Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery (11 page)

Roderick flinched a little at the memory. “Yes.”

Frank could imagine her reaction to finding her naked
husband standing there eating a walnut. “Did you leave the room again?”

“Very quickly.”

“And did you hear—”

“Before I left, I heard her say Paul had told her about their argument, but I didn’t listen to any more. If you want to know what they discussed, you will have to ask Mrs. Devries.”

Frank couldn’t imagine doing any such thing, but maybe Sarah could do it. Did women talk about things like that? He had no idea, but he would find out. From Sarah.

“Did Mr. Devries put his robe back on when his wife came in?”

“No. At least not that I know of. He was still naked when she left and I returned to the room.”

“Maybe he thought if he was naked, she’d leave.”

Roderick had to make an effort not to smile. “Or at least not stay as long.”

“Then what happened?”

“I brought him his underwear, and he started to dress, but the girl finally delivered the breakfast tray, and he stopped to eat.”

“Was he still naked when the girl delivered the tray?”

“Not completely, no.”

“Did the girl see him?”

Roderick stiffened again.

“Did the girl often see him naked?” Frank guessed.

“Mr. Devries was not a modest man.”

“Did he make use of the maids?” Frank understood this was not an uncommon practice in wealthy households.

“Oh, no, not…not at all. He just liked to shock them, I think.”

The maids and his wife and his son. Very interesting. “He ate his breakfast. Then what?”

“He finished dressing. Then he left the house.”

“To meet with Mr. Angotti.”

Roderick had no reply to that.

“And he never mentioned being injured or having pain or anything like that?”

“I don’t recall anything out of the ordinary. Mr. Devries was not a man to complain. He felt it was a sign of weakness.”

“Too bad. It might’ve saved his life. I don’t suppose Paul Devries is at home.”

“Yes, but he has a visitor.”

“Does he now? Who is visiting him?”

“I’m sure that’s none of your business.”

“Maybe I’ll just go see for myself. I think I remember where the parlor is.”

Roderick flushed with the effort of holding his temper. “Mr. Hugh Zeller arrived to offer his condolences.”

“And who is Mr. Zeller?”

“Mr. Paul’s oldest friend.”

“Then he’s like a member of the family. I’m sure he won’t mind if I ask Mr. Paul a few questions.”

“You can’t—” Roderick protested, but Frank was already in the hallway. He found the main staircase with no trouble at all and was halfway down them when Roderick caught up.

“At least let me announce you!”

Frank knew this was not a task someone in Roderick’s position would ever stoop to, so he agreed, wondering why Roderick was so protective of Paul Devries.

The parlor door was closed, and Roderick knocked rather loudly and waited for a summons before entering. “Mr. Malloy
from the police is here. He’d like to speak with you, Mr. Devries.”

Frank didn’t wait for a reply. He had to give Roderick a slight shove, but he managed to squeeze through the door before Devries could refuse to see him.

While Roderick stammered an apology for Frank’s rudeness, the two young men standing in the middle of the room gaped at him. Hugh Zeller was a strapping fellow with chiseled features and a lot of money to spend on clothes.

“Excuse the intrusion,” Frank said when Roderick at last fell silent. “I need to ask you a few questions before I go.”

Paul glanced at Zeller, as if asking permission or perhaps seeking advice. Zeller simply shrugged.

“I suppose it would be all right,” Paul said. “Just a few, you said?”

“That’s right.” Frank looked at Roderick expectantly.

Plainly, he didn’t want to leave, but he said, “If you need me, Mr. Devries, I’ll be right outside.”

This made Zeller grin, and when Roderick had closed the door behind himself, he said, “I guess Old Roderick is afraid you’re going to give Paul here the third degree.”

“What’s the third degree?” Paul asked.

“Where they beat a confession out of you,” Zeller said.

Paul saw no humor in that. “Do you really beat people?”

“Only if they don’t answer my questions,” Frank said, making Zeller grin again.

Paul actually blanched, but Zeller said, “He’s just teasing you.” To Frank, he said, “I tell him all the time he’s too serious.” Zeller clapped a hand on Paul’s shoulder and said, “Let’s sit down so Mr. Malloy can do what he needs to do and get on with it.”

