner.”
The girl nodded, big eyes on Jasper.
Behind the door was a long corridor with more doors. Mrs. Dunbarton marched to the left, the susurration of her crepe gown loud in the narrow hallway. “I’m pleased all my teachers are in class right now, or there would be another six women all gazing worshipfully at you.”
Jasper glanced down at the woman marching beside him, but her hideous bonnet hid her face from his view.
She stopped in front of the door at the end of the hall and turned to look up at him. “I’m sorry. That was cattish and uncalled for. I’m not sure what it is about you that makes me behave like such a targe.”
Jasper didn’t know either. He opened the door and inclined his head.
She preceded him and gestured to the small sitting area. “Please have a seat.”
Jasper sat, propping his stick against the arm of the chair and setting his hat on his lap.
She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “I can spare fifteen minutes.”
Jasper opened his notebook to the questions he’d jotted down. “Will you t-tell me about your m-marriage?”
“Our marriage was a business arrangement right from the start.”
“That is n-not so unusual.”
“It is in that I approached Felix and suggested marriage. I can see that surprises you.”
“I’m beginning to think n-nothing you do could surprise me, Mrs. D-Dunbarton.”
“I will take that as a compliment,” she said, echoing his words from yesterday. “I’m no beauty, and the young men were not exactly queuing up to offer me marriage.” Her eyes held a rare glint of humor. “It’s likely I would’ve remained a spinster all my life, and that wouldn’t have suited me. My father had already torn out most of his hair trying to force me to conform or convince various cronies to take me off his hands, but there were no takers.”
Jasper tried to imagine himself married to her and had to admit the notion held no appeal. Although, he thought with some amusement, it would be diverting to watch her and Paisley jockey for power in his household.
“You say y-you approached Mr. Dunbarton?” Jasper prodded.
“We met at Zuza and Alard’s wedding—he was an acquaintance of Alard’s, although not a close one. Felix would never admit to it, but I think he probably paid for an invitation so he might be thrown in the path of wealthy, eligible females. Felix was fifteen years older and had never married. I daresay he would have remained a bachelor, but he’d made a series of dreadful investments in the late forties and was almost insolvent. I know this because I demanded full disclosure of his debts before I agreed to marry him.”
Jasper’s testicles contracted slightly; he had to admire Dunbarton’s fearlessness, if nothing else about the man. “W-Would it surprise you to know your husband p-played cards with both Mr. Sealy and Mr. J-Janssen?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, but I didn’t know about it.”
“You were close with b-both the J-Janssens?”
“I knew Alard well—he is of our set—but I wouldn’t say we were close. But Zuza is a dear friend.”
“Did they have a h-happy marriage?”
“You’d have to ask Zuza.”
“Surely a w-woman with your forthright opinions has an impression?”
She laughed. “Touché. But please tell me you won’t arrest anyone based on my impression? I have the feeling that is what happened to the unfortunate woman they arrested for Wilbur’s and Felix’s murders—it was somebody’s impression that she was guilty.”
“You d-don’t believe Caitlyn Grady was guilty?”
“I thought it was preposterous. Perhaps a woman might get angry enough to kill her own husband—but why kill another woman’s?”
A laugh slipped out before Jasper could catch it. He could see by the glint in her eyes that she appreciated his response.
“Not to mention the girl was hardly larger than me. You saw Alard Janssen, Inspector? Well, Felix was even larger.” She hesitated and then said, “Did you know I met her?”
“Who?” Jasper asked.
“Miss Caitlyn Grady.”
“No, I didn’t know that.” Why the hell hadn’t Law told him about this? “When was this?”
“Not long after she confessed. I received a letter from her, asking to see me—to apologize for what she’d done. The captain at the Sixth Precinct tried to dissuade me, but I wanted to hear what she had to say.”
“What did she say?”
“That she was sorry. It wasn’t a long conversation—no more than a few minutes.”
“And she admitted to killing them?”
Mrs. Dunbarton frowned. “Well, not in so many words, but she apologized. Still—”
“Yes?”
“I don’t believe she was the murderer.”
“Then why confess?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “I’m sure you or I would sign confessions if enough pressure was applied.”
Jasper studied the dry-eyed woman across from him, not quite sure what to make of a widow who could calmly discuss visiting her husband’s confessed murderer.
“Coldhearted.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You were wondering what is wrong with me that I can talk about Felix’s murder like this.”
“That is q-quite a skill you have, Mrs. Dunbarton—reading m-men’s minds.” And Jasper had to admit he didn’t like it.
“You make us s-sound like p-puppies with a p-propensity to soil the carpet.”
That amused her. “That’s because you are a lot like puppies—although not when it comes to your wants.”
“Oh? And what d-do we want?”
“Money, power, and sex—not necessarily in that order.”
Jasper’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.
“I suppose you find my plain speaking vulgar.”
“Are we really s-so simple?”
She ignored his question. “I think Zuza and Alard had a marriage that suited their needs.”
He could see that was all she’d say on the matter. “You t-told me how you came to be married—but you didn’t tell me if your m-marriage was happy.”
She gave him a look of exaggerated shock. “Why, my lord, do you think I might have killed Felix in a fit of pique? And then developed a taste for it and killed my friends’ husbands too?” Her eyes narrowed in a mock-sinister stare. “Shouldn’t you be nervous in this room with me? Alone?”
He couldn’t help smiling. “I once h-heard a wise l-lady say that a woman might kill her own husband but not another’s.”
She laughed, the sound surprisingly girlish. “You are a rare man indeed, Detective Inspector, one who listens to what a woman says. What would your compatriots think if word of that got out? Don’t worry—I shan’t tell anyone. But to answer your question, my marriage to Felix was much the same the day he died as it was the day we married. We rarely spent any time together, knew very little about one another, and had no expectations of each other—well, other than the obvious ones of avoiding disgracing the family or driving us into bankruptcy. I saw Felix no more than a few times a week. He had his ventures, and I have mine.”
“Yet I understand your h-husband was on the board of at least one of your charities, so you must have had some common interest.”
“That also was a business arrangement. Alard found several of my buildings for me—including this one—and Felix was president of Ohio Life Insurance and Trust and financed the sale. The contract called for an executive on the board, so Felix took that position.”