twisted her stomach, but she refused to acknowledge it. She had nothing to fear, she told herself. She was a grown woman who had her own life, and nothing and no one could change that, certainly nothing and no one in this house, not unless she allowed it herself. And since she had no intention of doing so, she was safe from any attack on her independence.
Besides, she was certain not to encounter the one person she least desired to see here today because he was miles away.
A maid she didn’t know answered her knock, and the girl stared at her in surprise. Sarah didn’t look like the usual visitor to this house.
“I’m Sarah Brandt,” she said, “and I’d like to see my mother, if she’s at home.”
As HE LOOKED at the plush surroundings, Frank figured he’d probably made a big mistake by coming here. The offices of Mattingly and Springer were plainly designed to appeal to people of a completely different social class. Folks like Frank probably came and went by the service entrance, if they came and went at all. From the way the clerk had looked at him when he’d walked through the hand-carved oak door, he guessed it was the latter.
“May I help you?” the clerk asked. Frank noticed he didn’t add “sir.” The fellow was young, not more than twenty-two or -three, and extremely thin. The bones of his face seemed to be straining to get through his tight, pale flesh. That alone would have made him unpleasant to look at, but his expression was pinched, too, like he smelled something bad. Maybe he did. Frank hadn’t changed his shirt in a day or two.
“I’m here to see Sylvester Mattingly,” Frank said. No “Mr.” Mattingly. No “please.” No “if he’s in.” Frank could be rude, too.
“Is this pertaining to a case Mr. Mattingly is handling?” the boy sniffed. Plainly, he doubted this very much.
“It’s pertaining to the death of Miss Alicia VanDamm.”
Frank would have bet the boy’s face was already as white as it could get, but he would’ve been wrong. His eyes even seemed to bulge out a little. Funny how the name VanDamm could get a reaction. Or maybe it was the fact of Alicia’s death.
Whatever it was, it had rattled the skinny clerk. He started fiddling nervously with his paper sleeve protectors, and he ducked his head so that his green eyeshade shielded his face. “Who…? May I tell Mr. Mattingly who is calling?” he stammered, no longer quite so sure of himself.
“Tell him Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy of the New York City Police.”
At this, the boy’s head came up again, and this time his eyes were definitely bulging. “Please, have a seat,” he offered in a choked whisper before fairly running from the room.
He closed the inner door behind him, leaving Frank alone in the reception room. The place felt closed in, even though the room was large and had a high ceiling. Probably, the illusion came from the depth of the carpets, the thickness of the maroon velvet drapes, and the ornately carved plaster ceiling. Everything seemed heavy, from the oak of the doors to the oak of the clerk’s desk. Probably designed to absorb sound, so that every conversation held here would remain in strictest confidence. Frank figured the people who needed such a high-priced lawyer talked about a lot of things that needed to remain confidential.
Frank seated himself in one of the overstuffed chairs provided for visitors. Across from him hung a portrait of an elderly man who’d had lifelong bowel problems, if his expression was any indication. Frank noticed the elaborate chandelier hadn’t been wired for electricity, as if such a thing would be considered vulgar in this bastion of conservatism. All he could say was, Sarah Brandt better be right about Mattingly knowing where to find that Fisher fellow.
After a few moments, the clerk returned. “Mr. Mattingly is expecting a client very shortly, but he can spare you a few minutes. If you will follow me.”
Frank was sorry he hadn’t been there to see Mattingly’s face when the clerk had announced him. He wondered if he’d been as shocked as the clerk. If so, he’d had enough time to recover, Frank noted when he stepped into Mattingly’s office.
This room was just as plush as the outer room, although the colors were darker and duller, browns and tans this time. Mattingly sat behind a desk that seemed a mile wide and a half a mile deep. He didn’t seem pleased to see Frank, and he didn’t get up to greet him.
Frank couldn’t judge Mattingly’s height since the desk would have dwarfed even a large man, but he seemed insignificant sitting there in the high-backed chair. His hair was thick and white and expertly barbered. His coat was tailor-made and filled out his narrow shoulders with artful padding. His face sagged with age, and his eyes glittered like glass beneath heavy lids. He might be very good at concealing his emotions, but those eyes gave him away this time. Frank’s visit had made him furious.
Mattingly waited until the clerk had closed the door firmly, if silently, behind him before he said, “Detective Sergeant Malloy,” as if getting a feel for the words in his mouth. They seemed to have an unpleasant flavor. “I’m used to dealing with the police, but never with anyone below the rank of captain.”
Just as Frank has suspected. Mattingly wouldn’t waste his bribe money on a lowly detective. “This time it looks like you’re stuck with me. I’m the one investigating the death of Alicia VanDamm.”
“A dreadful business, to be sure,” he said, although his tone betrayed no hint of grief or even regret. “But I can’t imagine why you’ve come here. How do you suppose I can aid your investigation?”
He hadn’t asked Frank to sit down-a deliberate omission, Frank was sure-but Frank ostentatiously seated himself in one of the chairs facing the desk. They were leather and remarkably comfortable. He waited for Mattingly’s frown of annoyance before saying, “I’m looking for Hamilton Fisher. My sources say he works for you.”
Frank had been hoping for fear, or at least surprise, but he got only more anger. Mattingly’s thin lips whitened and his dark eyes narrowed. “I’ve never heard of this man. I’m afraid your sources are mistaken. If that is what you came for, you wasted your time and mine. Now if you will excuse me, Mr. Malloy, I’m expecting a client momentarily.”
Frank didn’t move. “That’s funny, because my sources said that Fisher works for you as a sort of private detective. I guess even a high-priced lawyer like yourself needs to do some snooping every now and then. A fellow like this Fisher could come in real handy.”
“I told you, Detective Sergeant, I never-”
“Sure, whatever you say, but I just think it’s kind of funny that somebody who people say works for you was living in the same boardinghouse as Miss VanDamm and that he disappeared the same night she got herself killed. Now if I was of a suspicious nature, I might think this Fisher had something to do with her death or at least that he knows something the police might find interesting.”
Mattingly was used to disguising his true feelings, although a fury such as he was experiencing at the moment was impossible to completely conceal. He had the sense not to succumb to it, however, much to Frank’s disappointment. He took some time to gather himself, folding his knobby-fingered hands carefully on the desk in front of him. He studied the liver spots of the backs of those hands for a long moment, as if seeking some guidance there. When he looked up, he was in complete control of himself.
“Detective Sergeant, I have already told you, I am not acquainted with the gentleman you are seeking. I must ask you again-”
“Did you know Alicia VanDamm?”
For an instant, Mattingly almost lost his patience. “I know her entire family. Everyone knows the VanDamms.”
Probably, he meant, “Everyone who is anyone knows the VanDamms.” Frank wouldn’t qualify, of course.
“Do you know the VanDamms socially or professionally?”
“I can’t believe that is any of your business,” Mattingly said with the confidence of one powerful enough that he needn’t fear the police.
“And I can’t believe you don’t want to help me find out who killed Alicia VanDamm. The girl was strangled, Mr. Mattingly, and I’m trying to find and punish the brute who did it, and here you are, treating me like I’m the third cop to come in here asking you to buy tickets to the policeman’s ball.”
Frank got the impression that Mattingly wanted to wrap those long, bony fingers around his neck and choke him the way somebody had choked Alicia VanDamm. He only got that impression from his sixth sense, however, since Mattingly was doing his very best not to betray any emotion whatever. Finally, however, he allowed himself a bit
