Be warned. An unidentified person claiming to be a physician has been advertising in all the newspapers offering his services to ladies who are seeking what is sometimes called the restoration of nature’s rhythms or the removal of obstructions. This person may sign himself Dr. dePaul or use other names. He is being sought by the police in connection with a number of homicides of a particularly heinous nature. For your own safety, do not communicate with anyone advertising such services unless the physician provides valid references from both patients and colleagues. Any information about this person should be directed to Detective Sergeant Maroney at Police Headquarters on Mulberry. A private citizen has made funds available to reward individuals providing information that leads to apprehension and conviction of the guilty party.
They talked about it for an hour, discussed the fine points and how to deal with what would certainly turn into a badgering by the press.
A runner came to the door. Jack took the message slips, read them, and then raised a brow in Oscar’s direction.
He said, “You want the good news or the bad news first?”
“Will we be able to tell the difference?”
“Probably not.”
“Then surprise us, go on.”
“There’s a man downstairs, Richard Crown, a brewer. He came in looking for his wife who fits the description of our Jane Doe. And we’ve got another one. Mamie Winthrop on Park Place—”
Oscar let out a low but heartfelt moan.
“—who died at home this morning from what her husband is calling medical malpractice.”
Larkin said, “Tell me that’s not Albert Winthrop you’re talking about.”
“And just when things were starting to slow down,” Jack said. “At least we won’t bore each other to death.”
Jack left Oscar and Larkin to question Richard Crown and headed uptown to Park Place. He hadn’t been in the neighborhood since the day Sophie and Cap left for Europe, though he had told Cap he would keep an eye on the house. He asked the cabby to pull over, paid him, and got out.
The house was closed up, the windows shuttered. He checked the locks on doors front and back, examined window frames, and, satisfied, set off for the Winthrop place. He was halfway there when he heard a patrolman’s whistle behind him and turned to see that he was being pursued not just by the cop, but two men. On the hunt, was what went through Jack’s mind. He waited, hands in pockets, until they caught up.
“That’s him,” said the shorter of the two men. “Nosing around the Verhoeven place, ready to break in. Arrest him.”
The patrolman had the good grace to look embarrassed.
“Fred,” Jack said. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine, Jack, we’re all in good shape. There’s some confusion here, Mr. Matthews—”
“No confusion,” said Matthews. “I saw him with my own two eyes. Now arrest him.”
Fred Marks was a friendly guy, well liked on the force, well thought of on the streets, but he wasn’t much for confrontation. He stayed on the job because his mother’s sister was married to the mayor, but they kept him out of trouble by assigning him the easy duties that would normally go to the men ready to retire. Now his good-natured face took on a scarlet tinge.
Marks said, “Mr. Matthews, this is Detective Sergeant Mezzanotte out of headquarters on Mulberry Street.”
“I don’t care if he’s the pope, he was trespassing.”
The second man said something in a low voice, and Matthews turned on him. Jack saw now that they were father and son.
“I never heard anything so ridiculous in my whole life. Like the Belmonts would let a wop look after anything. Like setting up a cozy bed for the fox in the middle of the henhouse.”
Jack had had enough, but he let Fred give it another try. “Mr. Matthews, I’m sure Mr. Verhoeven is glad to have you keeping an eye on his property, but you’re mistaken here.”
“Let’s go home,” said the younger Mr. Matthews. “You’ve done your duty, Father.”
Matthews looked like he was getting ready to make a citizen’s arrest, or more alarming still, to try to wrestle Jack to the ground. Jack held up one hand and with the other he got his shield out of his vest pocket and held it up. “Get in touch with Conrad Belmont,” he said. “He’ll tell you what you need to know. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
He wondered what Anna would say if he told her about this, being accused of trespassing and attempted burglary on a bright summer day. She’d be mad, and so he’d keep it to himself. In the twelve years he’d spent on the force things hadn’t changed much, but he was older and could keep his temper in check where Anna would not.
He was still thinking about this when he crossed the street to get to the Winthrops’ place. It couldn’t really be called a house, this monstrosity in redbrick bulging with cupolas and towers, carved marble facings, wrought-iron balustrades, velvet draperies at the windows, and a front door that would have been more suited to a dungeon.
There was no sign of reporters, but he erred on the side of caution and walked around to the back of the house through the stable courtyard. The kitchen door opened and closed, letting out a single swell of sound: female voices raised in alarm, frustration, fear. From farther away a man’s voice was raised in anger, too garbled to make sense of it.
Jack pushed through the crowd of servants and stable boys, put his shoulder to the door, and forced his way into the crowded kitchen. A wiry woman who was just tall enough to bite his elbow stood in front of him, a wooden spoon in her fist and murder plain on her face.
“Are you the doctor who cut up my mistress and left her to bleed to death?”