Murder on Astor Place (20 page)

Damn, no wonder they were watching him.

“Is it a love letter, Frank?” a falsetto voice inquired from across the room. Frank didn’t even glance up.

“O’Shaughnessy said she’s a real peach. A blonde,” someone else reported.

“A
blonde
!” The phrase echoed through the room as the rest of them repeated it incredulously.

“She’s an informant,” Frank said to the room at large, but of course they didn’t want to believe something so innocent.

“I never had a stool pigeon send me a love letter,” Harry Kelly said.

“You never had
anybody
send you a love letter,” Bill Broghan hooted.

“And you couldn’t read it even if they did,” Frank said, still staring at the envelope. He didn’t have to turn it over to see who it was from, and he certainly hadn’t needed to hear her description. Only one person in the world would be sending him a note like this. He was very much afraid he was going to have to strangle Sarah Brandt. His only regret would be that he would never make Captain.

But it might be worth it.

“Ain’t you gonna read it, Frank?” someone coaxed.

“Read it out loud,” Bill suggested. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I can’t read it out loud,” Frank said. “It would take me too long to explain all the big words to you.”

“Or all the dirty words,” Harry said slyly.

Frank gave him a look. “I thought you already knew all the dirty words.”

“He’s got you there, Harry,” Bill hooted.

“I thought you swore off women, Frank,” Harry said. “Where’d this blonde bit of fluff come from?”

“I told you, she’s an informant.”
She’s also a pain in the backside,
he added silently, fingering the envelope. The paper was quality, just like Sarah Brandt. Just like Alicia VanDamm. What the hell was he doing involved with any of them? He knew how to handle crooks and killers and con men. He didn’t know how to handle ladies, dead or alive. And he had no intention of handling Sarah Brandt at all.

With a resigned sigh, he picked up the envelope and broke the seal. He could feel the eyes of all the other detectives watching him intently, waiting for some reaction. Frank was going to do his best to disappoint them.

“Dear Mr. Malloy,” her note began. He should read them that part, if they were expecting a love letter. “I have learned some very interesting information about Sylvester Mattingly’s relationship with Alicia. It seems that rumors were circulating among the VanDamms’s acquaintances that Mr. VanDamm was arranging a marriage between Alicia and Mattingly. I have a theory that might explain Alicia’s circumstances which I would rather not put in writing. If you will call upon me at your earliest convenience, I will be happy to explain it to you.” It was signed, “In haste, Sarah Brandt.”

“That son of a bitch,” Frank muttered, recalling in great detail his conversation with Sylvester Mattingly. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to cooperate with Frank’s investigation. He was the one Alicia had been running away from all along! And when he thought about Mattingly so much as touching that poor girl...

“Bad news, Frank?” Bill asked with phony concern.

“She throwing you over for another fellow?” Harry smirked.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Frank agreed, wishing he would be that lucky. Unfortunately, he was afraid Sarah Brandt’s intense interest in him would continue as long as he was investigating Alicia VanDamm’s murder. And as for Mrs. Brandt and her theories, he would have bet a year’s salary that she’d have one, and an equal amount that it wouldn’t do him any good. So far, this case had been one blind alley after another, all thanks to Sarah Brandt and her useless information.

He was still debating the advisability of meeting with Mrs. Brandt again—could he be civil to her if he did? And would it be a complete waste of his time?—when one of the officers from downstairs came into the room. Frank hardly noticed until he realized the man was coming right up to him.

“Malloy?”

Frank nodded curtly.

“Got a message.” The fellow looked sort of smug, knowing the effect this message would have. “Superintendent Conlin wants to see you in his office right away.”

Once again a murmur went through the room as the other detectives reacted to the summons. This couldn’t be good news. Conlin didn’t interfere with individual detectives. In fact, he didn’t concern himself with their work at all, letting Chief of Detectives Steers have a free hand with them, so this wasn’t any kind of routine consultation. This was something serious and probably dangerous, too. Dangerous for Frank, that is. If he did or said the wrong thing, he could forget about making Captain. He could even forget about working for the police department anymore.

