Murder on Lenox Hill (30 page)

He lowered his hands to reveal red-rimmed eyes. “I will. I'll do that! Thank you, Mr. Malloy. I'll never forget you for this.”

Without a backward glance, he ran out. Frank heard his feet pounding on the stairs as he raced up and out to the street. Wearily and much more slowly, Frank followed. In the sanctuary, he found Mrs. York still keeping Mr. Linton company.

“Sorry you had to wait so long,” Frank told him. “Come on into the office.”

Maybe, just maybe, Frank thought, Linton has the missing piece that would solve this puzzle.

Or maybe he didn't.

 
 
S
ARAH MADE RACHEL UPCHURCH LIE DOWN ON HER chaise while she fixed some tea, then took it to her.

“He didn't kill Oliver,” Rachel argued between sips. “He couldn't have.”

“Why not?” Sarah challenged. “He's obviously in love with you, and he has good reason to believe you love him, too.”

“What do you mean by that?” Rachel said, trying to sound affronted.

“I mean he's the father of your baby, which means you seduced him. To him, that would be proof that you love him.”

“I didn't seduce him,” she insisted. “I didn't have to. Oliver took care of that.”

“Are you saying your husband brought the two of you together? That he knew about it?” Sarah scoffed.

“No, of course not, but he's the one who filled their heads with all that nonsense. He told them he was just teaching them how to make love to a woman. I never realized that until Isaiah told me. He'd always liked me, you see, right from the first, and I encouraged him. It annoyed Oliver when any of his boys paid me attention, so naturally, it gave me pleasure.”

“So when you found out Isaiah was interested in you, you used him to get the child your husband wouldn't give you.” Sarah didn't bother to disguise the contempt she felt.

“It wasn't like that . . . not entirely,” she amended when she saw Sarah's skepticism. “Isaiah had finally realized that Oliver had lied to him, and I think he needed to prove to himself that he was a man. The only way he could do that was by being with a woman, and being with Oliver's wife would be the ultimate . . .”

“Revenge?” Sarah offered when Rachel hesitated. “That's a romantic reason to start an affair.”

“You must understand,” she pleaded. “He loves me. No one had ever really loved me like that before. It was intoxicating.”

“I'm sure it was, but that still doesn't excuse what you did to him. What's going to happen when he realizes you lied to him just like your husband did?”

She covered her eyes for a moment, as if she really did feel the guilt for what she had done. When she looked up again, her voice was flat with despair. “He may never know it if he ends up in prison. Dear heaven, why would he have killed Oliver?”

“Maybe he was thinking about marrying his widow,” Sarah suggested.

To her credit, Rachel began to cry. “What have I done?”

Sarah had no answer for her.

 
 
“
N
OW, WHAT IS IT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING SO LONG TO TELL me, Mr. Linton?” Frank asked.

Linton looked uneasily around the minister's office. “I came by this morning early, before anyone else was at the church, to see Upchurch.”

Ah, Upchurch's mystery visitor. “What did you want to see him about?”

Linton had folded his hands in his lap, and now he began to twist them. “I didn't sleep at all last night, after I heard what Upchurch had done to those boys. I didn't even know a man could . . . could use boys like that.”

“Not many people do,” Frank said, wishing he was one of them.

“I kept thinking about Grace and what happened to her. I've been trying to figure out who could have done it ever since we found out. I keep coming back to the fact that if a man had attacked her, she would've told us. I know if he'd frightened her or hurt her, she would've told us. Then I remembered what you'd said, that maybe the man who did it was someone she knew and liked and maybe she hadn't been frightened at all.”

“The way the boys weren't frightened of Upchurch,” Frank offered.

“That's right. Until I heard about that, I could never have imagined such a thing could have happened to Grace, too.”

“Why did that make you go see Upchurch?”

Linton nervously smoothed his lapels. “I wanted . . . I had to find out if he'd done the same thing to Grace that he did to those boys. She would've trusted him like they did, and she would've believed any lie he told her.”

