Murder on Washington Square (6 page)

“I know, but I needed a place to wait while someone tries to find Frank Malloy for me,” she explained.

Minnie understood completely. She knew all about Sarah’s adventures in the bowels of the building and invited her to have a seat.

“Do you know anything about the murder this morning? The woman who was killed in Washington Square?” Sarah asked.

“Yes, I heard. What a terrible thing. At first everyone assumed she was a . . . a lady of the evening, but then someone recognized her. They said she was a respectable woman from a good family. She lived in a rooming house nearby. But they’ve already arrested the man who did it, I heard.”

“I know,” Sarah said. “He’s my next-door neighbor.”

“How awful!” Minnie exclaimed. “Do you have any idea why he did such a terrible thing?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Sarah said. “I don’t think he did it at all, and I’m afraid he might be persuaded to confess anyway.”

Minnie nodded her understanding. “Would you like for me to telephone Mr. Roosevelt? He might be able to help.”

“I think that would be a very good idea.”

Unfortunately, Teddy wasn’t at home either, but Minnie left him a message on Sarah’s behalf, and Sarah settled in to wait. She was just beginning to think that perhaps she should demand to see Nelson herself when she heard familiar footsteps in the hallway. In another moment, Frank Malloy’s burly figure appeared. He wore a suit that needed to be pressed, and he needed a shave. His bloodshot eyes told her he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.

As usual, he didn’t look at all happy to see her, but she wasn’t going to let that distract her. “Malloy, have you heard about Nelson Ellsworth?” she asked, jumping to her feet.

“Of course I heard about him,” Malloy said, his dark eyes almost black as he glared at her. “He started telling everybody in sight that he’s a friend of mine as soon as they took him into custody.”

“He didn’t kill that woman, Malloy. You know that, don’t you?”

“What makes you so sure?” Malloy was in one of his disagreeable moods. He hardly ever had any other kind.

“Because I know him. He couldn’t even strike a woman, much less kill one.”

“People do strange things, Mrs. Brandt. You of all people should know that.”

He was referring, of course, to the people they had encountered on the murder cases they had solved together.

“I know that Nelson Ellsworth would not commit murder. And I have to try to save him from being accused of it, for his mother’s sake, if nothing else. She did save my life, you know.”

He frowned, trying to give her one of his blackest looks, but she wasn’t fooled. In exasperation, he turned to Minnie Kelly. “Miss Kelly, has Mr. Roosevelt started hiring female police detectives?”

Minnie bit back a smile. “No, sir, I don’t believe he has.”

“I just wanted to be sure,” he said, “because from the way Mrs. Brandt was talking, I thought he might’ve put her on the force.”

“Malloy,” Sarah said through gritted teeth, “you know as well as I do that most detectives would just give Nelson the third degree until he confessed so they could wrap this case up nice and neatly. Nobody wants a lot of bad publicity about a respectable young woman getting killed on a public square within sight of people’s homes, and they won’t get any if they lock the killer up the same day. But what if Nelson didn’t do it? That means an innocent man will be punished, and the real killer will go free!”

He sighed in disgust. “I’m so glad you explained that, because I never would’ve figured it out by myself.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” she snapped. “I know you understand what needs to be done, but I had to come down to make sure you knew he’d been arrested before it was too late to help him.”

“And then I suppose you were going to go home and go back to delivering babies again,” he said wearily.

“No, then I was going to give you some important information about the case.”

Malloy rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his head was hurting him. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Well, I guess there’s only one way to get you out of here. Do you think you could escort Nelson Ellsworth safely home?”

Sarah gaped at him. “Home? Are they going to let him go?”

“For now. And I’m coming with you. Mr. Ellsworth has a lot of questions to answer, and from the look of things, so do you.”

“You know I’ll do anything I can to help you, Malloy,” Sarah said with as much gratitude as she could muster.

