The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries Book 14) Page 25

  Then wind swirled and spattered raindrops from the porch overhang, making him realize I was still standing outside. “Dear me. Most rude of me. Please, come in. I’ll make some coffee.”

  I followed him inside, this time to a small, warm kitchen. He put on a kettle before he turned to me and said, “May I ask what interest you have in Edward Deveraux?”

  “It’s possible that he has something to do with your mother’s death,” I said.

  His mouth dropped open, then he frowned. “Are you suggesting … but that’s impossible. They took him away and locked him up. I wrote to him for a while. He wrote back … long, rambling letters about science experiments he was conducting. He didn’t seem particularly unhappy. It wasn’t one of those dreadful state institutions, you understand. They let him have access to books, and he was used to being shut away on his own. But there was always someone guarding his door. He can’t have escaped, surely? One would have heard if he’d escaped.”

  “The police are finding out today whether he might have escaped,” I said.

  The kettle boiled and Terrence poured boiling water over the coffee grounds. The enticing aroma filled the kitchen, making me realize how cold and miserable I had become.

  When he had finished pouring, he put the kettle back on the hob and looked up at me. “You can’t possibly think that he killed my mother.”

  “I’m afraid we have to consider the possibility.”

  He closed his eyes tightly, as if not allowing pain to enter. “No! No, I won’t believe it. Edward and I were friends,” he said. “I was the only person he trusted. The only person he could talk to.”

  “Did you give evidence at his trial?”

  Another spasm of pain crossed his face. “I had to. I was called as a witness and they asked me lots of questions about his mental state. I knew it sounded very bad for Ed, but I had to tell the truth, didn’t I?”

  “What sort of things did they ask you?” I asked, then nodded as he put a cup of coffee in front of me.

  “Whether I had witnessed abnormal behavior. And of course I had to say yes, I had. He did experiments on insects and small animals. He seemed to delight in inflicting pain. He cut himself sometimes and would sit, watching the blood run.” He saw me give an involuntary shudder, then added, “Yes, Edward Deveraux was definitely not normal, but in spite of everything I was fond of him, and I thought he was of me. I can’t believe he would have killed my mother. I simply can’t believe it.”

  But I believed it as I left his house. Terrence Daughtery had said that Edward had delighted in inflicting pain. What more pain could he have caused than killing Terrence’s mother, or Mary Willis’s sister, or presumably Judge Ellingham’s wife? Now I only hoped they could catch him quickly, before he did any more damage.

  I wasn’t sure what to do next. If Edward had been bent on inflicting pain, he had taken revenge by killing the nearest and dearest of those he thought had betrayed him. In which case Dr. Grossman must also have somehow been involved in Edward Deveraux’s trial, and been punished by the killing of his only son. Which led me to think about the Hamiltons. Who was being punished by killing Susan and Albert Hamilton? Surely not Mabel, who wasn’t even born when Edward killed his father and was shut away for life. Maybe Mr. Masters, his late father’s partner? Had Mr. Masters too testified at the trial? Had Susan been an adored only child? But why would her husband have had to die as well, when presumably he had no connection to Edward or the murder of Cornelius Deveraux?

  I decided that Daniel could find out what connection Dr. Grossman might have had to Edward Deveraux, and instead went to see Minnie Hamilton. I had to know how Susan Hamilton fitted into the picture.

  Minnie Hamilton looked flustered and a little unkempt when I was shown into her drawing room.

  “Oh, Mrs. Sullivan, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” she said. “I’m afraid two of the boys are down with some kind of grippe, and I was up all night with them.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that,” I said. “How are they now?”

  “Much better, thank you; in fact, Frank has been insisting he feels well enough for a pork chop, and doesn’t want gruel and broth.” She bade me sit, clearing away magazines and a toy automobile from the sofa. “If you’ve come to see Mabel, I’m afraid this might not be a good time. She’s been so upset lately, what with the police and then the doctor.”

  “I hope she won’t be disturbed by the police any longer, now that it has been established that she couldn’t have killed her parents.”

  She gave a disgusted sniff. “As if anyone could have believed that in the first place. A sweeter child you’d never see. And she worshipped them both. But I gather that your own husband is now taking over the investigation. Thank God for that.”

  “I didn’t come to see Mabel,” I began. “I came about a different matter. I wondered what you could tell me about Edward Deveraux.”

  Her head shot up in surprise. “Edward Deveraux? What an extraordinary question. Why should I know anything about him, apart from the name? I believe I met him once. He must have been at Susan’s wedding, but then you probably heard what happened soon after that. He killed his father and was sent to an institution. Locked away for life.”

  “I wondered what possible connection he might have had to your sister-in-law and brother-in-law.”

  “None at all, apart from the family business partnership with Susan’s father,” Mrs. Hamilton started to say, then I could see that she had thought of something. “There was one thing,” she said. “He used to be sweet on Susan. More than that. Obsessed with her, perhaps. Susan never said much, she was not the most open of individuals and didn’t confide easily, but I got the impression that she had been afraid of Edward Deveraux and abhorred his advances.” She glanced toward the door, then leaned closer to me, lowering her voice. “In fact, I always suspected that contributed to her decision to accept Bertie’s proposal so suddenly. It was a complete change of heart. She’d shown no interest in him before, and then suddenly she had him invited to a party she was attending, and just like that they were engaged.”

