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  Murder on Fifth Avenue

  ( Gaslight Mysteries - 14 )

  Victoria Thompson

  From the tenements to the town houses of nineteenth-century New York, midwife Sarah Brandt and Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy never waiver in their mission to aid the innocent and apprehend the guilty. Now, the latest novel in the Edgar®-nominated series finds Sarah and Malloy investigating the murder of a Knickerbocker club member who was made to pay his dues…

  Sarah Brandt’s family is one of the oldest in New York City, and her father, Felix Decker, takes his position in society very seriously. He still refuses to resign himself to his daughter being involved with an Irish Catholic police detective. But when a member of his private club—the very exclusive Knickerbocker—is murdered, Decker forms an uneasy alliance with Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy to solve the crime as discreetly as possible.

  Malloy soon discovers that despite his social standing, the deceased—Chilton Devries—was no gentleman. In fact, he’s left behind his own unofficial club of sorts, populated by everyone who despised him. As he and Sarah sort through the suspects, it becomes clear to her that her father is evaluating more than the detective’s investigative abilities, and that, on a personal level, there is much more at stake for Malloy than discovering who revoked Devries’ membership—permanently.

  MURDER ON

  FIFTH AVENUE

  Crime titles by Victoria Thompson

  MURDER ON ASTOR PLACE

  MURDER ON ST. MARK’S PLACE

  MURDER ON GRAMERCY PARK

  MURDER ON WASHINGTON SQUARE

  MURDER ON MULBERRY BEND

  MURDER ON MARBLE ROW

  MURDER ON LENOX HILL

  MURDER IN LITTLE ITALY

  MURDER IN CHINATOWN

  MURDER ON BANK STREET

  MURDER ON WAVERLY PLACE

  MURDER ON LEXINGTON AVENUE

  MURDER ON SISTERS’ ROW

  MURDER ON FIFTH AVENUE

  MURDER ON

  FIFTH AVENUE

  A Gaslight Mystery

  Victoria Thompson

  1

  “DETECTIVE SERGEANT MALLOY?”

  Frank hated answering stupid questions from goo-goos when he was in the middle of an investigation. He looked up from interviewing one of the employees of the warehouse that had been robbed last night. This brand-new police officer didn’t even look old enough to shave. “What?”

  “I have a message for you from the chief.” The way he was puffing, he must’ve run all the way from Police Headquarters to deliver it.

  “Which chief?”

  “Chief O’Brien.”

  Frank straightened. He didn’t dare ignore a message from the chief of detectives. The young man held out a piece of paper, and Frank snatched it from him. Unfolding it, he read the message. Felix Decker requests your presence at the Knickerbocker Club immediately. O’Brien had given the address and signed it.

  Frank swore. Felix Decker might not be the richest, most powerful man in the city, but he was rich and powerful enough, and he knew all the men who were richer and more powerful than he was. He also knew the chief of detectives, the chief of police, and the mayor. Most of all, he knew Frank. And Frank knew Felix Decker’s daughter, Sarah Brandt, which was the real reason Decker knew Frank would jump when Decker called.

  “What am I supposed to do about this?” Frank gestured to include the warehouse where he’d spent most of the day investigating the robbery.

  “The chief said he’d send somebody else to take over.”

  Of course he would. He’d send another detective who would gladly take over and get the reward for solving this case. As soon as Frank had located the thieves and negotiated with them, he would have split the reward with them and returned the merchandise. That’s how business was done in New York City, and everybody knew it. Another detective would be more than happy to take over his case.

  Frank swore again.

  FRANK HUNKERED INSIDE HIS OVERCOAT AGAINST WINTER’S late afternoon chill as he stopped on the sidewalk outside the Knickerbocker Club to catch his breath. The trip from the riverfront warehouse uptown involved more walking than Frank normally liked to do, but the jam of wagons in the city streets made it by far the fastest mode of crosstown transportation. Then he had boarded the Sixth Avenue Elevated Train, the only truly fast mode of transportation in the city, squeezing into a packed car for the trip uptown. Another brisk walk over to Fifth Avenue, and here he was.

