Murder on Astor Place (25 page)

“Have you eaten?” she found herself asking. Why she should care, she had no idea, but he looked as if he needed someone to look after him. Sarah’s long dormant feminine instincts demanded she do so.

“I’m fine,” he said, a little gruffly, she thought. “Don’t go to any trouble for me.”

“Come into the kitchen and sit down anyway. I’ve got some coffee left from supper. You look like you could use some.”

She thought he smiled a little at that, although she couldn’t be sure. It might simply have been a grimace. But he followed her into the kitchen, and he drank the coffee she poured for him.

“What have you found out?” he asked when he’d finished half the cup in one swallow.

“Well, let’s see. Where should I begin?” she mused, taking a seat opposite him and picking up her own cup. “I went back to the Higgins house, and this time I talked to the children.”

“The
children?”

“Yes, you probably thought they were asleep when Alicia was killed, but Mary Grace wasn’t. She’s the oldest girl. Her bed is right by the window, and she was awake that night. She saw a man and a woman come into the house.”

“When was this?” Suddenly, Malloy didn’t look quite so tired anymore.

“Mary Grace didn’t know the time, but it must have been late, after everyone else was in bed. The man was tall and thin, and the woman was short and round and walked with a cane. The man had to help her up the stairs, Mary Grace said.”

“Did she recognize either of them?”

“She said she didn’t. It was dark, of course, but she recognized Hamilton Fisher when he came out later. She said she could tell it was him by the way he walked, and he was carrying his bag with him. If she’d known the man and woman, I think she would have recognized them, too.”

“She saw Fisher leave then?”

“Yes, she thought he was the one who let the man and woman into the house, although she didn’t see him do it. She must be right, too, since nothing else makes sense. And shortly afterward, he left. He was carrying a satchel, so Mary Grace thought he was leaving for good, which of course he was.”

“But she didn’t think she knew the man and woman.”

“No, but I believe we can assume the woman was the abortionist. The man brought her, and ...”

“And he tried to get her to perform the abortion, but Alicia wouldn’t allow it.”

“Or more likely, the abortionist wouldn’t do it when she found out how far along Alicia was. She wouldn’t want to take a chance of Alicia dying, and a procedure so late in the pregnancy would be very dangerous.”

“So she didn’t do it, and then what?” Malloy was thinking out loud, trying to come up with a scenario that made sense. “She stood there while the man killed Alicia?”

“No, Mary Grace said she saw the man leaving later, alone. She said he was running as if someone was chasing him, although no one was. I think the woman, the abortionist, must have left when she found out she had nothing to do there. The man stayed with Alicia. Perhaps they quarreled, or perhaps he’d simply intended to kill her all along if he couldn’t get her to agree to the abortion. In any event, however he came to do it, he strangled her. Then he must have become frightened by what he’d done, so he ran away.”

“I hate to admit it, Mrs. Brandt, but your theory makes a lot of sense,” he said with just the trace of a smile. “Now all we need to know is who he was.”

“Or at least who
she
was, since she could certainly identify him for us.”

“Oh, I already know who
she
is,” Malloy said with infuriating confidence as he drained his cup.

“You do? How?”

“I questioned all the abortionists in town, remember? Only one of them is short and fat and walks with a cane. The Russian woman, Petrovka.”

“Emma Petrovka, of course!” Sarah cried. “I should have guessed it myself. I know her slightly. Our paths have crossed once or twice.”

Sarah had thought Mrs. Petrovka an awful woman, but not for any reason other than her profession. She seemed competent and well-mannered, and many women were grateful for her services, as Sarah knew only too well. Perhaps Alicia would have been if given the choice in time.

“Will you question her again?” Sarah asked. “Can you make her tell you who the man was?”

This time Malloy did smile. It was a funny, crooked little thing that looked oddly out of place on his broad face. “I’m not allowed to question anybody, Mrs. Brandt. I’m off the case, remember?”

Oh, dear, she’d forgotten. But then she recalled who was really investigating this case. “But
I’m
not off the case, am I? I could question Mrs. Petrovka!”

