Murder on Lenox Hill (29 page)

“Did you know that nobody was going to take communion this morning?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did everybody decide ahead of time not to go up this morning?”

“No,” she said, then caught herself, suspicious that she'd been tricked. “At least, no one said anything to me about it.”

“So you expected the people in the congregation to go up and drink out of the cup you'd put poison in.”

“Yes . . . I mean, no,” she said, laying her hand on her heart again. “I . . . I didn't think of that.”

“We didn't find a bag of rat poison in the alley, Mrs. York.” He wasn't sure of that, but Kelly would certainly have returned to tell him if he had.

“What? I . . . Maybe it blew away,” she tried.

“Was there any poison left in it when you threw it away?”

“Yes . . . No . . . I . . . I don't remember.” She was starting to cry again.

“It doesn't seem very responsible of you to throw a bag with poison in it out into the alley. Some poor dog might've found it. Or a child.”

“I . . . I didn't think of that.”

“You didn't do it, either, did you?”

She stared at him, fear darkening her eyes. “I did! I killed him. I swear I did.”

“Why are you wasting my time, Mrs. York? Have you considered what would happen to you if I believe you and put you in jail?”

She swallowed loudly. “I know what would happen. I would go to prison. I have a weak heart, Detective. I wouldn't live very long in prison. That's why my mother is taking the blame for this. She thinks she's protecting me, but I won't live much longer in any case. If I'm dead and she's in prison, what will happen to Percy? That's why I can't let her take the blame.”

“Does she know you're here?”

“I . . . I don't think so. I didn't tell her I was coming.”

“Mrs. York, your mother didn't kill Upchurch, and neither did you. Your mother was trying to protect someone, maybe the real killer or maybe somebody she thought was the real killer. Do you have any idea who that could be?”

“I . . . No, I don't think so,” she replied uncertainly.

“Could Percy have done it?” he asked baldly.

“Oh, no!” she cried in alarm. “He was at home this morning. He didn't want to come to church, and we wouldn't have let him, even if he had. Our maid can vouch for him.”

Frank believed her. She wasn't a good enough liar to fool him. “Could she have been protecting you? Could she have thought you did it?”

Mrs. York stared at him for a long moment. “Oh, dear, she might have. I said something unkind about Upchurch—I don't even remember what it was—right after he died. We were standing right over his body, and Mother looked at me so oddly, almost as if she was afraid of something,” she added in dismay.

That was it then, Frank decided. They'd been trying to protect each other. “Whatever her reason was, she didn't convince me she's guilty, so you don't have to try to convince me you're guilty to protect her. Go home, Mrs. York, and take care of your son.”

“Oh, Mr. Malloy!” she cried and began to sob.

Frank wondered how she would've reacted if he'd arrested her. He didn't have much time to think about it, though, because the door burst open again, and this time it was Isaiah Wilkins.

He'd been going to say something he probably considered very important, but when he saw Mrs. York sobbing her heart out, he stopped dead.

“What did you do to her?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” Frank snapped, getting tired of being falsely accused of abusing women. “Didn't anybody ever teach you to knock?”

“I . . . I had to tell you something,” he stammered, still looking at Mrs. York, who was making an effort to stop crying.

“Let me guess. You killed Upchurch,” Frank said.

“Well, yeah . . . I mean, yes, sir, I did,” he said with some amazement.

This sobered Mrs. York instantly. “Isaiah!” She looked at Malloy in confusion. “Could she have been protecting
him
?”

Frank doubted it, but Isaiah said, “That's right, she was, but nobody needs to protect me. I can take my own punishment. That's why I'm here.”

“Oh, Mr. Malloy, what will happen to him?” she asked in despair.

“That's up to a jury to decide, Mrs. York. Do you feel able to get yourself home? There's probably some men from the church still here, if you need help.”

“Perhaps I'll wait for Mr. Linton to be finished. He passes my house on his way home, so I could go with him.”

