murder case. Would wonders never cease?
17
SARAH HAD GONE OVER EVERY DETAIL OF THE CASE with Malloy during the cab ride over to the Blackwell house. They’d decided a hansom cab was better than walking since they could talk without shocking any passersby.
“So you think the butler will say that Letitia was the last one in the house that day,” Malloy was saying as the cab pulled up into Gramercy Park Square.
“I’m sure that’s what he told me. She made certain all the servants were out for the afternoon. She probably didn’t want her quarrel with Blackwell to be overheard.”
“And we won’t reveal that Dudley is still alive just yet. I’ll say he told me about the quarrel with Blackwell when I questioned him several days ago,” Malloy cautioned her.
“And don’t forget to mention that Dudley thought she killed Blackwell. That will shake her confidence.”
Malloy looked as if his confidence had received some shaking as he helped her out of the cab. This would be a dangerous confrontation for him, she knew. Offending a man as powerful as Maurice Symington could cost him his job, and Symington could make certain he never found another. For a moment she wondered why he had decided to take such a risk just on the chance that a killer might receive a slight punishment. And then she felt guilty. She would have done it, so why should she assume he would hold himself to a lower standard? Did she doubt his honor just because he happened to be an Irish cop? She knew better than that and felt the sting of guilt for doubting him, even momentarily.
Granger opened the door to admit them, his dignity severely taxed at having to be civil to them. “Mr. Symington and Mrs. Blackwell are waiting in the parlor,” he said. Malloy had telephoned Symington that morning and arranged for the meeting.
Symington rose to his feet when they entered the room. Letitia looked up from where she sat on the sofa. She was dressed in something frothy and blue as a cloudless sky. Perhaps she’d decided to forgo widow’s weeds since she now knew her marriage had been a sham. Or perhaps she just wanted to look lovely and vulnerable and found black did not suit her purpose this afternoon.
“This is very presumptuous of you, Malloy,” Symington was saying as Granger closed the parlor doors behind them. “I trust you are as good as your word and that you’ve finally gotten this thing settled once and for all.”
“Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice, Mr. Symington,” Malloy said, not really answering the question or acknowledging the anger behind Symington’s words. “Mrs. Blackwell,” he added, nodding to her.
No one had asked them to sit, but Sarah took the chair opposite where Letitia sat in state on the sofa, her skirts spread artfully so no one could sit beside her. Malloy stood.
“Well, out with it,” Symington said. “I haven’t got all day.”
“Amos Potter has confessed to killing Calvin Brown and stabbing Peter Dudley,” Malloy said.
“Potter!” Symington echoed incredulously.
“Amos?” Letitia said. “That’s ridiculous! Mr. Potter wouldn’t hurt anyone! Besides, why should he want to harm Peter or that poor boy? He didn’t even know them!”
“He wanted to harm Peter Dudley for the oldest reason in the world-he was jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” Symington scoffed.
“Your daughter’s affections,” Malloy replied.
“Mr. Potter fancied himself in love with Mrs. Blackwell,” Malloy explained. “And he did not think Peter Dudley was worthy of her. He also wanted to protect her from the scandal that would have followed her marriage to Dudley. He believed people would at least suspect an adulterous relationship between them because of the baby’s resemblance to Dudley.”
Symington glared at Letitia. “I told you that’s what would have happened,” he said to her. “You’re well rid of Dudley. He would’ve made you a laughingstock.”
The color rose in her cheeks, but she kept her chin high. Sarah had to admire her for that, at least. Letitia turned to Malloy. “You said he also killed that boy, Edmund’s son. Why would he do a thing like that?”
“Because he’d already tried to convince me that Calvin Brown killed Dr. Blackwell, so he poisoned the boy and left a suicide note confessing to the crime. He wanted to make me believe Calvin was the killer so I would close the investigation.”
“Then he must have killed Edmund, too,” Symington concluded. “Why else would he go to all the trouble to implicate the boy?”
“Because he was trying to protect someone,” Malloy said.
“Who on earth would he have been trying to protect except himself?” Symington scoffed.
“Your daughter.”
If Symington was stunned, Letitia was equally shocked.
“What was he trying to protect me from?” she asked with every appearance of innocence.
Sarah knew this was where her lighter touch was needed. Before Malloy could speak, she said, “I’m afraid that Mr. Potter believes that you killed your husband, Mrs. Blackwell.”
Symington was blustering something about that being preposterous, but Letitia was just staring at Sarah in apparent fascination. “Why would he think a thing like that?” she asked with genuine interest.
This was where they were going to have to stretch the truth a bit. Sarah managed not to look at Malloy. They couldn’t betray any sense of uncertainty.
“We know you quarreled with your husband the day he died, Mrs. Blackwell,” Malloy said. “Peter Dudley told me that you were terrified he would find out you were still using morphine.”
Letitia ignored him. “My husband and I often quarreled,” she said. “If every woman who quarreled with her husband shot him in the head, there would be no married men left in the city.”
“But you were afraid that if he discovered your secret, he would force you to quit taking the morphine again,” Malloy continued. “You feared that more than anything in the world, from what Dudley said. He also said you were very upset when you met him that afternoon at the opium den.”
“They aren’t lies, Mr. Symington,” Sarah told him. “Mrs. Blackwell regularly met Dudley at an opium den uptown. She told me that herself, and the proprietor will attest to it,” she added untruthfully, hoping Letitia wouldn’t remember that Mr. Fong had already refused to vouch for their alibi and challenge her. “Letitia was forced to go there for her daily dose of morphine because Dr. Blackwell would not allow the drug in the house.”
Symington looked to Letitia, expecting a denial, but all he got was silence. After a moment he sat down abruptly in the chair he had been occupying when Sarah and Malloy had come in. Sarah could see the understanding-and accompanying apprehension-coming to his face.
“Dudley even said that when he heard Blackwell had been killed, he believed you had done it,” Sarah said to Letitia. “Because you were so upset that day when you met him at the opium den and because you were so afraid of your husband finding out about the morphine.”
“And when your butler told Mrs. Brandt that you had personally sent the servants out of the house the afternoon Dr. Blackwell was killed, we knew that you were the last one to see him alive, and the one with the best opportunity-and most pressing reason-to have killed him,” Malloy concluded.
Symington was blustering again, but with less enthusiasm this time. He was also watching his daughter with growing horror. Sarah was starting to feel uneasy as well. She wasn’t sure what reaction she had expected, but it wasn’t the secret, pleased smile now adorning Letitia Blackwell’s lovely face.
“Are you saying that Mr. Potter and Peter Dudley both believe that I murdered Edmund?” she asked.
“I’m afraid so, Mrs. Blackwell,” Malloy said, sounding genuinely apologetic. Either he was a better actor than Sarah had suspected or he really did regret accusing her of murder.