“Are you sure you want to? This isn’t like interrogating the Higgins children. You’re getting pretty close to the killer.”

“Mrs. Petrovka isn’t the killer,” Sarah scoffed.

“No, but she most likely knows who is. If she tells you anything, not necessarily who he is but anything at all that could lead you to him, you’d be in danger.”

“How would the killer know?”

Malloy frowned. “She might tell him. He might already be bribing her for her silence, so she’d feel a sense of loyalty or at least obligation to tell him. Or maybe she doesn’t even know Alicia was killed that night she visited her. Then you both would be in danger.”

“I’m not afraid. I’ll go see her in the daylight.”

“Do you think people don’t get killed in the daylight?” he asked, obviously horrified at her hopeless naivete.

“I think I’ll be safe from a crippled old woman,” she said, amused by his dismay. Could Malloy really be concerned for her safety?

Before he could reply, another visitor knocked on Sarah’s door.

“Who’s that?” Malloy asked, on his feet in an instant.

“I guess I won’t know until I open the door,” Sarah allowed.

“It’s kind of late for visitors.” He was frowning like a disapproving father.

Sarah decided not to point out that he was there, and surely, he also counted as a visitor since he didn’t live there. “I’m a midwife, Malloy. I get visitors at all hours of the day
and
night. This is actually early compared to some.”

He followed her into the front room, maintaining a discreet distance so he would be out of sight of whoever was at the door but still close enough to hear what was said. Trying to be amused rather than annoyed by his presumption, Sarah asked who was there.

“It’s Will Yardley, Mrs. Brandt.”

Sarah threw the door open. “Is it the baby? Is she sick again?”

Will looked surprised and very young in the shadows. “Oh, no, she’s doing just fine. That tea you told Dolly to make did the trick. It’s that other thing. I got the information you wanted.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking to be sure no one was following him, and Sarah decided this was simply a habit.

“Come in and tell me what you learned,” she said, stepping back so he could enter. She closed the door behind him so he would feel safer.

When he judged it was secure and they could not be overheard, he said, “The fellow you was looking for, Fisher?”

“Yes, did you find him?” she asked eagerly.

“Not him exactly, but a friend of mine what knows him, he seen him down in the Bowery.”

“The
Bowery?”
Sarah echoed in surprise. She would have expected Sylvester Mattingly’s employee to have a better address than the city’s lowest slum.

“Yeah, he’s been living in a flophouse down there. Place they call the Brass Lantern.”

A flophouse? This was the lowest of accommodations, only one step above sleeping on the street. For a nickel, a man could “flop” on the floor, for a few cents more he could have a hammock, and if he really wanted luxury, a dime would buy a cot for the night. Men slept shoulder to shoulder in the most appalling conditions, and only the lowest of the low could be found there. This made no sense at all. What would Ham Fisher, a man who fancied himself a private detective, be doing in a place like that?

“Are you sure it’s him?” Malloy demanded, stepping out of the shadows.

Will started and swore an oath. “What’s a copper doin’ here, Mrs. Brandt? You didn’t tell me about no coppers bein’ mixed up in this.”

He would have bolted, but Sarah grabbed his sleeve and held on tight. “Mr. Malloy is a friend of mine, Will. He’s just visiting.”

“The hell you say. You telling me he ain’t no copper?”

Sarah wondered how he could tell Malloy’s occupation simply by looking at him, but she supposed that was a skill Will would have developed early in life. “He’s trying to solve a murder.”

“This Fisher killed somebody?” Will asked, even more alarmed.

“No, but he might know who did. It was a young girl, Will, only sixteen. Not much younger than Dolly.”

“This ain’t none of my business. I gotta go.”

“Maybe you’d like to answer Mrs. Brandt’s questions down at Police Headquarters,” Malloy said in a voice she’d never heard before. It frightened even her.

The color drained from Will’s face, and she had to hold him with both hands.

“Stop it!” she ordered Malloy. “You’re frightening him!”

“That’s the best way to deal with the likes of him,” Malloy insisted.