“Did you ask him outright?”

Linton nodded stiffly.

“What did he say?”

“At first I didn't let him know I'd heard about the boys, so he denied it. He was horrified that I could think him guilty of such a thing. He even hinted that he was going to mention my accusation to the church elders. He wanted to be sure someone knew that he'd been falsely accused in case I decided to start rumors about him.”

“That took a lot of gall,” Frank said in disgust.

“I thought so, too, and that's why I told him it wouldn't do him any good to complain to the elders because they knew—and everybody else did, too—what he'd been doing with those boys he pays so much attention to. I told him the boys had exposed him for what he was.”

“What did he say then?”

“He was angry at first. He called me a liar, but I didn't back down, and pretty soon, he realized I was telling the truth. Then he started to look . . . afraid.”

“Afraid?” Frank wished he'd seen it. He wanted Upchurch to suffer for what he'd done, even if it had only been for a little while. “What do you think he was afraid of?”

Linton had to think about this. “I'm not sure. He must have known that no one would tolerate him as our minister another day, but he'd also know the scandal would ruin him. He'd lose his livelihood and even his house—the church owns the manse, you see. He might never get another position, either.”

“Did he say anything about his fears to you?”

Linton shook his head. “I was too angry to sit and listen, even if he'd tried. I just told him we'd all make sure he paid for what he'd done to those boys, and then I left.”

“When was this?”

“I'm not sure exactly. I didn't check my watch, and I don't remember hearing any clocks striking, but it was at least a half-hour before the service started, maybe longer.”

“Did you notice if the communion things had been set out yet when you left?”

“I'm afraid I didn't. I was in a hurry and didn't pay any attention. Does it matter?”

“Probably not, unless you poisoned Upchurch.”

Linton smiled sadly. “I can't help you there, and I'm afraid I'm not very eager to see the real killer caught, either.”

“We're pretty sure Upchurch isn't the one who . . . who hurt Grace,” Frank assured him. “He doesn't seem to like females at all.”

“Even if he isn't, he deserves to burn in hell for what he did to those boys.”

“There's not many would disagree with you, but I've got to find the killer to keep some innocent person from going to prison for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just about everybody I've questioned so far has confessed to the murder except you.”

Linton's eyes widened in amazement. “I knew Hazel—Mrs. York—had confessed, of course, and she told me she did it to protect her mother, who had also confessed. May I ask who else?”

“Mrs. Upchurch and Isaiah Wilkins.”

“Oh, my!”

“I don't think any of them did it, either, which is why I've got to find the real killer. Please try to remember, Mr. Linton. Did Upchurch say anything else? Did you see anybody else in the church when you were leaving?”

His brow wrinkled as he concentrated. “I know I didn't see anyone. I was glad of it, because I was very upset, and I didn't want to have to explain why to anyone. We'd wanted to surprise him, you see. He wasn't supposed to know anything was wrong until they confronted him during the service.”

Frank felt the first hope he'd had all day. “So he knew even before the service started that he'd been exposed.”

“Yes, he did, thanks to my impulsiveness. Is that important?” he asked when he saw Frank's expression.

“It could be. Let me ask you something else. Did anyone instruct you not to go forward for communion this morning?”

“No,” he said, frowning. “I hadn't even thought of it until I saw the table set when I came back for the service. I remember thinking I couldn't take communion from that man, but I didn't say it to anyone else, and no one mentioned it to me, either. I'm sure everyone felt the same way, though, which is why no one did.”

“Thank you, Mr. Linton. You've been a big help.”

“I have? In what way?”

“I'll explain it all to you when I'm finished investigating. In the meantime, would you see Mrs. York home and then you can enjoy the rest of your day.”

He rose, still looking uncertain. “Are you sure that's all I can do?”

“Very sure.”

