Murder on Amsterdam Avenue (9 page)

“As far as I know. Didn't you ask her when you took her for a walk the other night?” Frank pretended not to notice how the color was rising in his neck.

“How did you know about that?”

“Mrs. Brandt told me, of course. And to answer your question, she's too young to be thinking about getting married.”

Gino instantly started choking on a bite of biscuit, and Frank waited patiently until he'd managed to swallow and gulp down some coffee.

“I guess that means you're too young to think about getting married, too,” Frank said. “Now let's talk about how we're going to handle questioning the people at the Oakes house.”

•   •   •

T
he maid was obviously expecting them, and she took them right up to the library where Mr. Oakes was waiting.

His face, as Gino had mentioned, was red, and Frank wondered if he'd been drinking already this morning. Frank introduced Gino.

“I've seen you before,” Oakes said as they shook hands.

“I was at the funeral.”

“Yes, that's it. You were with a young lady.” He frowned, remembering. “You said you knew Charles.”

“I'm sorry for that, sir.”

“I wanted to have Gino there to observe,” Frank said. “If he was attending the funeral as a mourner, no one would pay any particular attention to him.”

“I see.” Plainly, he didn't like it, though.

“I promise we won't deceive you again, but it was important to see if anyone at the funeral behaved strangely.”

“And did they?”

“Just the woman who fainted. Do you know who she was?”

“No, but I've already chastened the servants for letting her in. She made quite a spectacle of herself and upset my wife and daughter-in-law terribly.”

“What about the man who took her out? He said his name is Virgil Adderly.”

Oakes frowned. “I've never met the man, but I've heard
of him. He's a political hack, somebody who makes his living doing things respectable people don't want to do.”

“Did he do something for Charles?”

“Not that I'm aware,” Oakes said, effectively ending the discussion. “Please sit down. Can I offer you a . . . anything?”

“We're fine,” Frank said, wondering if Oakes would have really poured them drinks at ten o'clock in the morning.

“So now we're going to have to speak to your staff and your family.”

He winced and ran a hand over his face.

“Did you tell them I was coming today?”

Oakes sighed wearily. “I told them Charles was poisoned and that you would be investigating.”

“How did they react to that?”

“How do you think they reacted?” he snapped. “My mother was nearly hysterical.”

“What about your wife and daughter-in-law?”

That stopped him. He glanced away uneasily, his hands picking absently at the arms of his chair.

In the lengthening silence, Gino cast Frank a questioning look, but he just waited. In his experience, people couldn't stand silence, and they would eventually fill it, even if they had to say something incriminating.

“Hannah . . . She said . . . She said she knows who killed Charles.”

F
rank blinked in surprise. “She said she knows who poisoned Charles?”

“Yes.”

“Who does she think did it?”

“She didn't say. Or more accurately, she wouldn't say, even though my wife demanded that she do so. We think she's just vying for attention.”

“That's an odd way to get it,” Frank said.

“Hannah is an odd girl. I'm not sure why Charles chose her. Or why she chose him, for that matter.”

“Maybe she wanted your old family name.”

“And she probably expected old family money to go along with it,” Oakes said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. “I think she was unhappy with her life here.”

“What will happen to her now?”

“She's welcome to stay on here, as Charles's widow, but I
can't imagine she will. To tell the truth, I expect she'll remarry as soon as propriety allows.”

Frank wondered if she had decided to take matters into her own hands and free herself of an unwanted husband without the scandal or inconvenience of divorce. That would certainly explain her eagerness to point the finger at someone else as the killer. He wasn't going to suggest that to Oakes, though, at least not without some proof.

“I suppose we should see her first then,” he said.

“I've put the front parlor at your disposal. I'll have the maid take you there, and send for Hannah.”

“Donatelli will be questioning the servants,” Frank said. “Can you give him a room as well?”

“Yes. I'll instruct my man, Zeller, to find a place for you to use. He'll bring whoever you need to talk to.”

“I'd like to talk to him first, then,” Gino said.

“I'll ring for the girl.”

•   •   •

F
rank rose when the parlor door opened. The maid admitted Mrs. Charles Oakes and then withdrew, closing the door behind her.

Hannah looked much as she had yesterday. Her dress was black and her light brown hair was tucked severely into a bun, although she had a fringe of curls around her face to soften the look.

“I remember you,” she said without bothering to greet him. “You were at the funeral with Mrs. Brandt.”

“Yes.” He felt no need to explain his relationship with Sarah.

She frowned, crinkling up her nose in a way that she must have practiced in front of a mirror to be sure she still looked appealing. He'd dealt with women like her before. Everything
they did was for effect. But in a world where a woman's very survival could depend on attracting a man to support her, he supposed she was justified.

