Murder On Astor Place

Frank didn’t like the way her eyes shone. If she started crying, he wasn’t exactly sure what he should do. Fortunately, she blinked several times and regained her composure.

“Detective, Malloy, my sister died because my father didn’t want to be embarrassed. He thought more of his good name than her happiness, and when he couldn’t force her to his will, he abandoned her. I don’t think he planned to lose her forever, or at least I hope that’s true, but that’s what happened nevertheless.”

“And was his good name ruined when word of her death got out?”

Mrs. Brandt gave him a pitying look. “Don’t you understand yet? Word didn’t get out. He made up a story about her catching a fever in France. He said she died over there and was buried there, too. Oh, some people knew. There was gossip, but because my family told them a story they could pretend to believe, no hint of scandal ever touched us. My father didn’t even put her in the family plot. She and the baby are buried in an unmarked grave in a cemetery on Long Island. And Peter, too. He hanged himself the day after she died.”

“Good God.” Why had Frank assumed that having money would encourage finer feelings in people? Felix Decker was one of the wealthiest men in the city, and yet he had treated his daughter as cruelly as the drunken immigrant who sends his daughters out to prostitute themselves so he won’t have to work.

“So you see, Detective, the VanDamms might decide they don’t want the killer found. It won’t bring their daughter back and will only cause them harm.”

“If they don’t want the killer caught, why should you care? You said yourself, you hardly even knew the girl.”

She thought this over for a few seconds. “I want to see justice done, Detective. I want someone punished for snuffing out Alicia’s life and the life of her child. I don’t want to watch another young woman vanish into a web of secrets and lies.”

Frank’s head was throbbing now. “But if her own family doesn’t want her murder solved…”

“The police force is changing Mr. Malloy. I know what’s going on, how men are finally being promoted on merit rather than on how big a bribe they can afford. If you bring this killer to justice, you’ll be noticed. Noticed for something good. Don’t you want to be Superintendent someday?”

“I’m not that ambitious, Mrs. Brandt,” he assured her sourly. “Captain is all I’m aiming for.”

“I have friends in government, Mr. Malloy. I’ll make sure they notice you.”

Frank wished he believed this. “The reformers won’t last long. Don’t you read the papers? Roosevelt’s stupid plan to enforce the law and keep the saloons closed on Sunday is already making all the wrong people mad. He won’t last, and when he’s gone, things will be the way they’ve always been.”

“Then I’ll pay you a reward,” she said, startling him yet again. “I have some money of my own, and I, can’t think of a better way to use it.”

The thought of taking Sarah Brandt’s money was unsettling, and Frank didn’t like the feeling one bit. Since when had he gotten so particular? Money was money, and that’s what he needed if he ever wanted to make Captain, Teddy Roosevelt and his reforms be damned. And he had to make Captain, because he had a story of his own, a story just as awful as Sarah Brandt’s, but one that he had no intention of ever telling her or anyone else.

“If the VanDamms don’t cooperate, I won’t get very far, no matter how big the reward is or who pays it. Nobody else is likely to tell me anything useful or even know anything useful,” he pointed out.

“The servants will know. The servants know more than anyone. And if you need to bribe them, I’ll be happy to provide the funds for that, too.”

Frank was pretty sure he would’ve thought of the servants eventually. He was just groggy from not enough sleep. And maybe that was why he said, “Keep your money, Mrs. Brandt. I won’t be needing it.” He couldn’t think of any other reason why he would say something so foolish.

“But you will try to find Alicia’s killer, won’t you?”

Frank knew he shouldn’t make the promise, but he said, “I’ll find him.”

And he wasn’t sure if he was terrified or grateful when he saw that Sarah Brandt believed him.

CORNELIUS VANDAMM DID offer a reward for his daughter’s jewelry. When Frank explained that stolen goods could often be recovered this way, VanDamm was only too happy to oblige. The sapphire necklace had belonged to his mother, he said. Frank hadn’t mentioned that the trail of the pawned jewelry might also lead to Alicia’s killer. He didn’t want to ruin the deal, especially when VanDamm hadn’t mentioned anything about a reward for the killer yet and Frank wasn’t yet sure he even wanted the killer found.

The pawnshop was on Catherine Street, amid the slums of the Bowery. All the pawnshops in the city were located in the Bowery. The shop was small and crowded with a strange assortment of goods, ranging from gold watches to eyeglasses. Overcoats hung along one wall, and musical instruments of various ages and stages of repair were piled in a comer. There was even a rack of umbrellas. People in need would sell anything for a few cents.

The proprietor, a sly character known only as Slippery Joe, greeted him warmly. “Detective Malloy, as I live and breathe, and how are you this fine day?”

It was gray and drizzling a bit outside, but Frank didn’t bother to mention this. “I’ve got a little problem, Joe, and I thought you might be able to help me with it.”

“Anything I can do for the police, you know I always try to help.” Joe was a slender man of indeterminate age, with watery eyes and thinning gray hair and an ingratiating smile for detectives. Frank had no idea how he treated his customers since they always made themselves scarce when the coppers were around.

“I’m trying to trace some jewelry. Would’ve been sold sometime in the last month.”

“You know I don’t deal in stolen articles, Detective,” Joe reminded him unctuously. To give him credit, few pawnbrokers served as fences. The risks were too great, and besides, they made enough money already simply doing their regular work.

Frank gave him a conspiratorial smile. “You probably didn’t know they were stolen. And I doubt the person who had them would’ve gone to a fence.” He was still going on the theory that Alicia VanDamm had sold the jewels herself to finance her escape. “They’re nice pieces, and there aren’t many places that would handle them. Not many other brokers would recognize the quality.”

Joe had to agree. He rubbed this stubbled chin thoughtfully and nodded. “What did they look like?”

Sarah Brandt had been right about the VanDamms having a paste copy of the jewelry. Frank pulled the imitation sapphire necklace from his pocket and laid it on the scratched counter. Joe’s eyes grew wide, and Frank had to agree, it was a shocking sight, so much beauty amid the squalor of the shop’s other contents.

“Yes, I think I might have seen something like that come through here. I’d have to check my safe, of course. Is there a… a reward being offered for its return?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

A princely sum, to be sure, but only a fraction of what VanDamm had really offered. Frank wanted to leave some room for negotiation.

Joe studied the necklace and nodded. “Yes, yes, I think I may have seen just this very piece.”

“There were other pieces that may have been sold with it. I’ve got the description of them, too. The owner wants all of it back. There’s a pair of earrings, diamonds set in the shape of stars, and another pair that’s pearls. A pearl necklace, too, and a brooch shaped like a spider with a ruby in the center.”

Joe nodded again. “So many beautiful things. I couldn’t possibly have given less than five hundred for them,” he assured Frank.

Frank doubted this very much, but he was willing to dicker a bit to get what he wanted. “I’m sure the victim will go as high as three hundred, but that’s probably all. She’s a widow of limited means. The jewelry is all she has left in the world.”

Plainly, Joe didn’t believe Frank any more than Frank believed him, but he said, “I’ll see if my memory is as good as it used to be. Please, make yourself at home, Detective, while I check my safe.”

Just as Frank had suspected, Joe had all the pieces he was looking for. This meant they’d probably been sold as a group. If his luck was good, this meant they’d all been stolen from Alicia’s room the night she was killed and pawned by her murderer. If his luck was bad, as he suspected it probably was, Alicia herself had pawned the pieces and lived on the proceeds for the past month.

“When did these come in?” Frank asked.

Joe consulted his ledger. “Five weeks ago.”