Murder in Murray Hill (Gaslight Mystery) (22 page)

Perhaps Grace had killed Pendergast, but Malloy had already discarded that theory. The angle of the cut was wrong, and besides, what had become of the knife?

So that meant she was protecting someone else, assuming she did remember. Who would she protect, though? Not Andy. None of the women would have protected Andy. His being the killer would explain why he’d fled the house and what had become of the murder weapon—he could have taken it with him and disposed of it or brought it back with him when he returned, and his killer would have had it ready to hand. Andy would have been a logical choice, and Grace would have accused him in a heartbeat if his had been the face she’d seen over Pendergast’s shoulder. But Grace wasn’t the type of person to falsely accuse someone, even someone as despicable as Andy.

Neth also could have been the killer, but would Grace have protected him? Not likely. She had most probably never set eyes on him before that day, and if she had, she would have had no kind feelings toward him. She might not have known his name, but if she’d seen his face and his hand wielding the knife, she would have said so. The same could also be said for some other stranger—one of Pendergast’s friends for instance—who might have stopped by to murder Pendergast.

That left only one person whom they knew had been in the house: Rose Wolfe. She claimed to have been locked in the cellar, but Sarah knew she could’ve gotten free if she’d chosen to do so. She could have come up to the kitchen, gotten the knife, and proceeded upstairs to where Pendergast was preparing to have his way with Grace. Or perhaps he’d even brought her upstairs to watch. And Grace wanted Rose to know that Grace could not remember seeing the killer. Both Rose and Joanna had told her how Pendergast had turned the women against each other, but Grace hadn’t experienced that particular horror yet. No, she might still be sympathetic to her fellow prisoner, or perhaps she was simply grateful enough for being free to be willing to protect her.

Then Sarah remembered how Rose had thought Malloy had come to arrest her. Why would she fear that unless she had done something wrong?

Sarah shivered from a chill at the thought of what would happen if Rose Wolfe were accused of murdering Pendergast. And would she have killed Andy as well?

And could Sarah help Grace protect her if she had?

F
rank spent a few fruitless hours trying to run Pendergast’s cohorts to ground. The first three weren’t home, which ruined any advantage of surprise he might have had. He’d already known that once he spoke to one of the men, that one would warn the others, but now their servants would warn them, too, or at least warn them some strange man had been asking for them, which would put them on guard. If this last fellow wasn’t home, Frank would miss his opportunity to catch even one of them by surprise.

Luckily, Issac Traynor was at home and, also luckily, he was curious enough about Frank to receive him. Frank had been hoping this fellow wasn’t the one who had discovered Andy’s body, and he wasn’t. Traynor stood in the middle of his well-appointed parlor, obviously ill at ease and trying to pretend he wasn’t.

Just the way a man who was being blackmailed should look.

He was younger than Frank had expected, not even forty yet, and he sported a luxurious mustache that was a shade darker than his honey-colored hair. He rubbed it as he stepped forward to greet Frank.

“Mr. Malloy, a pleasure to meet you,” he said heartily, offering his hand.

Frank shook it. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Traynor.”

“Not at all. Whatever can I do for you, my good man? The girl said you were bringing me news from one of the members of my club.”

“That’s right. Milo Pendergast.”

Surprise and alarm flickered over Traynor’s rather florid face, but he recovered quickly. “Pendergast, is it? I . . . I must confess, I hardly know the man, so I can’t imagine why—”

“You know him well enough, Traynor. You’ve attended his little ‘entertainments,’ so don’t pretend you’re innocent.”

He flushed scarlet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. In fact, I think I must ask you to leave.”

Frank had no intention of leaving. “Don’t worry, I’m not here about that. I’m here investigating some blackmail. I understand Pendergast’s servant, Andy, contacted you asking for money.”

“Blackmail? Heavens, no, I haven’t received any contact at all—”

“I just wanted to know if you’d actually paid Andy any money, because if you have, I’ll make sure it is returned to you.”

Traynor started blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what Frank was saying. “I . . . You’ll . . .
return
it?”

“Then you did give him some money?”

“Well, he seemed in a rather bad way. He told me Pendergast had died suddenly. It was a shock to me as well. And he wanted to go visit his elderly mother, so naturally, I . . . well, I thought I’d help him out. He’d always seemed like a nice fellow.”

“Nice?” Frank asked with a frown. “That’s not what I’d heard about him.”

“Well, a good servant to Pendergast, I mean.”

“When did you see Andy?”

“I . . . Well, let’s see, I think it was . . . yes, Monday afternoon, I believe. I received a note from him in the morning mail, and I . . . uh, I didn’t see any reason to delay. The sooner he had the means, the sooner he could see his poor old mother.”

“Yes, I’m sure you wanted him to leave town as quickly as possible.” The sarcasm was lost on Traynor, though. “About what time was this?”