  New York had hundreds of men’s clubs, few more exclusive than the Knickerbocker. Micks need not apply, nor much of anyone else, as far as he knew. Except for a few of the Jewish upper crust, membership was restricted to descendants of the original Dutch and English settlers of the city. Knickerbockers. Some said the nickname Knickerbocker came from the knee-length pants the early colonists wore. Others said from a story by Washington Irving. What did he care? Even though they allowed Jews to belong, he’d bet a year’s pay no Irish Catholic had ever crossed the threshold.

  So why in God’s name had Decker set their meeting here and not at his office? Unfortunately, the only way to find out was to go inside.

  He climbed the front steps and gave the imposing brass knocker a serious thump. The door swung wide, and he exchanged glances with a man got up for a fancy dress ball in his cutaway and stiff white shirt. Fortunately, Frank had been around enough rich people to know the fellow who answered the door was a servant, no matter how he might be dressed.

  Frank opened his mouth to quickly explain his presence here before the butler could slam the door in his face—it had happened before—but the fellow said, “Mr. Malloy, Mr. Decker is expecting you,” before he could speak.

  He stepped back to allow Frank to enter and took his hat and coat, then led him down a short hallway. Thick carpets muffled their footsteps, and Frank inhaled the scent of expensive cigars and old leather. Dark paneling covered the walls, and decorative light fixtures muted the glare of the electric lights. Nothing but the best. As they reached a small sitting room, he caught sight of Felix Decker, who was apparently trying to pace a hole in the expensive carpeting.

  “Mr. Malloy has arrived,” the butler said, then took his leave.

  The tall elegant man stopped instantly and strode forward, offering Frank his hand. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Mr. Malloy.”

  As if he could have refused. Frank simply nodded as he returned Decker’s firm handshake.

  “Please, sit down.” Decker indicated the chesterfield sofa. A liberal amount of silver threaded Decker’s fair hair, and his blue eyes held the wisdom and cynicism of age, although today they were troubled in a way Frank had never seen before. Decker took the closest chair and rubbed his hands together as if uncertain exactly what to do with them.

  Felix Decker was upset. Frank didn’t think Felix Decker ever got upset.

  “Have you been here before?” Decker asked.

  “No.” Frank didn’t bother to explain his theory that he was the first Irish Catholic to ever enter the club by the front door.

  “We aren’t a particularly old club,” Decker said. “We formed back in seventy-one, when some Union Club members felt the membership requirements there had become too liberal.”

  Frank had no trouble believing that at all.

  “I tell you this so you’ll understand the men with whom you’ll be dealing.”

  Frank didn’t think Felix Decker was going to propose him for membership, so he couldn’t imagine needing to have any contact with the other members at all. “Dealing?”

  “Yes, you see, one of our members was found dead here this afternoon.”

  “Dead or murdered?” Simply finding somebody dead wouldn’t prompt
anybody to send for a police detective.

  Decker drew a deep breath. “At first we assumed he had simply passed away from natural causes. A bad heart, perhaps. He seemed to be dozing peacefully in his chair, but when one of the waiters accidentally bumped the chair and he didn’t react…Well, he was quite cold, so they knew he had been dead for a while.”

  “But now you don’t think he just passed away.”

  “No. You see, we sent for an undertaker. He was the one who noticed the bloodstain on the chair and then on Devries’s clothing. He quickly determined that he had been stabbed in the back.”

  “So somebody here stabbed him?”

  “Certainly not. At least we are fairly confident it couldn’t have happened here without Devries raising some kind of alarm, so it must have happened prior to his arrival. As far as I can ascertain, he appeared here sometime in the midafternoon and went to the library to read the newspapers. He complained to one of the staff of not feeling well. He asked for some brandy but only drank a small amount, and then he fell asleep, or so everyone thought.”