And why was he so sure that Sarah Brandt’s interference was somehow to blame for this summons?

Chief Conlin’s office was on the second floor, with all the other important offices. Roosevelt himself kept one here, complete with his girl secretary, the only female ever to work in such a capacity in the history of the New York City Police. Frank hoped Sarah Brandt didn’t find out about the girl secretary. Next thing he knew, she’d be Roosevelt’s right-hand man. Or woman.

Conlin kept a male secretary, as was proper, and the fellow showed him into the inner sanctum immediately. Frank wasn’t sure if he should be apprehensive or not, so he settled for wary. The office was comfortably furnished, but nothing like Sylvester Mattingly’s. Conlin sat behind his desk in a large chair. He was a man of middle years, of medium height and slight build with light blue eyes and a sallow complexion. He might have been considered nondescript, except for the power he wielded in his new position.

“Sit down... Mallory, is it?”

“Malloy,” Frank corrected him. He took the offered chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as the one in Mattingly’s office, either.

“I understand you’re working on the murder of Miss Alicia VanDamm,” Conlin said, leaning back and stroking his mustache thoughtfully.

“That’s right.” Frank waited, not a bit surprised. This was the only case he had that might have caused anyone concern.

“An ugly business. A young girl like that, cut down in her prime.” He shook his head sadly, his face expressing his profound distress as such an event.

Frank was impressed. He’d heard that the new superintendent had been trained in public speaking by his brother who was an actor, and Conlin certainly exhibited the grace and style of a professional actor. Those skills would stand him in good stead in his current position, but Frank wasn’t fooled by this phony concern for Alicia VanDamm. Conlin would only be concerned with how the investigation of her case affected one person: himself.

Frank nodded once, to let him know he agreed so far. Every instinct was rebelling, however, warning him something bad was going to happen. Something really bad. Wariness gave way to dread.

“Do you know the VanDamm family?”

“I’ve met them. During the investigation.”

The chief frowned, looking down at the polished surface of his desktop as if weighing his words carefully. Just the way an actor would play a man of power. “Then perhaps you can understand their concerns, which are different from what many people would consider standard in this situation.”

“I’d guess their main concern would be finding out who killed their daughter,” Frank tried.

“Most people would,” the chief agreed, folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward to give Frank the impression he was confiding in him. “Most people want revenge, Malloy. They call it justice, but revenge is what they really want. It won’t bring their loved one back, but it gives them some measure of comfort.”

Frank knew this was true, but he also knew the superintendent hadn’t yet made his point, although he was becoming more certain by the moment he knew what that point would be. He continued to wait, anger forming an acidic ball in his stomach.

“The VanDamms aren’t like most people, however. They are much more intelligent than most people, and they understand that revenge won’t bring their daughter back. They also know that bringing her killer to justice might compound the damage that has already been done by blackening their daughter’s good name and reputation.”

Not to mention their own,
Frank thought, but of course he didn’t say it aloud. He’d never make Captain by talking back to the superintendent. In fact, he’d be back to pounding a beat, if he wasn’t careful.

“Because the VanDamms might well have to endure even more distress if you continue your investigation, Malloy, I’m taking you off this case. I think your chances of actually finding the killer are very slim, and since even doing so wouldn’t accomplish anything constructive, there’s no point in proceeding.”

“It would get a killer off the streets,” Frank couldn’t resist pointing out. The hot ball of anger had become molten fury, and he had to close his hands into fists to keep from slapping them down on the superintendent’s shiny desk in frustration.

“Hundreds of killers walk our streets every day, Malloy. We can’t catch them all. And we won’t be trying to catch this one.” Steer’s voice was hard, leaving no room for negotiation. “Do you understand?”

Frank understood completely. Someone important didn’t want the case solved, and because of Sarah Brandt’s note, he understood even more than the superintendent. “I already have some feelers out. What if I accidentally find the killer?”

