Murder on Lenox Hill (20 page)

“We don't want the kids to hear this,” Malloy told her and then ignored her cluck of disapproval. He held out a chair for Sarah.

“I suppose you don't want me to hear it, either,” Mrs. Malloy snapped.

“Suit yourself,” Malloy said. “It's about a Protestant minister Mrs. Brandt suspects of raping one of the girls in his congregation.”

Mrs. Malloy murmured something under her breath and crossed herself, but Sarah noticed she stayed right where she was.

Malloy took a seat at the kitchen table opposite her. “Did you find out something new this morning?”

“Not new, but I think I figured out what I'd misunderstood. I told you Reverend Upchurch liked little girls, but that's apparently not what his wife said.”

They both ignored Mrs. Malloy's gasp.

“Do you remember exactly what she did say?”

“I've been trying all the way over here. She said her husband found her repulsive and that he liked other flesh, younger and more innocent.”

Malloy stiffened as if she'd slapped him, and Mrs. Malloy gasped again.

“What is it?” Sarah asked him.

“Nothing, just something I was thinking yesterday when I was at the church. That's all she said?”

“Yes, and she must have known you questioned her husband yesterday, because she was furious.”

“Why? I thought she wanted to get him in trouble.”

“She was angry because I'd misunderstood her. We only had a moment together, but she specifically said, ‘He doesn't like girls,' and told me to remember who he spends all his time with.”

Malloy ran a hand over his face and sighed wearily. “Ma, you don't want to hear the rest of this.”

“Aye, you're right there, but I ain't moving,” the old woman declared, crossing her arms belligerently across her chest.

He looked at Sarah, his dark eyes full of disgust. “Do you know what she meant? Did you figure it out?”

Sarah closed her eyes. She'd known, of course, even though she'd been hoping Malloy would have another interpretation to offer. She'd been hoping the truth wasn't really as horrible as she knew it must be.

“Oh, dear heaven,” she breathed. “It's the boys, isn't it?”

“That's why he spends so much time with them,” Malloy said. “It has to be. When I went in to question him, he was nervous about something. He was actually relieved when he found out I was talking about Grace. He wasn't worried about some poor girl, because it's the boys he's involved with.”

“Boys?” Mrs. Malloy asked. “What is this about boys, Francis? What are you saying?”

Malloy sighed with resignation. “That he uses young boys for . . .” he searched for a word that he could use in front of his mother. “He uses them the way a man uses a woman.”

“That's not possible,” Mrs. Malloy insisted, her face flushed with outrage. “I won't believe it.”

“It's better if you don't. Go on now. You've heard enough.”

Mrs. Malloy fled back to the front room, and Sarah wished she could do the same.

“I didn't think it could be worse than if he'd raped Grace,” Sarah said when she'd gone.

“I told you not to get involved with this,” he reminded her.

Sarah sighed. “And now we know about
this
, and it doesn't even have anything to do with Grace.”

“What do you want me to do now?”

Sarah stared at him in surprise for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you want me to go after him? Because if you do,” he continued before she could reply, “remember that a lot of people will get hurt.”

“Those boys are being hurt now!” she cried.

“And if I don't stop him, more boys will be hurt,” he said. “But if I do, then everyone will find out what happened to the boys. They'll be humiliated, and their families will be furious. Some people will refuse to believe what happened and stand by Upchurch against them. They'll accuse the boys of lying, just because they can't believe something so horrible could really happen. Some of their own families will probably refuse to believe the boys.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I've seen it before. If we're really lucky, Upchurch will kill himself to avoid a scandal. If he doesn't, and it's not very likely he will, and if he decides to brazen it out and deny everything, then those boys' lives will be ruined, and he'll just keep on.”

Horrified, Sarah could hardly make her mind absorb what he was saying. “Isn't there any way? . . . Can't we make him stop, at least? Could you frighten him enough to make him stop?”

“I doubt it. If he knows I want to keep it a secret, he'll know he doesn't have to be afraid of me. Besides, he'll just deny it. He'll say the boys are lying, and that's only if we can get the boys to admit what's going on in the first place.”

“Oh, dear heaven,” Sarah groaned, leaning her head on her hand. “What have I done?”

“You haven't done nothing yet,” Mrs. Malloy informed her. Malloy and Sarah looked up in surprise to see her standing in the kitchen doorway. Apparently, she'd changed her mind about knowing more. “You haven't done nothing until you've put this fellow under lock and key so nobody else's boys will be defiled by him.”

Malloy just looked at Sarah, waiting for her decision. She didn't want that responsibility. She didn't want to be the one to cause so much pain to so many people. She thought of Upchurch with his charming smiles and his pious sermons fooling so many people. No one knew from looking at him that inside he was rotten, like a festering sore on society. Mrs. Malloy was right, he did need to be put away. She remembered seeing surgeons amputating rotten flesh. Sometimes they had to cut away some healthy flesh, too, in order to save the patient.

That's what they would have to do now.

“Your mother is right. We have to stop him,” she said.

“Nobody at Police Headquarters is going to be happy about going after a minister for something like this without a lot of proof, and all we have right now is suspicion.”

“You'll have to talk to the boys,” Sarah said.

“They might not admit anything, either. They'll be ashamed, and they won't want to get Upchurch in trouble, either.”

“After what he's done to them?” Sarah cried in outrage.

“They love him, don't forget. He's like a father to them. And even if the boys will accuse him, that's not enough. We'll need at least one of the families to make a complaint, but
they
aren't going to want anyone to know what happened to their sons.”

“Even if we can't get him arrested, we can let him know that he's been found out. That might frighten him.”

