Murder on Lexington Avenue (31 page)

“Then what did you do, Albert?” Frank asked.

Battersby licked his lips. “If I could just have a drink. Maybe you’ve got a flask on you, Mr. Detective . . .”

“If you tell me the truth, I’ll make sure you get a drink, Albert. What did you do next?”

Battersby leaned forward, across the table, close enough that Frank could smell his fetid breath. “I waited a bit, to see if the other one come out, and when he didn’t, I went to see. To see if he needed help, don’t you know? I thought the other fellow might’ve done him some harm.”

Frank nodded. “You’re a Good Samaritan, aren’t you, Albert?”

“That’s it, a Good Samaritan,” Battersby eagerly agreed.

“And I guess you helped him,” Frank said.

Battersby rubbed his mouth again. “I sure could use that drink . . .”

Kelly reached out without a word and slapped Battersby upside the head.

“Hey, what was that for?” he complained, rubbing the side of his head.

“To remind you that you need to tell me the truth,” Frank said mildly. “And the truth is that when you saw these two swells go into the alley, you went to see what they were up to.”

“Oh, no, I—” Kelly moved as if to slap him again, and he quickly added, “That is, maybe I did. I was curious, don’t you know? I wondered what they was up to, like you said. You see some strange things in the Bowery.”

“And what did you see?”

“I couldn’t see much. It was dark as pitch, but I could hear. It sounded like one of them was getting a beating. I know what that sounds like, right enough.” He gave Kelly a black look, which the policeman returned in kind.

“And did you try to stop it?” Frank asked.

“Not likely! I ain’t crazy. I tried to run away, but I fell. I wasn’t too steady on my feet, like I said. I fell down, and I thought for sure he would’ve heard me, the one doing the beating, but it was noisy, from the saloon, don’t you know? And when he come out and looked around, I just laid still on the sidewalk, like I was passed out, and he never noticed me. Then he run off, like I said.”

Frank considered his story. “What did you do when he was gone?”

Battersby seemed to shrink even further. “I ain’t proud of this, but I was dying. You don’t know what it’s like, needing a drink so bad . . .”

“No, I don’t,” Frank agreed. “But I can imagine. You knew some swell was in the alley, all by himself and beaten pretty bad. So you decided to see if the other swell had left anything in the other man’s pockets for you.”

“He was dead,” Battersby defended himself. “If not right then, he soon was. He never even moved when I turned out his pockets.” He shook his head. “I should’ve left the watch, but he didn’t have much on him. Ten dollars and some silver is all. I figured the watch would bring that and more. Now about that drink . . .”

“What did this other man look like, the one who ran away?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pay no attention to what they looked like,” Battersby protested.

“Tall, short, fat, thin?” Frank pressed him.

Battersby swiped at his mouth. “One was taller than the other, I know.”

“Which one came out of the alley, the tall one or the short one?”

“I don’t know! Please, I really need that drink . . .”

“Did you see them go into the saloon?”

“No, I hadn’t been there long when they came out. I never saw nothing. Please, mister . . .”

Frank stood up. “I’m finished with him.”

“Wait, come back! You promised me a drink!” Battersby was hollering as Frank and Kelly left the room. Kelly told an officer waiting outside to lock Battersby back up.

“You believe him?” Kelly asked as they made their way upstairs.

“His story makes sense. Battersby has the watch, and he admits he took it off the dead man. I can’t imagine the dead man going into an alley in the Bowery with Battersby, or even going in alone. Wooten was young and healthy and athletic, so I don’t think Battersby could’ve taken him by surprise, even if he’d been strong enough, which he isn’t, even when he doesn’t need a drink.”

“But what was Wooten doing at the saloon, and why did he go into the alley?”

“I don’t know yet, but Wooten must’ve had a reason for being in the Grey Goose that night. If he just wanted to get drunk, he could’ve done that in a safer place, so he must’ve been there to meet somebody. If he did meet somebody, he might’ve left with that person. I doubt he would’ve left the bar with somebody he didn’t know, and if somebody in the bar had spotted Wooten as an easy mark and followed him into the alley, he would’ve robbed him, but Battersby found money in his pockets and his watch still there.”

