The Cliff House Strangler (20 page)

Papa thought about this. “It almost sounds as if she knew the killer. Perhaps it was someone she trusted. If she’d told Ahern what she thought she’d seen and it turned out she was wrong, she would have seriously maligned her friend.”

“Exactly. Which means if our assumptions are correct—”

“Then it’s unlikely that Russian fellow is the killer.” Papa smiled at me over his pipe. “I doubt that Mrs. Reade would have been reluctant to tell the police about a sinister-looking foreigner.”

I nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I question Serkov’s guilt.”

“From what you’ve told me, there’s a lot of evidence against the
man, including motive and opportunity. And you say witnesses actually claim they saw him in Washington Square just before Mrs. Reade was killed?”

“That’s what they say,” I told him. “But I don’t think they could have gotten a very good look at his face. It would be easy enough to wear an old black suit, glue on a black beard and wig, and cover your head with a hat. From a distance, the disguise would be pretty convincing.”

“And just about everyone at the séance had a motive to kill that pesky reporter, not just the Russians.” He reached for a pad and pencil. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you take me through the list of people who were at the Cliff House that night. Only go more slowly this time. Let’s see if we can’t fit a few more pieces into this puzzle.”

I did as he asked, describing everyone at the table, starting with Senator Gaylord and his wife. As I did, Papa drew a rectangle on the page and jotted down names in the order of where they sat. When I was finished, he silently studied his diagram.

“Senator Gaylord,” he said thoughtfully. “He’s the one who’s taken a shine to Frederick, isn’t he?” I nodded but didn’t speak, not wishing to disrupt his concentration. “I’ve never known a politician who didn’t have at least one skeleton in his closet. On the other hand, I haven’t heard anything specific about Gaylord.” He looked down at the page and made a tiny check next to the senator’s name. “Let’s see, you say Nicholas Bramwell sat next to Mrs. Gaylord?”

I didn’t even have to think about it; the seating at the séance table was etched in my mind. “That’s right. And Nicholas’s mother, Philippa, sat to his left.”

“Bramwell,” Papa repeated, tapping his pencil on the pad. “Is she by any chance married to Edgar Bramwell, of Bramwell and Sons Construction?”

“As a matter of fact, she is,” I replied. “Can you tell me anything about the company? I’ve met Mr. Bramwell, but he seems to be a man of few words.”

“But a man of decisive action,” Papa said with a smile. “He started the company about twenty-five years ago, and built it up through hard work and shrewd management. He seems honest enough. At least the mayor seems to think so. Bramwell and Sons does a good deal of work for the city.”

“Have you ever had business dealings with him, Papa? Or met with him socially?”

“Actually, I first met Edgar Bramwell and his elder son, Lyle, a couple of years ago when they added a new wing onto the courthouse. I gather it was the younger son, Nicholas, you met at the séance, the one who recently passed his bar examination?”

“Yes, I think Nicholas’s mother is determined that he take up a career in politics. This is the first time I’ve heard the elder son’s name mentioned.” I thought over what my father had just said about their family business. “Papa, do you know if Edgar Bramwell’s company is involved with the new City Hall project?”

“As a matter of fact, they’re one of the major contractors the city’s hired to put up the cursed thing. Why do you ask?”

“Samuel heard that Darien Moss was planning an exposé on the scandal surrounding the new City Hall—you know, who might be taking bribes or padding their pockets at the city’s expense. He seemed certain that Moss was planning to name names.” To protect my brother’s journalistic anonymity, I did not mention that his source was Sergeant George Lewis.

Papa looked amused. “And you think Edgar Bramwell asked either his wife or his son to strangle Moss before he could write these articles?”

I felt a flush of embarrassment. When put like that, the possibility did sound far-fetched. “I don’t know what to think,” I admitted. “It’s hard for me to believe that anyone at that table was desperate enough to risk killing Moss in front of eleven possible witnesses.”

“I agree. Yet it seems someone did just that.” Papa again studied his drawing, checking off both Bramwells. “All right then, to Mrs.
Bramwell’s left was Mrs. Reade, with Yelena next to her. At the far end of the table, sat Madame Karpova herself.” He looked at me. “Do you think it’s possible the medium could have left her seat without being noticed?”

