Victoria Thompson - Murder On Waverly Place

“Somebody stuck a knife into Mrs. Gittings’s back,” Frank reminded him. “If it wasn’t one of the other five people in that room, who was it?”

“I… I’m sure I don’t know,” he sputtered. Plainly, he hadn’t thought of it in those terms.

“I don’t know either,” Frank said, keeping his voice respectful so the man would have no reason to take offense. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the notebook and pencil. “What is your name, sir?”

He didn’t like this one bit, but he said, “Sharpe. John Sharpe.” He gave his address with equal reluctance, indicating that he, too, lived on the affluent Upper West Side.

Frank wanted to know what a man like Sharpe was doing at a séance in Greenwich Village, but he refrained from asking. There would be time for that later. “I’d like to know what you remember about what happened in there.” Frank nodded in the direction of the room where the dead woman lay.

“We were sitting around the table,” he said as if the words were being pulled from him like so many aching teeth. He must have been embarrassed to be caught in such a situation, and he hated having someone like Frank know about it. Like most people of his social class, he’d consider the police little better than the criminals they arrested.

“I know that part. You were holding each other’s wrists, trying to talk to the spirits, and there was a lot of noise and confusion. What did you hear?”

“Yellow Feather, that’s Madame’s spirit guide, he was shouting. A lot of spirits were trying to get his attention, and he couldn’t make sense out of what they were saying.”

“What else did you hear?”

He tried to remember. “Noises, very strange noises, like music but more like an orchestra warming up than a real melody.”

Frank nodded encouragingly. “Who were you holding hands with?”

“We don’t hold hands,” Sharpe reminded him stiffly. “We clasp each other’s wrists .”

“All right, whose wrists were you clasping?” Frank asked, managing not to sound annoyed.

“I was clasping Mrs… Mrs. Brandt’s wrist with my left hand, and Mrs. Gittings was holding my right one.”

Sharpe had won some points with Frank for trying to protect Mrs. Decker’s identity.

“When did you notice something was wrong with Mrs. Gittings?”

He gave this a moment of thought. “I wasn’t really paying close attention to her. I was listening to Yellow Feather and trying to make some sense out of what the spirits were saying.”

“Did you hear her say anything or make any kind of sound?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question. If someone stabbed her, surely she cried out, but I have no recollection of it. I didn’t notice anything at all until she let go of my wrist.”

“How soon was this before Mrs. Burke screamed?”

“A few seconds, no more. I probably didn’t really notice until Mrs. Burke screamed, I was so intent on… on Yellow Feather.”

Frank managed not to smirk. He wouldn’t get very much further with Sharpe if he let his true feelings about the séance show. “What did you do when she screamed?”

“I… Nothing at first. I didn’t know what had happened, but then Mrs. Burke started yelling that Mrs. Gittings had fainted. Someone opened the door and started calling for the Professor to bring smelling salts. Madame was the one calling, so she must have opened the door. I could see because of the light from the hallway that Mrs. Gittings was on the floor.”

“At what point did you let go of Mrs. Decker’s wrist?” Frank asked, forgetting to use the wrong name.

Sharpe didn’t notice. “I’m not sure.”

“Were you still sitting down when the door opened?”

“Oh, yes. No sense getting up and stumbling around in the dark, is there?”

Frank supposed there wasn’t. “Had you let go of Mrs. Decker’s wrist by then?”

He shook his head. “Probably, but I can’t be sure. What does it matter? You don’t think she stabbed Mrs. Gittings, do you?”

Frank didn’t bother to answer him. “When you saw Mrs. Gittings on the floor, what did you do?”

“I… I knelt down beside her.”

“Why?”

He seemed surprised at the question. “To see if I could help. I didn’t touch her. One doesn’t lay hands on a woman in a situation like that, of course, especially a woman who’s practically a stranger.”

“You didn’t know her well?”

“No. I met her at my first séance.”

“Was she always here when you attended a séance?”

“Yes, she was.”

“Do you know who she was trying to contact in the spirit world?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” he snapped.

Frank supposed Mr. Sharpe didn’t share Mrs. Decker’s view that a spirit had murdered Mrs. Gittings. “I’m just trying to find out more about her,” Frank explained mildly, although he was actually trying to find out how well Sharpe knew the victim. “When did you realize she’d been stabbed?”

“I… Not until someone, Cunningham, I think, said something. ‘Look at her back,’ or something like that. That’s when I saw the handle of the knife and the… the blood.”

“Did you try to help her when you saw she’d been stabbed?”

“What could I do? I’m not a doctor,” he protested. “Besides, she… she wasn’t moving, and her eyes were open, staring.” He looked away, and Frank noticed his finely manicured hands were knotted into fists. Not a man accustomed to sudden death.

“Whose idea was it to leave the room?”

“Mine, I’m sure,” he said, although Frank thought he might be making the claim to make himself look better. “Mrs. Burke was already hysterical. We had to get the ladies out of there.”

“Did the Professor bring the smelling salts?”

“What?”

“You said Madame called for him to bring the salts. Did he bring them?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Did you see him at all?”

“I… Yes, he was in the doorway when we started out of the room. Someone told him Mrs. Gittings had been stabbed.”

“What was his reaction?”

“His reaction? What do you mean?”

“Was he surprised, shocked, angry, frightened?”

“How should I know? I was concerned about getting the ladies out of there.”

“And whose idea was it to get the police?”

“Not mine,” Sharpe told him, not bothering to hide his contempt. “Before I had a chance to settle the ladies, an officer was here taking everyone’s name and telling us not to leave.”

“So you didn’t see anyone enter or leave the room once the six of you were inside for the séance?”

“Of course not. The room only has one entrance, and if anyone opened the door, we would have noticed immediately.”

“Even with all the noise and confusion?”

“We would have noticed if the light came in,” he insisted. “We couldn’t see a thing until after Mrs. Burke screamed and Madame opened the door. Now if you’re finished with me, I have an appointment.”

“Yes, that’s all for now,” Frank said, but Sharpe was already on his feet and heading for the door.

After Sharpe left, Frank waited a few moments, going over in his mind what he’d learned so far. Odd how no one seemed to know anything about the victim. One of the five would have had to kill her, and so far three of them professed to know nothing about her. He was starting to think that when he found the one person who’d known her, he’d have the killer. Could it really be so simple?

The sound of a disturbance distracted him, and he hurried out into the hallway to see what was going on. The noise was coming from the back of the house, and when he opened the door that led into the kitchen, he saw Officer Donatelli scuffling with a slender young man.