Murder on Fifth Avenue: A Gaslight Mystery (2 page)

This wasn’t making sense. If a man got stabbed, why wouldn’t he get medical attention? Or at least stay at home and tend to his wound? Why would he go out to his club, of all things? “Was it possible he didn’t know he’d been stabbed?”

“The wound is small, according to the undertaker, and it had bled very little. I can’t imagine he would have been traveling around the city if he’d suspected he was mortally wounded.”

“Did the undertaker think this small wound could have killed him?”

Decker pressed his lips together, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “Mr. Robinson, the undertaker, suggested
as much. He said he has seen similar things before in his line of work. Most of the bleeding occurs inside the body, apparently.”

Frank supposed such a thing could happen. He’d seen someone die from being stabbed with a hat pin, of all things. “Did Robinson refuse to take the body?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I gather he was perfectly willing to be discreet, but he felt the club should know, in case we wanted to deal with the matter ourselves.”

So they were back to dealing again. This, Frank assumed, was to be his part in it. “What did you decide?”

Now Decker looked positively gray around the gills. Plainly, he wasn’t used to discussing such unpleasantries, at least not within the walls of his beloved Knickerbocker. “We called together all the board members who happened to be on the premises this afternoon. I’m sure you understand we want the club’s reputation protected at all costs.”

“Then tell the undertaker to pack up the body.”

“Please do not judge us so harshly.” He was angry now, and Frank didn’t blame him. “If Devries did indeed die by the hand of another, we would also like to see justice done.”

Frank leaned back on the surprisingly uncomfortable sofa and studied Decker for a long moment. He didn’t like this one bit, probably because he didn’t believe Decker’s protests about wanting justice. “Are you saying you want me to find out who killed this Devries character?”

“Find out, yes. That’s exactly what we want you to do.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Usually, when I solve a murder, I arrest the killer, and he goes to trial, and then, if he’s found guilty, he goes to prison or gets executed.” Of course, it wasn’t
always so neat, but he didn’t need to mention that to Decker. “Is that what you want?”

“It all depends.”

Ah, now we’re getting down to it. “On what?”

“On who is responsible for Devries’s death. You must realize this is why I summoned you, out of all the detectives in New York, Mr. Malloy, because I know you can be trusted.”

Frank didn’t know how trustworthy he was, but he knew Decker rarely called him
mister
. He must be feeling desperate.

“What you mean is I know how to keep a secret.”

“I would have said you know how to be discreet.”

He was right about that. Frank nodded.

“You will make your report to me, when you have all the facts, and then I will take the matter to our board to decide.”

Now this was something Frank could understand. The rich looked out for each other. He assumed it was much like the police department, where you watched out for your own and stood up for them when they were in trouble. Frank couldn’t imagine why rich people would need that kind of help, but he knew it was available to them.

“Just so I’m clear, what happens if I find out one of your club members is the killer?”

“Then you would not need to take any action at all. We would take care of the matter among ourselves.”

Frank doubted the club had an electric chair on the premises to
take care
of murderous members or even a cell or two for confining the drunk and disorderly ones. “You’d let a killer go free?”

“Malloy, you know as well as I do your chief would never allow you to arrest any member of this club, no matter what he had done. If you did, he would be freed with an apology from the mayor within hours, and you would lose your job.”

Frank did know this. He’d just wanted to find out what Decker had in mind. “Then why call me in at all?”

“If Devries’s killer is someone you can bring to justice, you may do so with our blessing. If the killer is someone whom the law cannot touch, then we will take care of the matter ourselves. That is all you need to know. Now, are you willing to assist us?”

Did he really have a choice? Decker and his kind were more than capable of taking care of
him
if he refused. “Devries’s family and the other members of your club aren’t going to want an Irish cop nosing around in their business.” That was the real problem with calling Frank in on this, and Decker should’ve known it.

“They will when I introduce you, and if anyone fails to cooperate with your investigation, you are to notify me immediately.”

Frank wanted to refuse. He wanted to have a good reason to refuse, but investigating crimes was his job, and pleasing men like Felix Decker was the job of everyone in the city, if they knew what was good for them.

