Murder In Chinatown (2 page)

A small woman with a face like a dried-up potato, she was wiping her hands on her apron and looking like she’d just sucked on a lemon. It was her usual expression.

“’Evening, Ma,” Frank said.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat,” she replied sourly.

He knew better than to refuse. She didn’t
want
him to say he’d already eaten to spare her the work. She wanted to pretend to be put upon that she had to prepare his supper. “First tell me what he’s saying,” he said, pointing to Brian, who was still signing frantically.

“Simple enough,” she said, barely sparing the boy a glance to interpret his rapid motions. “Says he learned to write his name today.”

Frank felt the impact of her words like a blow to his chest.
“Write his name?”
he echoed in amazement. He could hardly breathe.

“Much as you’re paying that school, he should be writing whole books by now,” the old woman huffed, pretending she wasn’t as excited as Frank and about to burst with pride. She signed something back to the boy, and he darted by her, through the doorway and back into their flat.

“I guess you’ll be teaching at that school pretty soon,” Frank observed.

She quickly tucked her hands beneath her apron, as if she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “It ain’t that hard to learn. Somebody’s got to be able to understand what the boy says.” She’d made the argument often, and it was true enough, but Frank knew there was much more to it than that.

At first she’d insisted on going with Brian to the school because he was so young and she didn’t trust them to look after him properly. Somehow she’d been recruited to assist with the students, though, and now she was learning sign language right along with Brian. It was quite an accomplishment for a woman her age, but he knew better than to compliment her outright. He wasn’t sure if it had something to do with pride going before a fall or being afraid of drawing attention to something good for fear the devil would snatch it away. Whatever it was, his mother didn’t appreciate flattery and wouldn’t tolerate it.

“Well, don’t stand out here all night. Come on inside so the boy can show you,” she snapped.

Later, after Frank had eaten and Brian had laboriously drawn the letters of his name on every inch of the paper he’d brought home from school, over and over again, before finally being carried off to bed, exhausted, Frank studied the paper in wonder. The boy was only four. How he wished Kathleen could see her son, the child she’d died giving life to. Maybe, if there really was a heaven, she would know somehow.

“Are you gonna sit up half the night again, looking at them papers?” his mother asked when she came out of the kitchen.

Frank glanced over at the stack of folders sitting on a table in the corner. Reading them again would do no good. He knew them almost by heart. “No, I’m too tired tonight.”

“I don’t see why you’ve got to leave them here. They’re always in my way.”

Frank doubted this very much, but he wasn’t going to argue. “I told you, it’s a special case I’m working on. I don’t want the files to get lost down at Headquarters.”

“Special case,”
she scoffed. “It’s that woman what makes it
special.
You’re always working on some
special
case for her.”

“Her name is Mrs. Brandt, as you know perfectly well,” he reminded her irritably. “You also know it’s her husband’s murder, and yes, I’m working on it for her. We owe her, Ma, for what she did for Brian.”

He saw it then, the briefest flash of fear flickering across her face. He’d never been able to understand why she was afraid of Sarah Brandt, who’d only ever shown her kindness.

“She’ll only bring you trouble, Francis,” his mother warned. “She’s not like us.”

Frank considered that a recommendation in Sarah’s favor, but he didn’t say so to his mother. “Go to bed, Ma,” he said wearily.

“What about you? You need your rest,” she asked anxiously.

“I think I will take another look at the files, after all,” he said, more to annoy her than because he really wanted to. “I won’t be long.”

He ignored her snort of disapproval as he reached for the stack of files. He didn’t open them, though. When his mother had gone, he set them down again with a disgusted sigh.

What had ever made him think he could solve Tom Brandt’s murder? Four long years had passed, and the evidence had been slim even back when it happened. True, he’d found a witness and learned some interesting new facts about some of Dr. Brandt’s patients. He’d developed a theory about the case, and he’d even gotten permission from Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt himself to work on it…
in his spare time.
Trouble was, he didn’t have any spare time. He needed more information, the kind that took lots of digging and hunting people down and getting them to talk about things they’d forgotten long ago or didn’t want to remember at all. That kind of investigation took weeks, and Frank didn’t have weeks to devote to it. He didn’t even have hours to devote to it.

Unless he got some help, Tom Brandt’s murder would never be solved. Frank knew where to get that help, too. Trouble was, he’d rather cut off his arm than ask for it. Then he glanced down at the sheet of paper with Brian’s name scrawled all over it, and he remembered all he owed Sarah Brandt. That was when he knew he’d do whatever it took to bring her husband’s killer to justice.

C
ORA
L
EE DIDN’T HAVE TO WAIT FOUR MORE WEEKS FOR
her baby. He arrived on the very day Sarah had guessed he would. Cora’s labor lasted only five hours and ended in the late afternoon. No all-night vigil for Sarah. She hadn’t even been called out of bed. All in all, a very satisfactory experience for everyone.

She and Minnie Mae Lee were sitting with the new mother while she nursed her son for the first time.

“You’re doing real good, Cora,” Minnie assured her. “He’s a fine boy. Look how fat! George’ll be that proud of him!”

“Have you picked a name yet?” Sarah asked.

“Oh, yes,” Cora replied. “Daniel, after my father.”

Minnie shook her head. “The Chinese don’t name a baby after a close relative like that. George’ll take a fit.”

“George is in America now,” Cora said. “He took an American name, just like Charlie and all the other businessmen do. He needs to name his son like an American, too.”

“Speaking of George, where’s he got to?” Minnie asked. “I thought he’d be up the minute he heard.” Minnie and her family lived upstairs, and she had sent her son Harry out to find the new father and deliver the news.

“He won’t come ’til Mrs. Brandt is gone. He’s bashful,” Cora explained to Sarah.

