Victoria Thompson: Murder On GramercyPark

“I’m very uncomfortable,” Potter tried after a few minutes.

“It could be a lot worse. Just be glad you aren’t dying of arsenic poisoning,” she said sweetly.

After that, he didn’t say a word until Malloy finally clumped up the stairs nearly an hour later. He actually swore when he saw Potter lying trussed on the floor of the tiny room. Then he looked around before finally settling on Sarah again.

“Where’s Moran?”

“I sent him to find you.”

He seemed relieved. “So he was the one who did this,” he determined, indicating Potter lying on the floor.

“Oh, no,” Sarah assured him. “I figured out Mr. Potter was the killer, and I sent Officer Moran to find you. Then Mr. Potter came back to find his key and-”

“At least tell me Dudley helped you,” he begged.

“Mr. Dudley is hardly in any condition to exert himself,” she pointed out. “Besides, I didn’t need any help. Mr. Potter really doesn’t have much imagination as an adversary, although he did tear my skirt,” she added, remembering.

Malloy looked like he might tear something of Potter’s. “He laid hands on you?” he demanded, outraged.

“He was trying to get this away from me,” she said, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing the key she had found under Dudley’s bed. “I found it when I was cleaning up. He must have lost it in the struggle with Dudley.”

Malloy’s face lit with understanding. “That’s what was bothering me about him this evening. He kept fiddling with his watch chain, but the key was gone. He must have noticed it then.” He turned back to Potter. “Is that what happened?”

Potter simply stared back, refusing to answer. Malloy had no patience for stubborn felons. He gave Potter’s kneecap a gentle kick.

Potter howled in pain again.

“Is that what happened?” Malloy asked again. “You realized you’d lost the watch fob here and came back to get it? You must’ve figured the room would be empty by now. We wouldn’t leave a dead body lying around very long, would we? How about a civil answer, Potter?” he added, preparing to issue another stroke of persuasion.

“Yes, yes,” Potter said quickly, before Malloy could administer any more blows. “I noticed it was missing. I knew if you’d found it, you would have arrested me when you came to my flat tonight. All I had to do was come back here and retrieve it, and you’d never connect me with Dudley’s death.”

“Except Dudley isn’t dead,” Malloy pointed out. “And you attacked Mrs. Brandt and tore her dress. I don’t have much respect for a man who’d do something like that.”

“I didn’t hurt her!” he exclaimed frantically. “I only tried to get the key from her. She was the one who attacked me!”

Malloy considered Potter’s current condition for a long moment before turning back to Sarah. “You have to tell me how you did this.”

She shrugged, it had been nothing at all. “A broom handle to the solar plexus.”

“The what?”

“Solar plexus. Right here.” She pointed. “One blow and the person is incapacitated for a short period of time.”

Plainly, this came as no surprise to him except for one thing. “How would you know something like that?”

Sarah gave him a smug smile. “There are things I know about the human body that would astound you, Malloy.”

“No doubt,” he said, thumbing back his bowler hat in amazement. “Even still, you’re lucky he didn’t hurt you, and Dudley, too, for that matter. What were you thinking, sending Moran off like that?” He sounded exasperated, but not really mad.

“I never thought about Potter coming back here. Why should he, if he thought Dudley was dead? In any case, no harm done.” She smiled again.

He didn’t smile back. Plainly, he thought a lot of harm had been done, or at least could have been. “What about Dudley? How’s he doing?”

“He’s sleeping. Morphine,” she added as an explanation.

“Good for him.” He turned back to Potter, who had been listening avidly, probably hoping Malloy had forgotten about him. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me about killing young Calvin, now would you?”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” he insisted.

Malloy glanced at Sarah, trying to determine how far he could go without incurring her displeasure or arousing her distaste. Probably not far enough, he judged, and turned back to Potter. “You know, I really liked that boy. He had a lot of guts coming to New York to find his old man. If you’d just stuck with Blackwell and Dudley, I wouldn’t feel quite so strongly about this case, but the boy’s death really bothers me. Lucky for you, Mrs. Brandt is here, so I can’t ask the kind of questions I’d like to. But don’t worry, I’ll call for a wagon and take you down to the station, where we can talk in private about everything.”

Malloy’s mild tone didn’t fool Potter. The mention of the station house made his eyes widen. Sarah knew she should disapprove of Malloy’s methods, but she had also been fond of Calvin Brown. His killer deserved whatever Malloy saw fit to give him.

“Will you be all right here while I go find a call box?” Malloy asked her.

She gave him a pitying look, not bothering to remind him she’d been perfectly fine without him up until now.

He went out, muttering to himself.

As FRANK HAD EXPECTED, BY THE TIME HE GOT Amos Potter into the bowels of the Police Headquarters building, he was white with terror. The noises and the smells were horrible enough, but seeing the derelicts and bums being dragged in, bloody and broken from their earlier encounters with police on this busy Saturday night could turn a strong man’s stomach. Amos Potter was not a strong man.

Frank had hauled him into one of the basement interrogation rooms, shoved him into one of the chairs, and closed the door behind them with a decisive slam. Potter sat there fairly trembling, his eyes stretched wide.

“Don’t hurt me,” he pleaded. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Do you still deny that you stabbed Peter Dudley?” he began pleasantly. “Bearing in mind that Mrs. Brandt found your watch fob under his bed and that Dudley will most likely identify you when he comes to.”

“I… Yes, I must admit that, I suppose. I mean, I did, of course,” he clarified at Frank’s frown of disapproval.

“And exactly why did you think it was necessary to dispose of Mr. Dudley?” Frank asked.

Potter took a moment to consider his response. “A lady’s reputation is at stake here, and-”

“I already know that Dudley is the father of Letitia Blackwell’s baby, so you can forget protecting her,” Frank informed him.

Potter’s neck reddened, but he managed to maintain what little was left of his dignity. “I believe that he was trying to convince Mrs. Blackwell to marry him.”

“A bit late, by my reckoning, but so what if she did?”

Potter seemed shocked. “Don’t you understand? It would be scandal enough if she remarried anyone so quickly after Edmund’s death, but as soon as people saw him and… and the child…”

“I understand the baby bears a striking resemblance to his father,” Frank said.

Potter sighed. “Even if the red hair were merely a coincidence, it would be remarkable. People would assume the worst, regardless of the truth.”

“And in this case, the truth is the worst,” Frank reminded him.

Potter looked as if he’d like to defend Letitia’s honor, but he refrained. “Letitia would be a laughingstock, her reputation ruined. She would be shunned in polite society.”

Frank could think of worse fates, like being stabbed to death, but he said, “So you felt it was your obligation to murder Dudley and protect her from this fate worse than death.”