The chief’s gaze was razor sharp when it met Frank’s. “You won’t.”

I
T WAS THE hottest day of the year so far, and Frank’s mood was just as hot as he made his way through Greenwich Village. He didn’t even think of knocking when he reached the front door of the office. He simply pushed it open and marched in. Still furious, he needed a second to realize that Mrs. Brandt was not alone. Another woman was sitting with her, an elderly lady.

Was she a patient? No, the two of them appeared to be only talking, thank God, and they both looked up in surprise.

“Well, now, looks like somebody put his hat on backward this morning,” the old woman said with some amusement.

“Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Brandt said in that cultured voice of hers, as if he hadn’t just made a complete fool of himself. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

The old woman was looking him over as if judging his suitability for being there. “You look like you’ve been rushing, sir,” she observed wryly. “A man your size should be more careful in this heat. You could bring on apoplexy.”

If he hadn’t been so furious, he might have simply fled. Ordinarily, he didn’t relish being a source of amusement for elderly females, but he needed to speak to Sarah Brandt, and at this point, he was even willing to apologize, if that was what it took.

“I didn’t know you had company,” he managed to say in a fairly civil tone. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” the old woman said, rising from her chair. “You must have something very important to talk to Sarah about. I’ll just be on my way, Mr....” She let her voice trail off expectantly.

“Mrs. Elsworth, this is Detective Sergeant Malloy of the New York City Police,” Mrs. Brandt said, rising to her feet as well. “Mr. Malloy, this is my neighbor, Mrs. Elsworth.”

The old lady was still looking him over very carefully, obviously feeling he needed to pass inspection before she’d leave him alone with Sarah Brandt.

“I dropped a knife this morning,” she said, as if that should mean something. When no one responded, she continued, “That’s how I knew I’d be getting a visitor soon. Although I guess you’re really Sarah’s visitor, aren’t you? So perhaps I’d best be on my way. So nice to have made your acquaintance, Detective Sergeant.”

Frank didn’t return the compliment, although he did hold the door open for her, if only to hurry her on her way. No one spoke until the old woman was gone.

“Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Brandt said again, but this time she wasn’t surprised. This time she was eager, if only to learn why Frank had come barging into her office. “What is it? Have you found out something?”

“You could say that, but I doubt it’s what you think.”

Now she was intrigued. “Please, sit down,” she said, offering him the chair in which the old woman had been sitting a moment ago.

Frank didn’t much like the idea of sitting in a chair reserved for her patients, and he didn’t feel much like sitting anyway. He wouldn’t be here that long anyway.

“They’ve taken me off the case,” he announced baldly.

“What?
Who did it? The VanDamms? Surely, they don’t have the authority—”

“It was probably them behind it, but the order came from the Superintendent. Directly. I’m not to do any more investigation. The VanDamms don’t care who killed their daughter, and they don’t want her memory tarnished by me finding him.”

“That’s preposterous!”

Her outrage made him realize that he’d sought her out as much to share his own fury as to inform her of the circumstances that had caused it. “I thought so, but my opinion didn’t count for much.” Frank wanted to pace, but space in the small office was at a premium. He could only manage a few steps in any direction before encountering something too substantial to push out of the way.

“But surely... I mean... Oh, dear...” she stammered, bringing Frank up short. For the first time he really looked at her. She seemed stricken.

“What is it?”

“I... I learned something about Alicia and... and Sylvester Mattingly. Did you get my note?”

“Yeah, I got it. In fact, I’m pretty sure Mattingly is why I was taken off the case. I went to see him yesterday, at his office.”

“Yesterday? That was even before I knew about him and Alicia. Why did you... ? Oh, to ask him about Hamilton Fisher,” she recalled. “Why, he might have hired Fisher to find Alicia for himself and not for the family at all! What did he say when you questioned him?”

“Nothing. He’s a lawyer. They don’t tell the police anything, as a general rule, and especially not if it would hurt them. Who told you about this marriage business? Any chance it isn’t true?”