The Edge of Dreams (33 page)

“A person who was mentally unstable? Who had too much time on his hands?” I suggested.

He sighed as he took the studs from his collar and hung his shirt on the high-backed chair. “We’ll bring him in for questioning. He seems the sort who might crumble under the threat of the Tombs.”

“And I’ve asked Sid and Gus to warn Mrs. Hamilton to take good care of Mabel,” I said. “You never know—he may not have realized he was seen when he killed her parents, and he may now decide to get rid of her too.”

“Possibly.” Daniel nodded. “In which case you should be extra vigilant too, my darling. We still don’t know whether that train crash was designed to finish you off, and he might be annoyed you are still running around.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I sat in his parlor twice. I drank his coffee.”

Daniel shook his head as if he found me hard to believe. “One of these days you’ll come to a sticky end,” he said. “You have to learn to be careful. Or better still, you have to learn to act like a mother and wife, and not like an investigator.”

“I didn’t have any idea that Terrence Daughtery might himself be involved when I went to visit him,” I said. “And besides, it was my investigation that finally put the pieces together for you in a case that has been stalled for months.”

“I suppose I have to agree with that,” he said, “but I’m only concerned with keeping you safe. I don’t want to lose you.”

I came over and wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling the warmth of his bare flesh against my fine cotton nightgown, and I felt a desire I hadn’t known for weeks shoot through me. Daniel felt it too and his lips came hard against mine. “Will those ribs of yours mind too much if we take this a little further?” he whispered, breathing heavily as he lowered me onto the bed.

“I think we’ll risk it and see,” I whispered back.

*   *   *

Much later, when I was lying against Daniel’s shoulder and we were both drifting off into satisfied sleep, a thought came to me.

“Daniel? Are you asleep?”

He grunted.

“Something’s just struck me. Where do Dr. Grossman and the butcher who was locked in his meat safe come into this?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he answered. “I believe Dr. Grossman was the expert witness who testified at the trial as to Edward Deveraux’s mental state and urged for a verdict of insanity.”

“But the butcher? Did he supply meat to the Deveraux family? Or the cleaver with which Edward’s father was killed?”

Daniel sighed. “And here I was, drifting into a delightful sleep,” he grunted. “The butcher. Good question. The information we have on him says that he only came to the city recently from somewhere upstate. I’ll have to look into that tomorrow. But the father wasn’t killed with a cleaver. He was hit over the head with a blunt object—from behind, mark you. Just the sort of thing a sneaky person like Edward would do.” He pulled me closer to him. “Now, for heaven’s sake, go to sleep. We’ll know more in the morning.”

Thirty

The next morning I awoke to sunlight streaming in. I could hear Daniel humming to himself as he shaved in the bathroom.
Today is the day,
I thought. We’re going to solve everything. Daniel’s going to be a hero at the police department, and all will be well.

I dressed and went downstairs to make him coffee and fry him eggs, for once beating his mother to it. She nodded with approval when she came into the kitchen. “That’s more like it,” she said. “Acting like a good wife for once, not rushing all over the place and putting yourself in harm’s way.”

I smiled sweetly and didn’t answer. Clearly I was becoming more circumspect with age. After we had breakfasted and fed and bathed Liam, I decided we should go for a walk. Liam had been cooped up for a couple of days and needed fresh air, and truly it was too nice a day to stay inside. We strapped him into the buggy and off we went, Bridie trotting beside me like an obedient puppy. It felt as if the city had been spring-cleaned after the rain—everything sparkled and the sky was a clear blue arc as if made of spun glass. Sparrows fluttered, twittering around puddles. A carriage, going past at full speed, sent up a curtain of muddy spray that just missed us.

We went into Washington Square, still unpopulated at this hour apart from an old gardener attempting to rake up soggy leaves.

“Where are we going?” Bridie asked.

“Just for a walk,” I said. “I’m afraid the swings are still too wet to swing on.”

“I’m getting too old for things like that,” she said. “I’m a proper mother’s helper now, aren’t I?”

