Murder on Lexington Avenue (7 page)

“I know,” Frank assured her. “He wanted her to be able to understand what people who can hear said to her and to make herself understood by them. I’ve met her. She seems to do pretty well at both those things.”

“Is it easy to understand what she says?” Mrs. Sechrest asked with interest.

“If you listen carefully,” Frank said.

Mrs. Sechrest nodded. “And how many people in the world will take the time to do that? And how many will speak clearly to her and remember to look directly at her when they talk so she can read their lips? Even then, lip-readers often can’t tell what people are saying. It’s a very difficult skill to master.”

“I know. That’s why I sent my son to learn sign language,” Frank said. “So who decided Electra Wooten needed to learn it?”

She asked her son. His answer surprised her.

“She did! She asked a friend to help her find someone to teach her,” Mrs. Sechrest reported.

Having met Electra Wooten, Frank had no trouble believing the girl had taken matters into her own hands. The question is, why had she made the decision in the first place? Not that it mattered. Frank doubted the daughter’s desire to learn to sign had driven someone to murder the father. Her desire to marry a deaf man might have, however. “Did you know your son wanted to marry Electra Wooten?”

She hadn’t, but she didn’t seem too upset by the notion. “Young men can get odd fancies when a beautiful girl is involved, but her family is very wealthy. They would never have allowed it.”

Frank smiled wolfishly. “Which may be why someone murdered Nehemiah Wooten.”

 

 

S
ARAH PICKED UP HER SKIRTS AND RACED DOWN THE porch steps and across the narrow yard to where Catherine’s small body had gone rigid with terror. Mrs. Ellsworth was right behind her. By the time Sarah reached the child, Maeve had snatched her up, burying Catherine’s face in her shoulder to drown the sounds of her screams.

Maeve was calling the child’s name in an effort to break through to her, but she didn’t seem to hear. Her little body shook from the force of the shrieks. Sarah snatched Catherine from Maeve’s arms and slapped her lightly on the cheeks. Startled, she stopped screaming, blinked a few times, then seemed to suddenly realize Sarah was holding her.

“Mama, make it stop!” she wailed pitifully.

Sarah enfolded her and carried her back to the porch. She heard Mrs. Ellsworth sending Maeve for a glass of water for the child. When Sarah reached the chair where she’d been sitting moments ago, she sat down again, cradling Catherine in her lap.

“What happened, darling?” she asked the child.

“I saw them,” she said in a small voice that was so terrified, Sarah’s heart nearly broke.

“Who did you see?”

“The bad people. They came back.”

Sarah looked up and saw Mrs. Ellsworth hovering, her eyes reflecting the same fear that Sarah felt. “They didn’t really come back,” Sarah said. “See, there’s no one here but us.”

“I saw them,” Catherine said simply.

“They’re gone now,” Sarah tried.

Maeve had returned with a glass of water. Sarah took it and offered it to Catherine, who gulped it down.

“What were the bad people doing?” Maeve asked when the child had finished drinking. Sarah gave her a silent reprimand, but Maeve said, “She was looking straight at me when she started screaming. She was watching me cut the flowers.” Maeve knelt down so she was on eye level with Catherine. “Were the bad people with me?”

“No, they were with the pretty lady,” Catherine said. “She was cutting flowers, and they came.” She looked up at Sarah. “I want to go inside now.”

“Of course, my darling. We’ll all go inside.”

By the time they had moved indoors, Catherine’s fright had faded, and she seemed calmer, almost normal. She asked Maeve to go upstairs with her and play with her dollhouse. When the girls were gone, Sarah and Mrs. Ellsworth sat down at the kitchen table.

“What do you suppose all that was about?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked.

“I have no idea. It was almost like she had a bad dream, except she was wide awake.”

“Has she ever done anything like that before?”

“Not that I know of,” Sarah said, “but there’s so much I don’t know about her. She’s only been with me a few months. I’m not even sure how she acted at the Mission before I met her.”

“Maeve should know that,” Mrs. Ellsworth reminded her. “She was there.”

“I’ll have to ask her after Catherine goes to bed tonight. What do you suppose set her off?”

“She was watching Maeve cutting flowers. It must have reminded her of the pretty lady she was talking about. She said the lady was cutting flowers.”

“And the bad people came. I hate to think what that means.” Sarah shivered.

“Maybe it doesn’t mean anything,” Mrs. Ellsworth tried, but neither of them believed it.

T
HE LOOK ALEXANDRA SECHREST GAVE FRANK COULD have cut glass. “You are a horrible man,” she informed him. “I already told you, my son had nothing to do with Mr. Wooten’s murder.”

“Young love can be a powerful force,” Frank said. “He wanted to marry the girl, and you said yourself that her father never would’ve allowed it.”

“I also said that my son was home all day yesterday. I must ask you to leave now, Mr. Malloy,” she added, rising to her feet. “We can be of no further help to you.”

Frank rose, too, and Oldham jumped to his feet as well. He didn’t like them talking without interpretation, and he let his mother know it. She made a few perfunctory signs. Frank figured she was telling him she’d kicked him out.

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Sechrest,” he said.

She didn’t reply, and she slammed the door a little too loudly behind him.

Frank sighed as he made his way out of their building. He was making enemies right and left in this investigation. He would probably be wise to wait until tomorrow, so he could consult with the chief of detectives before questioning anyone else and find out if anybody in authority was really interested in solving this crime. Most people would assume that solving the murder of somebody as rich and powerful as Nehemiah Wooten would be extremely important. But not if solving it meant inconveniencing somebody equally rich and important. Wooten was dead, and he wouldn’t be complaining to Frank’s superiors about anything. His killer still could. And if other living people had secrets they didn’t want Frank discovering, they’d cause trouble for him, too.

