2
AS FRANK CLIMBED THE STAIRS TO THE SECOND FLOOR of the tenement building, he could hear the door to his flat opening and then the clatter of a child’s footsteps as his son ran down the hallway to the top of the stairs. His own step quickened as he hurried to meet the boy at the top of the steps. The instant Brian saw him, he launched himself into Frank’s arms. Frank enclosed him in a bear hug, savoring the feel of his small, warm body.
The boy was making inarticulate sounds of joy, but Frank didn’t bother to respond. Brian wouldn’t hear him. Brian couldn’t hear anything at all.
As Frank carried him up the last few steps, Brian pulled back and began making signs with his hands. He wanted to show Frank what he’d learned in deaf school. Frank recognized the sign for “father,” but the others were a mystery to him. Brian wasn’t quite four years old, but he was learning the signs for words as quickly as a hearing boy would learn the words themselves.
Frank’s mother stood in the doorway of their flat, a small, round woman with a face like a dried-up potato. “I’ll never understand how he knows when you’re coming, but he always does. Runs to the window, he does, and starts dancing around and pulls me over to see,” she reported sourly. Nothing, it seemed, ever gave his mother pleasure, and as far as he could tell, she disapproved of everything. Her only redeeming quality was that she adored Brian and would have given her life to keep him safe.
“How about it, boy,” Frank said to his son. “Do you have the second sight?”
Brian grinned, having no idea what Frank had said but happy for his attention.
“Bite your tongue,” his mother said, crossing herself. “And put him down. He can walk as well as you can, you know.”
Not long ago, Brian hadn’t been able to walk at all, until a surgeon Sarah Brandt knew had operated on his club foot.
Sarah Brandt. He owed her so much. How could he stand by and let her father destroy her husband’s reputation?
“What did you learn in school today, Ma?” Frank asked slyly as he carried Brian into their flat. “Tell me what he’s saying.”
Mrs. Malloy scowled at him as she closed the door behind them, but when Frank set his son down so he could take off his overcoat, he noticed she was doing something with her hands that looked suspiciously like signing. She put her palms together, as if she were praying, then opened them up to lie flat beside each other. Whatever she’d said sent the boy scurrying off to his bedroom. “He’s got a book to show you,” she said.
Frank hung his coat up on a rack. “What kind of book? Where did he get a book?”
“At school. He got it for you.”
Before Frank could ask more, Brian came clomping back into the room, his specially built-up shoe making his steps sound slightly uneven. He carried a book which he proudly presented to his father.
Frank looked at the title, Sign Language for the Deaf. His heart felt odd in his chest, as if it had swelled or something. He opened the book and fanned through the pages. Inside were drawings of a person making signs, all kinds of signs, and the words for each were written underneath. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice sounding thick because of the emotions clogging his throat.
“What’s it look like?” his mother asked him impatiently. “It’s a book so you can learn to make the signs and talk to Brian, too.”
Frank had to swallow a couple of times. “How did he get it?” he asked in amazement. Frank had never purchased a book before. He had no idea how much it would cost, but he knew it would be a lot. “Where would he get the money? Where would you get the money?” he added, since she would have had to give it to him.
She made a derisive noise. “They wanted to pay me at that school. Can you imagine? All I do is look after the boy. He’s too young to leave there alone all day, no matter what you think.”
Brian was pulling on his pant leg, demanding attention. Frank handed him the book, and he immediately plopped down on the floor and began looking through it. “I told you, you don’t have to stay there with him all day,” Frank said in exasperation. “There’s teachers there to look after him.”
“And they’ve got a roomful of children to look after, too. What if Brian was to slip out? Who’d notice?”
They’d had this argument before, so Frank gave up. He’d known his mother would have to accompany Brian to and from the school, since neither of them wanted him to board there. Frank had imagined she might enjoy having her days free while he was in school, but he’d been wrong.
“What are you doing that made them want to pay you?” Frank asked suspiciously. He’d figured she’d been making a nuisance of herself, or at best, just sitting on a bench watching Brian all day.
She shrugged. “Nothing to speak of, helping out here and there. Supper’s ready.” She turned away and went into the kitchen. He followed her.
“You aren’t cleaning or anything, are you? Because I pay good money for Brian to go there, and you don’t have to—”
“I don’t clean,” she snapped over her shoulder as she began dishing up some stew from the pot on the stove.
He let a minute of silence go by while she finished filling the bowl she held. “Ma,” he said in warning.
She gave him a glare that would’ve stopped a hardened criminal in his tracks. Many a rookie policeman would’ve en-vied her ability, but Frank was used to it. He waited patiently.
She set the bowl down on the table with a bang. “I told you, I help out.”
“With the children?” he asked.
“Where do you think they need the help?” she replied, turning to fill another bowl.
“Is that how you’re learning the signs, too?”
This time she gave him a disparaging look, as if she were disappointed in having given him life. “Somebody needs to be able to talk to the boy,” she reminded him. “What’s the use of him learning if he’s got no one to sign to?”
For the second time today, Frank felt the sting of rebuke. “Ma, I don’t have time to go to school to learn all that.”
“Of course you don’t,” she agreed. “That’s why we got you that book.”
“Which brings us back to where we started. How did you pay for it?”
“I told you, they wanted to pay me for helping, but I told them my son provides for us, and I didn’t need any money,” she informed him. Frank took small pride in the back-handed compliment, the only kind she ever gave. “But I did say I’d like to have one of those books the teachers have, so they gave it to me.”
