Murder On GramercyPark

Calvin told me he’d met with you. He said the only way he got in to see his father was because you intervened for him.”

Symington was a careful man. He took a moment to weigh his options. He could, of course, have called Frank a liar and ordered him from the room. He could have feigned ignorance and demanded an explanation. But he was too wise to take any chances. He understood that a scandal like this, involving the betrayed daughter of a wealthy and powerful man, would sell a lot of newspapers. The respectable papers wouldn’t publish it, of course, but there were many papers in the city that made no pretense to respectability. They would pay a large sum of money for the information Frank had, and Symington had no reason to trust Frank’s discretion.

“Please sit down, Mr. Malloy,” Symington said, instantly reasonable.

Frank did as he was told, noticing that the chair here was much more comfortable and expensive than the one in Blackwell’s former office. This one was leather and as soft as butter. A real man’s chair.

“How did the boy die?” Symington asked when Frank was settled.

“Arsenic. Somebody put it in a bottle of sarsaparilla.”

“Somebody?” he asked, not missing the implication.

“It could have been a suicide.”

Symington thought this over. “You don’t believe it was,” he guessed.

“I’m paid to be skeptical.”

“Do you know the entire story?” Symington asked, folding his hands on the desktop. “About the boy, I mean.”

Now it was Frank’s turn to be cautious. He certainly didn’t want to be the one telling Symington something he didn’t know about his own daughter. “I know that Blackwell used to be Eddie Brown and that Eddie Brown had a wife he’d neglected to divorce and three children he’d deserted in Virginia. I know Calvin had traced his father here and that they’d met. Calvin said Blackwell had promised to give him some money and start supporting the Brown family again. I only have his word on that, since Blackwell wasn’t around to confirm anything. Oh, and Amos Potter said Blackwell had gotten some money together and planned to meet with Calvin on the afternoon he was killed. The boy claimed nobody answered the door that day, so he never even saw his father, but nobody’s seen the money since, either.”

“Potter believes the boy killed Edmund. If he did, he could have killed himself out of remorse,” Symington suggested.

“That would make everything neat and tidy,” Frank pointed out. “But if he did kill Blackwell, why didn’t he take the money and leave town? Why stay around and put himself in the way of being caught? If Calvin didn’t kill his father-and that’s a pretty unnatural thing to do, no matter what your old man did to you-then somebody’s gotten away with murdering two men.”

“Two men about whom I care little, Mr. Malloy,” Symington pointed out without apology. “I do care very much about my daughter, however. Protecting her good name and that of her child must be my main concern.”

“Any father would feel the same,” Frank allowed. “Too bad Blackwell wasn’t as concerned about his children. That Calvin, for instance; he seemed like a good boy, and he’d gotten a pretty rough deal from his old man. Had to go to work when he was just a kid to help support his mother and two little sisters. Now his mother’s lost her husband and her only son. Don’t hardly seem fair to mark the boy a killer if he’s innocent.”

“Many things in life aren’t fair, Mr. Malloy, as I’m sure you are well aware. But I would be happy to compensate Mrs. Brown for her loss. It’s not my responsibility, of course, but it’s the right thing to do. The poor woman has suffered too much already. There’s no reason she should be rendered destitute by the loss of her son, and I have the means to help her. I also feel some obligation because I allowed Edmund to marry my daughter in the first place.”

He’d be responsible for blackening Calvin’s name, too, which would be even worse, because he’d do it intentionally. Frank didn’t think reminding him of this would help the situation any, though. He was already dangerously close to having Symington order him to declare Calvin as Blackwell’s killer and close the case. A rich man had done this to him once before, and a word from Symington to Chief of Police Conlin was all it would take. Frank wasn’t going to let that happen again if he could help it.

“But what if somebody else killed both of them?” he suggested to Symington. “Somebody you don’t care about either. Somebody who’d be better off locked up. Somebody you’d also like to keep away from your daughter.”

Symington’s face hardened. “You seem to be speaking of someone in particular, Mr. Malloy. Is that the case?”

“I’ve learned a few things about your daughter’s past that might give a man we both know a reason for wanting Blackwell out of the way,” Frank said, not really answering the question.

Symington was angry, although he was trying not to show it. “My daughter’s past is none of your concern, Malloy.”

“What if her past has moved into the present?”

Symington was angrier still, but he was also afraid of how much Frank might know and of what he might do with that knowledge. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about old friends suddenly showing up. Friends who might prefer it if your daughter wasn’t married anymore. A friend who might even want to marry her himself the way he tried to once before.”

“That’s impossible,” Symington insisted, but it sounded more like a frantic hope than a certainty.

“Peter Dudley visited your daughter just the other day,” Frank said.

“That son of a bitch.” Symington’s rage was interesting. He looked as if he wanted to shout and pound on his desk and even throw something out that impressive window. Instead, he merely turned a deep shade of purple and stared murderously at a spot somewhere over Frank’s left shoulder. Frank was afraid he might have apoplexy, and that wouldn’t serve Frank’s purpose at all.

“I also know the story of how Dudley tried to elope with your daughter,” Frank said, saving Symington the trouble of making up any lies about their relationship and, with any luck, distracting him from his own rage.

“That bounder has no principles at all,” Symington said with surprising restraint.

“So I gathered,” Frank said agreeably. “I don’t know what I’d do to a man who tried to steal my daughter and then left her an invalid.”

“I know what I wanted to do,” Symington admitted, this time surprising Frank with his candor. “He hardly seemed worth the effort, though. Have you seen him?”

Frank nodded.

“Then you know what I mean. How could I have imagined such a man was a threat to my daughter? If I’d ever dreamed a girl like Letitia would find a worthless creature like that appealing… But of course I had no idea. The next thing I know, he’s pounding on my door in the middle of the night, holding my daughter’s broken body in his arms.”

“It must have taken a lot of courage to face you like that,” Frank pointed out.

Symington snorted rudely. “I suppose you’re right. He could have left her lying in the road and run for his life. If he’d done that, I most certainly would have hunted him down and made certain he got what he deserved.”

“Instead you let him go,” Frank guessed.

Symington sighed. “My only concern was for Letitia. If he simply left the area, she couldn’t hate me for that, and I hoped she’d come to despise him for being a coward. He was terrified when he carried Letitia into the house that night, so it took only a hint to make him see the wisdom of vanishing from her life forever. Or so I thought,” he added wearily.

“Maybe he really does love your daughter,” Frank said, still playing devil’s advocate.

“What possible difference could that make?” Symington asked disdainfully. “And if he did love her, he’d have the decency to leave her alone. Anyone can see he’s completely unsuitable for her. You’re obviously a romantic, Mr. Malloy, but don’t be fooled. He’s a fortune hunter and always has been. As soon as he found out Letitia was a widow, he came sniffing around to try his hand with her again. I won’t have it, not this time. And this time I’ll make sure he doesn’t come back into her life.” He had made his resolution, and Frank sensed he would dismiss him in another moment. He had to act fast if he wanted a chance to find Blackwell and Calvin’s real killer.

“Mr. Symington, there may be more to this than you believe.”

“More to what?” Symington asked absently, already mentally making his plans for disposing of Peter