“Won't you sit down?” he asked, indicating the second of a pair of armchairs that sat in front of the fireplace.

She took the offered chair without comment, perching on the edge as if she didn't want to get too comfortable or wanted to be able to escape quickly. Her back ramrod straight, she stared at him with a smug expression that almost looked defiant.

“I suppose Father Oakes told you that I know who killed Charles,” she said as Frank sat down in the other chair.

“He told me you thought you did, yes.”

“Oh, I know. I'm sure of it.”

“And who do you think it is?”

“That new girl, Daisy. I knew she was trouble the minute I saw her. She's insolent. She looks me right in the eye, bold as you please, whenever I speak to her.”

“This Daisy, she's one of the maids?”

“Yes, I suppose. I don't know what she does exactly. I've never seen her doing any work, but I suppose she must. That's what servants do, isn't it?”

Frank didn't bother to answer her. “She's new, you say?” So much for Gerald Oakes's claim that all the servants had been with them for years.

“Yes. I don't know how long she's been here. No one consults me about anything, least of all the hiring of staff, but it hasn't been long.”

“And what makes you think she killed Charles?”

“Well, it has to be her, doesn't it? She's new.”

This was interesting reasoning, probably the same kind Oakes himself would have used if he'd realized they had a new servant. “Do you mind answering a few questions for
me, so I can get an idea of exactly what happened to your husband?”

She stiffened even more, although he would've thought that impossible. “I'm sure I don't know anything that will help.”

“You might know something you don't realize you know. You do want to help us find out who poisoned Charles, don't you?”

She wrinkled her nose again. “I'm not sure that I do.”

“Why not?” Frank asked, trying not to sound as shocked as he felt. Even if she herself was the killer, surely she would at least pretend an interest in getting justice for her husband.

“Because I don't want my name in every newspaper in town. I've seen what happens when there's a sensational crime and the newspapers start reporting on it. It's the females who always get the worst of it, too. The female is always portrayed as some immoral Jezebel who lured some poor man to his doom or seduced some poor man to murder his rival.”

Unfortunately, she was absolutely correct. “That's exactly why Mr. Oakes asked me to investigate, though. He wants to keep this out of the newspapers.”

“You'll forgive me if I don't trust you, Mr. . . .”

“Malloy,” he supplied.

“Mr. Malloy. If someone is tried for Charles's murder, it will be reported in the newspapers, and as Charles's wife, I will most likely be portrayed unfairly and my reputation ruined.”

“Would you rather see your husband's killer go free?”

“Certainly not, but finding the killer won't bring him back and it might do irreparable harm to those he left behind.”

“So you're not willing to help me?”

“How can you say that? I already told you who the killer is.”

“Did you see her poison Charles?”

She took a minute, and Frank thought perhaps she was
trying to decide whether to lie or not. Finally, she said, “No, not exactly.”

“Then I'm going to need some proof, so will you start by answering my questions?”

She wasn't happy. Probably, she was used to getting her way because most men would succumb to her charms. “I suppose,” she said without much enthusiasm. “If I can, that is.”

“Thank you.” He tried a smile, but she didn't return it. She was completely put out with him because he had failed to be charmed. “Do you remember exactly when Charles first became sick?”

She had to think about that for a moment. “On Saturday, I think. Two days before he died.”

“When exactly? Do you know?”

“I . . . I didn't see him that day until dinner. He must have been at the . . . the hospital all day,” she said. The word
hospital
seemed to leave a bad taste in her mouth.

Frank couldn't imagine Charles worked all day on Saturday, but he didn't bother to correct her. “Was he sick when he got home?”

“He didn't eat much at dinner, as I recall. His mother made a fuss about it, and he said he wasn't hungry, that he didn't feel well.”

That was interesting. So Charles was already sick when he came home.

“How did he feel overnight?”

“I'm sure I have no idea. He very considerately slept in his dressing room so he wouldn't disturb me.”

“And did you see him in the morning?”

“Of course I did.”

“How was he then?”

“Better, I think, although he didn't attend church with us.”

“And how was he feeling by evening?”

“Better still, I'm sure.”

“And did you see him on Monday morning?”

“No, I did not. He had already left the house when I got up.”

“But he obviously felt well enough to go out.”

“Yes, but he came home early. He was ill again, and this time his mother put him in one of the guest rooms. We didn't know if he had something the rest of us could catch, you see.”

“And who looked after him?”

“The servants, I suppose. I was afraid of catching whatever he had, so I didn't go near him.”

