Murder in Chelsea Page 7

* * *

  ON HIS WAY BACK TO MRS. DUGAN’S BOARDINGHOUSE, Frank reviewed his earlier conversation with her. She had been very careful to mislead him without lying, he realized, but why? Not to protect Emma Hardy, of that he was certain. She despised Emma. In fact, Anne Murphy was the only person in the whole bunch who seemed to have cared for her at all. In Frank’s experience, the only person most people really wanted to protect was themselves. When he asked himself why Mrs. Dugan would need to protect herself, the answer was easy: She’d taken money from Wilbanks for years for rent on a room Emma Hardy had never—or rarely—used. She wouldn’t want him to find that out.

  Could it be that simple?

  Mrs. Dugan frowned when she opened the door to him. “I didn’t expect to see you back again.”

  “I just need to ask you a few more questions.”

  With obvious reluctance, she let him in and led him to the deserted parlor. “The girls are all still asleep, so try to keep your voice down.” She was doing her best to seem at ease, but her hands betrayed her, clutching each other in a white-knuckled bunch.

  “How long has Ingrid Cordova lived here?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Just answer my questions. The sooner you do, the sooner I’ll be gone.”

  She sighed unhappily. “A couple years, I guess.”

  “So she lived here at least part of the time when Emma Hardy’s protector rented a room for her here.”

  “I . . . I suppose so, yes.”

  “And yet she said she hardly knew Emma.”

  Mrs. Dugan stiffened. “Emma kept to herself.”

  “Or maybe Miss Cordova didn’t know her well because Emma didn’t really live here.”

  “She had a room here, I tell you. Mr. Wilbanks paid me every month. He wanted to know she had a safe place to stay when she was in a show, he said.”

  “I know she had a room here, but she didn’t really stay in it, did she?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you? I’m not going to tell Wilbanks, so you don’t have to worry about that. I just want to know where she did stay and who she stayed with.”

  The color bloomed in her cheeks. “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. She had a lover, didn’t she? That’s where she stayed when she was in a show. Oh, she might’ve spent a night or two here sometimes, but most of the time she was with him. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  “What possible difference does that make now? She’s been gone for a year, and for all I know, she isn’t coming back.”

  “Oh, she’s coming back. That’s what she wrote to tell Anne Murphy, and she expects Anne to have her daughter.”

  “Anne? Anne never had the child.”

  “Yes, she did. Emma left her with Anne, but Anne hid her someplace she thought would be safe. Then someone killed Anne before she could get the girl back.”

  Mrs. Dugan reached out and grabbed the back of a nearby chair for support. “And you think it was him?”

  “Emma’s lover? I don’t know, but I’d like to find him and ask him. Do you know who he is?”

  Her eyes blazed. “He’s an actor. I warned her about him. I was married to an actor. Did I tell you?”

  He nodded.

  “A nasty lot, all of them. She wouldn’t listen, though. Oh, she left him a dozen times, but she always took him back. I thought when she took up with Wilbanks, that would be the end of it. I thought his pride would never stand for her to be with another man, but I should’ve known better. He liked Wilbanks’s money as much as she did. She half supported him with what Wilbanks gave her.”

  “And Wilbanks never suspected?”

  “Why should he? Emma was always there when he came to see her.”

  “Didn’t he come to see her here?”

  “I don’t allow men in the house. Emma would let him visit her at the theater and take her to dinner afterwards, but she couldn’t have him here, so he never knew she didn’t really live here.”

  “Where did she live?”

  “Different places. He wasn’t as good about paying the rent as Wilbanks was. Sometimes she’d come here for a while because they’d been thrown out of a place and she didn’t want to be on the street with him. Did that make her think, though? No, she never blamed him for anything.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Parnell Vaughn,” she said, as if saying it left a bad taste in her mouth.

  “Fancy name.”

