Or unless she could think of a reason why it might have caused Alicia’s death. That, she realized as she watched buildings and apartments speed by the train’s window close enough for her to reach out and touch if she’d wished to risk losing an arm, might take a little more thought.
FRANK KNEW SOMETHING was wrong the minute he stepped into the room. The detectives all had desks in one large room in Police Headquarters, and this afternoon, everyone who happened to be here was nonchalantly ignoring Frank. Too nonchalantly. They were merely pretending not to notice him and really watching him like hawks and waiting expectantly for something. Frank could feel it in the air like a vapor. What they could be waiting for, Frank couldn’t imagine until he reached his own desk and saw the envelope. The ivory vellum envelope addressed to him in a decidedly feminine hand.
Damn, no wonder they were watching him.
“Is it a love letter, Frank?” a falsetto voice inquired from across the room. Frank didn’t even glance up.
“O’Shaughnessy said she’s a real peach. A blonde,” someone else reported.
“A
“She’s an informant,” Frank said to the room at large, but of course they didn’t want to believe something so innocent.
“I never had a stool pigeon send me a love letter,” Harry Kelly said.
“You never had
“And you couldn’t read it even if they did,” Frank said, still staring at the envelope. He didn’t have to turn it over to see who it was from, and he certainly hadn’t needed to hear her description. Only one person in the world would be sending him a note like this. He was very much afraid he was going to have to strangle Sarah Brandt. His only regret would be that he would never make Captain.
But it might be worth it.
“Ain’t you gonna read it, Frank?” someone coaxed.
“Read it out loud,” Bill suggested. “Don’t be stingy.”
“I can’t read it out loud,” Frank said. “It would take me too long to explain all the big words to you.”
“Or all the dirty words,” Harry said slyly.
Frank gave him a look. “I thought you already knew all the dirty words.”
“He’s got you there, Harry,” Bill hooted.
“I thought you swore off women, Frank,” Harry said. “Where’d this blonde bit of fluff come from?”
“I told you, she’s an informant.”
With a resigned sigh, he picked up the envelope and broke the seal. He could feel the eyes of all the other detectives watching him intently, waiting for some reaction. Frank was going to do his best to disappoint them.
“Dear Mr. Malloy,” her note began. He should read them that part, if they were expecting a love letter. “I have learned some very interesting information about Sylvester Mattingly’s relationship with Alicia. It seems that rumors were circulating among the VanDamms’s acquaintances that Mr. VanDamm was arranging a marriage between Alicia and Mattingly. I have a theory that might explain Alicia’s circumstances which I would rather not put in writing. If you will call upon me at your earliest convenience, I will be happy to explain it to you.” It was signed, “In haste, Sarah Brandt.”
“That son of a bitch,” Frank muttered, recalling in great detail his conversation with Sylvester Mattingly. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to cooperate with Frank’s investigation. He was the one Alicia had been running away from all along! And when he thought about Mattingly so much as touching that poor girl…
“Bad news, Frank?” Bill asked with phony concern.
“She throwing you over for another fellow?” Harry smirked.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Frank agreed, wishing he would be that lucky. Unfortunately, he was afraid Sarah Brandt’s intense interest in him would continue as long as he was investigating Alicia VanDamm’s murder. And as for Mrs. Brandt and her theories, he would have bet a year’s salary that she’d have one, and an equal amount that it wouldn’t do him any good. So far, this case had been one blind alley after another, all thanks to Sarah Brandt and her useless information.
He was still debating the advisability of meeting with Mrs. Brandt again-could he be civil to her if he did? And would it be a complete waste of his time?-when one of the officers from downstairs came into the room. Frank hardly noticed until he realized the man was coming right up to him.
“Malloy?”
Frank nodded curtly.
“Got a message.” The fellow looked sort of smug, knowing the effect this message would have. “Superintendent Conlin wants to see you in his office right away.”
Once again a murmur went through the room as the other detectives reacted to the summons. This couldn’t be good news. Conlin didn’t interfere with individual detectives. In fact, he didn’t concern himself with their work at all, letting Chief of Detectives Steers have a free hand with them, so this wasn’t any kind of routine consultation. This was something serious and probably dangerous, too. Dangerous for Frank, that is. If he did or said the wrong thing, he could forget about making Captain. He could even forget about working for the police department anymore.
And why was he so sure that Sarah Brandt’s interference was somehow to blame for this summons?
Chief Conlin’s office was on the second floor, with all the other important offices. Roosevelt himself kept one here, complete with his girl secretary, the only female ever to work in such a capacity in the history of the New York City Police. Frank hoped Sarah Brandt didn’t find out about the girl secretary. Next thing he knew, she’d be Roosevelt’s right-hand man. Or woman.
Conlin kept a male secretary, as was proper, and the fellow showed him into the inner sanctum immediately. Frank wasn’t sure if he should be apprehensive or not, so he settled for wary. The office was comfortably furnished, but nothing like Sylvester Mattingly’s. Conlin sat behind his desk in a large chair. He was a man of middle years, of medium height and slight build with light blue eyes and a sallow complexion. He might have been considered nondescript, except for the power he wielded in his new position.
“Sit down… Mallory, is it?”
“Malloy,” Frank corrected him. He took the offered chair. It wasn’t as comfortable as the one in Mattingly’s office, either.
“I understand you’re working on the murder of Miss Alicia VanDamm,” Conlin said, leaning back and stroking his mustache thoughtfully.
“That’s right.” Frank waited, not a bit surprised. This was the only case he had that might have caused anyone concern.
“An ugly business. A young girl like that, cut down in her prime.” He shook his head sadly, his face expressing his profound distress as such an event.
Frank was impressed. He’d heard that the new superintendent had been trained in public speaking by his brother who was an actor, and Conlin certainly exhibited the grace and style of a professional actor. Those skills would stand him in good stead in his current position, but Frank wasn’t fooled by this phony concern for Alicia VanDamm. Conlin would only be concerned with how the investigation of her case affected one person: himself.
Frank nodded once, to let him know he agreed so far. Every instinct was rebelling, however, warning him something bad was going to happen. Something really bad. Wariness gave way to dread.
“Do you know the VanDamm family?”
“I’ve met them. During the investigation.”
The chief frowned, looking down at the polished surface of his desktop as if weighing his words carefully. Just the way an actor would play a man of power. “Then perhaps you can understand their concerns, which are different from what many people would consider standard in this situation.”
“I’d guess their main concern would be finding out who killed their daughter,” Frank tried.
“Most people would,” the chief agreed, folding his hands on his desk and leaning forward to give Frank the