Malloy didn't look convinced. “Before we start making accusations, I'll need to talk to the boys and their families. Can you find out their names and where they live?”

Sarah thought about going back to Mrs. Linton for that information. The poor woman couldn't think her any stranger than she already did, and Sarah could probably think of a logical reason for wanting to know that information. Or at least she hoped she could.

 
 
F
RANK CONSULTED THE LIST SARAH HAD SENT HIM TO verify the house number of the first boy. As good as her word, she'd called on Mrs. Linton on Monday and somehow obtained the names and addresses of all of Upchurch's boys.

Since he wasn't officially assigned to investigate this case, he'd waited until the end of the day to start looking for them. They would've been in school all day, anyway, he'd reasoned. Now all he had to do was convince the mothers to let their boys talk to the police about something he couldn't explain to them.

Frank had chosen the oldest boy on the list first, Isaiah Wilkins. According to Sarah, he's the one Mrs. Upchurch had been flirting with. He was also the most likely to understand the situation and to make a credible witness if it came to that. He was also the most likely to understand the reasons for keeping Upchurch's sins a secret.

A wide-eyed maid admitted him, and after a few minutes escorted him into a fashionably furnished parlor to see Mrs. Wilkins and her son. Mrs. Wilkins was a plump partridge of a woman with a smooth, slightly stupid face. She looked bewildered and a bit frightened. She rose to her feet when Frank entered, clutching a handkerchief in one hand and pressing it to her bosom.

“You're from the police?” she asked apprehensively.

“Yes, Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” he said. “Thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Wilkins.”

“Is there something wrong in the neighborhood? Has there been a crime?” she asked.

“Yes, there has,” Frank said, grateful she'd given him the perfect excuse. “I'm questioning some people we think might have seen something.”

“I'm sure I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary,” Mrs. Wilkins said. “I can't be of any help to you.”

“I know. I need to talk to your son, though, and I wanted your permission,” Frank said.

“Isaiah?” she asked, even more alarmed now. She glanced over at where he stood, staring sullenly at Frank, whom he recognized from seeing him at the church. “I'm sure Isaiah would have told me if he'd seen anything untoward, wouldn't you, dear?”

“Yes, Mother, I would have,” he agreed with a defiant glare at Frank.

“He might not realize that what he saw was important,” Frank said, relentlessly patient. “Would you mind if I asked him a few questions if it would help catch a criminal?”

“Well,” she said, glancing at Isaiah and back to Frank again. “I suppose it would be all right, so long as he isn't in any danger.”

“He won't be,” Frank said, glad she hadn't mentioned his being in any trouble. Frank would have had to lie about that. “Just a few questions, that's all.”

“Very well,” she reluctantly agreed. “You don't mind, do you, Isaiah? If it will help?”

The boy didn't answer. He just kept glaring at Frank, as if he knew why he'd come and was daring him to proceed.

“Go ahead then, and ask your questions,” she said, taking her seat again.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to see him alone,” Frank said, still calm and patient.

“Alone? Whatever for?” She was alarmed again.

“Well,” Frank said, giving Isaiah a meaningful glance, “You know how boys are. Even good boys don't always tell their mothers everything they do.”

“You said Isaiah hadn't done anything wrong,” she protested.

“I don't think he has, but he's more likely to be honest with me about what he saw if his mother isn't listening.”

Frank waited, not stirring, not betraying any hint of the impatience he felt, knowing she would give in if he didn't press her.

She gave her son a questioning look.

“Go on, Mother. Don't worry about me,” he said. Did he look worried himself? No, Frank decided. He was just angry.

After another protest or two and a warning to her son that he didn't have to say anything he didn't want to, she left them alone.

The door had hardly closed behind her when the boy said, “She sent you, didn't she?”

“Who?” Frank asked, wondering how he could have known about Sarah's involvement.

“Mrs. Upchurch. What did she say about me?”

“Nothing in particular,” Frank said.

“She sent you, though, didn't she?”

“Yes, she did. I guess she doesn't like what's going on.”

“I thought she liked it fine.” His smirk set Frank's teeth on edge.

“What made you think that?” Frank asked, wondering if Upchurch could have told the boys that his wife knew about his perversion and approved.

He shrugged, still oddly cocky. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Nothing. I just need you to tell me the truth about Upchurch. I know all about your private times with him and what he does—what he does with all the boys. You know it's wrong, don't you?”

Isaiah's smirk vanished, and his face flushed crimson. “You don't know anything!”

“I want to stop him, Isaiah,” Frank said. “When did he start with you? How old were you?”

“I don't have to tell you anything,” he said. “My mother told me I didn't, and I'm not going to.”

“Did he tell you he loved you, Isaiah?” Frank asked. “He says that to all the boys, but he doesn't really love you. If he did, he wouldn't make you do those things.”

“I'm not going to talk about him, no matter what you do to me, so you might as well leave,” Isaiah said, his voice rising.

“What did he tell you, Isaiah? Did he make you promise to keep it a secret? Why would he do that if it wasn't wrong?”

The boy's eyes grew wide. They held emotions Frank didn't even want to name. He was close, so close to breaking. What would push him over the edge?

“You missed having a father, didn't you? He pretended to be a father to you, but he wasn't. A father wouldn't do those things. A real man wouldn't use boys the way he used you.”

“You don't know anything about it!” Isaiah challenged desperately.

“I've got a son of my own. I'd kill any man who did those things to him.”

“Is that what you're going to do, kill Reverend Upchurch?” he scoffed.

“The law will punish him,” Malloy promised rashly, knowing it was probably a lie.

“No, it won't. He told me. No one will believe me. No one will take my word over his, and people will laugh at me. You can't do anything to him.”