I put my arm around her. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re not keeping you here with us to be a mother’s helper,” I said. “Although you’ve certainly got a way with Liam, and I do appreciate the help. But we want you to enjoy your childhood while you can. It won’t be long before you’re a young lady. So anytime you feel like swinging on the swings, you do it.”

She smiled, half embarrassed.

“I tell you what,” I said. “Why don’t I treat us to a hot chocolate at the Viennese pastry shop on Broadway?”

This suggestion met with no resistance and off we went. Bridie sipped delightedly at her hot chocolate, and Liam couldn’t wait for me to cool each spoonful for him. But I’m afraid my brain was racing again. Being in the Viennese coffee shop was stirring up unwanted thoughts: Mabel going to Switzerland. Mabel possibly still being in danger. Daniel worried that I was still in danger. I glanced out of the window. Was someone stalking me, watching me at this moment?

“Rubbish,” I said out loud, making Bridie look up. I grinned. “Just talking to myself,” I said. I had been all over the city. There had been plenty of chances to push me in front of a speeding automobile or to put cyanide in my coffee. And yet our murderer had promised to go out with a bang. What did that mean? When was he planning his finale?

Suddenly I felt I should be doing something. Daniel would be interviewing Terrence Daughtery and the butcher’s wife. But I wanted to know more about Edward Deveraux. I wanted to find out if he and his tutor had been close. I wanted to talk to Marcus Deveraux. I waited, attempting to hide my impatience, while Bridie savored the last drops of her chocolate. Then we walked back, in a way that seemed painfully slowly, with Bridie lingering to look in store windows, and then spending even more time stopping to pet dogs and smile at other children. I was tempted to suggest that Bridie could take Liam home by herself, but I remembered another occasion when a baby had been kidnapped from his pram. All too easy to do, and if someone wanted to get back at Daniel, what better way than to take his son? So I delivered them safely to the front door, told Mrs. Sullivan that I had a couple of errands to run, and disappeared before she could protest.

The Broadway trolley took me down to Wall Street, and I stopped a rather grand-looking businessman in a frock coat and topper to ask him where I might find Deveraux and Masters bank. It wasn’t as impressive looking as some of the buildings that I passed, but there was a doorkeeper in a dark green livery and he halted me at the entrance. “May I help you?” he asked.

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Deveraux himself,” I said. “It’s a rather urgent matter.”

I could see him sizing up the cut of my clothes, my still-Irish accent, and evaluating whether I might be a client or even worthy of admission. Grudgingly, he opened the door for me and let me step into a dark foyer, all mahogany and green marble. It smelled slightly musty and dusty, the way old libraries do. And there was no sign of clients, just several clerks, scribbling away at desks.

“Please wait here,” the doorman said, and he signaled to a balding man sitting at the closest desk. “This lady would like to speak with Mr. Deveraux,” he said in hushed tones.

The balding man raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment, ma’am?”

“No, but it is a matter of some urgency, concerning his brother,” I said.

This took him completely by surprise. “His brother? Did you not know that his brother is dead?”

“I am well aware of that. If I could just have a minute of Mr. Deveraux’s valuable time, I’ve come about a matter that needs to be settled.”

I could see him trying to work out what important matter concerning Edward Deveraux might concern me.

“Mr. Deveraux is extremely busy. However I’ll see if…” He started toward a flight of marble steps, sweeping rather grandly up to a gloomy landing. I waited, listening to the scratching of pens and the occasional cough. I decided I was prepared to barge up those steps myself if necessary, but he returned quite quickly. “Mr. Deveraux is prepared to see you for a moment. This way please.” And he went before me back up the steps, then tapped on a mahogany door and ushered me into a large, bright office. It faced away from the street, letting in sunlight and giving a glimpse of the East River. It had a thick pile carpet and the walls were lined with books—it was clearly designed to impress potential clients.

A large man in a well-tailored black suit was sitting at a polished desk. He looked up frowning as I came in, then a smile crossed his face. “I know you,” he said. “The lady from the train.”

I recognized him too now. “You were the one who saved my baby,” I said. “I’m eternally grateful, Mr. Deveraux.”

“I only did what any decent man would have done,” he said. “And if you’ve just come back to thank me, that really wasn’t necessary.”