Brian was tugging on his pant leg again. He wanted Frank to look at the book with him, and he was looking up at him with huge brown eyes that were so like his poor, lost mother’s. Frank’s heart swelled again, so full of love that he could hardly breathe. For the first three years of Brian’s life, they had thought Brian was just a simpleminded cripple, but Sarah Brandt had changed all that. She’d been the one to realize that his mind was perfectly fine, just trapped in a body that couldn’t hear. She’d also been the one to suggest a surgeon who could fix Brian’s crippled foot, when other doctors had told him there was no hope.
He wanted—no, he needed—to repay her. Once he’d thought finding her husband’s killer would do that, but now he knew differently. Now he knew that her father was determined to make her face a truth she’d never suspected and which might well destroy her soul. Frank couldn’t stop him. No one could stop a man like Felix Decker. Frank didn’t want to be a part of hurting Sarah.
But . . .
The truth was like a knife in his heart. If he was involved in the investigation, he would at least be able to control what Decker found out and, therefore, what he told Sarah. He might even be able to protect her from the worst of it.
This wasn’t what he’d envisioned when he’d set out to repay her, but it was all he could do. He’d have to tell Decker he’d changed his mind.
Brian was making demanding squeaks and squeals and banging the book against his leg. “Ma,” he asked, “what’s the sign for ‘supper’?”
“NO, IT’S IMPOSSIBLE,” MR. LINTON INSISTED. THIS TIME Sarah heard panic in his voice.
She was back in the parlor with both of Grace’s parents. Mrs. Linton was sobbing softly into her handkerchief, but Mr. Linton had chosen to shield himself behind anger.
“How can you be sure?” Linton demanded furiously. “You’re just a nurse!”
“Wilfred!” his wife cried in dismay.
“Well, she’s not a doctor,” he reminded her indignantly.
“No, I’m not,” Sarah agreed tactfully, “but I am a midwife, and I know how to judge if a woman is expecting a child. She’s actually pretty far along, about six months, I’d guess from what she told me.”
“She told you how it happened?” Linton cried. “Who did it? Who is responsible? I’ll see him hanged!”
“Please, Wilfred, this is difficult enough,” his wife pleaded. “And no, Grace didn’t tell us anything about what happened. Mrs. Brandt didn’t ask her, but she was able to remember when she last had her monthly cycle.”
“And I can tell by how large her stomach is,” Sarah added.
“But couldn’t it be something else? Some illness? Perhaps a doctor could . . . could do something . . .” He gestured helplessly.
“Mr. Linton, you’re right, Grace’s symptoms could have been caused by an illness. In fact, at first I was afraid that she might have a tumor or some other growth that would explain the changes in her body.”
Mrs. Linton made a horrified sound, her eyes large and bright with terror.
“Yes,” Sarah confirmed, “it could have been something fatal, but thank heaven, it was not. She has all the signs of being with child, and most important, I was able to hear the baby’s heartbeat.”
This made Mrs. Linton start sobbing all over again, and Mr. Linton completely despaired, sinking into his chair as if his very bones had withered inside of him.
“But how? . . .” he wondered in despair. “Who could have done this to her? And when?”
“She mentioned a friend named Percy,” Sarah recalled.
“Percy York?” Linton scoffed. “He’s just a boy.”
“He’s much younger than Grace,” Mrs. Linton said. “Young enough that he doesn’t seem to notice Grace is . . . is different. At least not yet. So they’re friends.”
“They only see each other at church anyway,” Mr. Linton said. He rubbed his hand over his bald head and sighed. “I don’t understand. It’s just not possible.”
Sarah waited, giving them time to come to terms with the reality of their situation. After a few minutes, Mr. Linton looked up. “Mrs. Brandt, please forgive me for my rudeness—”
“I’m not easily offended, Mr. Linton,” she assured him. “And you have every reason to be upset.”
“You are very gracious, and I hope I won’t offend you further by asking this, but I’m a man of the world, and I know that there are certain women who . . .” He glanced at his wife who was staring at him warily, not certain she wanted to hear what he would say next. He cleared his throat. “Women who can take care of girls in Grace’s situation.”
“I won’t send Grace away,” Mrs. Linton said, outraged. “She’s going to endure a horrible experience. I won’t frighten her by making her think we don’t love her, too.”
“I’m not talking about sending her away, Mother,” Mr. Linton said gently. “I believe Mrs. Brandt understands me, though.”
Sarah did, indeed. “It’s a very dangerous procedure, but in Grace’s case, it doesn’t matter. She’s too far along to have it done.”
“What are you talking about?” Mrs. Linton demanded.
“An operation,” Mr. Linton said wearily. “To remove the baby.”
She stared at him in horror, unable to comprehend such a thing.
Sarah decided it was time to help them start thinking about realities and options. “Grace is young and healthy, and there’s every reason to believe her baby will be, too. You’ll need to explain to her what is happening and what is going to happen. And then, of course, you’ll have to decide what to do about the child.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Linton asked, still stunned by the thought of the unimaginable operation.
“Will you keep the child and raise it yourself or make other arrangements? You might have a family member who would welcome a child, or perhaps you could find a home for it with a couple who have no children of their own.”
“Why, we’ll keep it, of course,” Mrs. Linton said quite certainly.
“But Mother, the scandal,” Mr. Linton reminded her. “What will people say about Grace? And the child, what kind of a life will she have?”
“A good life, raised by people who love her,” