Murder In Chinatown (31 page)

Maeve ran out.

“It’s broken?” Keely asked, bewildered, staring at her wrist as if she’d never seen it before.

“Maybe,” Sarah lied to keep her from panicking. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and pressed it against the cut on Keely’s head to stanch the bleeding. “Keely, why did you come here?”

She looked up at Sarah, still dazed. “You saw my braid,” she said, as if that was the most obvious reason in the world. “I couldn’t let you tell that policeman.”

It seemed so logical now. Why hadn’t she realized the truth the instant she’d seen Keely’s braided hair? The irony was that if Keely hadn’t shown up here to kill her, she might never have made the connection. “But how in the world did you find me?”

“You told me the street where you lived,” she replied simply. “And then I saw your sign out front.”

She was right, of course. Sarah stared at her, taking in the silk shirt and baggy pants that more than adequately concealed her feminine curves. Her dark hair hung down her back in a single pigtail just like the Chinese men wore, and the broad-brimmed hat she’d been wearing would have concealed her features if she kept her head bowed and spoke to no one.

Keely had been the Chinese man that Malloy’s witness had seen from so far away. They’d guessed from the way the witness had described Angel’s reaction to the man that she’d known him. Of course she had. She would have recognized Keely in her disguise and gone to see what on earth she was up to. Then they’d quarreled, probably over Wong. Angel wouldn’t have wanted Keely to marry him. And Keely, in her anger or in fear of losing Wong to Angel, had strangled her. Wong had figured it out somehow, and she’d killed him. Then she’d imagined that Sarah was a threat to her, and she’d come here to kill Sarah, too.

But she hadn’t succeeded. Sarah lifted the handkerchief to see if the bleeding had stopped and that’s when she noticed the knot in one corner. The knot Mrs. Ellsworth had tied there to protect her. Sarah prided herself in not being superstitious, but she had to admit that this time, at least, it had worked.

Sarah was vaguely aware of someone ringing her front doorbell. She hoped it wasn’t a delivery. She couldn’t possibly go. Then she heard a familiar voice calling, “Mrs. Brandt! Mrs. Brandt!”

Gino Donatelli burst into her kitchen with Maeve on his heels, and he stopped dead when he saw Keely O’Neal sitting in her kitchen chair with the bloody handkerchief pressed to her face.

“I couldn’t believe it when she told me,” he said in amazement, gesturing toward Maeve. “Every cop in town is looking for her. She’s the one killed the Chinese girl and John Wong, too.”

“Mama! Mama!”

The words were soft, almost a whisper, and when Sarah looked down to find the source, she saw Catherine squeezing past Donatelli, who was nearly blocking the doorway into the kitchen.

“Mama,” Catherine repeated urgently, looking up at Sarah solemnly. “She won’t hurt you now. I hided the knife.”

Catherine’s sweet face blurred as tears filled Sarah’s eyes, and she scooped the child into her arms.

F
RANK NO LONGER FELT INTIMIDATED WALKING INTO
Felix Decker’s office. He might be one of the richest and most powerful men in the city, but he was also Sarah’s father. That made him as vulnerable as Frank.

“I didn’t get your message until late Saturday night,” Frank said by way of excuse for not coming sooner than Monday morning.

“I’ve been reading about you in the papers,” Decker said. Frank imagined he heard disapproval in his tone, but he couldn’t be sure. “The press loved the story about the murdered Chinese girl.”

Frank could have told him they would have loved to know about Sarah’s involvement, too, but he didn’t.

“Sit down, Mr. Malloy,” Decker said when Frank didn’t comment.

Frank took one of the comfortable leather chairs that stood in front of Decker’s desk. As always, he marveled at how ordinary Decker’s office looked, as if he felt no need to display his wealth or influence with fancy furnishings.

“Your message said you had some information for me,” Frank said.

“That’s right. I’ll admit I didn’t believe you when you said you didn’t have the time or resources to trace these women yourself. I was afraid you were just trying to delay the investigation.”

“Why would I do that?”

Decker considered the question carefully. “I don’t pretend to understand your motives, Mr. Malloy. We both know you’ve already lied about your reasons for wanting to find Dr. Brandt’s killer.”

“I didn’t lie,” Frank lied.

Decker smiled slightly. “There are lies of omission.”

Frank didn’t bother to respond to that. He’d once thought that solving Tom Brandt’s murder would give Sarah some peace, but he was no longer certain of that. Decker wanted Sarah to find out her husband wasn’t the saintly young doctor she believed him to be so she’d give up her devotion to his memory…and his work. Frank just wanted to keep her from being hurt.