“So you don't know which servants were looking after him?”

He expected her to say Daisy had been the one, but she said, “I have no idea. I'm sure Zeller can tell you. He manages the staff.”

“When did you realize that Charles was dead?”

She had the grace to flinch at the baldness of the question. “I . . . Well, there was a crisis of some kind, and they called for the doctor. I was in my room, and I heard the commotion. Everything got very quiet after a while, though, and then Mother Oakes came to tell me he was gone.”

“Do you know a woman named Ella?”

She did the wrinkled nose again. “Ella who?”

“I don't know her last name, but she was in love with your husband.”

“That's preposterous.”

“What is? The idea that someone was in love with him?”

“Oh, I suppose that's possible, but it's preposterous what you're suggesting.”

“What am I suggesting?”

“That Charles had a mistress. Oh my, is that the woman who fainted at the service yesterday?”

“Yes, did you recognize her?”

“Not at all. I thought she must be someone from the hospital.”

“A patient, you mean?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh my, I didn't think of that! But I don't think they allow the patients out, do they? No, I thought perhaps she worked there as a matron or something. She certainly wasn't a friend of the family.”

“How do you know?”

“By the way she was dressed, of course. I wouldn't expect a man to notice, but it was obvious to me and every other female in the room.”

“I see. So you think it is preposterous to imagine that your husband had a mistress.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Even when I tell you that the wife is usually the last one to know about it?”

“I assure you, I have no experience with mistresses at all, but I know my husband. I can't imagine him being unfaithful to me, but even if he was, he would never have wasted his time with that woman.”

Frank shared her opinion, but he wasn't going to let her know it.

“Really, Mr. Malloy, I'm finding this whole thing very upsetting. First you refuse to take my word when I tell you who killed my husband, and now you're accusing the poor man of having a mistress. I'm afraid I must put an end to
this interview. My nerves simply cannot stand it another minute.”

“I'm sorry if I upset you, Mrs. Oakes,” he lied, rising as she stood. “And thank you for your help.”

“You should do more than thank me. You should find that Daisy woman and get her out of this house before she kills someone else.”

•   •   •

A
s Gino followed the butler into the servants' area of the house, he tried to guess how old the man was. He stood erect and walked with a firm step, even though his hair was gray. He had wrinkles around his eyes, but his jaw was still firm, so he wasn't as old as Gino had first thought.

“This way,” Zeller said, holding a door open for him.

The room was small and lined floor to ceiling with built-in cabinets. A table and four chairs were the only furnishings, although it didn't look like a dining room.

“This is my domain,” he said. “Please, sit down.”

Gino pulled out a chair and sat. Zeller took the chair opposite. Gino immediately sensed that something was different from all the other times he'd questioned people about a case. Of course, he'd seldom questioned people in houses like this, but that wasn't it, he realized. The difference was that in the past, every single time, he'd been a policeman, and people had been afraid of him. Their fear had automatically given him an advantage. This man, however, was not afraid of him at all. In fact, Gino thought this butler might actually feel superior to him. At best, he was only willing to cooperate because his employer had instructed him to.

Now Gino would find out just how good he was at this detecting business.

“How long have you worked for Mr. Oakes, Mr. Zeller?” Gino asked.

“Just Zeller, please. I've been here almost twenty-one years.”

“Then you know the family pretty well.”

“I suppose I do.”

“I think Mr. Oakes told you that his son was poisoned. We believe it was arsenic.” Zeller flinched at this, but didn't lower his gaze. He felt no obvious guilt then. Gino decided to get right to the point. “First of all, I need to know where you keep the arsenic.”

Zeller blinked in surprise. “We don't keep it at all.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we don't . . . Actually, as long as I've worked here, we've never kept poison of any kind in the house.”

“Not even for rats?”

“Mrs. Oakes, Mrs. Prudence Oakes, that is, would never allow it in the house. Ever since she became mistress of the house years ago, she has forbidden it. Since I've been here, we've used traps for rats when the need arose.”

That was very interesting. It meant that whoever had killed Charles had made a special effort to acquire the poison. If they could find out who had done that . . . But that would have to wait until later. “I need to know everything that happened from the time he got sick until he died.”

“I wasn't with him the entire time, of course, but I can tell you what I do know.”

“That'll be good enough. So let's start with when Mr. Oakes first got sick. When was the first you knew about that?”

“The first I knew that he didn't feel well was when he came home Saturday evening, two days before the day he died.”

“So he was fine when he left that morning?”

“As far as I know, yes. He usually dresses himself unless it's a formal occasion, so I don't see him until he comes downstairs. That morning he seemed well.”