“So if Battersby didn’t kill him—and I think you’re right about him not being able—then whoever killed him just wanted him dead,” Kelly summarized. “That means he must’ve known his killer. Do you know who that might be?”

Frank sighed. “I’m very much afraid I do.”

 

 

F
RANK HAD BEEN DREADING THIS MOMENT. HE’D PUT the evidence together, and it all pointed in one direction. Nehemiah Wooten had discovered that his partner was embezzling from their company and confronted him on Thursday of last week. On Saturday, Young had returned to their office for some reason. Maybe he hoped to convince Wooten not to make the theft public. Wooten had refused, enraging Young, who’d picked up an old loving cup from Wooten’s athletic youth and clobbered him with it.

Then Young had hoped to keep Leander Wooten away from the business for a while, maybe for years, while he either bled the company dry or covered up his tracks. But Leander had made Young think he knew the whole story. Young had somehow arranged to meet him that night and lured him out into the alley. Sarah had even heard Young telling Leander they would talk later. Leander would have felt perfectly safe with Young, a man he’d known all his life. Then Young had repeated the little scene he’d had several days earlier with Wooten’s father, leaving Leander dead and himself safe from discovery.

Until Frank had found the ledger and the mysterious arithmetic that pointed to embezzlement. He couldn’t arrest a man like Young for murder, but he could make sure he was guilty. Then he could turn Mr. Decker loose on him.

Peters, the clerk at the front desk, showed Frank into Mr. Young’s office and left him there. Frank had wrapped the ledger up in brown paper, so Young wouldn’t see it first off. He probably knew by now that Frank had taken it, but Frank wanted to keep some element of surprise.

Young had risen from his seat to greet Frank. “Sit down, Mr. Malloy,” he said in a surprisingly friendly tone. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You have?” he asked as he took the offered chair in front of Young’s desk.

“Of course I have. We’re both men of the world, Mr. Malloy. I knew it was just a matter of time before you paid me this visit.”

Frank figured he might as well get to it. He was still holding the ledger in his lap. He placed it carefully and purposefully onto Young’s desk.

“What do you have there?” Young asked with a frown.

Frank sat back in his chair and watched Young’s face carefully. “It’s a ledger. I found it in Mr. Wooten’s desk.”

Young didn’t look the least bit alarmed. Or guilty. “Peters told me you’d taken it. That’s how you figured out the money was missing.”

Frank nodded. “And I knew you and Mr. Wooten had argued on Thursday. That’s when he figured it out, wasn’t it?”

“You know it is, Malloy. You spoke with my son. He told me all about it.” He folded his hands on his desk and stared intently at Frank. “You’ve done an excellent job of sorting all of this out, Mr. Malloy. You’re quite clever. I’ve often thought that it’s a shame the city of New York doesn’t pay its law enforcement officers what they’re really worth. If Mrs. Wooten weren’t indisposed, I’m sure she would have had the presence of mind to offer a suitable reward for the satisfactory conclusion of this case. I’m afraid women can’t always be depended upon to understand how these things work, however.”

Frank wasn’t sure whether he should agree or disagree, so he just waited to hear the rest of what Young wanted to say.

“Now then, we should get down to business. I
am
prepared to offer you a suitable reward for a satisfactory conclusion to this case. A donation to the police benevolence fund, if you will.”

Frank knew what Young was talking about. He was offering Frank a bribe. People politely called them rewards or even donations, but everyone knew what the real purpose was.

“What would you consider a satisfactory conclusion to the case?” Frank asked, really wanting to know.

“This is getting very tiresome, Mr. Malloy,” Young said, no longer quite so congenial in the face of Frank’s challenge. “You know very well what I would consider satisfactory. I want to protect my son. Would five thousand dollars do that?”

Frank wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the amount—which was nearly a year’s salary for him—or the fact that Young was talking about protecting his
son
. Why would Young be willing to pay that much to keep Terry’s affair with Mrs. Wooten a secret when Young himself had committed murder?

Because, Frank realized with stunning clarity, what Young wanted to protect his son from had nothing to do with adultery. Nobody would pay five thousand dollars to protect his son from a simple scandal.
Terry
was the one who had stolen the money, and
Terry
had gone to Wooten’s office that day to plead for mercy. And
Terry
had killed Nehemiah Wooten!