The two men sat side by side on a sofa, and Frank chose a nearby chair.

Paul wrung his hands. “I don’t know what I can tell you, Mr. Malloy. I don’t have any idea what happened to my father.”

“I’m just trying to figure out everything that happened that day, and you can help me by telling me what you saw. Roderick said you went to see your father that morning in his room.”

Paul glanced at Zeller, who nodded encouragement. “Yes, I…I was only there a few minutes.”

“What did you talk about?”

He stiffened. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Roderick said you argued.”

Paul flushed. “We often argued.”

Zeller placed a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Was it about me?”

“No!” Paul shook off the hand and glared at Frank. “It had nothing to do with his death.”

“How can you be sure?” Frank asked.

“He can’t hurt you anymore,” Zeller said. “Why would you want to protect him?”

“I don’t want to protect
him
!” Paul closed his eyes as he struggled with some emotion. When he opened them, they were cold. “He’d been very cruel to Garnet. I…I told him to stop.” He turned to Zeller, as if explaining to him was what mattered. “She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t even want to marry me.”

“I know, Old Man, I know,” Zeller said.

Paul turned back to Frank. “She’s a sweet girl. She deserves to be happy, but he was never going to allow it.”

“What wasn’t he going to allow her to do?”

“To divorce me.”

“T
HAT’S NOT VERY FLATTERING
, O
LD
M
AN
,” Z
ELLER SAID
. “I wonder you’d admit such a thing to a stranger.”

Paul didn’t even acknowledge him. He was watching Frank, who didn’t quite know what to make of this. “Your wife wanted to divorce you?”

“She’s not like us. She didn’t come from here, and she hated all the rules and restrictions. She hated living here with my parents.”

“That part I can understand,” Zeller said.

“Why didn’t you just get a house of your own?” Frank asked.

“Because I don’t have any money of my own, and Father would never have allowed it. He wanted to keep me under his thumb.”

Now this was getting interesting. “So as long as your father was alive, you had to depend on him for everything.”

“Exactly,” Paul said.

Zeller sighed dramatically. “Old Man, I think you just admitted you had a reason to want your father dead.”

“Oh, no,” Frank lied. “I think most young men feel like that about their fathers. Tell me, Mr. Devries, how was your father dressed when you went to his room the day he died?”

Paul shifted uneasily. “Dressed?”

“Yes, what was he wearing?”

Paul glanced at Zeller again. His friend was smiling, as if this whole thing amused him tremendously. “He had on a robe.”

“Was he wearing it the entire time you were with him?”

The color rose in Paul’s face. “What does that matter?”

“I thought you might have noticed a wound on your father’s back. Did he remove his robe while you were there?”

“Yes.” He spit the word out as if it tasted vile.

Zeller muttered something that might have been an oath.

“He liked to show off,” Paul said, angry now. “He thought himself a fine specimen of a man, and he knew I could never compare, so he’d do it to make me feel inferior.”

“And did you?” Frank asked.

“Did I what?”

“Feel inferior?”

“Mostly I just felt furious. What kind of a thing is that to do? Who displays himself like that?”

Frank didn’t know the answer, so he said, “And did you notice anything unusual?”

“I didn’t look at him. I never do. I wouldn’t have noticed if he’d cut off one of his arms.”

Frank wanted to ask if he’d stabbed his father, but he’d wait on that. “And did he agree to stop being cruel to your wife?”

“Of course not. He just laughed at me. He knows…knew I couldn’t do anything about it. And poor Garnet, she couldn’t do anything about it either.”

“And now you’re both free,” Frank said.

Zeller leaned close to Paul and pretended to whisper. “He’s thinking you killed the old bugger.”

“Well, I didn’t. I almost wish I had. At least then Garnet would respect me.”

“Now you’ve got all your father’s money,” Frank said. “Or at least I assume you’re his heir. I know rich families sometimes don’t like to divide up the family fortune, so they only leave the money to one of the sons, like Vanderbilt did, but you’re the only son.”

“I haven’t thought about it,” Paul said.

“You should,” Frank said. “Women usually respect men with money.”

“He’s right, Old Man,” Zeller said. “You can buy her that house now. That’ll cheer her up.”