“I don’t know exactly. I went from there straight to my club. It must have been around four when I got there. Why, what does it matter?”

“It matters because somebody killed Andy that day.”

“Killed him? Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“But I just saw him . . . Good heavens, you can’t think I had anything to do with that! He was perfectly fine when I left him. And the money I paid him, he would’ve had that. It was over two hundred dollars. That will prove I didn’t . . . I wouldn’t have left the money if I’d killed him!”

That made perfect sense to Frank, except: “We didn’t find any money on him.”

“But you said you were going to return it!”

“I lied about that.”

Traynor started blinking again. “Really, what is this about?”

“It’s about trying to figure out when Andy was murdered and who might’ve killed him. Oh, and who killed Pendergast, too, while I’m at it.”

“I don’t know anything about that either!”

“So you did know Pendergast was murdered.”

“Andy’s letter said so. He even hinted that he knew who had killed Milo, but since it wasn’t me, I didn’t give it too much thought.”

Now Frank was blinking. Joanna hadn’t mentioned that. Had Andy really known who had killed Pendergast? It seemed possible, but it also seemed foolish to say so if one of the men he was contacting was actually the killer, because what would stop him from coming to kill Andy, too? Of course, Frank already knew Andy hadn’t been very smart. On the other hand, if he really had known who the killer was, why would he have bothered to mention it to a man he knew was
not
the killer, like Traynor here? No, he wouldn’t have done that if he’d really known who the killer was. So he’d been guessing, hedging his bets. And tempting fate in baiting the killer.

And wasting his time if the killer was a woman, since Andy probably hadn’t even tried to blackmail the women.

“Mr. Traynor, did you happen to keep Andy’s letter?”

“God, no! I burned it. Can’t have the servants finding something like that, can one? Next thing you know,
they’ll
be blackmailing me!”

Taking note of the fact that Traynor had just admitted that he had been blackmailed, Frank managed not to sigh in frustration. “Can anyone verify the time you arrived at your club on Monday?”

“I’m sure. The doorman would probably remember, and I saw several people there.” He named two of the men on Neth’s list and someone else Frank hadn’t heard of.

“What about Vernon Neth?” Frank remembered he had claimed to be at his club that night, too.

“He was there, but he came after I did.”

“What time?”

“How should I know?”

“Try to remember,” Frank suggested in his most menacing tone.

“I, uh, it was about an hour after I arrived, I’d say.”

“And did he stay long?”

“I think he left when I did. Around ten, I believe.”

So Andy had probably been alive when Traynor left him before four o’clock, because he had also probably been alive when Frank pounded on Pendergast’s door around five, because the doors were locked then. He would’ve been watching for his victims and deliberately hadn’t answered Frank’s knock. Frank remembered all too well the sensation of being watched that evening as he made his way around the house, trying the doors and windows. Andy had let someone else in the locked door at sometime after five, though—maybe more than one
someone else
—and one of those visitors had killed Andy and left the door unlocked when he fled.

And Neth really had been at his club that evening, even though Joanna had claimed he’d been home with her.

• • •

S
arah couldn’t help thinking she would like to be anyplace except Rose Wolfe’s front steps as she rang the bell. She found that she no longer wanted to know who had killed Milo Pendergast and Andy, because she was pretty sure she did know, and she didn’t like it one bit. She didn’t have the luxury of walking away, however, because the police were probably going to arrest someone for the crime, and Sarah wanted to at least be able to protect the innocent.

The maid ushered her right in this time, and put her in the front parlor to await Miss Wolfe.

Rose Wolfe looked a bit better today. The color was returning to her face, and she had obviously slept a bit.

“Mrs. Brandt, do you have news?” she asked as she hurried into the room.

“Bad news, I’m afraid.”

“Then I’m glad I told them to bring us some tea. Let’s sit down, and you can tell me while we wait.” She took her place beside Sarah on the sofa.

“Andy is dead,” she said, seeing no reason to gloss over the facts. “Someone murdered him Monday night.”

“How? Where?”

Good. Rose didn’t know the details of his death. She felt a small sense of relief. “At Pendergast’s house on Monday. We think he’d returned there after the police had left.”

“That makes sense. He wouldn’t have known where else to go.”

“At any rate, he was trying to blackmail Pendergast’s friends.” She told Rose about the messages he’d sent and about Malloy finding his body after one of the men had gone into the house yesterday morning.

“That sounds like something he would do.”

“Tell me, Rose, did he send you one of those letters?”

“Me? Why would he have tried to blackmail me? And how would he even know where I was?”

“We thought, Mr. Malloy and I, that perhaps Andy had found all the letters Pendergast had received and that he might have found the addresses of the women he’d kidnapped and thought you’d be anxious to keep him from telling what had happened.”