“Bashful,” Minnie echoed with a laugh. “That’s one way to say it.”

“How would you say it?” Cora challenged her.

“Private,” Minnie said after a moment’s thought. “Chinese men, they don’t go around with their women in public, not like white men,” she told Sarah. “They leave us pretty much to ourselves.”

“Which is fine with me,” Cora said. “George never tells me what to do or where to go, not like an Irish man would.”

“Don’t think they ignore us, though,” Minnie hastened to add. “They’re the kindest men alive. Always polite, never a cross word.”

“And nothing’s too good for us, either,” Cora said. “Well, you can see for yourself how it is.”

Sarah could. A quick glance around the beautifully furnished bedroom of the flat Cora shared with her husband showed her every comfort a woman could wish for.

“I think he’s asleep,” Cora said, gazing adoringly down at her child.

“Probably just needs to burp,” Minnie said. “Let me have him.”

She took the child from his mother and hoisted his tiny body up to her shoulder with practiced ease. Settling him there, she began to pat his back and murmur sweet nothings to him. Sarah busied herself with straightening up the room, while Cora leaned back against a bank of feather pillows and sighed with satisfaction.

“Ma!” a voice called from the front room. “Ma! Come quick!”

“That boy,” Minnie muttered, making her way to the bedroom door without missing a pat on the baby’s back. “What is it, Harry? Couldn’t you find George and your pa?” She shifted the baby to the crook of her arm and opened the door with her free hand.

On the other side of the door stood a gangly boy of about seventeen. To Sarah’s surprise, he was dressed in the loose-fitting silk shirt and linen trousers that Chinese men wore. They looked odd on him, because his features were even less Oriental than his sister’s.

“It’s Angel,” he said with a worried frown. “I can’t find her.”

Minnie didn’t seem too concerned. “What do you mean, you can’t find her?”

“I mean, after I told Papa and George about the baby, I went back up to tell Angel. She went into her room after she got home from school, but when I looked in just now, she wasn’t there.”

“She probably went out to play with her friends while you were gone,” Minnie said reasonably.

“That’s what I would’ve thought, too, except…” His young face creased into a frown, and he wrung his hands nervously.

Sarah noticed Cora had sat up straight again. She was listening attentively to every word, her face creased in a worried frown.

“Except what?” Minnie prodded.

“Her wardrobe door was hanging open.”

“What of it?” his mother asked impatiently.

“All her clothes are gone!” Harry nearly wailed.

Cora gasped, but Minnie just made a sound of annoyance.

“All her clothes can’t be gone. That’s impossible.”

“See for yourself,” Harry said. “Her clothes are gone, and so is she!”

Minnie muttered something and started to push past Harry.

“The baby!” Cora cried, and Minnie stopped abruptly, remembering she still held him. She passed him to Sarah and then hurried out of the room, with Harry close behind her.

As soon as they were gone, Cora moaned. “She’s run away. I was afraid of this. I tried to tell Minnie, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Sarah looked down at the infant in her arms. He really was fast asleep. She took him over to the elaborately carved cradle his parents had provided for him and laid him gently down in it.

“Surely, she wouldn’t have really run away,” Sarah offered by way of comfort.

“Oh, yes, she would,” Cora said in dismay. “She’s a stubborn girl, too much like her mother, and she had a good reason. Or at least she thought she did.”

“I know she was upset the last time I was here,” Sarah said diplomatically, wanting to ask outright about the forced marriage Angel had been protesting but not wanting to offend.

“Oh, I forgot you heard all that,” Cora said. “Yes, Charlie wants her to marry his friend, John Wong. He’s a good man and very rich, but Angel is just a girl. She’s got all these romantic notions about falling in love.”

“She seems a bit young for marriage,” Sarah observed.

“She’ll be sixteen next month,” Cora said. “In China that’s plenty old enough, and Charlie’s still Chinese, even if he’s been in America over twenty-five years.”

Sarah didn’t know what to say to that, so she held her tongue.

“Silly girl! I told her I’d help her,” Cora said, half to herself.

“I’m sure she won’t get far,” Sarah assured her. “Someone will see her and send word to her family.”

“She won’t go near anybody who knows her,” Cora said, a tear running down her cheek. She brushed it away absently. “She’ll know they’d send her home again. But where else could she have gone?”

Sarah shared her concern. The New York City streets were no place for a young girl all alone. Danger lurked on every corner when a pretty young girl could be taken into an alley and raped and then sold to a brothel or worse. No one would ever see her again or even know what had become of her.

They heard someone running down the corridor outside the flat, and then Minnie burst through the front door and rushed into the bedroom. Her eyes were wide and her face scarlet. “Cora, she’s gone! She took everything she could carry. I’ve got to find Charlie so we can start looking for her.”

“Go on,” Cora said. “Hurry.”

“But I don’t want to leave you alone,” Minnie protested.

“Don’t worry about me. Mrs. Brandt will stay, won’t you?”

“As long as necessary,” Sarah assured them both. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“God bless you,” Minnie cried, and then she was gone.

F
RANK
M
ALLOY DIDN’T HAVE AN APPOINTMENT, SO HE
was prepared to wait. Felix Decker was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the city, and he would have no reason to waste his valuable time on a lowly police detective.

Except, of course, that Felix Decker was Sarah Brandt’s father, and he would know Frank was there because of her.

Decker’s secretary looked up when Frank entered the office. His face registered recognition and surprise. “Detective Sergeant Malloy,” he said, surprising Frank that he’d remembered him. “Is Mr. Decker expecting you?” He glanced anxiously at what must have been Decker’s appointment book, probably concerned that he’d made an error in Decker’s schedule.