Besides, what would he say to Sarah Brandt if he refused to help her father?

Frank managed not to sigh in defeat. “Is the body still here?”

T
HE
K
NICKERBOCKER LIBRARY HELD FEW ACTUAL BOOKS
, just those on the set of shelves along one wall, and they looked as if they had never been opened. Newspapers lay stacked on just about every other available surface, however. A quick glance told Frank they seemed to have a copy of every rag and scandal sheet in the city, in addition to the
World
, the
Herald
,
and the
Times
. Since most of the papers published two editions a day, simply purchasing all of them must be a full-time job for someone.

The fellow who had answered the door had let them into the library. “I made sure no one else came in after Mr. Robinson left,” he told Decker.

“Good, good.” Decker turned to Frank. “Hartley here is the one who realized Mr. Devries was dead.”

Mr. Devries still sat propped in a wingback chair beside the fireplace, where the undertaker must have left him. The fire had burned down, but the room was still warm. Clearly the Knickerbocker Club had central heating.

In life, Devries had been a substantial man, not fat but large boned. Of medium height, he wore a suit that had been tailor-made to fit his frame to best advantage. His dark hair showed only a touch of gray and had been tamed this morning with a liberal dose of hair tonic. His well-tended hands lay slightly clenched in his lap, as if silently resisting a final spasm of pain. He sat slumped to one side. His eyes were closed, and his mouth open.

“Is that how you found him?”

Hartley shook his head. “Not exactly. Mr. Robinson had brought a stretcher, and his two helpers were moving Mr. Devries from the chair when they noticed the bloodstain on the chair back. Mr. Robinson quickly realized it had come from Mr. Devries, so he told his assistants to put Mr. Devries back as they’d found him, and he asked me to summon someone in authority. Mr. Decker was the highest-ranking club officer present, so I informed him of Mr. Robinson’s request.”

Frank looked closely at the dead man to see if anything seemed out of place. “Do you remember
exactly
how he was sitting when you found him?”

“Much like this, except perhaps a bit straighter in the chair. His head was resting against the wing of the chair, and his eyes were closed, as if he had dozed off.”

Frank glanced around. “Mr. Decker said someone brought him brandy.”

“I did, but he only took a sip or two. I removed the snifter when Mr. Robinson arrived.”

“I’ll need to see the glass and the bottle you poured it from.”

“The glass had been washed.”

Frank bit back his irritation. “The bottle, then.” He didn’t think the man had been poisoned, but he wanted to be thorough. He turned to Decker. “I’ll need to call the medical examiner to take the body. They’ll have to do an autopsy to be sure what killed him.”

“Is that really necessary?” Decker asked with obvious distaste.

“Unless you want me harassing a bunch of rich people when the man really did die of a heart attack.”

Irritation registered on Decker’s face, but no trace of it was evident in his voice. “Hartley, show Mr. Malloy where the telephone is.”

D
OC
H
AYNES BROUGHT TWO ASSISTANTS WITH HIM, TOO
. As soon as they moved the body to the stretcher, Frank saw the bloodstain on the chair back.

“He didn’t bleed much,” Frank observed.

“Let’s take a look,” Doc Haynes said.

He had the two orderlies roll Devries over and lift his suit coat. The undertaker had obviously already made a similar examination. Devries’s shirttail was still out in the back. They
pushed up the suit coat, vest, shirt, and undershirt, all of which bore evidence of the blood that had stained the chair. The stain on the undershirt was the largest. They grew progressively smaller until the one on the chair was only the size of a coin.

Haynes traced the tiny wound with his finger. If they hadn’t been looking for it, Frank would’ve missed it entirely. “A wound like this wouldn’t bleed much, and his clothes absorbed most of it, as you can see.”

“Could a wound that small have killed him?”

“Depends on what caused it. How long the weapon was, I mean. A stiletto makes a hole like this. So does an ice pick.”

“Or a hat pin.”

“You have a lot of experience getting stabbed with hat pins?” Haynes asked with amusement.