I smiled, thinking how I might make use of this unforeseen connection.

“What a terrible business,” he went on. “I hope the young fellow was unharmed?”

“Luckily he came away without a scratch, thanks to you,” I said.

“As I did myself,” he said. “Luck of the devil, I call it.” And he smiled, making him look suddenly younger. I realized then that he must be under forty. Not much older than Daniel. “And you yourself?” he continued. “I hope that you were also unharmed?”

“I came away relatively unscathed,” I said. “Bruised ribs and a bump on the head. But compared to some poor people, I count myself blessed.”

“It was an unmitigated outrage,” he went on. “I take that train to work every morning and nothing has ever happened before. Someone should be held accountable—either the engineer or the signalman, and of course they are each blaming the other. But someone routed that train on the wrong track. We were just fortunate that the whole thing didn’t plunge down to destruction, weren’t we?”

I stood there, staring at him, because I had just realized something. “It wasn’t me,” I blurted out. “It was you.”

“I beg your pardon?” he looked confused.

“Mr. Deveraux,” I began tentatively. “It’s just possible that someone planned that train crash to kill you.”

“To kill me?” He laughed, a little nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“I believe my husband came to see you yesterday. Captain Sullivan?”

“He asked me about my brother. I told him Edward was dead. He seemed surprised.”

“There is no doubt that your brother died, I suppose?”

“None at all. I saw his body. Not a pretty sight. He’d thrown himself onto rocks, you know—face first. But it was Ed all right. No question about it. Besides, one of the medical staff was with him and witnessed the whole thing. He was horribly shaken by it and felt guilty that he hadn’t seen it coming. I must say I was rather of the same opinion. I pointed out that I paid them a considerable sum of money to keep my brother safe.” He toyed with the fountain pen on his desk, spinning it around on the polished surface, then he looked up suddenly. “So what exactly is this all about?”

“I don’t know how much more Captain Sullivan told you,” I went on, “but there have been several murders in the city this summer, all of them somehow linked to your brother and his trial.”

“But that’s absurd. Linked to my brother? How?”

“It appears that someone has wanted to punish those who helped put your brother into the asylum. All of those killed had a dear one who had testified at the trial, or in some way betrayed your brother. Someone might have felt he had been treated unjustly.”

“Treated unjustly?” His voice rose angrily. “The boy was a poor, twisted specimen. He’d never have made anything of himself. Always a liability to the family. The institution was the best possible place for him.” He paused, frowning. “Who could possibly want to avenge my brother?”

“I wondered if you might have any idea about that.”

“He had no friends. Other boys found him strange and repulsive, as I did.”

“What about his tutor? Were they ever close?”

This clearly surprised him. “I was away at school and then college, of course.” He paused, considering. “Close? Are you implying unnaturally close?” He was scowling now. “I remember the tutor—another weakling, wasn’t he? Strange feminine sort of individual. Liked poetry. I suppose it might have been possible that he and Ed … but passionate enough about him to want to kill people who had harmed Ed? That would imply insanity of the worst kind.”

“Possibly,” I said.

He tipped his chair back, eyeing me. I noticed then that he had not invited me to sit. “You said that the train wreck might have been orchestrated with the intention of killing me?”

“It’s possible. The murderer has been sending notes to my husband, gloating over the deaths. He seemed to take responsibility for the train crash.”

“But that’s absurd,” he said again. “Was he driving the train?”

“No, but somebody changed the disk on the front of the locomotive, indicating it was a Sixth Avenue train, not a Ninth. That could have been done at a station when no one was looking.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He shot me a half-apologetic look for using the word. “But that’s ridiculous. Who would plan the destruction of a whole train full of people in the hope of killing one man? It’s insane.”

“We have to assume this individual is not quite sane,” I said. “I wouldn’t have believed it except that he sent a note, boasting, before it happened, then another after it had apparently not succeeded to his liking.”

He was rubbing his chin now, clearly upset. “I just can’t believe what you’re saying. Surely anyone who wanted to kill me could wait around a dark corner and stab me. More certain than hoping a train crashes.”