“That's a fine idea,” Frank said, escorting her to the door. “Please tell him I'll be with him as soon as I can. And tell your mother I'm sorry, but I won't be calling on her this evening after all.”

Mrs. York smiled wanly. “I'm sure she won't be too disappointed. Thank you very much, Detective.” She turned to Isaiah. “You have many friends here. We won't desert you.”

Isaiah blinked a few times, as if to clear tears from his eyes, and he nodded solemnly in reply.

When she was gone, Frank closed the door behind her and turned back to Isaiah. “Have a seat, young man.”

The boy frowned, as if he thought the offer was some sort of trick, but when Frank took a seat, he followed suit.

“Now tell me what you forgot to tell me when I questioned you before,” Frank said, the edge of annoyance sharp in his voice.

“I didn't forget,” he said belligerently. “I just . . . I didn't want you to know, is all. I didn't want to go to prison.”

“Or the electric chair,” Frank said blandly. “Don't forget, murderers usually get to sit in Old Sparky.”

Isaiah blanched, but to his credit, he didn't falter. “I don't want no woman taking the blame for something I did.”

“That's noble of you, son. You do owe Mrs. Evans a debt, though.”

“Mrs. Evans? Why?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

“For confessing to the murder to protect you,” Frank said impatiently.

“She did?”
Now he was flabbergasted.

Now Frank was confused. “Who did you think had confessed for you?”

“Mrs. Upchurch,” he replied. “Mrs. Brandt said so.”

“Mrs. Brandt said Mrs. Upchurch confessed to protect you?” Frank asked, still confused.

Isaiah frowned. “No, she just said Mrs. Upchurch confessed. I knew she didn't really do it because . . . because
I
did it,” he realized, quite satisfied with his logic. “So I had to come and tell you, so you wouldn't arrest her.”

Frank didn't like the way this conversation was going. He and Sarah had been certain Rachel Upchurch was trying to protect her lover. Isaiah Wilkins couldn't possibly be her lover.

Or could he?

“That's very gentlemanly of you, Isaiah,” Frank said, using the word he knew Upchurch had always used.

Isaiah winced a bit, but he didn't drop his gaze. “It would be worse than ungentlemanly to let a lady go to prison for something she didn't do, wouldn't it?”

“Oh, yes,” Frank said. “That's why I'm careful to find out who's really guilty before I arrest anybody. Now tell me, how did you kill Upchurch?”

“With rat poison,” he said confidently.

Frank silently damned Dr. Thomas for voicing his theory so publicly. “Where did you get the rat poison?”

This stumped him, but only for a few seconds. “From here. We keep some downstairs in the church kitchen. The rats come around even though there's not much food here.”

“Where do you keep it?”

“It's in the kitchen pantry, on the top shelf. I can show you,” he offered, starting to rise.

“Maybe later,” Frank said. “How do you happen to know so much about the rat poison here at the church?”

“Because I put it out a few times, whenever Reverend Upchurch . . .” He hesitated, his lip curling in distaste for a moment. “Whenever he saw rats, he'd tell me to put it out.”

“All right,” Frank said, satisfied with that explanation. “When did you put the poison in the cup?”

He had to think about this one, too. “I got the idea when I was getting the wine out this morning. I figured it would be a good way to kill him, and nobody would ever know it was me that did it.”

Frank nearly winced at his naïveté, but he soldiered on. “How did you get the poison in the cup?”

“I . . . I took the cup downstairs and put some of the poison in it,” he said. “Then I took the cup back upstairs and put the wine in it and set up communion like I usually did.”

“Weren't you worried about the people who were going to come up for communion that morning?” Frank asked.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what made you think Upchurch was the only one who'd drink out of that cup?”

“I . . . I wouldn't've let them,” he said, his eyes wide as he realized what could have happened. “They were all so mad at him, why would they want to take communion from him? I was pretty sure they wouldn't come up, and I didn't drink any, either. He was the only one who did.”

