Victoria Thompson: Murder On Fifth Avenue

Decker pressed his lips together, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “Mr. Robinson, the undertaker, suggested as much. He said he has seen similar things before in his line of work. Most of the bleeding occurs inside the body, apparently.”

Frank supposed such a thing could happen. He’d seen someone die from being stabbed with a hat pin, of all things. “Did Robinson refuse to take the body?”

“Oh, no, not at all. I gather he was perfectly willing to be discreet, but he felt the club should know, in case we wanted to deal with the matter ourselves.”

So they were back to dealing again. This, Frank assumed, was to be his part in it. “What did you decide?”

Now Decker looked positively gray around the gills. Plainly, he wasn’t used to discussing such unpleasantries, at least not within the walls of his beloved Knickerbocker. “We called together all the board members who happened to be on the premises this afternoon. I’m sure you understand we want the club’s reputation protected at all costs.”

“Then tell the undertaker to pack up the body.”

“Please do not judge us so harshly.” He was angry now, and Frank didn’t blame him. “If Devries did indeed die by the hand of another, we would also like to see justice done.”

Frank leaned back on the surprisingly uncomfortable sofa and studied Decker for a long moment. He didn’t like this one bit, probably because he didn’t believe Decker’s protests about wanting justice. “Are you saying you want me to find out who killed this Devries character?”

“Find out, yes. That’s exactly what we want you to do.”

“And then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Usually, when I solve a murder, I arrest the killer, and he goes to trial, and then, if he’s found guilty, he goes to prison or gets executed.” Of course, it wasn’t always so neat, but he didn’t need to mention that to Decker. “Is that what you want?”

“It all depends.”

Ah, now we’re getting down to it. “On what?”

“On who is responsible for Devries’s death. You must realize this is why I summoned you, out of all the detectives in New York, Mr. Malloy, because I know you can be trusted.”

Frank didn’t know how trustworthy he was, but he knew Decker rarely called him mister . He must be feeling desperate.

“What you mean is I know how to keep a secret.”

“I would have said you know how to be discreet.”

He was right about that. Frank nodded.

“You will make your report to me, when you have all the facts, and then I will take the matter to our board to decide.”

Now this was something Frank could understand. The rich looked out for each other. He assumed it was much like the police department, where you watched out for your own and stood up for them when they were in trouble. Frank couldn’t imagine why rich people would need that kind of help, but he knew it was available to them.

“Just so I’m clear, what happens if I find out one of your club members is the killer?”

“Then you would not need to take any action at all. We would take care of the matter among ourselves.”

Frank doubted the club had an electric chair on the premises to take care of murderous members or even a cell or two for confining the drunk and disorderly ones. “You’d let a killer go free?”

“Malloy, you know as well as I do your chief would never allow you to arrest any member of this club, no matter what he had done. If you did, he would be freed with an apology from the mayor within hours, and you would lose your job.”

Frank did know this. He’d just wanted to find out what Decker had in mind. “Then why call me in at all?”

“If Devries’s killer is someone you can bring to justice, you may do so with our blessing. If the killer is someone whom the law cannot touch, then we will take care of the matter ourselves. That is all you need to know. Now, are you willing to assist us?”

Did he really have a choice? Decker and his kind were more than capable of taking care of him if he refused. “Devries’s family and the other members of your club aren’t going to want an Irish cop nosing around in their business.” That was the real problem with calling Frank in on this, and Decker should’ve known it.

“They will when I introduce you, and if anyone fails to cooperate with your investigation, you are to notify me immediately.”

Frank wanted to refuse. He wanted to have a good reason to refuse, but investigating crimes was his job, and pleasing men like Felix Decker was the job of everyone in the city, if they knew what was good for them.

Besides, what would he say to Sarah Brandt if he refused to help her father?

Frank managed not to sigh in defeat. “Is the body still here?”

THE KNICKERBOCKER LIBRARY HELD FEW ACTUAL BOOKS, just those on the set of shelves along one wall, and they looked as if they had never been opened. Newspapers lay stacked on just about every other available surface, however. A quick glance told Frank they seemed to have a copy of every rag and scandal sheet in the city, in addition to the World , the Herald , and the Times . Since most of the papers published two editions a day, simply purchasing all of them must be a full-time job for someone.

The fellow who had answered the door had let them into the library. “I made sure no one else came in after Mr. Robinson left,” he told Decker.

“Good, good.” Decker turned to Frank. “Hartley here is the one who realized Mr. Devries was dead.”

Mr. Devries still sat propped in a wingback chair beside the fireplace, where the undertaker must have left him. The fire had burned down, but the room was still warm. Clearly the Knickerbocker Club had central heating.

In life, Devries had been a substantial man, not fat but large boned. Of medium height, he wore a suit that had been tailor-made to fit his frame to best advantage. His dark hair showed only a touch of gray and had been tamed this morning with a liberal dose of hair tonic. His well-tended hands lay slightly clenched in his lap, as if silently resisting a final spasm of pain. He sat slumped to one side. His eyes were closed, and his mouth open.

“Is that how you found him?”

Hartley shook his head. “Not exactly. Mr. Robinson had brought a stretcher, and his two helpers were moving Mr. Devries from the chair when they noticed the bloodstain on the chair back. Mr. Robinson quickly realized it had come from Mr. Devries, so he told his assistants to put Mr. Devries back as they’d found him, and he asked me to summon someone in authority. Mr. Decker was the highest-ranking club officer present, so I informed him of Mr. Robinson’s request.”

Frank looked closely at the dead man to see if anything seemed out of place. “Do you remember exactly how he was sitting when you found him?”

“Much like this, except perhaps a bit straighter in the chair. His head was resting against the wing of the chair, and his eyes were closed, as if he had dozed off.”

Frank glanced around. “Mr. Decker said someone brought him brandy.”

“I did, but he only took a sip or two. I removed the snifter when Mr. Robinson arrived.”

“I’ll need to see the glass and the bottle you poured it from.”

“The glass had been washed.”

Frank bit back his irritation. “The bottle, then.” He didn’t think the man had been poisoned, but he wanted to be thorough. He turned to Decker. “I’ll need to call the medical examiner to take the body. They’ll have to do an autopsy to be sure what killed him.”

“Is that really necessary?” Decker asked with obvious distaste.

“Unless you want me harassing a bunch of rich people when the man really did die of a heart attack.”