  “Fancy name for a fancy man. And no, I don’t have no idea where he might be. I haven’t heard a peep about him since Emma left town. I expect he went with her. He’d been living off her for years, so he’s not likely to let her out of his sight now, is he?”

  “Do you know anything else about him besides that he’s an actor?”

  “Yes, he drinks.”

  Frank didn’t think that would help him much.

  “And you think he killed Annie?” she asked again.

  “Do you think he could have?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past him, but killing somebody . . . Why would he do it?”

  “I’ll be sure and ask him when I find him. Mrs. Dugan, Emma might come here looking for Anne Murphy and her daughter. When she does, would you ask her to come and see me?”

  “Emma ain’t likely to want to see a copper.”

  Frank had figured that. “Just tell her I know where her daughter is, and I’m the only one who does.”

  “Do you really know?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Poor little mite. She didn’t deserve none of this.”

  “No, she didn’t, but she’s safe, and I want to keep her that way.”

  He left her another of his cards and got her promise to pass it to Emma, should she show herself. Now he had to figure out how to find an actor.

  * * *

  AS ALWAYS, CATHERINE WAS THRILLED TO SEE SARAH’S mother.

  “Catherine, I have a surprise for you. I begged and begged, and your mama has agreed to let you come to visit me at my house for a few days.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened. “Can I, Mama?”

  “Of course, darling,” Sarah said, fighting the urge to weep at the thought of losing her forever.

  Catherine turned back to Sarah’s mother. “Can Maeve come, too?”

  “Of course she can. We’ll have so much fun. You can sleep in the room where your mama used to sleep when she was a little girl. Let’s go up and pack your things.”

  When her mother and Catherine were upstairs, Sarah turned to Maeve. “You don’t mind, do you? We thought it would be safer.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I won’t have to lift a finger or worry about Catherine either. I’ve been afraid all morning that someone would come to the door and I wouldn’t know whether to answer it. Are you coming, too?”

  “No. I don’t want Catherine to see how worried I am or overhear me talking about her, and if someone needs me, this is the first place they’ll look.”

  “Are you sure? You might not be safe here alone.”

  “If someone wants Catherine, they’re not going to hurt the person who can take them to her.”

  “They hurt Anne Murphy. You could at least spend the night at Mrs. Ellsworth’s.”

  “Let’s see how it goes today. Now go get your things together. The carriage is waiting.”

  Only after she had kissed Catherine good-bye and seen them off in her mother’s carriage did Sarah realize that her father had neglected to assign her something to do that afternoon.

  * * *

  FRANK STOPPED OFF AT POLICE HEADQUARTERS TO report on his progress and see if anyone there could advise him on locating an actor. He also found a message from an attorney named Michael Hicks who wanted to meet him that afternoon at his home, an address in Lenox Hill, which was a section of the city with large comfortable homes full of wealthy people. As a general rule, Frank avoided dealing with attorneys at all costs, but the mes
sage also said the matter concerned David Wilbanks. Catherine’s father had worked very quickly.

  He still had a few hours before his appointment with Hicks, so he went upstairs to see who was in the detective offices who might have some knowledge of the theater. A few minutes later, he left Headquarters, heading to Broadway in search of a theatrical agent.

  The first few he consulted each sent him to agents in progressively seedier buildings until he found the right one. He climbed the unswept stairs to the second floor, where he located a door with the right name stenciled on the glass. The outer office contained a desk of ancient vintage at which no one sat. Aging posters of shows long closed covered the walls, and the scent of cheap cigars hung in the air. The door to the inner office stood half-open, and Frank heard the unmistakable sound of snoring coming from within. He walked over and pushed the door, letting it swing wide. He saw another desk, equally old and battered and covered with papers. Behind it sat a middle-aged man in a checked suit. His feet rested on the desktop, displaying a fairly good-sized hole in the sole, and he leaned so far back in his chair that Frank wondered why it hadn’t toppled over. His mouth hung open, allowing the snores to escape.