  This wasn’t making sense. If a man got stabbed, why wouldn’t he get medical attention? Or at least stay at home and tend to his wound? Why would he go out to his club, of all things? “Was it possible he didn’t know he’d been stabbed?”

  “The wound is small, according to the undertaker, and it had bled very little. I can’t imagine he would have been traveling around the city if he’d suspected he was mortally wounded.”

  “Did the undertaker think this small wound could have killed him?”

  Decker pressed his lips together, as if he had tasted something unpleasant. “Mr. Robinson, the undertaker, suggested as much. He said he has seen similar things before in his line of work. Most of the bleeding occurs inside the body, apparently.”

  Frank supposed such a thing could happen. He’d seen someone die from being stabbed with a hat pin, of all things. “Did Robinson refuse to take the body?”

  “Oh, no, not at all. I gather he was perfectly willing to be discreet, but he felt the club should know, in case we wanted to deal with the matter ourselves.”

  So they were back to dealing again. This, Frank assumed, was to be his part in it. “What did you decide?”

  Now Decker looked positively gray around the gills. Plainly, he wasn’t used to discussing such unpleasantries, at least not within the walls of his beloved Knickerbocker. “We called together all the board members who happened to be on the premises this afternoon. I’m sure you understand we want the club’s reputation protected at all costs.”

  “Then tell the undertaker to pack up the body.”

  “Please do not judge us so harshly.” He was angry now, and Frank didn’t blame him. “If Devries did indeed die by the hand of another, we would also like to see justice done.”

  Frank leaned back on the surprisingly uncomfortable sofa and studied Decker for a long moment. He didn’t like this one bit, probably because he didn’t believe Decker’s protests about wanting justice. “Are you saying you want me to find out who killed this Devries character?”

  “Find out, yes. That’s exactly what we want you to do.”

  “And then what?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Usually, when I solve a murder, I arrest the killer, and he goes to trial, and then, if he’s found guilty, he goes to prison or gets executed.” Of course, it wasn’t always so neat, but he didn’t need to mention that to Decker. “Is that what you want?”

  “It all depends.”

  Ah, now we’re getting down to it. “On what?”

  “On who is responsible for Devries’s death. You must realize this is why I summoned you, out of all the detectives in New York, Mr. Malloy, because I know you can be trusted.”

  Frank didn’t know how trustworthy he was, but he knew Decker rarely called him mister. He must be feeling desperate.

  “What you mean is I know how to keep a secret.”

  “I would have said you know how to be discreet.”

  He was right about that. Frank nodded.

  “You will make your report to me, when you have all the facts, and then I will take the matter to our board to decide.”

  Now this was something Frank could understand. The rich looked out for each other. He assumed it was much like the police department, where you watched out for your own and stood up for them when they were in trouble. Frank couldn’t imagine why rich people would need that kind of help, but he knew it was available to them.

  “Just so I’m clear, what happens if I find out one of your club members is the killer?”

  “Then you would not need to take any action at all. We would take care of the matter among ourselves.”

  Frank doubted the club had an electric chair on the premises to take care of murderous members or even a cell or two for confining the drunk and disorderly ones. “You’d let a killer go free?”

  “Malloy, you know as well as I do your chief would never allow you to arrest any member of this club, no matter what he had done. If you did, he would be freed with an apology from the mayor within hours, and you would lose your job.”

  Frank did know this. He’d just wanted to find out what Decker had in mind. “Then why call me in at all?”

  “If Devries’s killer is someone you can bring to justice, you may do so with our blessing. If the killer is someone whom the law cannot touch, then we will take care of the matter ourselves. That is all you need to know. Now, are you willing to assist us?”

  Did he really have a choice? Decker and his kind were more than capable of taking care of him if he refused. “Devries’s family and the other members of your club aren’t going to want an Irish cop nosing around in their business.” That was the real problem with calling Frank in on this, and Decker should’ve known it.

