Victoria Thompson: Murder on St. Mark’s place

Maybe he was being too hasty. He’d tell her whatever it was he intended to tell her after he’d had the beer. And maybe he’d let her feed him, too. She wasn’t a bad cook, if he remembered correctly. And then… Well, then he’d make sure she understood she was never to show her face in his mother’s presence again.

By the time she set his plate in front of him, he’d mellowed somewhat. Maybe it was the beer or maybe it was the peacefulness of his surroundings. Her back porch overlooked the tiny patch of ground that passed for a yard in the city. Sarah Brandt had filled that patch of ground with flowers of every description. Their beauty and fragrance disguised the stench and bleakness that stretched in every direction outside the boundaries of her fence.

She’d fried up a pork chop and some potatoes and onions. Bakery bread completed the meal, and Frank realized he was starving. She sat down opposite him at the small wicker table she’d placed on the porch, still smiling the way she did when she thought she knew something he didn’t.

“Somebody’s been murdered,” he guessed, trying to wipe that grin off her face. He found it far too disturbing.

To his relief, she frowned. “The sister of one of my patients, a girl named Gerda Reinhard. She was only sixteen. Her family doesn’t have any money, and her sister is afraid her murder will never be solved.”

“She’s probably right,” Frank said before allowing himself to taste the meat. It was juicy and tender, not fried to shoe leather the way his mother would have done.

That really made her frown. “I thought maybe you could help.”

He gave her a look that usually turned hardened criminals into quivering, terrified jelly, but she didn’t bat an eye.

“I promised her sister that I’d find out what I could, at least,” she said. “Can you at least tell me if there are any suspects? If the police think they know who did it or something?”

Frank took another bite of the meat and told himself he was only asking for trouble. There was nothing he could do for this girl’s family, and it was cruel of Sarah Brandt to let them think otherwise. Still, he heard himself say, “What happened to her?”

“They found her in an alley. Someone had beaten her and-”

“Oh, the red shoes,” he said knowingly.

“What?”

“She was wearing red shoes, wasn’t she?”

“Yes. How did you know?” She seemed pleased that he’d guessed so quickly.

“Everybody at Mulberry Street was talking about it,” he said, referring to the offices of police headquarters on Mulberry Street. “And you’re wasting your time. They’ll never find out who killed her without offering a reward… and not for the police,” he added when she would have interrupted him. It was common knowledge that the New York City police only investigated crimes for which they would receive a reward. “You’d need a reward to get a witness to come forward. They’ll never find her killer unless somebody saw him do it. There’s just too many possible suspects.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this is no society girl this time,” he said, reminding her of the murder the two of them had solved last spring. “Gerda Reinhard was pretty free with her favors, if you know what I mean. Out every night, different men each time, she was just asking for trouble. Got what she deserved, if you ask me.”

“Nobody asked you!” she cried, outraged. “Are you saying that a girl who tries to have a little fun deserves to have the life beaten out of her?”

How could he have forgotten how unreasonable she could be? He swallowed down the last bite of his chop, which no longer tasted quite so delicious. “I’m saying that when a girl takes up with strange men the way this one did, night after night, she’s bound to find a bad one sooner or later.”

“And you think this bad one should be allowed to go out and kill another unsuspecting young woman because this girl’s family is too poor to pay a reward to catch him?”

Frank’s dinner was turning into a molten ball in his stomach. “I’m saying that it’s not very likely he’ll be caught.”

“Isn’t it worth a try, though? Things are changing in the police force. You’re bound to get noticed if you solved a case like this.”

“Noticed by who? Your friend Teddy Roosevelt? Haven’t you been reading the newspapers?”

“I certainly have! His testimony is going to get that corrupt Commissioner Parker removed from office, and then he’ll finally be able to accomplish the reforms he wants. That will mean excellent officers-and detectives-will be promoted.”

He shook his head. “Not likely. Parker is a Platt man,” he said, naming the Democratic party boss who ran the city by pulling the strings of elected politicians. “The governor would have to approve his removal, and that won’t ever happen, no matter what the mayor decides. So if you think I’ll waste my time trying to impress the likes of Roosevelt-the man who offended every man who likes a Sunday afternoon beer in this town-then you’re out of your mind.”

She sighed in disgust and stabbed at her meat with her fork without making any attempt to eat it. Another man might have thought she’d given up, but Frank knew Sarah Brandt better than that. She never gave up. He braced himself for her next angle of attack, but even still, she caught him on his blind side.

“I also wanted to talk to you about Brian.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Frank informed her. “My mother takes care of him, and she knows what’s best for him. Seeing you upsets him, so I’m going to have to insist that-”

“Your mother told me he’s feebleminded,” she said baldly, without the slightest regard for the pain this would cause him.

And it did cause him pain, the kind of agony someone like Sarah Brandt with her privileged background could never understand. “You must have noticed that yourself,” he said, his teeth gritted in an attempt to control himself.

“I don’t think he is,” she said, laying down her fork and crossing her arms over her well-padded bosom. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with his mind at all.”

Now Frank was really sorry he hadn’t throttled her earlier. He could have spared himself this, at least. “My son’s mind is none of your concern,” he tried, but she was having none of it.

“I told you I gave him a horse when I visited him today. It was a fancy carved thing I picked up from a street peddler. It had a real leather saddle and bridle, and Brian had them off that horse in seconds. Your mother said he’s very clever at figuring things out, even though he’s only three years old.”

Frank had to grip the edge of the table to hold himself in check. “Maybe she also told you he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t make a sound, and he can’t understand a damn thing you say to him.” He was fairly shouting now, but even that didn’t seem to bother her. She just stared back at him, cool as you please.

“Of course he doesn’t understand what you say to him. That’s because he’s deaf.”

“ DEAF?” HE SAID THE WORD AS IF HE’D NEVER heard it before. Plainly, he’d never heard it in connection with his son.

“When I met Brian the first time, I only saw him for a few minutes, and your mother told me he was feebleminded, so I didn’t think anything about his behavior. But something bothered me. He was so silent. I’ve seen lots of children with damaged brains, and they were all as loud and boisterous as other children. But not Brian. I think that’s one reason why I went to your home instead of leaving word for you at the station. I wanted to see Brian again and figure out why he was so silent.”