“Not in
my
house,” Sarah insisted right back. “Will, he isn’t taking you anywhere, not after you came here and did me a favor. I want to thank you for that. This Brass Lantern, where is it located?”

“I know where it is,” Malloy said. “You can let him go, if that’s all he knows.”

She glared at Malloy, although it didn’t seem to faze him, then turned to Will with a smile. “Thank you for coming, Will. And tell Dolly I’ll check on her and the baby in a day or two.”

“You didn’t tell me about no coppers,” he repeated plaintively, giving Malloy one last desperate look before bolting for the door.

When he was gone, Sarah turned to Malloy in disgust. “Is that how you treat all your informants? It’s a wonder you ever solve any crimes at all!”

“I lack your charm, Mrs. Brandt. I have to use the tools I’ve got.”

“Well, remind me never to commit a murder in New York. I would hate to see your ‘tools’ firsthand.”

Sarah brushed past him and returned to the kitchen where she refilled her cup. When she saw he had followed her back, she filled his, too. He took that as an invitation to sit again, which he did. Sarah wanted to be angry with him, but she had to admit, she wasn’t. Not really. He was only doing his job, or what would have been his job if someone hadn’t taken him off the case. Since she was trying to do the same thing, she shouldn’t fault him for using different methods than she would have chosen.

“Now, tell me where this Brass Lantern is so I can find Ham Fisher,” she said, taking the seat opposite him.

He smiled again, that odd little grin that looked as if he seldom used it. Obviously, she had startled it out of him. “You’re not going to the Brass Lantern.”

“Then who will?”

“I’ll go. Nobody will question what I’m doing there,” he added when she would have protested. “I can always say I’m working on another case. I find a lot of suspects at places like the Brass Lantern.”

“I can imagine.”

He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup with what looked like admiration, but perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe he was just laughing at her again.

“Then I’ll find Mrs. Petrovka and see if she’ll tell me who took her to see Alicia that night, and you’ll go to the Brass Lantern to talk to Fisher. One of us is bound to find out who the killer is, and then what will we do?”

Malloy took another sip of his coffee. “Then we go see Roosevelt.”

S
ARAH HAD NO trouble finding Emma Petrovka’s address. The woman advertised openly in the newspapers, even though her profession was patently illegal. No one ever prosecuted abortionists. There was too much real crime in the city for the police to have time to bother with such trifles, especially when no one was likely to pay a reward for apprehending them. Unless Petrovka killed too many patients, and even then no one would care unless one of them was someone of importance.

Sarah was going over a speech in her head when she left her house that morning, trying to figure out what to say that would sound like a plausible reason for having sought out an abortionist. Mrs. Elsworth’s cheery greeting interrupted her thoughts. The woman was sweeping her immaculate porch. If she came out to sweep every time someone she wanted to talk to walked down the street—and Sarah was fairly certain she did—it must get swept a dozen times a day.

“Looks like it’s going to be another warm one, today, Mrs. Brandt. Off to deliver a baby this morning, are you?” she asked.

“No, I’ve got an appointment,” Sarah said. It wasn’t quite a lie. She had an appointment even if Mrs. Petrovka didn’t.

“Be careful then. I baked some bread this morning, and the top of the loaf split. I’ve been worried sick ever since. You know what that means, don’t you? There’s going to be a funeral soon.”

“It won’t be mine,” Sarah assured her, wondering with amusement if anything ever happened to Mrs. Elsworth that didn’t have some sinister interpretation. “But I’ll be careful.”

“See that you are. And watch out for those infernal bicyclists. Did you see the story in the
Times
this morning? Some fellow ran his cycle into a wagon and very nearly killed himself and everyone else involved!”

Sarah promised again to be careful and managed to escape without hearing about any other superstitions.

By the time she reached Gramercy Park, she had settled on an excuse for her visit to Mrs. Petrovka. She would say she was consulting her because one of her patients had requested the services of someone like Petrovka, but Sarah wasn’t certain the procedure could still be performed so late in the pregnancy. This, she thought, would be a natural opening for mentioning Alicia’s case. Not that she expected Petrovka to bring it up, but Sarah certainly intended to.