Murder on Lenox Hill (31 page)

“Do you see a lot of poisonings?”

“I get my share, between murders and suicides, but they're usually arsenic. In fact, I thought that's what rat poison was.”

“It's odd you should say that. I was thinking the same thing when Dr. Thomas told you cyanide was in rat poison. I'm certain every rat poison I've ever used has been arsenic.”

“Wait a minute, what he really said was that it's in
some
rat poisons.”

“That's right, he did!” she remembered. “If it's only in some of them, then all we have to do is find out who has the right kind, the kind with cyanide, and we'll probably find the real killer!”

He gave her one of his looks that told her this wasn't a good idea. “Do you suggest we go door to door in the city until we find somebody with the right kind?”

“Don't be ridiculous, but we could check the families in the church, or at least the ones who were here today. You have a list of the names. You could start with the people who confessed, to make sure they're eliminated, then go from there.”

She could see that he thought this was a good idea but didn't want to admit it. “Do you know how long that would take?”

“Most of the people live right here in this neighborhood. You could do it in a few hours.”

“Do what?” Kelly asked from the doorway. Sarah was happy to see he didn't look as irreverent as he had this morning. She hadn't thought he was taking the case seriously enough earlier.

“Did you find out anything useful?” Malloy asked him.

“No, just that everybody agrees they didn't decide ahead of time not to take communion. What about the lady that confessed?”

“Which one?” Malloy asked sarcastically.

Kelly frowned. “The old one who confessed to us out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the sanctuary.

“She didn't do it, and neither did anybody else who confessed.”

“How many did you get?” he asked in wonder.

“Four. I think that's a record for me. Did you find any trace of the bag of poison Mrs. Evans said she threw outside?”

“No, and not inside, either. Somebody said you took that boy down to the kitchen.”

“He claimed they keep rat poison down there, but it wasn't in its usual place, even though he claimed he'd put it back there when he was finished with it.”

“You ever know a boy to put something back where it was supposed to go?” Kelly asked.

Malloy smiled a bit. “How do you think I knew he was lying in the first place?”

Sarah cleared her throat. “You still have plenty of time to check people's homes this afternoon,” she reminded him.

“Check people's homes for what?” Kelly asked, turning back to Malloy.

“Mrs. Brandt reminded me that most rat poison is arsenic, not cyanide.”

“I thought the doc said it was rat poison that killed him.”

“He said that cyanide killed him, and that it's in
some
kinds of rat poison. If we check each family in the church to see what kind they have, then we can narrow down the list of suspects to those who have the right kind.”

Kelly made a face. Plainly, this was not how he wanted to spend a Sunday afternoon.

“They all live nearby,” Sarah said by way of encouragement. “I'll be glad to help.”

Kelly's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at such a suggestion. Malloy just grunted. “You're staying here.”

“What am I supposed to do here?” she asked, annoyed.

“You can go comfort the widow if you want, or you can look for the rat poison that Isaiah said was in the kitchen. If it's the right kind, we'll have it checked to see if it matches what was in the wine, which reminds me . . .”

He pushed himself out of his chair and went out into the sanctuary. Sarah and Kelly followed, having nothing left to do in the office. Malloy called for the two patrolmen who had been left on duty to provide assistance. He found them sleeping on a back pew. After making sure they were properly chastised, he sent one of them off with the wine bottle and communion cup to have the contents tested. That wouldn't happen until the police laboratory opened tomorrow, but at least the evidence would be where it needed to be.

Then he, Kelly, and the remaining patrolman got the list of attendees from this morning's service and began dividing it up after consulting a city directory they found in Upchurch's office for addresses.

“I'll check with Mrs. Upchurch,” Sarah offered, and Malloy grudgingly accepted her offer.

Before they left, Malloy warned Sarah not to get in trouble, and she returned the warning, to Kelly's amusement.

When they were gone, she set to work in search of a box of rat poison that might or might not exist.

 
 
F
RANK HAD TAKEN THE OTHER THREE CONFESSED SUSPECTS for himself, and he'd left them for last. So far, he'd found only one box of rat poison containing cyanide in his visits, and the elderly couple who owned it hadn't even known it was in the house, much less where to find it if they'd decided to poison a minister. Their cook had finally produced it, grumbling about being pestered and confirming no one had moved it from the cupboard where she kept it in weeks.

He smiled a little as he knocked on Isaiah Wilkins's door. The boy was going to be mad when Frank didn't arrest him. The maid escorted him into the parlor where Isaiah and his mother sat. He was on his feet instantly, his young face pale but determined. His mother looked a bit alarmed, but not unduly so. She obviously had no idea her son expected to be carted off to jail.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs. Wilkins, but we're checking with everyone who was at church this morning to see what kind of rat poison they keep in their house,” Frank explained, not looking at Isaiah.

“Whatever for?” she asked.

He used his diplomatic smile. “We're trying to find out where the poison that killed Reverend Upchurch came from,” he said. “It's an unusual kind, and we think that when we find it, we'll have found the killer.”

She glanced at her son, then back at Frank. “Surely, you don't suspect any of us here?” she asked anxiously.

“No, ma'am, but I have to check everybody.”

“You don't have to do this,” Isaiah cried.

His mother thought he was talking to her. “Of course I do, dear,” she said. “I want Mr. Malloy to know that we had nothing to do with that man's death.”

The boy gave Frank a desperate look, but he ignored it and allowed Mrs. Wilkins to take him to the kitchen where he found, much to his relief, an arsenic poison.

Isaiah was lurking in the kitchen doorway. “What about the poison at the church?” he tried.

“We're still looking for it,” Frank said mildly. “We think the killer might've taken it with him, though.” He thanked Mrs. Wilkins for her help and apologized again for bothering her. Then he let her show him to the door, with Isaiah following doggedly in their wake.

