Victoria Thompson - Murder On Astor Place

Or perhaps Mr. Mattingly had done VanDamm some favor or performed him some service for which Alicia was to be the reward. While this would give the matter a more cold-blooded, businesslike flavor, few would have condemned this motivation, either. Men had been paying debts and sealing bargains with their daughters for centuries. Just because the VanDamm house had electric lights and a telephone didn’t mean they had accepted every trapping of progress.

Sarah wondered what sort of debt would require the mythical virgin sacrifice, but then, Alicia hadn’t been a virgin. As Sarah stood on the platform watching the next train rumbling along the elevated track toward the station, she considered the possibility that perhaps Cornelius VanDamm wasn’t the debtor at all. Perhaps Mattingly had been the one who owed VanDamm a favor. And perhaps he had been prevailed upon to settle it by taking Alicia as his wife. Already pregnant, she would be soiled goods to be sure, and providing a name and respectability for her child would be enough to provide payment in full for just about any kind of debt. Still, her youth and beauty would provide more than ample compensation to Mattingly for having claimed her child as his own. And even if people doubted he had fathered that child, no one would ever admit it to his face.

The train stopped, and the passengers filed out. The cars weren’t terribly crowded at this time of day, so Sarah was able to find a seat in the first car she entered. There were still empty seats a few moments later when the train started again, and Sarah was glad she had gotten away from her mother when she did. In another hour, the platforms would be packed with workers returning to their homes in other parts of the city, and the conductors wouldn’t allow the trains to leave the station until they were so jammed that not another human body could be squeezed on board. The accidental contact one made with strangers under such circumstances was disconcerting enough, but far too many men took advantage of the situation to initiate more than accidental and far from proper contact. Sarah had made retaliatory use of her hat pin on more than one occasion under such circumstances, and she was grateful for the opportunity on this trip to simply sit and ponder the facts she had learned today.

She would have to contact Malloy again, although she should probably wait a day or two. Although he’d been fairly civil when he left her flat the other night, she didn’t want to try his patience too much. When she considered how well their last meeting had gone, she thought perhaps she should have tried feeding him much sooner. With a small smile, she even considered the advisability of carrying something edible with her at all times, just in case she encountered him. Barring that, she should at least have something substantive to tell him before tracking him down again. The news about a rumored marriage between Alicia and Mattingly hardly qualified unless she could verify it.

Or unless she could think of a reason why it might have caused Alicia’s death. That, she realized as she watched buildings and apartments speed by the train’s window close enough for her to reach out and touch if she’d wished to risk losing an arm, might take a little more thought.

FRANK KNEW SOMETHING was wrong the minute he stepped into the room. The detectives all had desks in one large room in Police Headquarters, and this afternoon, everyone who happened to be here was nonchalantly ignoring Frank. Too nonchalantly. They were merely pretending not to notice him and really watching him like hawks and waiting expectantly for something. Frank could feel it in the air like a vapor. What they could be waiting for, Frank couldn’t imagine until he reached his own desk and saw the envelope. The ivory vellum envelope addressed to him in a decidedly feminine hand.

Damn, no wonder they were watching him.

“Is it a love letter, Frank?” a falsetto voice inquired from across the room. Frank didn’t even glance up.

“O’Shaughnessy said she’s a real peach. A blonde,” someone else reported.

“A blonde !” The phrase echoed through the room as the rest of them repeated it incredulously.

“She’s an informant,” Frank said to the room at large, but of course they didn’t want to believe something so innocent.

“I never had a stool pigeon send me a love letter,” Harry Kelly said.

“You never had anybody send you a love letter,” Bill Broghan hooted.

“And you couldn’t read it even if they did,” Frank said, still staring at the envelope. He didn’t have to turn it over to see who it was from, and he certainly hadn’t needed to hear her description. Only one person in the world would be sending him a note like this. He was very much afraid he was going to have to strangle Sarah Brandt. His only regret would be that he would never make Captain.

But it might be worth it.

“Ain’t you gonna read it, Frank?” someone coaxed.

“Read it out loud,” Bill suggested. “Don’t be stingy.”

“I can’t read it out loud,” Frank said. “It would take me too long to explain all the big words to you.”

“Or all the dirty words,” Harry said slyly.

Frank gave him a look. “I thought you already knew all the dirty words.”

“He’s got you there, Harry,” Bill hooted.

“I thought you swore off women, Frank,” Harry said. “Where’d this blonde bit of fluff come from?”

“I told you, she’s an informant.” She’s also a pain in the backside, he added silently, fingering the envelope. The paper was quality, just like Sarah Brandt. Just like Alicia VanDamm. What the hell was he doing involved with any of them? He knew how to handle crooks and killers and con men. He didn’t know how to handle ladies, dead or alive. And he had no intention of handling Sarah Brandt at all.

With a resigned sigh, he picked up the envelope and broke the seal. He could feel the eyes of all the other detectives watching him intently, waiting for some reaction. Frank was going to do his best to disappoint them.

“Dear Mr. Malloy,” her note began. He should read them that part, if they were expecting a love letter. “I have learned some very interesting information about Sylvester Mattingly’s relationship with Alicia. It seems that rumors were circulating among the VanDamms’s acquaintances that Mr. VanDamm was arranging a marriage between Alicia and Mattingly. I have a theory that might explain Alicia’s circumstances which I would rather not put in writing. If you will call upon me at your earliest convenience, I will be happy to explain it to you.” It was signed, “In haste, Sarah Brandt.”

“That son of a bitch,” Frank muttered, recalling in great detail his conversation with Sylvester Mattingly. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to cooperate with Frank’s investigation. He was the one Alicia had been running away from all along! And when he thought about Mattingly so much as touching that poor girl…

“Bad news, Frank?” Bill asked with phony concern.

“She throwing you over for another fellow?” Harry smirked.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Frank agreed, wishing he would be that lucky. Unfortunately, he was afraid Sarah Brandt’s intense interest in him would continue as long as he was investigating Alicia VanDamm’s murder. And as for Mrs. Brandt and her theories, he would have bet a year’s salary that she’d have one, and an equal amount that it wouldn’t do him any good. So far, this case had been one blind alley after another, all thanks to Sarah Brandt and her useless information.

He was still debating the advisability of meeting with Mrs. Brandt again-could he be civil to her if he did? And would it be a complete waste of his time?-when one of the officers from downstairs came into the room. Frank hardly noticed until he realized the man was coming right up to him.