Victoria Thompson - Murder on Washington Square

Sarah frowned. “You’re going to give him the third degree, aren’t you?”

Malloy’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “I do what I have to do, Mrs. Brandt, but only what I have to do.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“I know what you meant. Beating people doesn’t give me any pleasure.”

“I didn’t think it did,” Sarah tried, sorry she had offended him. She was never sure exactly what would do it, either, which made it difficult for her to avoid.

“Besides,” he said with what might have been a small grin, “it’s hard work. Fortunately, Harold Giddings doesn’t look like he’ll need much convincing to tell everything he knows.”

“For his sake, I hope he doesn’t.”

Malloy drained his cup and set it back on the table decisively. “Now we’ve got to go next door and tell Nelson about the missing money.”

A sick feeling of dread settled into her stomach. “Can’t it wait until morning?” she tried.

“I want to go to the bank first thing in the morning and catch this Mr. Dennis before he has a chance to change his mind about pressing charges against Nelson.”

“What are you going to say to him?”

Malloy gave her a disapproving look. “Stop trying to change the subject, Mrs. Brandt. Get your jacket. We’re going next door.”

Frank stuck his hands in his pockets, grumbling about the cold, as he made his way through the brisk morning air to the bank where Nelson Ellsworth had worked. Summer was well and truly over.

He supposed he should have humored Sarah Brandt last night and delayed their visit to the Ellsworths. Neither of them had taken the news of the missing money well, and Frank would have been happy to have waited until morning to witness that scene.

Nelson had been stunned, just the way you’d expect an innocent man to act. Then he’d started ranting about procedures at the bank not being followed when he wasn’t there to watch over things. Frank hadn’t understood half of it, but he had no trouble at all understanding that Nelson hadn’t been involved in the missing money. He was too outraged to be guilty.

Mrs. Ellsworth had been horrified and terribly frightened by the news. While she hadn’t for a moment believed her son had taken anything from the bank, she also knew how bad things would look for him. He would make an easy scapegoat, and he had no way to defend himself. A man under suspicion of murder would have difficulty claiming the high moral ground when it came to mere embezzlement.

Frank was glad he’d insisted Sarah Brandt go along with him. He’d been thinking more of her needing to do some penance for her interference, but when Mrs. Ellsworth started weeping, he’d been pathetically grateful to have her step in to offer comfort. Nothing unnerved him more than a woman’s tears.

One good thing had come out of the debacle, however. He would now have no trouble at all keeping Sarah Brandt out of the investigation. She’d learned her lesson. From now on she’d be content to look after Webster Prescott and trying to save his miserable life while Frank closed out the case and cleared Nelson’s name.

This trip to the bank was just one more aspect of the quest. He only hoped it wouldn’t take too much time. He still had to track down Harold Giddings, and he also had to at least pretend he was working on his own cases now and then.

The bank was like so many others in the city. Gleaming pillars supported the granite facade outside. Inside, the gilded ceiling rose up like a cathedral over marble counters topped by teller cages, mediocre statuary, and more pillars. People moved quietly, speaking in hushed tones, as if this were really a house of worship. Maybe it was, Frank, reflected, considering how some people felt about money.

The guard approached Frank almost the instant he entered. “May I help you?” he asked in a voice that was less than friendly. Apparently, he didn’t think Frank met the standards of their usual clientele. Or else he recognized him as a policeman and wanted to get him out as quickly as possible.

“I want to see Mr. Dennis,” he informed the guard. “I’m from the police.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. He was taking his job very seriously. “Is this about Ellsworth?” he asked in a whisper.

Frank gave him a glare that told him he had no intention of discussing his business with anyone less than the boss. The guard’s attitude changed instantly.

“I’ll… Wait here just a minute,” he advised and hurried off to whisper something urgent to one of the men sitting behind desks at the rear of the lobby.

This fellow came forward, and a few more minutes of negotiation were required to convince him he’d be well advised to announce Frank to Mr. Dennis without further delay if he wanted to avoid trouble. In a few short moments, he was ushered into a lavish office and presented to Richard Dennis.

Dennis was exactly what Frank had imagined. A man in his prime, Dennis wore his tailored clothes with ease and confidence. Generations of wealth and privilege had produced in him the polish those with newly earned fortunes tried in vain to emulate. Just as it had in Sarah Brandt. Dennis was, in short, everything Frank could never hope to be: the perfect match for her. He didn’t bother to analyze the emotions this knowledge stirred in him. He didn’t even have a right to experience them.

Dennis’s expression told Frank he didn’t appreciate being interrupted but that he would tolerate it because he chose to. For his part, Frank would do well to show his respect and appreciation for the favor. All this communication, and Dennis had yet to utter a word.

Frank broke the silence between them as soon as the door was closed behind him. “I need to talk to you about Nelson Ellsworth.”

Dennis sighed with long-suffering. “As I explained to the other detective who called, the bank isn’t responsible for Mr. Ellsworth’s conduct outside of the bank, and we have no knowledge of his acquaintance with this murdered woman. We have forbidden him to return to work until the matter is settled. I’m not sure what else you can expect me to contribute.”

He hadn’t asked Frank to sit down, but he did anyway, settling into one of the comfortable chairs in front of Dennis’s desk. Dennis favored him with a disapproving frown, which Frank ignored. “I expect you to tell me why you haven’t filed charges of embezzlement against Ellsworth,” he said.

Dennis’s haughty manner faltered a bit, but he regained his composure quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. Ellsworth learned last night that he is under suspicion of having embezzled ten thousand dollars from the bank. He claims that he’s innocent, and he believes he is only being accused of this crime because the dead woman was attempting to blackmail him.”

“No one has accused him of anything,” Dennis hastily assured Frank. “Where on earth did he…? Oh, Sarah,” he said, answering his own question.

The casual use of her given name sent a surge of anger through Frank, but he said, “Who’s Sarah?” with credible calmness.

Dennis was nothing if not a gentleman. “She’s a lady of my acquaintance,” he said, belatedly discreet. “She also happens to be a friend of Ellsworth’s. I suppose I should have asked her not to inform Ellsworth until… Well, it doesn’t matter. I have no intention of exposing the bank’s private business to public scrutiny, which means I have nothing further to say to you. So if you’ll excuse me…” He began shuffling some papers on his desk, silently dismissing Frank.

But Frank wasn’t ready to be dismissed. “Let me understand this, Mr. Dennis,” he said, managing to sound somewhat respectful. “You told this lady that Ellsworth stole ten thousand dollars from the bank, but you aren’t going to take any legal action against him? How are you going to explain the missing money if you don’t?”