So he’d call it a day and head back home. Brian, at least, would be happy to see him.

 

 

B
Y THE TIME FRANK GOT TO POLICE HEADQUARTERS ON Mulberry Street the next morning, he’d collected seven newspapers proclaiming the details of the gruesome murder of Nehemiah Wooten. The newsboys hawking the papers on street corners with cries of “Rich man murdered in his office!” and “Businessman beaten to death!” had been doing a brisk business.

Frank was still glancing over the newspapers to see how much of the real story the reporters had been able to gather when he was summoned to Captain O’Brien’s office. Stephen O’Brien was the acting chief of detectives, and like everyone in the police department since the departure of Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt, he was being very careful not to offend the wrong people. The problem, of course, was that no one was yet certain just who those people were. Everyone was still talking about reform, but nobody really believed that Roosevelt’s policies would hold up now that he’d gone to Washington.

Frank gave his report, bringing O’Brien up to date on everything he knew about the Wooten murder so far.

“Must’ve been some lunatic who broke in,” O’Brien said. “The door wasn’t locked, was it?”

“Higginbotham said it wasn’t when he got there. I’m going to the office today to talk to everybody who was working on Saturday. Whoever was the last to leave will remember if he locked the door behind him.”

O’Brien frowned. He didn’t like this. “And you said nothing was stolen?”

“It didn’t look like it, but I won’t know for sure until his partner gets in today and checks.”

“Maybe it was a robbery then.”

“Maybe,” Frank said, willing to be agreeable.

“Try to find a thief, then. Or a lunatic.” The message was clear. It would certainly be a lot more pleasant for everybody if Wooten had been killed by a stranger.

“I’ll try,” Frank said, hoping it would be that easy.

He arrived at Wooten’s office building shortly after the staff had begun their workday. This morning, a nice- looking young fellow was sitting at the desk in the lobby. He was pale and somber in his stiff collar and cheap suit, and he jumped to his feet as Frank walked in.

“No reporters!” he cried almost desperately. Obviously, he’d already had to chase away some of those pesky fellows. “I must ask you to leave, or we’ll have you thrown out.”

Since he didn’t look as if he could have forcibly ejected Frank’s mother, Frank wondered who would have carried out this threat, but he said, “I’m Frank Malloy with the New York City Police Department. I’m investigating Mr. Wooten’s death. Is Mr. Young in yet?”

The clerk swallowed and tried to regain his dignity. “I’ll see if he’s available to meet with you.”

As he scurried away, Frank noticed a few curious employees leaning out of their offices to get a look at him. Frank couldn’t help hoping one of them had lost his temper with a demanding employer and bashed his skull in with a college trophy. Unfortunately, none of them looked particularly guilty.

“Mr. Young will see you,” the clerk reported when he returned, looking calmer.

All the curious heads had withdrawn as Frank made his way along the same corridor he’d walked down yesterday to find Wooten’s body on the floor of his office. This morning the door of that office was closed, and the clerk led him to the office next to it.

Young was sitting behind his desk, looking like his bowels had been locked for a week. “I told the staff you’d need to speak with them,” he said by way of greeting. “Peters here has a list of everyone who was working on Saturday.” Then he turned his attention back to the papers on his desk, silently dismissing Frank.

The young clerk Peters escorted Frank to the same conference room where he’d questioned Higginbotham on Saturday, and he officiously introduced each member of the staff in turn as they endured Frank’s patient interrogation. Frank learned that none of them had seen or heard anything unusual. None of them had ever seen the mechanical pencil that Frank had found in Wooten’s office. They all had done their work that morning and left promptly at noon. The front door had been locked, according to those who left last, at Mr. Wooten’s instructions. Mr. Wooten was a careful man who knew the dangers of the city and would not have felt safe in the building if the door had been left unlocked. Mr. Wooten had an appointment with Mr. Higginbotham and no one else that afternoon. And no, Mr. Wooten was not in the habit of entertaining strangers who did not have a scheduled appointment.

So now Frank knew that either Wooten had admitted someone he knew into the building prior to his appointment with Higginbotham or else the staff members were lying and they had forgotten to lock the door behind them, as Wooten always instructed them to do. So he’d wasted most of his morning and learned nothing useful. When the last person on Peters’s list had gone, Peters himself came in.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked, plainly relieved that this unpleasant task was over.

“Are you sure that’s everybody?” Frank said, knowing that it never hurt to check.

“All except for Mr. Young,” Peters said and then caught himself. Plainly, he hadn’t meant to reveal this information.

“Mr. Young was working on Saturday?” Frank asked, remembering he’d specifically asked him that question and he’d denied it.

“No, not
Mr. Young
,” he said. “I mean, it was
young
Mr. Young . . . Mr. Young Junior, that is.”

“Mr. Young has a son who works here?” Frank asked, recalling how Young had been somewhat alarmed when Frank asked if he had children.

“Yes, well, of course he works here. He’ll inherit the business someday, so naturally . . . Well, he was here on Saturday, but he isn’t in this morning.”

“Do you know where he is?” Frank asked with interest.

Peters hesitated, probably debating with himself Frank’s right to know. “I really don’t know, but I image that since his father must be
here
, he’s probably offering the Wooten family whatever assistance he can during this difficult time.”

A perfect excuse to visit the Wooten house again. Frank managed not to smile.

 

 

F
RANK STARTED THINKING ABOUT ALL THE PEOPLE AT THE Wooten house he needed to question. He’d like some time with the mysterious Electra, who made no secret she was happy her father was dead. He’d also like to meet Electra’s brother. He hadn’t even laid eyes on him yet. And if Young Jr. was on the premises, he’d have a go at him as well. Mrs. Wooten was another one he’d like to question more thoroughly, but he didn’t imagine she’d stand for it again.