Murder on Fifth Avenue

“It means you can’t slap him around or insult him. They’ll kill you if you do.”

That was plain enough. Frank couldn’t help wondering if this was even worth the trouble. “So you’re saying I should treat him like I’d treat Felix Decker.”

Gino’s grin flashed again, and he nodded. “That’s right. You’re asking for his help, because his name came up, and if he can help you find the one who really killed this rich fellow, you can keep the police from poking around in his business.”

“He should appreciate that.”

“He won’t appreciate anything you do for him, but he understands how the city works, and he’ll know it’s in his best interest to do a favor for you. He might need one in return some day.”

The knowledge that he would be in debt to a man like Salvatore Angotti left a bitter taste in Frank’s mouth, but he said, “How soon can you set up a meeting?”

5

FRANK MADE HIS WAY TO THE CITY MORGUE THROUGH THE crush of late afternoon traffic that clogged streets and sidewalks alike. The winter chill had seeped into his very bones by the time he reached his destination. So, glad to be someplace warm, he didn’t even mind the smell of death that always hung so heavily in the air. He found Doc Haynes in his office, writing out autopsy reports.

Frank flopped wearily down into the single chair available for visitors in the Spartan room. “Did you finish with Devries yet?”

Haynes frowned and started shuffling through the stacks of papers on his battered desk. He looked as if he needed a long rest in the country someplace. Frank probably did, too.

“Just like I thought,” Haynes said, pulling the report from the mess. “Stabbed with something long and thin. The blade punctured a kidney, and he bled to death internally. It was a lucky punch, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean whoever did it managed to slip it in between two ribs. A fraction of an inch up or down and it would’ve just nicked the skin. Instead, it slipped right in.”

“Any idea what he was stabbed with?”

“Something small.”

“You said it was long.”

“Maybe six inches at most, but narrow, much narrower than a regular knife.”

“A stiletto, then?”

“Maybe.”

Frank sighed. “What do you mean, maybe?”

“I mean, I’ve never seen a knife—not even a stiletto—make a hole that small.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. “You think it really was a hat pin?”

“I think something more like an ice pick.”

An ice pick? That opened up all sorts of possibilities. “But it could still be a stiletto?”

“A small one, I guess. I’d have to see it.”

Frank was trying to imagine how Devries could’ve been stabbed with an ice pick. Every house had one, of course, but they weren’t just lying around handy, in case you got mad and wanted to stick one into somebody. An ice pick would normally be in the kitchen, and Frank didn’t think Devries spent much time in the kitchen. “Did you find anything else?”

“Yeah, and I’m surprised you didn’t notice it yourself. No holes in his clothes.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he wasn’t wearing those clothes when he got stabbed.”

Frank blinked. Of course. He should have noticed that himself. He’d been too busy worrying about Felix Decker and his damn Knickerbocker Club. “So he was naked when he was stabbed.”

“At least from the waist up. Or else he was wearing different clothes when he got stabbed.”

Remembering what Devries had been doing that morning, he most certainly would have been in some stage of undress when he was with Norah English. He’d bathed at his home and changed his clothes, so he’d been naked around Roderick. Frank couldn’t imagine how Roderick could’ve stabbed his employer without Devries noticing, but it was still a possibility. And then there was always the possibility that Devries had cozied up to Lizzie the maid in the kitchen and she’d stuck an ice pick in his back.

Frank almost smiled at the ridiculous image.

“I guess I’ve got to go back to the man’s house and find out if he’s got holes in any of his other clothes.”

“I guess you do. He was in good health otherwise. Might’ve lived to a ripe old age if he hadn’t died.”

Frank pushed himself wearily to his feet. “You could say that about anybody.”

SARAH AND MAEVE WERE CLEANING WHEN THEY HEARD the doorbell the next morning.

“This time I hope it’s a delivery,” Sarah said, pulling off the kerchief she’d been wearing to protect her hair from dust. “I do have to earn a living, you know.”

Maeve grinned. “Especially now that you have a family to support. I’ll get it.”

Sarah removed her apron and made a few repairs to her hair before following the girl out to the front room, where she found Maeve making Garnet Devries welcome.

“Mrs. Devries,” Sarah said. “What a nice surprise.”

“I’m sure you didn’t expect to see me so soon, but my mother-in-law went to see her dressmaker this morning, so I took the opportunity to slip out myself.”

“I’m glad you did. Have you met Maeve? She helps take care of my daughter, Catherine.”

“Yes, and this must be Catherine,” Garnet said, smiling at the child who had crept silently down the stairs to see their visitor.

Maeve took Garnet’s cloak while everyone made the proper introductory greetings, and then Maeve and Catherine went back upstairs.

“Would you like some coffee? I’m afraid we’ll have to sit in the kitchen.”

“That would be lovely,” Garnet said. “I haven’t sat in a kitchen since I got married.”

“You sound sorry about that.”

“I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

Good manners forbade Sarah from asking what she meant by that, but she had a feeling that if she gave Garnet Devries the opportunity, she would explain herself without being asked. Sarah led her to the kitchen, where she poured them both coffee from the pot left over from breakfast.

“Would you like some pie? Maeve and Catherine have become very good cooks since my neighbor took them in hand.”

“No, thank you. I …” She pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment, a gesture Sarah had seen before. Suddenly, she understood why Garnet Devries had been so anxious to see her.

“Are you with child?”

Garnet’s eyes widened. “Can you tell simply by looking at a woman?”

“Not exactly, but you put your fingers to your lips, as if the thought of the pie nauseated you.”

“Not the pie in particular.”

“No, just any food at all, I expect. It’s called morning sickness. Many women suffer from it during the first few months. How far along are you?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t even sure…I’m still not.”

She hadn’t touched her coffee, and Sarah noticed how pale she had grown now that the ruddiness from the cold had faded from her cheeks. Sarah saw no spark of joy in her lovely eyes at the thought of a new life, either. But perhaps she was just frightened. Childbirth could be terrifying.

Sarah began asking her the routine questions about her menstrual cycle and other changes she would have noticed in her body. Her answers confirmed Sarah’s suspicions. “It’s still very early, but I think you can expect a