  “I see.” I paused to digest this. “You think she wanted to get out of a life in which she had to socialize with the Deveraux family? Or was it worse than that? Do you suspect that Edward actually forced himself upon her?”

  She could not meet my gaze. “I’ve always wondered,” she said. “She was such a delicate, sheltered little thing. I think it quite possible that he had at least tried to molest her.”

  “You don’t think that Mabel might be his child?” I blurted out the words without giving due thought.

  She looked shocked. “My dear Mrs. Sullivan, certainly not. Mabel was born a year after they married. And she resembles my husband’s family in facial features. Would you mind telling me why you are digging up this painful subject just now?”

  “Because it’s possible that Edward Deveraux might have been responsible for the death of Mabel’s parents.”

  “But he was sent to an insane asylum,” she exclaimed. “And that was years ago. Long forgotten.”

  “Not for a man who had nothing to do but brood,” I said. “I may be quite wrong and I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but I want to find out the truth as soon as possible, and it seems as if the fire was one in a long string of deaths, all linked to Edward Deveraux.”

  “How extraordinary,” she said. “How did he get out? That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “We’ll find out more soon. My husband is looking into it today.” I stood up, ready to take my leave. “I’ll make sure you are informed as soon as the police know any more.”

  I thanked her then and came out into chilly autumn rain. If Edward Deveraux had killed Mabel’s parents, had she seen him? Had he seen her? In which case, why had he not killed her too?

  * * *

  I was so excited by what I had discovered that I had to find Daniel right away. I forced my way onto a crowded El train, oblivious for once to the ache in my side, then disembarke
d at Canal Street and ran all the way to Mulberry Street.

  “Captain Sullivan,” I gasped to the young constable manning the front desk. “I have to speak with Captain Sullivan right away. It’s urgent.”

  “He’s upstairs in his office, ma’am,” he said, “but I don’t think that at this moment…”

  I never heard the end of the sentence, as I was already running up the stairs. I think he called out behind me but I didn’t stop. I opened the frosted glass door to Daniel’s office and burst in. He was sitting at his desk and swiveled around, startled.

  “Daniel, I’ve got it.” I gasped, hardly able to get the words out. “The pieces to the puzzle. They all fit. I had to come and tell you right away.”

  “Molly, you can’t just come barging in here to share minute household details, however thrilled you are with them,” he said in a horribly patronizing tone. “I have work to do, and as it happens, I’m in the middle of an important meeting right now.”

  I looked around then and noticed for the first time a distinguished older man, not wearing a police uniform but a well-cut suit, sitting behind the door. Daniel turned to address him. “I’m really sorry, sir. My wife doesn’t usually intrude in this manner. She’s been quite upset since our home was burned down in the spring, as you can imagine, and is now able to be optimistic for the first time as she refurnishes our house.” Daniel stood up and took my arm. “Let me escort you downstairs again, my dear, and I’ll look forward to hearing all the details of your exciting shopping expedition when I get home.”

  He shot the man a look befitting an exasperated husband as he led me firmly out into the hall, then propelled me rapidly down the stairs and out into the street. I said nothing, but my anger reached boiling point as we came out into the open air, the rain now falling harder.

  “How dare you humiliate me like that,” I burst out as soon as we were outside. “Why did you have to treat me as if I was a simpering imbecile, when I’ve only come because I have vital information that will solve your apparently unsolvable case.”

  “I’m sorry, Molly,” he said, his voice scarcely louder than a whisper, “but that was the assistant commissioner. He is no fonder of me than his superior, for the same reason—because I am not under the thumb of Tammany Hall, and can’t be bought. They would both love to find an excuse to demote me or remove me, and discovering that my wife was working on a major crime would do the trick beautifully for them.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “That’s the reason for the charade up there. I had to make him think … well, you know.”

  “That I was an ordinary housewife whose interests didn’t stretch beyond decorating fabrics for new pillows?” I demanded, still not quite able to quieten my disgust.

  “Exactly. I was in the middle of being grilled.”

  “About the case? Then you can march back in triumphantly and tell them that it’s all but solved. Daniel, I went to see Miss Willis again…”

  “You went to question her without asking me first?” His voice now had a sharp edge to it.

  “I had to. It was a matter of urgency. Besides, it’s a free country, isn’t it? I can visit anyone I want on a social call.”

  “I suppose you can, but…” he started to say, but I cut him off.

  “And she made me start to see that everything ties in to Edward Deveraux. He felt betrayed because she had to testify at his trial. As did Terrence Daughtery, and the judge at that trial was Judge Ellingham, and listen to this—Edward was obsessed with Susan Hamilton, and may even have tried to molest her. Don’t you see? It’s just a question of catching Edward Deveraux again.”

  “Not quite as simple as that,” Daniel said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Molly, I went to see Marcus Deveraux this morning as you suggested, and he told me that his brother is dead.”