“Is that all?” the boy asked when Frank started out the door. He still looked terrified, but now he was desperate, too.

“No, it's not all,” Frank said, turning to Mrs. Wilkins. “You should be very proud of your son. He's a little head-strong, but he's got a good heart.” He looked at Isaiah. “You're old enough to make your own decisions now, Isaiah. Be sure that from now on, you make good ones.”

“But . . . but don't you need to . . . to ask me some questions?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“No, I'm satisfied that you didn't have anything to do with Upchurch's death.”

“But—”

“Stop bothering Mr. Malloy,” Mrs. Wilkins chided him. “He has work to do, and I'm sure he'd like to be on his way.”

“Yes, I would,” Frank said and left, aware of Isaiah's frustration and taking a perverse satisfaction in it.

 
 
R
ACHEL UPCHURCH ANSWERED HER OWN DOOR, AND she seemed relieved to see Sarah again. “What happened to Isaiah?” she demanded as she stood aside for Sarah to enter. “Do you know? Has he been arrested?” To her credit, she looked as tortured as a woman who might have driven a boy to murder should have.

“Mr. Malloy doesn't believe Isaiah killed your husband,” Sarah informed her.

“Oh, thank God,” Rachel breathed, laying a hand on her heart. “Thank you for coming to tell me.”

“That's not why I came,” Sarah said, feeling no sympathy for her. “I came to see what kind of rat poison you keep in your house.”

“I thought Mr. Malloy didn't believe I'd killed Oliver,” she said in surprise.

“I still need to check. He's checking everyone who attended church this morning. Will I find it in the kitchen?” Sarah asked, heading in that direction without waiting for a reply.

“I'm sure you will,” Rachel said, following. “Our maid quit the other day—I told you I have trouble keeping servants—so I'm not sure, but it shouldn't be hard to find it.”

Apparently, she wasn't lying about not being sure. She helped Sarah look, throwing open cupboards and searching through the pantry until they located a half-empty box.

“Arsenic,” Sarah read from the box.

“What does that mean?” Rachel asked with a worried frown.

“It means this isn't what killed your husband.”

“Did you think it was?”

“No, but as I said, we have to be sure. Isaiah said they keep rat poison at the church. Do you know where it would be?”

“Heavens, no,” Rachel said. “Did you look in the kitchen? That seems the most logical place.”

“That's where we looked first, but it isn't there. Where else might it be?”

“How should I know a thing like that?”

“You're the minister's wife,” Sarah reminded her.

Rachel gave her a pained look. “And that must mean I know everything that goes on at the church, I suppose. It might if I were the typical minister's wife, but as you well know, I'm not. The only time I ever went over there was for Sunday services.”

“And to seduce young boys,” Sarah reminded her.

She flinched, but she didn't back down. “I don't know anything about rat poison at the church,” she insisted, her eyes filled with a pain Sarah felt she deserved to feel.

As angry as she was with Rachel Upchurch, she couldn't help feeling sorry for her, too. Her entire life had been lonely and loveless, and now she was more alone than she had ever been.

“What will you do now?” she asked.

“If you're worried that I'm going to get Isaiah to marry me, don't be concerned,” she replied defensively. “He doesn't know about the baby, and I have no intention of telling him.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Sarah replied tartly. “He wouldn't be much of a provider in any case. You'll have to go someplace, though. They won't let you stay here.”

“I know. Actually, I've been trying to figure that out while you were gone. If Mr. Malloy doesn't change his mind and put me in jail, I suppose I'll contact my aunt and uncle. He's my mother's brother. When they hear I've been widowed and am expecting a child, they'll most likely feel obligated to take me in. They live near Albany, so it's unlikely the scandal of Oliver's murder will follow me there.”

“Do you think Isaiah will let you go?”

“He's just a child,” she said dismissively. “What could he do to stop me? I'll simply tell him I no longer care for him. He'll recover soon enough.”

Sarah wondered if he'd ever recover from what both of the Upchurchs had put him through, but she wasn't going to argue. She knew Rachel's leaving him was the best thing for him. “I have to get back to the church,” she said.

“What are you going to do there?”

Sarah sighed. “Try to find the poison that killed your husband.”

 
 
J
UST A BLOCK AWAY FROM THE WILKINS'S HOUSE, FRANK came to the Evans-York household, his last stop. Mrs. Evans greeted him when the maid showed him into the parlor. She looked tired and much older than she had the first time he'd met her.

“Have you changed your mind about arresting me, Mr. Malloy?” she asked with a touch of irony.

“No, I know you didn't do it,” he replied kindly.

“I'm afraid I owe you an apology,” she said. “And a debt of gratitude.”

“Yes, you do, but don't give it another thought. How's Mrs. York?”

“She's resting. I'm sure she'll be fine now that she knows I'm not going to prison. You were right, Mr. Malloy. I did think she'd killed that awful man. I couldn't bear the thought of her going to prison, so I lied. I was very angry when I found out she'd confessed to protect me, of all things, but I also have to be grateful for the love that motivated her.”

“Yes, you do,” he said. “Not many people would sacrifice themselves like that for somebody else.”

“And not many people would refuse to accept a confession of murder, Mr. Malloy,” she said gravely.

He chose not to respond to that. “The reason I'm here is that I have to make sure there's no real evidence against you and your daughter, in case somebody else gets assigned to this case later. Can you show me where you keep your rat poison?”

“How will knowing where I keep my rat poison prove I'm innocent?” she asked in confusion.

“Because not many kinds of rat poison are cyanide. Most of them are arsenic. Do you know which kind you have?”

“I never paid any attention,” she realized.

“Then show it to me, and we'll find out.”

She readily complied, and as Frank had hoped, it was arsenic.