But Rose started shaking her head even before Sarah had finished. “I doubt he was smart enough to figure that out. Besides, how could he know who would be back at home?”

“You’re probably right. I just needed to be sure because . . .” Sarah found herself reluctant to tell her the rest of the story.

“Why, Mrs. Brandt? You can’t think you’ll shock me, not after what I’ve been through.”

Sarah drew a deep breath. “The police think a woman killed Andy.”

“Why? For the same reason they think we deserved to be kidnapped by Pendergast?” she snapped.

“No, because Andy’s trousers were . . . were undone when he was stabbed in the abdomen.”

Rose’s eyes widened.

“So, you see,” Sarah continued doggedly, “they think a woman was there and Andy was planning to take advantage of her, so she stabbed him.”

Rose’s frown was puzzled. “She just happened to bring a knife with her?”

“It happened in the kitchen, and they think . . . well, they think it was the same knife that killed Pendergast, that his killer had brought it back or at least knew where to find it.”

“Which means a woman must have killed Pendergast, too.”

“I believe that is their reasoning, yes.”

Rose continued to frown, and Sarah would have given a lot to know what she was thinking.

“I’ve been to see Grace Livingston,” Sarah continued. “The woman who was there with you?”

“Yes, I remember. You told me about her.”

“She was quite traumatized by Pendergast’s death. She was standing in front of him when his throat was cut, so she was covered with his blood.”

Rose flinched but she didn’t object, so Sarah continued.

“She says she doesn’t remember what happened. She said . . . She especially asked me to tell
you
that she doesn’t remember what happened.”

Sarah watched closely as Rose considered her words for a long moment. “And she wanted me to know? Me, particularly?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Brandt, I should very much like to speak with Miss Livingston.”

Before Sarah could answer, a knock signaled the arrival of the maid with their tea and also the arrival of Franchesca Wolfe, who came in behind the maid.

“Mrs. Brandt, how nice to see you again. Don’t you think Rose looks much better today?”

“Yes, she does.” Sarah knew better than to say more in front of a servant, so they waited until the girl had set the tray down and taken her leave.

When the door was closed behind her, Franchesca took a nearby chair and began to pour tea for them. “Rose has told me a little,” she said as she handed Sarah a cup. She glanced at Rose, as if seeking silent permission for something, and when Rose did not object, she said, “She told me she was held as a prisoner and unable to leave. I know she was mistreated. Anyone can see she was mistreated.” She glanced at Rose again, this time with compassion. “But she won’t say more than that. I think you can imagine my anger and frustration, but she says the man responsible is dead.”

“Yes, he is,” Sarah said.

“And yet here you are again.” Franchesca handed Rose a cup. “You cannot be trying to enlist Rose’s help in bringing that horrible man to justice, so I must conclude that you are here for another reason.”

“Mrs. Brandt is just concerned about my health,” Rose said.

“Nonsense,” Franchesca said. “I know you think I’m some helpless female who needs to be coddled, but just because I was lucky enough to be born with a pretty face doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

“I never thought you were,” Rose said.

“Of course you did. You’re as bad as your brother. You’d both keep me wrapped in cotton wool and protected from every possible unpleasantness, but I’m not weak or helpless, Rose, and I won’t be crushed by your troubles. And I’m also not stupid, which means I might be able to help you sort out whatever it is that Mrs. Brandt came here to sort out.” She turned to Sarah, righteousness burning in her lovely eyes. “If Rose is in some sort of trouble, at least let me help with that.”

Rose started to speak, but Sarah cut her off. “Let me tell it. As you know, the man who held Rose prisoner was murdered. The only people in the house at the time—at least that we know of—were Rose, another woman who was also being held prisoner, and the man’s servant, Andy.”

Franchesca turned to Rose, but Rose refused to meet her gaze. “What about this other woman?” she asked Sarah after a moment.

“She didn’t . . . Well, the police are fairly sure she didn’t kill him.”

“Then it must have been the servant,” Franchesca said.

“Except that he has also been murdered.”

“Good heavens.”

“Yes,” Sarah said. “And it appears he was killed by a female.”

“How can they possibly know that?”

“Because,” Sarah continued doggedly, “his clothing was . . . It appeared he was in the process of taking advantage of her when she stabbed him.”

“Then no one could blame her for that!”

“And no one should blame whoever killed his employer either,” Sarah said. “Yet sometimes the world judges females by a different standard and seeks to punish them unjustly.”

Franchesca really was smart. Sarah could see she instantly understood. “So we must protect Rose and . . . What about this other woman? Does she have family?”

“Yes. Her father had hired Mr. Malloy to find her, which is how we became involved in the first place. She was present when Pendergast—that’s the man’s name—was killed. I was just telling Rose that she can’t remember what happened.”