Victoria Thompson: Murder On Fifth Avenue

Irritation registered on Decker’s face, but no trace of it was evident in his voice. “Hartley, show Mr. Malloy where the telephone is.”

DOC HAYNES BROUGHT TWO ASSISTANTS WITH HIM, TOO. As soon as they moved the body to the stretcher, Frank saw the bloodstain on the chair back.

“He didn’t bleed much,” Frank observed.

“Let’s take a look,” Doc Haynes said.

He had the two orderlies roll Devries over and lift his suit coat. The undertaker had obviously already made a similar examination. Devries’s shirttail was still out in the back. They pushed up the suit coat, vest, shirt, and undershirt, all of which bore evidence of the blood that had stained the chair. The stain on the undershirt was the largest. They grew progressively smaller until the one on the chair was only the size of a coin.

Haynes traced the tiny wound with his finger. If they hadn’t been looking for it, Frank would’ve missed it entirely. “A wound like this wouldn’t bleed much, and his clothes absorbed most of it, as you can see.”

“Could a wound that small have killed him?”

“Depends on what caused it. How long the weapon was, I mean. A stiletto makes a hole like this. So does an ice pick.”

“Or a hat pin.”

“You have a lot of experience getting stabbed with hat pins?” Haynes asked with amusement.

“If you mean for getting fresh with women on streetcars, no,” Frank said with a grin. “But I had a case once where a fellow got killed by one.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember it now. So you understand, it’s possible. Just depends how far the weapon went in and what it hit. Right here, now…” Haynes pointed to the spot in the middle of the right side of Devries’s back where the dried blood was starting to flake. “There’s probably a kidney an inch or two behind this hole. A knife or other sharp object stuck into a kidney, well, it would be just a matter of time until he bled to death internally unless he got help. Even if he did get help, probably. I doubt a surgeon would cut him open for something that small, at least not right away.”

“And later would be too late.”

“Yeah, by the time he started feeling sick, he’d probably be back at home. Or at his club.”

Frank didn’t return his grin. “Don’t forget to test the brandy, just to be sure.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get him packed up and be on our way. I’ll send you word when I’m finished with the autopsy.”

Frank left Haynes and his helpers to their work and went in search of Decker. He found him in what was apparently the main room of the club, a large open area furnished with groupings of chairs and sofas. Decker was the only one there.

“Where is everybody?”

Decker rose as Frank approached. “I sent them home when we realized there was a question about Devries’s death.”

Frank resisted the urge to swear at Felix Decker. “I’ll need to know who was here, in case they know anything,” he replied, pleased to note that the fury roiling inside of him wasn’t evident in his voice.

“Hartley will make a list for you, but I already told you, he wasn’t attacked by anyone here at the club.”

“You’re probably right, but Devries might’ve said something about being attacked earlier today.”

“I didn’t think of that, but I suppose he might have. I’ll have Hartley ask all the members who were present if they spoke with Devries. Would that be satisfactory?”

Frank supposed it would have to be. “I need to go see his family. Has anybody notified them yet?”

Decker’s composure slipped a bit. “No, I…I was waiting until I had something more to tell them besides that he was…deceased.”

“Are you going to tell them yourself?”

“I feel it’s my duty, yes.”

“Then I’ll go with you. I need to see their reaction.”

“You can’t think anyone in his family is responsible!”

Frank gripped the back of the chair, glanced at the mantel clock, then back at his host. “First you tell me his friends couldn’t have done it. Now you tell me his family couldn’t have done it. Do you think some stranger just came up to him on the street and stuck a knife in his back for no reason?”

Color flooded Decker’s face as he obviously fought for composure as well. Frank knew he wasn’t used to being challenged by the help. “That would, of course, be my preference, but I suppose it’s too much to ask. I’ll have Hartley summon a cab for us.”

THEY COULD HAVE WALKED TO DEVRIES’S HOUSE MUCH more quickly than the cab carried them through the clogged streets, but Frank supposed men like Felix Decker didn’t walk in the city. Frank could think of no appropriate small talk to break the tense silence, and apparently, Decker couldn’t either.

Devries had lived only a few blocks from the Deckers’ residence on the Upper West Side, a place Frank had visited only once and not at Felix Decker’s invitation. The houses on these streets had been built to impress but not intimidate, the way the mansions on Fifth Avenue had. He’d been in enough of them to know what to expect, and he wasn’t surprised by anything he saw here.

A maid answered the door and her face lit with recognition. “Mr. Decker, I’m sorry, but Mr. Devries is not at home.”

“I know he’s not. Is Mrs. Devries here? I need to speak with her immediately.”

“Oh, dear, yes, of course. Please come in and I’ll see if Mrs. Devries can receive you.”

Frank watched alarm alter her features as she sensed the urgency and tried to decide how best to treat these unexpected visitors. She probably feared offending Decker if she showed them to the inevitably small, uncomfortable room near the front door where such guests usually waited while it was determined if they were welcome or not.

“We can wait in the front parlor,” Decker said, as if sensing her dilemma.

“Yes, sir,” she said with obvious relief, and led them upstairs into an oppressively overstuffed room obviously reserved for formal company. No fire had been lit, but Frank decided, despite the abundance of knickknacks cluttering every tabletop, velvets, and doilies, it would have been cold in any case. Nothing about it was comfortable.

“Sir, should I…?”

“Yes?”

“I mean, do you want to see just Mrs. Devries, or should I ask Mr. Paul to join you?”

“Please ask Paul to join us, too, if he’s at home.”

When the maid had closed the door behind herself, Decker turned to Frank. “I suppose I should have asked your permission to include Paul. That’s Devries’s son.”

Frank ignored the sarcasm. “If the wife is going to get hysterical, having the son here is a good idea.”

Decker made a rude noise, but Frank didn’t know what in particular had annoyed him, so he pretended not to notice his displeasure. Instead he glanced around at the enormous furniture upholstered in dark blue plush overwhelming the space. A large painting of a sour-looking gentleman hung above the fireplace in a hideous gilt frame, and dark landscapes depicting fox hunts adorned the others. Heavy drapes hung at the windows, trailing onto the floor and tied back with gold cords. No ray of sunlight had managed to enter the room.

Mrs. Devries didn’t keep them waiting long. He figured he had Decker to thank for that.

The wisp of a woman, dressed in a gown more suited to someone half her age, paused in the doorway and struck a pose, her finger to her chin as she gazed first at Decker and then at him. She wasn’t exactly what he was expecting. Her fair hair had been elaborately arranged but appeared stiff as straw. Like her face, it seemed a bit the worse for wear. After a moment, she tipped her head quizzically to one side and offered the hand not clutching a lacy handkerchief to Decker.