Murder on Lenox Hill (10 page)

“My family and three servants, all female.”

“So you're the only man?”

“That's right.”

Frank waited a moment to see if Linton would show a trace of guilt, but he saw none. “Mr. Linton, sometimes a man can become more than fond of his daughter.”

“What do you mean?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

“I mean
unnaturally
fond. Some men have even been known to have unnatural feelings for their daughters, feelings of desire.”

Frank watched as the implication slowly dawned on Linton. His expression went from puzzled to horrified to furious in rapid succession. “That's obscene!” he cried, pounding his fist on his desk. “How dare you even suggest such a thing? Get out of my office this instant! I'll have your job for this!”

Frank didn't move. “I'm sorry, Mr. Linton, but I had to make sure. I didn't know what kind of a man you were, and it happens a lot more often than you can imagine. I couldn't take a chance of hunting down some poor innocent mug and ruining his life just to protect a father who'd do a thing like that to his own child.”

Linton's face glowed crimson with fury. “I don't believe you! No man would do that to his own child, certainly no respectable man.”

“I promise you, they can and they do, men who live on Fifth Avenue as well as those on the Bowery. But we don't need to think about that anymore. Your daughter must leave the house occasionally. Where does she go?”

Linton wasn't sure if he was ready to forgive Frank or not, but he grudgingly said, “She goes visiting with her mother and to church.”

“Who do they visit?”

“Mrs. Linton's friends.”

“Do any of them have husbands or sons?”

“Of course they do,” Linton said in exasperation, “but Grace is never alone with them. In fact, she never leaves her mother's side. If you knew anything about social visits, you'd know that.”

He'd meant to make Frank feel his inferiority, and he did, but only for an instant. “What about at church? She must see men there. What about the priest?”

“Our
minister
is a man, of course,” Linton corrected him indignantly, “but you can't think a man of God would do something like this.”

Frank had seen men—and women—of God do much worse things than rape a young girl, but he didn't say so. “If your daughter had been attacked by a stranger, she would've been upset and frightened. She would've told you or your wife. Even if the person had threatened her to keep her from telling, you would've known something was scaring her. Whoever did this could've been someone she trusted, someone who could convince her nothing bad had happened so she wouldn't tell anyone.”

Linton rubbed his head again. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“So what about the church? Would she meet men there?”

“Of course she would. We have a large congregation and many of them are men, but I'm telling you, Mr. Malloy, that can't be it. When Grace is at church, she's with me or her mother at all times. She is never alone. My wife and I have been over this and over it. The only time she's out of our sight for a moment is when she's in the safety of her own home!”

Frank sighed. Linton was wrong. She'd been out of someone's sight at least once, and she had a baby to prove it.

5

F
RANK WAITED UNTIL LATE THAT AFTERNOON TO VISIT the Lintons' church. He figured he'd catch the minister at the end of the day, when he was most likely to be alone. That's why he was surprised to find the building bustling with activity.

Half a dozen boys in their mid-teens, recently released from school, were attacking the sanctuary—Frank could think of no other word for it—with dust cloths and brooms. Two were using their bottoms to push dust cloths across the pews, racing each other to see who could slide from one end to the other the fastest. Others were polishing candlesticks or sweeping the floor, and one was up on a ladder, polishing a stained glass window. All of them were laughing and shouting.

Frank had never heard noises like that in a church, and he found the irreverence disturbing, even though he himself had long ago lost all respect for organized religion. What kind of a minister would allow this kind of behavior?

One of the boys noticed Frank. “Hello, the cops is here, boys!” he cried.

Instantly, the room fell silent as every face turned toward Frank. Frank stared back blandly, looking for traces of guilt and seeing none. He did see worry and maybe a spark of fear here and there. The police were terrifying, after all, but these were middle-class boys whose biggest sins were probably sneaking a cigarette or stealing away to a pool hall when they should've been in school. If he'd been on the Lower East Side, boys this age would have run, just on general principles—some out of guilt from actually having done something worthy of arrest and the rest for fear of being blamed, innocent or not. If Grace's rapist was among these, he had no fear of having been discovered.

“What's going on here?” a booming voice demanded. “You boys are entirely too quiet all of a sudden!” The man who had appeared from a doorway in the front of the sanctuary planted his hands on his hips and looked around expectantly.

One of the boys jerked his chin in Frank's direction and said in a small voice, “He's a copper, Reverend Upchurch.” Although Frank wore a suit not very different from the minister's, even boys from respectable families recognized his profession. Something about the way he carried himself always gave him away. Or maybe it was just his Irish face.

“He's a
policeman
, Mark,” Reverend Upchurch corrected him gently. “A gentleman doesn't use slang.”

Upchurch started down the aisle to where Frank stood. He wore a clerical collar with his black suit, but otherwise he didn't look the way Frank had expected the minister to look. Tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, with a neatly trimmed beard, Upchurch strode toward Frank with strength and energy and confidence and a wide smile of greeting.

“Welcome to the Church of the Good Shepherd,” he said, putting out his hand for Frank to shake. His grip was firm, his palm rougher than Frank had expected, as if he were no stranger to hard work.

“Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” Frank said.

This only made Upchurch grin more broadly. “I suppose you're here for one of these boys,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at them. “They're scalawags, every last one of them! You should take them all straight to The Tombs,” he added, using the nickname for the city jail.

The boys smiled at that. They truly had nothing to fear from the police, and even Frank had to smile at the thought of rounding up these fresh-faced lads and marching them into the dismal old jail. “I don't have time to run them in today,” Frank said, “but if you have a minute, I'd like to talk to you about an important matter.”