“You know, she seems to be the only person at the table who couldn’t have gotten up without being seen. She’d just conjured up some kind of flimsy white apparition when the candle went out. Everyone claims they were staring at Madame Karpova and whatever it was she’d materialized. I know she was still in her seat when the candle was relit.”

“Hmmm. That doesn’t completely rule her out, though, does it?” Papa said thoughtfully. “It would have been damn tricky, but performing tricks is what the woman does for a living. What about the daughter, Yelena?

“I suppose it’s possible, but I’d say it’s extremely unlikely. She’s such a timid little creature. And Moss was very large. I don’t see how Yelena could have put that wire around his neck without him overpowering her.”

Papa sighed and checked off the two Karpova women. “At least for now,” he said. “Let’s see, Lieutenant and Mrs. Ahern were to the clairvoyant’s left. Logistically speaking, they were closest to Moss—except for you and Robert, of course. I suppose Moss could have had something on one of the Aherns and had threatened to expose them in his paper.”

“He’d written negative articles about the police before,” I said. “But I don’t believe any of them specifically targeted Lieutenant Ahern.”

“There’s always a first time, my girl. By the way, what about this Serkov fellow? You say he left the room when Moss arrived?”

“Yes, but I suspect he came back in later and helped his sister with her special effects, like the flying trumpet and balalaika, as well as that filmy apparition.”

“Did Lieutenant Ahern check everyone there for signs of blood on their clothes or hands?” Papa asked.

“He didn’t come right out and have everybody hold out their hands. But I noticed he was watching everyone closely during our interrogation. Besides, the murderer could have wiped any blood off his hands afterward, and no one would have been the wiser.”

Papa put down his pad and pencil, gave a long sigh, and relit his pipe. By now, what was left of our coffee had turned cold, and neither of us wished to bother Edis by requesting yet another pot.

“Seems to me you’ve got a real mystery on your hands,” Papa said. “Do you think Serkov will change his mind and ask you to represent him?”

“That’s another mystery, Papa. For some reason, he seems convinced the police are going to let him go free without his having to step inside a courtroom. Ahern had a good laugh when I told him about that. He claims he hasn’t a doubt that Serkov’s their man.” I thought back to the scene in the Russian’s cell. “Serkov is a stubborn, feral-looking creature, but I don’t think anyone would consider him fanciful. Yet he is utterly certain he has no need for an attorney.”

“Because the police are going to realize he’s innocent and just let him go?” Papa said. “Do you think he fully understands the gravity of his situation? You said he speaks broken English. Have the police called in an interpreter?”

“Not as far as I know. But I don’t think language is the problem. Serkov seems to comprehend why he’s been arrested, yet he honestly believes that the doors to the city jail are going to fly open at any moment and he’s going to walk out of there a free man. It’s—it’s insane.”

Papa regarded me kindly over his pipe. “You may have just solved your mystery, my girl. What if this Serkov fellow really is insane? It would go a long way toward explaining things.”

When I failed to offer any argument to this sensible suggestion, Papa continued, his voice gentle. “I know from personal experience how difficult it can be establishing one’s own law practice, Sarah. And I realize you’re eager for clients willing and able to pay
for your services. Having said that, I have to admit that I hope Serkov does not end up as your responsibility. Even if it turns out that he’s not mad, the man is hostile and unpredictable. Frankly, it frightens me to think of you in his company.”

“I know, Papa, but I can’t turn anyone in his predicament away, even a man like Serkov. His life may depend on me.”

My father leaned forward in his chair, using his pipe to emphasize his words. “You have a good heart, Sarah, but I think you’re making a grave mistake. Regardless of what happens in the courtroom, I’m afraid Dmitry Serkov will bring nothing but grief into your life.”

T
he following afternoon, I went to the county superior court building to file Mrs. Sechrest’s divorce petition. Since I had filled out all the necessary paperwork in my office, I anticipated I would be there no longer than it would take to deliver the forms to the proper department. Unfortunately, I was quickly disabused of this assumption.