“Did you hire Pinkertons to find out about the women?” Frank asked, referring to the detectives employed by Allan Pinkerton’s detective agency.

“Yes, but even they had as much difficulty as you predicted you would have. It has taken them all this time to gather the necessary information.” Decker pushed a file folder across the desk to him.

Frank picked it up and opened it. Inside he found neatly typed pages of reports on each of three women.

After skimming the reports, he said, “All of them had fathers living at the time Dr. Brandt was murdered.”

“Yes, and since your witness claims he heard Dr. Brandt’s killer accuse him of ruining his daughter, that means any of the three men could have done it.”

Or maybe none of them, Frank thought, but at least it gave them a place to start looking. He closed the folder.

“I have to admit that I might have done the same,” Decker said, “if someone had seduced my daughter and driven her insane.”

The lack of passion in his voice told Frank he was testing him. “Dr. Brandt didn’t seduce any of these women,” Frank said, trying not to sound annoyed. “I told you before, they imagined the whole thing. That woman I met, Edna White, she thinks he’s still alive and that she meets him at a flat in Chinatown.”

“He must have done something to encourage her,” Decker argued. “Why else would she remain so devoted to him?”

“All he did was treat her when she was sick and be nice to her.”

“And what about these three?” Decker challenged, gesturing toward the folder Frank still held. “One crazy woman could be an accident, but four?”

“These women weren’t his patients. But they had the same kind of delusions.”

“You told me you found out about them when you were going through Brandt’s
patient
files,” Decker reminded him.

Frank was having a difficult time holding his temper. “But he wasn’t their doctor, and he didn’t treat them.”

“No, he just sought them out, women who were known to imagine themselves in love with men they hardly knew. Women who believed they had a carnal relationship with these men. I find that strange, don’t you, Mr. Malloy?”

Frank tried not to snap at him. “He wanted to find out more about this ‘old maid’s disease’ so he could figure out how to cure Edna White.”

“Even if that’s true, he managed to make one of these women’s fathers angry enough to kill him,” Decker pointed out.

“It looks that way,” Frank grudgingly agreed.

Decker sat back in his chair and studied Frank for a moment. “What are you going to do now that you have this information?”

Frank wasn’t sure. “Commissioner Roosevelt gave me permission to work on the case,” he reminded Decker. “So I will.”

“One of the families lives outside the city,” Decker pointed out. “You have no authority there.”

“They might not know that.” Frank had lied many times to get the information he wanted. Once more wouldn’t bother him.

Decker nodded. “There’s something you need to know, Mr. Malloy, but you can’t reveal this information to anyone, not even my daughter. Do I have your word?”

Nothing in Frank’s life experience led him to believe this would be good news. “Yes, you have my word,” he promised, oddly flattered that a man like Decker would consider that promise valid, coming from someone like Frank.

“You may know that our new president owes Commissioner Roosevelt a debt. Even though Theodore had reservations about McKinley in the beginning, he campaigned for him vigorously.”

“And politicians always pay their debts,” Frank said, understanding the process only too well.

“That’s right. He will be giving Theodore a political appointment soon, and when he does…”

“Roosevelt will resign from the Commission.” Rumors were already circulating.

“Roosevelt is an honorable man,” Decker said. “Honorable men are rare and usually despised by those who are not.”

“He’s made a lot of enemies,” Frank agreed.

“Enemies who will no doubt ensure an end to his reforms to the Police Department, among other things.”

Frank remembered only too well how the police had operated before Roosevelt had taken office two years ago—the same way it had operated since the first men were issued the leather hats that marked them as law enforcement officers back in the twenties. Men were hired and advanced through the ranks not on merit but by bribing those in charge. Cops investigated crimes only when they were paid a “reward” for doing so. Justice came only to those with the means to pay for it.

“I’d better find Dr. Brandt’s killer before Roosevelt leaves then,” Frank said. “How long do I have?”

“A few weeks. A month at the most. There’s already speculation, so the newspapers may learn about it even sooner.”

Frank understood. “Thank you for the information,” he said, rising to his feet.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Decker reminded him. “I want to know what happened, for Sarah’s sake.”

“So do I,” Frank assured him.