“Anytime the police are involved, it's always important,” Upchurch said, unruffled. “Isn't that right, boys?”

“Yes, sir,” they agreed in voices that ranged from squeaky tenor to husky baritone.

“Let's talk in my office, Mr. Malloy,” Upchurch said and started back toward the front of the church. “Isaiah, be careful on that ladder,” he called to the boy polishing the window. “Good job on those candlesticks, Nathan,” he said when they passed the boy working at the altar.

Frank couldn't help but notice how the boys all watched Upchurch, eager for his attention and thrilled to receive it. Plainly, they adored him, and from his attitude, he was equally fond of them. If one of these boys had a dark secret, Upchurch would know it.

The minister's office had been furnished long ago with heavily carved pieces that matched the beauty and elegance of the sanctuary, but Upchurch had shown little respect for the stateliness of the décor. In one corner lay a jumble of sporting equipment; baseball bats, balls of all descriptions, a catcher's mask and glove, even a few hoops. On a small table sat a checkerboard with a pile of checkers on one side and a heap of chessmen on the other. His desk was covered with papers, and not the organized chaos he'd seen at Mr. Linton's office. This was simply chaos, piles of books here and there, some open and turned face down to hold the place and others on the floor where they had fallen and been forgotten. A worn and moth-eaten sweater hung from a coat tree, telling Frank what Upchurch probably wore when no one was around, or when he was outside using some of the sports equipment.

“That's for the boys,” Upchurch said, seeing Frank's interest in the balls and bats. “The cleaning is for them, too. We have a man who cleans the church, but the boys need something to do to work off all that energy. I send them in when the weather's too bad to play outside. If boys have too much energy and nothing to do, they get in trouble. But you probably know that better than I,” he added with a chuckle.

He indicated one of two chairs that sat near the pile of equipment, facing each other. They matched the formality of the other furniture, with intricately carved wooden arms and legs, but the once-grand upholstery was worn and faded. Frank figured this was where he counseled with parishioners.

Frank sat down, finding the chair surprisingly comfortable. Upchurch took the other chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and growing serious, but even still the energy radiated from him, as if he held himself still only with a great effort. “Now, what is it that brings you here, Detective? Nothing good, I'm sure.”

“You're right, it isn't good. It's about a girl in your church,” he began, having carefully considered exactly what to tell the minister while still protecting the Lintons' privacy.

Did he look surprised? Frank thought he saw a flash of it in those blue-gray eyes, but it was gone too quickly to be sure.

“Is she . . . in trouble?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Reverend Upchurch considered for a moment. “I'm going to assume this is more than a simple seduction, or the police wouldn't be involved.”

“The girl is very young, too young for a seduction. Someone took advantage of her, and she can't identify the man.”

“Can't?” Upchurch frowned. “Or won't?”

“We aren't sure. Like I said, she's young. He may have threatened her, or maybe she doesn't want to get him in trouble, or maybe she just doesn't know who he is.”

“Or maybe she knows him very well,” Upchurch suggested. “Have you considered incest? It's a horrible thing, but it happens far more often than any of us would like to think.”

“I did consider it, and I'm convinced that's not what happened.”

Now Upchurch just looked puzzled. “I'm not sure why you've come here, then. You said it's a family in my church, and if you'll tell me who it is, I'll offer what comfort I can, but I'm not sure what else I can do.”

“I came because I think the man responsible might be a member of your church.”

Now Upchurch was concerned. “What makes you think that?”

“Because the girl is very protected. She doesn't go to school, and she only goes out in company with her parents, and here to church. She spends a great deal of time here, as a matter of fact.”

“Many people do,” he said with a trace of pride. “We have Bible study classes and sewing circles and missionary circles and auxiliary meetings here almost every day of the week. Oh, and committee meetings and trustee meetings . . . the list is very long.”

“And do you have boys here every day of the week, too?”

Upchurch reared back at that, sitting up straight. All trace of kindness vanished from his pale eyes. “Are you insinuating that one of our boys would do a thing like that?”

“Somebody did,” Frank reminded him.

“Not my boys,” he said almost angrily.

“
Your
boys?” Frank echoed.

The color rose in his face, but he didn't look abashed at the odd claim. “I feel very protective of them. The boys you saw in the sanctuary are very special to me. They are all fatherless, and their mothers have entrusted me to provide them with the kind of attention their fathers would have. I've taught them all to behave like gentlemen toward females. They hold them in the highest regard, and not one of them would take advantage of an innocent young girl. I would stake my life on it.”

Frank pitied anyone naïve enough to believe they could predict with certainty how another human being would act. “What about the rest of the boys in your church, the ones who do have fathers?”

Upchurch smiled with a touch of irony. “I'm afraid the rest of the boys, those with fathers and those without, only show their faces here on Sunday when their parents bring them. Believe me, the opportunities for taking advantage of a young girl during the Sunday morning worship service are very limited.”

Frank heard the thread of anger in his voice. His patience was wearing thin, but Frank's was, too. “What about the men, then? In a case like this, it's more likely, anyway.”

“The men in my congregation work for a living, Detective. Those who don't are elderly and unlikely to have the inclination, much less the strength, to force a young girl. Men are also unlikely to be here at a time when the ladies are. They hold their Bible studies and meetings in the evenings, and the ladies are here during the day.”

“This is the only place she could've been assaulted.”

“I'm going to have to take offense at the implication that this church is a haven for criminals.” Upchurch was working himself up to full outrage. “And that this poor girl was assaulted here. This is a house of God, Mr.
Malloy
.” He said Frank's name with more than a trace of contempt. “Perhaps things like that happen at
your
church, but I assure you, they do not happen here!”