Victoria Thompson: Murder On GramercyPark

“I can certainly see why you were worried,” Sarah agreed sympathetically. She couldn’t help wondering how sympathetic Letitia would be if she were to learn of her lover’s suspicions, however.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear it was Mr. Potter all along,” he was saying.

“I guess you forgot that Letitia was with you when Dr. Blackwell was killed, so she couldn’t have done it.”

“She was, of course, after their quarrel. But I couldn’t help thinking… Well, no matter. None of it matters now, does it?”

Sarah supposed it didn’t.

FRANK HAD BEEN looking forward to going to the Blackwell home to tell the widow her husband’s murder had been solved so he could be finished with this case. Of course, he’d get no reward now. Potter was hardly likely to make good on his original offer, and Symington had only wanted to reward him if he proved Dudley was the killer. On top of all that, he’d have to tell Symington and Letitia that Dudley wasn’t even dead. Not only would Symington be disappointed, they’d both be angry because he’d deceived them. Still, having the case over would be something to savor. He never wanted to see any of these people again.

Unfortunately, the case wasn’t over.

No matter how much Frank wanted it to be true, Amos Potter hadn’t killed Edmund Blackwell, and his confession had proved it. First there was the problem of how Potter got the gun in the first place. Hard as he tried, he couldn’t imagine anyone allowing another man, a man with whom he was supposedly quarreling, no less, to reach into the desk drawer at his very elbow to pull out a gun without trying to stop him. To make matters worse, Blackwell would hardly have just calmly kept on writing his letter while Potter raised the gun and pointed it to his head.

Potter had made no mention of trying to make the death look like a suicide afterward, either. He hadn’t known Blackwell was writing a letter when he was shot, and he hadn’t mentioned laying the pistol down beside him to make it appear Blackwell himself had used it. Most of all, he hadn’t mentioned replacing the pen Blackwell had been writing with in its stand.

Probably he hadn’t mentioned these things because he knew nothing about them, and he knew nothing about them because he wasn’t even there when Edmund Blackwell was killed.

Which left Frank with the task of explaining why a man would confess to a murder he hadn’t committed. And why he’d commit a murder to cover that one up if he wasn’t guilty of it in the first place, because he’d apparently killed Calvin Brown. But most importantly, Frank would have to figure out who had really killed Edmund Blackwell in the first place.

That probably wouldn’t be too difficult, though. Potter had only confessed to protect someone, and Frank knew there was only one person he’d die to protect: Letitia Blackwell.

Frank figured he shouldn’t be surprised to realize he’d once again underestimated a female. Sarah Brandt was always accusing him of doing just that. But even she had been fooled this time. As difficult as it was to imagine, Letitia Blackwell had blown her husband’s brains out and then calmly kept an assignation with her lover.

Now all he had to do was convince the chief of detectives, the police commission, and Maurice Symington that sweet Letitia Blackwell should be charged with murder.

SARAH WAS READY to commit murder herself by the time she heard Malloy’s familiar footstep in the hall. Dudley had been sleeping soundly for quite a while now, and she was tired and stiff and hungry and very annoyed with having to tuck and retuck her torn skirt back into its waistband.

She threw open the door before Malloy even had a chance to knock and said, “Thank heaven you’re here! You’ve got to find someone else to look after Dudley for a while so I can… What on earth is wrong?”

He blinked in confusion. “I thought you were going to tell me,” he said.

“No, I mean what’s wrong with you? You look like someone died.”

“It’s worse than that. Is Dudley awake?”

She glanced over. He hadn’t batted an eye at Malloy’s arrival. “He’s in the arms of Morpheus.”

“Who?” Malloy leaned around the doorway to look himself, probably expecting to see someone sharing the bed with Dudley.

“Morphine-induced slumber,” she explained. “Come in and tell me what’s happened. Didn’t Potter confess?”

“Oh, he confessed all right,” Malloy said as he came in and allowed her to close the door behind him. “The problem is, he isn’t guilty.”

“I know he’s the one who tried to kill Dudley,” she insisted. “I found the key, remember?”

“Well, he’s guilty of that, and he most likely killed Calvin, damn his soul, but he didn’t kill Blackwell.”

“Why would he have killed the others if he didn’t kill Blackwell? Did he try to deny it?”

“Oh, no, he confessed to that, too, but he’s not the killer.” He explained to her about Potter’s failure to explain Blackwell’s murder accurately.

“Maybe he just forgot he did those things,” she tried.

“Would you forget if you’d gone to the trouble to make someone’s death look like a suicide and the police didn’t believe it?”

She supposed he was right. “Then who…?” She glanced at Dudley suspiciously. “Do you think…?”

“I think Letitia Blackwell did it,” he said.

She was surprised, but only for a moment. Then everything fell into place. “Dudley just told me this morning that she was terrified Blackwell would find out she was using the morphine and make her quit again. You can’t imagine how terrible an ordeal it is to wean yourself off of an opiate.”

Malloy nodded. “That gives me a better motive, then. I was having a hard time trying to figure out why she would’ve been driven to blow her husband’s brains out just because he was a bigamist.”

“I don’t think she even knew that,” Sarah said. “But Dudley also said she and Blackwell had a terrible argument the day he was killed. Blackwell accused her of using morphine again, but he hadn’t been able to find any in the house. She was very careful about that, but she knew when the baby came, she wouldn’t be able to get out for weeks. She couldn’t go without the drug, so she’d have to keep a supply in the house. Blackwell was sure to find it.”

Malloy nodded. “She was desperate, and the only way to protect herself was to kill Blackwell.”

Sarah shook her head. “I still can’t imagine Letitia doing something so… so messy.”

“I guess you haven’t seen the things morphine users do when they can’t get their drugs. It turns them into animals. Besides, for who else would Potter confess to protect? He must know, or at least strongly suspect, that she was the killer. That’s why he killed Calvin, too, to protect her again.”

“And why he tried to kill Dudley, so Letitia wouldn’t marry a man he considered unworthy of her.”

“I think he just didn’t want her to marry any man who wasn’t him,” Malloy said. “He’d somehow convinced himself that she’d turn to him if Blackwell wasn’t around anymore.”

“Maybe he even intended to tell her he’d killed Calvin to protect her,” Sarah speculated. “He might have imagined she’d be so grateful to him that she’d fall into his arms. Of course, he didn’t know about Dudley’s prior claim.”

Malloy sighed wearily. He looked as if he’d gotten as little sleep last night as she had, and that was probably true. He’d been questioning Potter for most of it. “So I guess now I have to go see Letitia Blackwell.”

“What are you going to do?” Sarah asked in alarm. “You aren’t going to try to arrest her, are you?”