  Frank rapped loudly on the doorjamb, startling the fellow awake and almost causing him to upset his chair. Scrambling, he swung his feet to the floor and stood, looking around wildly to see who had disturbed his peace. His bleary gaze finally settled on Frank. He cleared his throat and straightened his jacket, in a vain attempt to regain some dignity. “May I help you, sir?”

  “Are you Ralph Nathan?”

  “Ralph Nathan, agent extraordinaire, at your service. And who might you be, my man?”

  “Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police.”

  Nathan’s bloodshot eyes widened with alarm. “I can assure you that nothing illegal is going on in this office.”

  Frank could plainly see that nothing at all was going on in this office. “I just need some information from you. I need to find some actors.”

  This appeared to confuse him, but only for a moment. “For a production? Are the police entering show business now?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “You have come to the right place, Mr. Malloy. The Ralph Nathan Agency represents only the finest thespians to have ever trod the boards. If you tell me more about the show, I’ll be better able to assist you.”

  “You misunderstand, Mr. Nathan. There’s no show. I just need to locate an actress. I think she’s on tour. It’s about her daughter.”

  “Her daughter? Is the girl in some trouble?”

  “No, she’s very young,” Frank said, using just the necessary mix of truth and lies to get Nathan to cooperate. “She’s been staying with some friends while the mother is on tour, but they can’t keep her anymore. They asked me to find her so they can send the child to her.”

  “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so? We always want to help out when we can. I often tell actresses they shouldn’t have children for this very reason, but do they ever listen? Of course they don’t.”

  “Can you find this actress?”

  “I’ll certainly try. Do you think she’s with one of my touring companies?”

  “That’s what I was told. Her name is Emma Hardy.”

  “Emma? Why didn’t you say so? Of course, of course. She’s touring with Saints and Sinners. That’s the name of the show, you know, not a commentary on her traveling companions, although now that I think of it, it very well could be that, too.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “Do you know where they are now?”

  Nathan frowned. “I . . . Wait a minute. I think . . .” He shuffled through one of the many piles of papers on his desk and found the page he was looking for. “They finished up in Philadelphia a week ago.”

  “A week ago? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, indeed. They should have been back in the city by now. I haven’t heard from any of the actors yet. They usually try to get a show in town after being on the road. They hardly ever do, but they always try. It’s no fun playing a different town every night for months at a time. I expect to see them straggle in next week, wanting to know what I’ve got for them. Say, I wonder why Emma hasn’t gone to get her kid by now.”

  Frank was wondering the same thing. But maybe she had. Maybe she’d found Anne Murphy and gotten upset when she found out Anne had lost track of Catherine. “The, uh, the family had to move. Maybe she can’t find them. Look, let me give you my card, and if she comes by looking for work, you can tell her I know where her daughter is.”

  Nathan took the card, although his expression said he was starting to doubt Frank’s story. “Certainly, certainly, always happy to help the police.”

  Frank thanked him and started to leave, then pretended to remember something else. “Say, can you tell me if my old friend Parnell Vaughn was in the play with Emma?”

  Nathan’s placating smile vanished. “What do you want with him?”

  “Nothing. Just thought I’d say hello.”

  But Nathan shook his head. “Parnell never made friends with no police detective. You might want to say a few things to him, but none of them would be ‘hello.’”

  Frank tried a placating smile of his own. “I know he’s a troublemaker. I was just wondering if Emma had gotten shed of him yet.”

  “Not likely. Seems like he’s got some kind of spell on that girl. Don’t know how many people have told her to kick him out, but she says she loves him. Oh, he’s a good enough actor when he’s sober and even most of the time when he’s drunk, but he’s pretty worthless otherwise.”

  “So he was on tour with her?”

  “He was with the company when they left here, and nobody ever wired for me to send a replacement. That’s about all I can say.”

  That meant he was probably still with Emma, roaming the city somewhere, maybe in search of Catherine and maybe not, and maybe they’d found Anne Murphy and maybe not, and if they had found her, maybe one of them had stabbed her and maybe not.