And Mr. Young was willing to pay Frank five thousand dollars to forget he knew it. Except Frank had already decided Terry Young wasn’t the killer.

“Where were you when Mr. Wooten was killed, Mr. Young?”

Young stiffened. “Me? How dare you ask me that!”

“I have to know where you were,” Frank insisted in the voice he used to intimidate hardened criminals. He shouldn’t risk offending Young, but he couldn’t make another mistake about this. If there was any chance Young was guilty . . .

“If you must know, I was with a lady all afternoon. She would vouch for me, although I have no intention of giving you her name—”

Before he could finish, the office door burst open, and Terry Young was standing there. His face was red and his eyes wide. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, glaring first at Frank and then at his father.

“Get out of here, Terry. This doesn’t concern you,” his father said, jumping to his feet. He looked more alarmed than angry.

Frank decided to try an experiment. “Your father is trying to bribe me,” he said.

Terry’s gaze shifted to Frank. He looked alarmed as well. “Bribe you?” He looked back to his father. “He can’t prove anything. I already told him I didn’t hear your voice, so I don’t know for sure that you were there.”

“Me?” Mr. Young asked, confused now. “When did you hear my voice? What are you talking about?”

“When Nehemiah was killed!” Terry said, exasperated. “I didn’t hear you or see you there, so nobody can prove you did it!”

“Of course they can’t prove
I
did it, because
you
did it!” his father replied, equally exasperated.

Terry Young blinked in surprise. “No, I didn’t! I . . . I thought you did!”

Father and son stared at each other for a long moment, stunned. They’d been trying to protect each other, and neither was guilty.

Frank sighed and stood up. “I guess this means I won’t be getting my five thousand dollars.”

The two men looked at him as if they’d never seen him before. Neither made any move to stop him as he strolled past Terry Young and out of the office, leaving the incriminating ledger behind. He’d be sure and let Mr. Decker know that Terry Young was the embezzler. As much as he disliked Mr. Young, he couldn’t in good conscience allow him to be ruined for his son’s transgressions.

Frank wondered what Terry had used his ill-gotten gains for. Maybe he’d entertained fantasies of running off with Mrs. Wooten to some foreign land where no one would know them. It was a disturbing thought.

 

 

S
ARAH AND THE GIRLS HAD JUST FINISHED CLEANING up their lunch dishes when they heard the front doorbell. All three groaned in disappointment, certain Sarah was being summoned to a delivery.

“I’ll get it,” Maeve said, hurrying out to answer it. Catherine followed on her heels.

Sarah followed more slowly, not anxious to leave again so soon, until she heard Catherine giggling and the rumble of a familiar voice. She quickened her steps as much as dignity allowed.

Malloy had lifted Catherine up into his arms, and she was laughing at something he’d said to her. “Mrs. Brandt,” he said when he caught sight of her.

“Mr. Malloy,” she replied, unable to keep herself from smiling. “What brings you here? Have you caught the culprit?”

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “I guessed completely wrong, and now I have to start all over again.”

“Oh, dear,” Maeve said. “Don’t you have any ideas at all?”

“I have one or two,” he said. “But I needed to consult with Mrs. Brandt first.”

“My mama is very smart,” Catherine informed him.

“I know she is,” Malloy said with a grin.

Sarah hated the heat she felt rising in her cheeks, but she was grinning back. “I’m always happy to assist the police whenever I can,” she said.

“We just finished eating,” Maeve said. “Are you hungry? I can fix you a sandwich.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” Malloy said. “Could you help Maeve, Miss Catherine?”

Catherine nodded vigorously and allowed Malloy to set her down on her feet again.

Maeve and Catherine headed for the kitchen.

“What happened?” Sarah asked him when the girls were gone.

“I was sure Mr. Young had done it. He and Wooten argued over the embezzlement on Thursday, right after Wooten found out about it. I figured he’d come back on Saturday afternoon. Terry Young had an appointment with Wooten at one o’clock that day, but when he arrived, someone was in the office with Wooten already, so he left. I thought Young was the one stealing from the company, so I figured he had another argument with Wooten and killed him.”