  Twenty-nine

  I stared at him blankly for a second, then shook my head. “Edward can’t be dead. He’s clever, Daniel. His tutor said he has a brilliant brain. He would have faked his death and then escaped. He would have fooled them, just as he’s fooled you for so long.”

  “Just not possible,” Daniel said. “According to his brother’s account, Edward was allowed to walk around the grounds, supervised, of course. Then, without warning, he climbed up on a parapet and threw himself off a footbridge onto the rocks below. The doctor with him managed to climb down instantly, but Edward had suffered massive head injuries and was already dead.”

  “Oh, I see,” I said. “And there could be no mistake? The doctor actually saw his body?”

  “So did several medical workers who came to help bring him up from the creek bed. And so did his brother when he was lying in his casket.”

  “Oh.” I felt like a deflating balloon. “But it all fitted together so perfectly. Edward Deveraux was the one thing that all these people had in common. When did this happen?”

  “This spring.”

  I moved aside as a pushcart came rattling over the cobbles, its owner shouting out in Italian and the enticing smell of roasting corn on the cob reached my nostrils.

  “That must mean that his death propelled someone else to seek revenge on his behalf, Daniel,” I said, formulating the idea in my head as I spoke. “Someone felt he was wrongly accused or shouldn’t have been sent to an institution, and he now wants to punish those who put Edward away. What impression did you get of his brother, Marcus?”

  “Exactly the one I had when I interviewed him after his father’s death all those years ago. Pompous. Arrogant. Patronizing, although he couldn’t quite be as rude to a police captain as he was to a young detective.”

  “And what were his feelings for his brother, do you think?”

  “If you’re speculating that he might have committed the murders on his brother’s behalf, then you would be quite wrong. He clearly despised his brother. He called him a useless piece of flotsam. He said the family trust had been paying for the private institution all these years.… ‘Just to keep that poor excuse for a man alive,’ as he put it.”

  Two constables came out of the front door, putting on helmets as they stepped into the rain. They saluted Daniel, murmuring “Good day, sir,” as they passed. Daniel glanced up at the building. “I must get back. I don’t want to annoy the old man further. We’ll discuss this tonight, Molly.” His hand on my shoulder squeezed tightly. “And believe me, I’m grateful for all that you’ve done. We must be getting closer to an answer. As you say, it has to be someone connected to Deveraux in some way.” Then he kissed me on the cheek and ran back up the steps and into the building.

  I made my way home.

  “Just look at you now. Like a drowned rat,” Mrs. Sullivan commented as I came in the door.

  “It was too windy for my brolly to be of any use,” I said, removing a sodden hat from my wet hair.

  “Take those wet things off, and I’ve warmed some of that stew for you,” my mother-in-law said in a firm voice. I did as she instructed, then came into a kitchen where a steaming bowl of stew awaited me. I ate, gratefully. Afterward I took her advice again and went up for a rest. On my way, I peeked in at Liam, who was sleeping in his crib, his face angelic and his impossibly long eyelashes sweeping his cheek. I stood there, looking down at him, overwhelmed with love and then feeling guilty that I had spent so little time with him recently. I tiptoed out and lay on my own bed, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but my head was too full of disturbing thoughts. Edward Deveraux had been described as a lonely little boy, stuck at home with a tutor rather than being allowed to go to school and play with other boys. His mother, who spoiled him, had died. His brother despised him and was glad he was dead. So who cared enough about him to seek revenge on his behalf? Then a picture came into my mind—a thin, pale face with hollow eyes, not unlike the way Edward Deveraux had been described. Another lonely misfit … Terrence Daughtery.

  Had he been closer to Edward than he chose to admit? He had said that Edward did exp
eriments with animals and insects. Had Terrence shown him how to do those things? Had they done them together—two similar lonely young men? Or had he used Edward as an excuse to create a string of murders, all seeming to be tied to Edward himself … to accomplish the one murder he wanted—that of his mother? I toyed with this idea. We had discussed before the possibility that the random string of murders was to hide the one murder that mattered. Terrence seemed desolate and grieving after his mother’s death. But I had been told she was overbearing. What if he had finally had enough of being dominated and planned her demise? Of course he would feel tremendous remorse afterward, or Terrence Daughtery might just be a very good actor, feigning grief so that nobody ever suspected him.

  The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I had wondered before why nobody heard his mother scream, which she surely would have done if a strange man had come into her bathroom. She would have been indignant if her son had come in. She would have ordered him out, but would not have screamed. I couldn’t wait to tell Daniel tonight when he came home.

  I must have drifted off to sleep, because I was back in the underground dark place, unable to move with the rumbling all around me. I jerked myself awake and lay there, my heart racing. What could possibly be the meaning of this dream? I wondered if Dr. Werner were still here in New York and if he could perhaps help me. He was supposed to be an expert on this, according to Gus, however little I had liked his handling of poor Mabel. Perhaps things were done differently in Germany and Austria and doctors were stern, unsympathetic characters over there. I’d have to ask Gus when I next saw her.…

  I was just in the middle of this thought when there was a knock at my front door. I looked down from my window to see Sid and Gus standing there. I rose from my bed and ran down the stairs to open the door to them before my mother-in-law could tell them I was resting and send them away.