Frank nearly sighed. That was the trouble with honest people. None of them could lie worth a damn. “If I look downstairs, will I find the rat poison where you left it?”

“Yes. That's where it always is.”

“Let's go downstairs now, and you can show me.”

Mr. Linton rose to his feet as they walked through the sanctuary, but Frank had to ask him to be patient just a bit longer. Downstairs, they passed one of the churchmen waiting in the hallway to be interviewed by Kelly. He ignored the man's curious stare as he and Isaiah found the kitchen.

The room was spotlessly clean. If rats indeed visited here, they were surely disappointed. Isaiah went straight for the two-door wooden cabinet at the far end of the room and pulled the doors open. Inside were tins of various sizes, obviously holding whatever supplies a church kitchen needed. Everything was arranged in neat rows across the front of each shelf. The boy looked up at the top shelf where one slot stood empty. It looked like a missing tooth in an otherwise perfect smile.

“That's funny,” he murmured. He stood on tiptoe and reached up to feel around in the empty spot, to see if the box could have gotten pushed back. “It's not there,” he said in surprise.

“When was the last time you saw it there?” Frank asked.

“I don't know. A couple weeks ago, I guess,” he said, then caught himself. “Until this morning, I mean.”

“So you saw it there this morning, but now it's gone.”

“Yeah, I mean, yes, sir, that's right. I saw it this morning. . . . I mean I
used
it this morning and put it right back there, but now it's gone.”

“Maybe the killer took it,” Frank suggested.

Isaiah stared at him blankly for a moment, and then he got mad. “Stop trying to trick me.”

“Why would I try to trick you into saying you didn't kill Upchurch?” Frank asked quite reasonably.

“Because you don't like Mrs. Upchurch, and you want to get her in trouble. Nobody likes her, and people are always saying mean things about her, but they're wrong. She's not like they say. She's not crazy.”

“What is she?”

“What do you mean?” he asked suspiciously.

“I mean is she the kind of woman who seduces young boys? That would make her no better than her husband.”

His face flushed scarlet, and his eyes blazed with fury. “You don't know anything about it. She loves me!”

“And you love her, too, I guess.”

“Yes, I do,” he admitted proudly.

“So does that make what you did with her all right?” Frank challenged.

“More right than what Upchurch did to me!” he cried. “He was the one who told me what to do with the girl I loved. He said you should only do it with somebody you loved. That was important.”

“So you got your revenge by doing it with his wife.”

“No, it wasn't like that! It wasn't revenge!”

“What was it then?”

“I told you, I love her!”

Frank waited a few moments for Isaiah's anger to burn down to a simmer. “Did Upchurch tell you that what you were doing with the girl you love could make a baby?”

He was puzzled again. “No.”

“Well, it can.”

He didn't seem too concerned. “Only if you're married. Only married people can have babies.”

Frank nearly groaned aloud at this further example of the innocence of privileged youth. “Did Upchurch tell you that?”

“He didn't have to. Everybody knows it!”

Frank rubbed his forehead. Plainly, the boy didn't know why Mrs. Upchurch had been so eager for his affections or that she was now carrying his child. With any luck, he'd never find out, either.

“Do you believe me now that Mrs. Upchurch didn't kill her husband?” the boy asked when Frank didn't reply.

“Yes,” Frank said wearily.

“Are you going to arrest me now?”

Frank looked into his eyes, still so innocent even after two people he'd trusted had betrayed him so mercilessly. “Not just yet. Because you're still a child, I can't arrest you without notifying your mother,” he lied.

The boy's face crumbled. “Oh, I didn't think about her.”

“You should have. She loves you more than anyone in this world, and this is going to break her heart.”

“Oh, God,” he breathed, covering his face with both hands.

“Maybe you'd like to spend a little time with her before I come to arrest you,” Frank suggested. “Don't tell her what you've done, though. Just be nice to her and tell her you love her and spend the rest of the day with her.”