“If you mean for getting fresh with women on streetcars, no,” Frank said with a grin. “But I had a case once where a fellow got killed by one.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember it now. So you understand, it’s possible. Just depends how far the weapon went in and what it hit. Right here, now …” Haynes pointed to the spot in the middle of the right side of Devries’s back where the dried blood was starting to flake. “There’s probably a kidney an inch or two behind this hole. A knife or other sharp object stuck into a kidney, well, it would be just a matter of time until he bled to death internally unless he got help. Even if he did get help, probably. I doubt a surgeon would cut him open for something that small, at least not right away.”

“And later would be too late.”

“Yeah, by the time he started feeling sick, he’d probably be back at home. Or at his club.”

Frank didn’t return his grin. “Don’t forget to test the brandy, just to be sure.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get him packed up and be on our way. I’ll send you word when I’m finished with the autopsy.”

Frank left Haynes and his helpers to their work and went in search of Decker. He found him in what was apparently the main room of the club, a large open area furnished with groupings of chairs and sofas. Decker was the only one there.

“Where is everybody?”

Decker rose as Frank approached. “I sent them home when we realized there was a question about Devries’s death.”

Frank resisted the urge to swear at Felix Decker. “I’ll need to know who was here, in case they know anything,” he replied, pleased to note that the fury roiling inside of him wasn’t evident in his voice.

“Hartley will make a list for you, but I already told you, he wasn’t attacked by anyone here at the club.”

“You’re probably right, but Devries might’ve said something about being attacked earlier today.”

“I didn’t think of that, but I suppose he might have. I’ll have Hartley ask all the members who were present if they spoke with Devries. Would that be satisfactory?”

Frank supposed it would have to be. “I need to go see his family. Has anybody notified them yet?”

Decker’s composure slipped a bit. “No, I…I was waiting until I had something more to tell them besides that he was…deceased.”

“Are you going to tell them yourself?”

“I feel it’s my duty, yes.”

“Then I’ll go with you. I need to see their reaction.”

“You can’t think anyone in his family is responsible!”

Frank gripped the back of the chair, glanced at the mantel clock, then back at his host. “First you tell me his friends couldn’t have done it. Now you tell me his family couldn’t
have done it. Do you think some stranger just came up to him on the street and stuck a knife in his back for no reason?”

Color flooded Decker’s face as he obviously fought for composure as well. Frank knew he wasn’t used to being challenged by the help. “That would, of course, be my preference, but I suppose it’s too much to ask. I’ll have Hartley summon a cab for us.”

T
HEY COULD HAVE WALKED TO
D
EVRIES’S HOUSE MUCH
more quickly than the cab carried them through the clogged streets, but Frank supposed men like Felix Decker didn’t walk in the city. Frank could think of no appropriate small talk to break the tense silence, and apparently, Decker couldn’t either.

Devries had lived only a few blocks from the Deckers’ residence on the Upper West Side, a place Frank had visited only once and not at Felix Decker’s invitation. The houses on these streets had been built to impress but not intimidate, the way the mansions on Fifth Avenue had. He’d been in enough of them to know what to expect, and he wasn’t surprised by anything he saw here.

A maid answered the door and her face lit with recognition. “Mr. Decker, I’m sorry, but Mr. Devries is not at home.”

“I know he’s not. Is Mrs. Devries here? I need to speak with her immediately.”

“Oh, dear, yes, of course. Please come in and I’ll see if Mrs. Devries can receive you.”

Frank watched alarm alter her features as she sensed the urgency and tried to decide how best to treat these unexpected visitors. She probably feared offending Decker if she showed them to the inevitably small, uncomfortable room near the
front door where such guests usually waited while it was determined if they were welcome or not.

“We can wait in the front parlor,” Decker said, as if sensing her dilemma.

“Yes, sir,” she said with obvious relief, and led them upstairs into an oppressively overstuffed room obviously reserved for formal company. No fire had been lit, but Frank decided, despite the abundance of knickknacks cluttering every tabletop, velvets, and doilies, it would have been cold in any case. Nothing about it was comfortable.