“Yeah,” he said grimly. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

 

 

 

M
AKING THEIR ESCAPE FROM POLICE HEADQUARTERS was far easier than getting in had been for Sarah. Malloy brought Nelson up from the basement where he’d been held since being picked up from his job at the bank. He looked a little worse for wear, but at least he didn’t seem to be bloody or bruised. Malloy led them both to a back door that opened into an alley. Cabs wouldn’t normally be cruising in this neighborhood looking for potential customers, and they couldn’t risk drawing attention to themselves at any rate, so they started out on foot.

Walking as quickly as Sarah’s skirts would allow, they made their way over to Broadway, where they were soon lost in the crowds of people heading home for their evening meals.

Only then did Sarah begin to feel safe.

“How are you?” she asked Nelson when they had reached the corner of Fourth Street and turned toward Washington Square. Now that she had a chance to look at him more closely, she could see that he looked terrible. His face was pale and his tie was askew. He had a streak of dirt on the sleeve of his suit coat, and his eyes were haunted.

“Anna is dead,” he said, as if that were his only concern.

“I know, Nelson,” she said kindly, realizing that he was in no condition to discuss this on a public street. She glanced at Malloy, who frowned and shook his head slightly, warning her against saying more.

None of them spoke again until they’d reached the northeast corner of the Square, where the hanging tree stood. Nelson’s steps slowed, and he stopped completely when they came abreast of the tree.

“They said they found her there,” he said, gazing at the ground at the foot of the tree. There was no indication someone had died on the spot only a few hours ago. “But what was she doing here in the middle of the night?”

Sarah looked at Malloy, expecting to see some sign that he recognized this wasn’t the reaction of a guilty man. Instead, she saw that his expression was closed, betraying none of his own opinions.

“Come on, Ellsworth,” he said. “We need to get you off the street before some of those reporters catch up with us.”

Nelson acted as if he didn’t even hear Malloy, so Sarah took his arm. “Nelson, your mother will be worried about you. Come along, now.”

Reluctantly, he allowed Sarah to urge him on his way again. They were now well within a neighborhood where they could have found a cab, but Sarah realized they’d be home sooner if they kept walking. In a cab they would be captives of the traffic that clogged every intersection and often moved at a snail’s pace. Besides, she thought the exercise was probably good for Nelson. If he sat down for a moment, he might fall apart.

They were almost to Bank Street when Sarah remembered Webster Prescott. “A reporter came to Nelson’s house,” she told Malloy. “That’s how I found out about the murder. There might be more waiting there by now.”

Malloy nodded. “We’d better go down the alley then. We can go into your house. They won’t expect to find him there.”

Sarah led the two men into her small rear garden. The flowers were all dead now, but the remaining greenery gave an air of sanctuary to the place. Sarah glanced over the fence to the Ellsworths’ house, hoping Mrs. Ellsworth might be looking out and see them, but all the curtains were tightly drawn. The trio made their way up to her back door. Once inside, she helped Malloy seat Nelson at her kitchen table, then hurried to the front room of the house to peek out at the street. Just as she’d suspected, several men stood on the sidewalk in front of the Ellsworth house, waiting and talking among themselves. At least Mrs. Ellsworth had managed to hold them at bay while Sarah was gone. The poor woman must be nearly frantic by now.

She turned to find Malloy had followed her. “I’ve got to go over and tell Mrs. Ellsworth that Nelson is here and safe.”

“You can’t go over there. Those reporters will eat you alive.”

Sarah couldn’t help but smile at the image. “I managed to get through a whole crowd of them on Mulberry Street,” she reminded him.

“They didn’t know who you were.”

“Well, I’ve got to tell Mrs. Ellsworth everything is all right, and I don’t want to go sneaking around the back. If those reporters see me, they’ll surround the place, and we’ll never get Nelson out of here. Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

Malloy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a groan.

 

Frank gave a brief thought to tying Sarah Brandt up. That was probably the only way to keep her from causing trouble. On the other hand, the prospect of having her accosted by a bunch of rabid reporters was enormously entertaining. Of course, there weren’t many reporters out there, only five or six. They’d probably get the worst of it, and Frank certainly had no love for the boys from Newspaper Row. Maybe he
should
let her go.