M
AEVE HAD INVITED
M
ALLOY AND HIS SON
B
RIAN OVER
for supper. She’d been wanting to show off her cooking skills, and Sarah had suggested these two guests in particular. She wanted an opportunity to speak with Malloy privately, and she knew he wouldn’t seek her out. After what had happened with Keely O’Neal, he was more determined than ever to keep Sarah away from him and the crimes he investigated.

The meal was a great success, and Malloy was generous with his compliments, making Maeve blush more than once. Even Brian complimented her. Although the adults weren’t quite certain what he was saying with his hand movements, no one could mistake his enormously satisfied grin. Sarah’s favorite moment, however, was when Catherine whispered, “Good pie,” after she’d taken her first bite.

Malloy had almost choked on his, but when he’d caught Sarah’s eye with an unspoken question, he’d taken her hint and pretended nothing untoward had happened. When the meal was over, he’d said, “Maeve, why don’t you take the children upstairs? Mrs. Brandt and I will clean up.”

Maeve gave him a knowing look that made him blush, and dutifully ushered the children out.

“How long has Catherine been talking?” he asked the instant they were alone.

“Since the day Keely showed up on our doorstep,” Sarah told him and pretended not to notice his flinch. She started to clear the table.

“That never should’ve happened,” he said.

“I know. I was so determined not to put myself in danger because I have responsibilities now.”

“I’ve been telling you that for a year,” he reminded her.

“I remember,” she told him wryly and kept stacking the dishes.

“Are you saying that you’re finally ready to listen?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what, exactly?” he asked with the slightest touch of irritation.

“I realized that if I hadn’t been trying so hard to protect myself and my family, I probably would have figured out that Keely was the killer much sooner.”

“You can’t know that,” he protested.

“No, I can’t, but I also can’t be sure it isn’t true. In any case, I’ve also realized that no matter what I do—whether I get involved in solving murders or I just deliver babies that arrive at all hours of the day and night—I’m going to be in some kind of danger every day. None of us knows how long we have to live, Malloy, but if we sit quietly in our houses and try to stay safe, we’ll die without ever having lived.”

“That’s…that’s crazy!” he insisted.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I think it’s the sanest thought I’ve had in a while. And as horrible as it was when Keely showed up here intending to kill me, it shocked Catherine into talking again. I wouldn’t trade that for any kind of safety, Malloy.”

For the first time she could remember, Malloy was speechless. She didn’t want to ruin the moment, so she proceeded to prepare the dishwater, pumping the cold water into the pan and then drawing hot water from the reservoir on the stove and mixing it in. Then she gave Malloy a towel and started washing. Malloy needed no instruction. He dried the dishes as she handed them to him.

After a few minutes of this, he cleared his throat and said, “I’ve finally located all of those women your husband was…interested in.”

She looked at him in surprise. “It’s been so long, I…I thought you’d given up.”

“No, I just needed time to…There was a lot of investigating to do, and the families weren’t going to cooperate, so I had to do it…privately.”

Sarah didn’t know what that meant, but if he’d wanted to explain, he would have, so she didn’t ask. The important thing was that he now had the information he needed. “What are you going to do next?”

“I’m going to question the families. I’ve got the authority from Roosevelt and now I know where to find them all.”

“You know I’ll help in any way I can,” she said.

He gave her one of his looks. “Yeah, and your mother will help and Maeve will help and even Catherine will help, too,” he said sardonically.

“Yes, they will,” Sarah informed him just as sardonically. “If that’s what it takes. We might even recruit Brian and
your
mother.”

That surprised him into a grin before he regained his composure. “Whoever killed your husband probably knows who you are. You can’t be involved, Sarah.”

She loved it when he called her by her name. For just that moment, they were alone in time and space and connecting in a way she’d never experienced with anyone else. She looked into his dark eyes and saw the fear that made him want to protect her. She saw something else, too, the feelings neither of them dared name. “You’ll keep me informed at least, won’t you?”

“If I can,” he said.

“And if you need anything, anything at all…”

“I know, I’ll ask for it.”

She knew he wouldn’t.

“There’s one more thing,” he said gravely. “We don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Roosevelt won’t be around much longer.”

“What do you mean? Have you heard something?”

“Not officially, but the rumors say he’s going to Washington. When he’s gone, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be allowed to work on this case.”

They’d talked about this possibility before. Without Roosevelt and his high-minded reforms, Malloy believed the Police Department would revert back to its former state of corruption. “How long do you have?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, then,” Sarah said, going back to washing her dishes. “We’ll just have to do it quickly, won’t we, Frank?”