  “They will when I introduce you, and if anyone fails to cooperate with your investigation, you are to notify me immediately.”

  Frank wanted to refuse. He wanted to have a good reason to refuse, but investigating crimes was his job, and pleasing men like Felix Decker was the job of everyone in the city, if they knew what was good for them.

  Besides, what would he say to Sarah Brandt if he refused to help her father?

  Frank managed not to sigh in defeat. “Is the body still here?”

  THE KNICKERBOCKER LIBRARY HELD FEW ACTUAL BOOKS, just those on the set of shelves along one wall, and they looked as if they had never been opened. Newspapers lay stacked on just about every other available surface, however. A quick glance told Frank they seemed to have a copy of every rag and scandal sheet in the city, in addition to the World, the Herald, and the Times. Since most of the papers published two editions a day, simply purchasing all of them must be a full-time job for someone.

  The fellow who had answered the door had let them into the library. “I made sure no one else came in after Mr. Robinson left,” he told Decker.

  “Good, good.” Decker turned to Frank. “Hartley here is the one who realized Mr. Devries was dead.”

  Mr. Devries still sat propped in a wingback chair beside the fireplace, where the undertaker must have left him. The fire had burned down, but the room was still warm. Clearly the Knickerbocker Club had central heating.

  In life, Devries had been a substantial man, not fat but large boned. Of medium height, he wore a suit that had been tailor-made to fit his frame to best advantage. His dark hair showed only a touch of gray and had been tamed this morning with a liberal dose of hair tonic. His well-tended hands lay slightly clenched in his lap, as if silently resisting a final spasm of pain. He sat slumped to one side. His eyes were closed, and his mouth open.

  “Is that how you found him?”

  Hartley shook his head. “Not exactly. Mr. Robinson had brought a stretcher, and his two helpers were moving Mr. Devries from the chair when they noticed the bloodstain on the chair back. Mr. Robinson quickly realized it had come from Mr. Devries, so he told his assistants to put Mr. Dev
ries back as they’d found him, and he asked me to summon someone in authority. Mr. Decker was the highest-ranking club officer present, so I informed him of Mr. Robinson’s request.”

  Frank looked closely at the dead man to see if anything seemed out of place. “Do you remember exactly how he was sitting when you found him?”

  “Much like this, except perhaps a bit straighter in the chair. His head was resting against the wing of the chair, and his eyes were closed, as if he had dozed off.”

  Frank glanced around. “Mr. Decker said someone brought him brandy.”

  “I did, but he only took a sip or two. I removed the snifter when Mr. Robinson arrived.”

  “I’ll need to see the glass and the bottle you poured it from.”

  “The glass had been washed.”

  Frank bit back his irritation. “The bottle, then.” He didn’t think the man had been poisoned, but he wanted to be thorough. He turned to Decker. “I’ll need to call the medical examiner to take the body. They’ll have to do an autopsy to be sure what killed him.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Decker asked with obvious distaste.

  “Unless you want me harassing a bunch of rich people when the man really did die of a heart attack.”

  Irritation registered on Decker’s face, but no trace of it was evident in his voice. “Hartley, show Mr. Malloy where the telephone is.”

  DOC HAYNES BROUGHT TWO ASSISTANTS WITH HIM, TOO. As soon as they moved the body to the stretcher, Frank saw the bloodstain on the chair back.

  “He didn’t bleed much,” Frank observed.

  “Let’s take a look,” Doc Haynes said.

  He had the two orderlies roll Devries over and lift his suit coat. The undertaker had obviously already made a similar examination. Devries’s shirttail was still out in the back. They pushed up the suit coat, vest, shirt, and undershirt, all of which bore evidence of the blood that had stained the chair. The stain on the undershirt was the largest. They grew progressively smaller until the one on the chair was only the size of a coin.