I had just located the correct office when I literally ran into Robert, who was exiting the same room I was about to enter. His tousled mop of red hair was bent over a booklet of some sort, and despite my efforts to move out of his way, we collided, causing the papers I was carrying to fly helter-skelter onto the floor.

“Robert, really!” I said, reaching out a hand to steady myself. “You should pay more attention to where you’re going.”

“I apologize, madam,” he said, then looked up from his pamphlet to see whom he had very nearly crushed. “Sarah! What are you doing here?”

“I was about to turn in some forms when you crashed into me like a runaway train,” I said, stooping to retrieve my scattered papers.

Before I could lay a hand on them, Robert knelt down and
quickly began stacking the papers together. He rose to return them to me, then happened to see the name I had entered on the petition.

“Mrs. Alexandra Sechrest!” he exclaimed in surprise. “But that’s—that’s impossible!”

Placing the papers back inside the folder, I said without looking up, “What do you mean it’s impossible? Mrs. Sechrest is my client, and she’s filing for divorce. It’s really quite simple.”

Robert startled me by taking hold of my arm and all but pushing me toward an empty bench in the lobby.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” I demanded, trying unsuccessfully to wrench myself free of his grasp. “Robert, let go of me this instant. Whatever has gotten into you?”

“Sarah, did you say you’re representing a Mrs. Alexandra Sechrest?” he asked, pulling me down to sit next to him.

“Yes, but what does it have to do with—”

“And your client is married to Luther Sechrest, who works as foreman for Leighton Mining Company?”

I started to get up, then abruptly sat down again. “How did you know that?”

“Because I’m representing her husband. I just filed divorce papers on his behalf.”

“You mean against his wife?” I said, not immediately grasping what he was saying. “On what possible grounds?”

“On the grounds that his wife has deserted him and their two minor children.”

“Deserted them?” I stared at him, my astonishment turning to anger. “How dare he make such a preposterous accusation? She was forced to flee from him and seek refuge in a house for abused women. And, for your information, she took her sons with her.”

“That’s interesting, because Luther Sechrest has the boys now. He maintains that she’s refused his repeated pleas to return home and care for them.”

“Of course she refuses. The man has been beating her for twelve years. Luther Sechrest sent his men to steal the children away from
her at the safe house, Robert. She’s terrified that if they remain in that house, he may begin to mistreat them, as well.”

Robert guffawed. “That’s ridiculous. Luther Sechrest is an honest, hardworking man—a deacon in his church, in fact. He cares deeply for his wife and children. He would love nothing more than to see his family whole again.”

“Who told you all this? I assume you’ve interviewed Mr. Sechrest?”

“Of course I have. I also discussed the matter with Joseph Shepard when he assigned me to the case.” He lowered his normally booming voice as two well-dressed men took seats on a nearby bench. “Even if Shepard hadn’t vouched for him, I could judge from our first interview that Sechrest was an intelligent, thoughtful man who has been treated shamefully by an ungrateful wife.”

“
He’s
been shamefully treated!” I exclaimed, my temper commencing to boil at the injustice of this accusation. “I wish you could see the bruises your thoughtful and caring Mr. Sechrest has inflicted on his poor wife.”

“You know my views on striking a woman,” he said with disgusting virtuousness. “Unfortunately, there are some men who do not share my sensitivity and self-control, especially when they’re consistently driven to the end of their patience. When you consider Alexandra Sechrest’s drinking habits, and her inexcusable behavior toward her sons while under the influence, I would hesitate to judge Mr. Sechrest too harshly if I were you.”

I was stunned by this outrageous assertion. “That is so reprehensible, it’s beyond belief,” I all but shouted, causing the gentlemen at the nearby bench to cast disapproving looks in our direction. “Mrs. Sechrest isn’t the drunkard; her husband is! And when he’s in that condition, he beats her unmercifully.”

“My client warned me his wife might take that tact,” Robert said, shaking his head sadly that she had chosen to stoop so low.
“For the sake of their marriage, he’s attempted to make allowances for her behavior. Now, however, he must consider the well-being of his sons.”

“Robert, that is complete nonsense! Luther Sechrest doesn’t care a fig about those boys. He’s using them to regain power over his wife. How can you be so gullible?”