  But if they had stabbed her, Frank figured they weren’t likely to contact him about finding Catherine. He thanked Mr. Nathan and left the dingy office in the rundown building and then stood on the sidewalk out front, considering what to do next.

  If Emma and Vaughn had indeed found Anne Murphy, even if they weren’t the ones who stabbed her, she might have confessed to leaving Catherine at the Mission. Would they go there looking for her? Frank pulled out his watch. He still had several hours until his meeting with Wilbanks’s attorney. He should probably stop by the Mission and at least warn Mrs. Keller that Anne Murphy was dead and Catherine’s mother might come looking for her. He didn’t think she’d tell anyone where Catherine was, but one of the girls might. Of course, Catherine was no longer at Sarah’s house, but Sarah was, and he didn’t want them anywhere near her.

  He headed back to Police Headquarters. The Mission was only a couple blocks from there. He had just turned onto Mulberry Street when he caught sight of a familiar figure half a block ahead of him. He quickened his pace, catching up to her with no trouble.

  “Sarah,” he said when he’d reached her.

  She looked up in surprise. “Malloy, what are you doing here?”

  He loved the way she said his name and the way she always smiled when she said it. “I could ask you the same question. I thought you were going home.”

  “I think that’s what my father intended. Did you notice he gave everybody else a task to accomplish today but me?”

  Malloy wasn’t going to admit any such thing. “Did he?”

  “Yes, I had to make one for myself.”

  “So you’re going to the Mission.”

  “Of course. I suddenly realized that we should tell Mrs. Keller what we’ve learned in case someone else comes looking for Catherine. Were you going there, too?”

  “Yes, I just found out that Emma Hardy does have a lover, a man named Parnell Vaughn.”

  “What a charming name. He must be an actor.”
>
  “He is, but just in case you’re interested, I have it on good authority that actors make terrible husbands.”

  “I will certainly keep that in mind,” she said with a grin.

  It was good to see her smile, but her eyes were still shadowed with worry. He wished he didn’t have to add to it. “I also found out that Emma and this Vaughn character were on tour, just like Anne Murphy thought, but the show ended in Philadelphia a week ago.”

  “A week ago? Then they could be in the city now.”

  “They could have been in the city six days ago. That’s the main reason I was going to the Mission. I wanted to be sure everyone there knows not to tell anyone who you are or where you live.”

  Sarah smiled grimly. “If they haven’t already.”

  5

  “DEAR ME, HOW HORRIBLE,” MRS. KELLER SAID WHEN Sarah had told her about Anne Murphy’s death. “Do you have any idea who could have done it?”

  They were crowded into Mrs. Keller’s tiny office in hopes of keeping the tragic news from being overheard and frightening the girls at the Mission.

  “Not yet,” Malloy said, “but we do know that Catherine’s mother and her . . . uh . . .”

  “Paramour,” Sarah supplied.

  Malloy flashed her a grateful look. “. . . her paramour have been in the city for nearly a week. We don’t know if they saw Anne Murphy or know she brought Catherine here, but we wanted to warn you in case they show up.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I’m so sorry this happened. And now that poor woman is dead.”

  “You don’t need to apologize. It wasn’t your fault, Mrs. Keller.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “I want you to know that I spoke with all the girls to find out if anyone had been asking about Catherine. I didn’t want to alarm them because if they thought they’d done something wrong, they might not want to admit it, so I just asked if anyone had come by when I wasn’t here. I said I’d been expecting someone and didn’t want to miss them. No one admitted to it, at least, and I think they would have. I gave them no reason to deny it.”

  “That was very wise of you, Mrs. Keller,” Malloy said. “But now I think you’d better warn them, just in case.”

  “Of course. Perhaps you could speak to them yourself, Mr. Malloy. They hold you in very high regard, and I think your warning would carry more weight. It’s almost time for them to come down to eat. You both are welcome to join us. I think the girls would enjoy that.”