“Good luck to you, then, Mr. Malloy.”

“Thanks. I'm going to need it.”

14

W
HEN SHE GOT BACK TO THE CHURCH AFTER LEAVING Rachel Upchurch wallowing in her guilt, Sarah found Malloy in Upchurch's office alone. He didn't look happy, but then he apparently hadn't taken anyone off to The Tombs, either.

“Did Isaiah do it?” she asked.

“No,” he said wearily. “And neither did Mrs. Upchurch, Mrs. Evans, or Mrs. York.”

“Mrs. Evans and Mrs. York?” Sarah echoed in surprise. “Did they confess, too?”

“Yeah, Mrs. York was trying to protect her mother, who was trying to protect her, near as I can figure.”

“Rachel Upchurch was trying to protect Isaiah. She thought he must've done it because he was the one who set up the communion table, I guess, and because he's in love with her and might've wanted her to be a widow, although I don't think he knows about the baby. Rachel admitted that he's the father.”

“I figured, and I'm
sure
he doesn't know. He doesn't even know that what they did makes babies,” he said in exasperation. “Even still, he confessed to protect her, but he didn't do it, either.”

“How can you be sure?” she asked, taking the chair the suspects had used.

“The same reason I knew all of them were lying. See, all they knew was what happened. They knew nobody from the congregation went forward to take communion, and Upchurch was the only one who drank from the cup. They also knew the wine was poisoned with rat poison, thanks to Dr. Thomas, who told them. It's easy to figure out that the cup was sitting there for a while with nobody around, and somebody put the poison in it during that time.”

“So?”

“So they all said they put rat poison in the cup to kill him.”

“Then how do you know they're lying?”

“Because,” he said, rubbing both hands over his face. “First of all, none of them knew that nobody was going to take communion this morning.”

“I thought they must have decided it ahead of time.”

“So did I, but they didn't, or at least nobody I talked to had heard anything about it. So as far as they knew, a lot of people would've drunk from the cup before Upchurch, and according to Doc Thomas, none of them would've gotten enough to be a fatal dose unless they happened to be elderly or sick already. That goes for Upchurch, too, who usually would only have taken a sip like everybody else.”

“That doesn't make poisoning the communion cup a very reliable way of killing Upchurch then,” she realized.

“Right, and then you've got the problem with the rat poison.”

“What problem is that?”

“If they wanted to kill Upchurch, why would somebody bring rat poison from home to put in the communion cup that everybody in the church might drink out of? The killer might not even have known that a little sip wouldn't necessarily be fatal. He'd be putting the whole congregation at risk.”

“You're right,” Sarah agreed, trying to put herself in the killer's place. “Bringing poison from home would require planning ahead, and if you thought about it at all, you'd know it was a stupid idea. Did everybody claim they'd brought the poison from home?”

“Everybody except Isaiah. He said he used the poison they keep downstairs in the church kitchen, but when he took me down to show me where it was kept, it wasn't there.”

“Maybe he got rid of it somehow.”

“No, he was surprised it wasn't there. He claimed he'd used it this morning and put it back on the shelf. Since I don't believe he used it, that means the killer might have and then not put it away again.”

“Then it's probably still here in the church somewhere.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it disappeared along with the real killer.”

He sounded discouraged. Sarah had seldom seen him discouraged. “You could give up,” she suggested. “A lot of murderers are never caught, and in this case—”

“I can't take that chance. Too many people already know what went on here today. What if the newspapers find out four people confessed and the police didn't arrest anybody?” Sarah knew the newspapers would love a story like that. It would sell thousands of copies. “I'd be out of a job, and they'd arrest the wrong person just to close the case.”

He was right, and they both knew it. Sarah sighed, and they sat in silence for a few minutes while she tried to think of something to help or at least something to say to make him feel better. Before she could, he turned to her and said, “I've been trying to remember the last time I had a case where somebody was poisoned by cyanide, but I can't.”