Paul didn’t look too sure of that. “Not having Father around anymore will cheer her up.”

Frank thought Paul would have to dispose of his mother, too, if he really wanted his wife to be happy, but he didn’t say so. “What did you do when you left your father’s room?”

“I…uh, I went to my mother’s room,” he replied as if he needed a second to catch up with the change of subject.

“What did you talk about?”

“I told her how angry I was at Father.”

“Did she offer any advice?”

Paul sighed. “She didn’t know how to handle him either.”

“But she went to see him just the same.”

“Oh, yes, she stormed off and gave him what for, but it didn’t do any good. It never does. He knows…knew he could
do whatever he wanted to us and there was nothing we could do about it.”

“That’s true,” Zeller said. “He’s even threatened to put his wife in an insane asylum if she caused him too much trouble.”

Frank wished he could be shocked by the revelation, but other men had done that very thing. The law gave them absolute power over wives and children, and many a man had gotten away with murder just because the victim shared his house and his name.

“Did he threaten your wife, too?”

“My wife didn’t kill him, either, Mr. Malloy. You’re wasting your time here. You should be talking to that woman he kept.”

Ah, so Paul knew about the mistress, too. “Don’t worry, I will.” Frank managed not to sigh. He didn’t think he’d learned much in this interview, but at least he’d managed to fill some time. Maybe when he got back to Police Headquarters, he’d have a message from Donatelli.

“Y
OU’VE GOTTA HOLD YOUR TEMPER
, M
R
. M
ALLOY
,” Donatelli told Frank for at least the fourth time. “No matter what he says, you just let it pass.”

“If you tell me that one more time, I’m not gonna let it pass,” Frank said. He instantly felt bad for alarming Donatelli, who was obviously terrified of this Angotti character. “Don’t worry, I know how to act.”

“I think if you treat him like you do Mr. Decker, you’ll do fine.”

Frank didn’t think Decker had ever burned down somebody’s store or had them killed because they didn’t show him enough respect, but he understood the connection. Felix
Decker’s techniques might be more refined, but he could ruin a man just as effectively as Angotti.

“What is this place you’re taking me?” Frank asked. They’d been walking through Little Italy for a couple blocks now, and they stopped to let a gaggle of ragged children race by, running from a street vendor whose wares they had pilfered.

Donatelli had to shout over their screams. “It’s a club. Normally you have to be a member to get in, unless you’re a guest of Mr. Angotti.”

This was too much like the Knickerbocker Club—only members were welcome, and no Irish need apply.

The similarities ended there, however. This club met in a nondescript building on a narrow side street with no sign alerting passersby to what went on inside. A burly fellow stood outside, ready to keep out unwelcome visitors. He eyed Frank and Gino suspiciously.

“This is Detective Sergeant Malloy. Mr. Angotti is expecting him,” Donatelli said.

The fellow grunted and rapped on the door. Another unfriendly-looking fellow opened it a crack. The two men exchanged some words in Italian, and the door swung wide. Donatelli let Frank go in first. Frank suspected it wasn’t out of courtesy.

Little sunlight penetrated into the main room. Dark curtains covered the windows, shielding the occupants from observation by anyone passing by on the street outside. Gaslights illuminated tables where men played cards or other games of chance. He felt as much as saw the players peering at him through the haze of cigarette smoke. All conversation ceased. Frank felt their hostility like a force as he followed his guide through the room to another door on the far side.

“Wait here.” The man knocked, then went inside.

Frank couldn’t help thinking how easy it would be to stick a knife in him and dump his body in the river. Would Donatelli defend him or would he side with his own people? Was he a cop first or an Italian? Frank didn’t know. He didn’t even know if
he
was a cop first or an Irishman.

The door opened and his guide beckoned them inside.

This smaller room was furnished like a parlor, with sofas and chairs and side tables arranged around a fireplace. A gaming table stood off to one side, almost as an afterthought. The light in here was better, and the cigarette smoke not so thick. Several somber men stood around, their attention focused on Frank and Donatelli. Frank soon realized his host was the well-dressed man seated on one of the sofas.

“Gino,” he said, reaching out a languid hand.