Mrs. Brandt was pulling a lethal-looking pin from her hat and then removed the hat itself. She set it on the desk and hurried back to the kitchen. Frank followed more slowly, and by the time he got there, she’d taken off her jacket and was tying on an apron. At least she’d come to her senses.

“Can you fix something to eat? Ellsworth hasn’t had anything all day, and I don’t want him fainting on me,” he said.

She gave him one of her looks. “I’ll take care of it when I get back. Meanwhile”—she reached into the cupboard and pulled out what looked like a bottle of whiskey—“give him a shot of this.”

It
was
whiskey, he realized as he took the bottle from her, and by the time that registered, she’d grabbed a teacup and was heading back to the front room. “Where are you going?”

“To borrow a cup of sugar from my next-door neighbor,” she called back over her shoulder.

She was out the front door before he could stop her, and when he peeked out the front window, he saw her acting very surprised and indignant at the reporters who instantly converged on her with their questions. It took her only a minute to break away from them and make it up to Mrs. Ellsworth’s front door. In another moment, she was inside. Frank shook his head in admiration. Of course, she’d have to get back again, and that might not be so easy.

Still holding the bottle of whiskey, Frank returned to the kitchen, where he found Nelson Ellsworth still sitting exactly where he’d left him. He’d better start paying attention to his prisoner. If Ellsworth decided to escape while Frank was busy dealing with Sarah Brandt, he’d never hear the end of it. Taking Mrs. Brandt’s advice, he grabbed a glass off the shelf and poured Ellsworth two fingers’ worth.

“Here,” he said, thrusting it into Ellsworth’s hand. “Drink it down. You’ll feel better.”

Ellsworth looked at the glass as if he’d never seen one before. “I don’t drink spirits,” he said faintly.

“This is the perfect time to start.”

Ellsworth proved him wrong. He obediently, if gingerly, took a swig of the amber liquid and immediately began to choke. Frank saved him from spilling the rest of the liquor down the front of his suit and pounded him on the back until he stopped coughing.

When he’d caught his breath, he looked up accusingly with red-rimmed eyes.

“See, I told you you’d feel better,” Frank said unrepentantly and sat down at the table across from him. “All right, Ellsworth, tell me about Anna Blake.”

Nelson reached up and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I can’t believe she’s dead,” he said hoarsely.

“Believe it. Now talk to me. How did you meet her?”

He looked like he was going to start crying. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can, because I’m the only hope you’ve got, Nelson. I promised Broughan that if he let me take you home, I’d find out who really killed the girl,” he said, naming the detective who’d been assigned to solve Anna Blake’s murder. “If you don’t help me, then I’ll have to turn you back over to him, and you don’t want that. See, Broughan is a lazy drunk, and he’d rather lock up an innocent man than find the guilty one if it means he’s going to have to exert himself. You’re real easy to catch, and I don’t think he’d be able to resist the temptation. If you don’t help me, I can’t help you. Now start talking.”

Ellsworth had gone chalk white, but he reached for the glass of whiskey and took another swallow. This time he didn’t choke, although it was a near thing. “All right,” he said, clearing his throat. “I met her when she came into the bank . . .”

 

Sarah’s plan to get into the Ellsworth house was perfect, she realized, unless Webster Prescott was one of the reporters. He’d know she wasn’t just an innocent neighbor coming over to borrow a cup of sugar. Fortunately, he wasn’t among the men who surrounded her the instant she started next door.

“Hey, miss—”

“Who are you?”

“Where are you going?”

“Do you know Nelson Ellsworth?”

The questions came simultaneously, so Sarah didn’t have to feign confusion. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” she demanded with an outrage that wasn’t the least feigned.

A chorus of voices answered her, naming the
Sun
, the
Commercial Advertiser
, the
Evening Post
, the
Mail and Express
, the
Daily Graphic
, the
Herald
, the
Examiner
, and even the
Times
, virtually all of the newspapers being published in the city. If one of them was, like Webster Prescott, from the
World
, she didn’t hear.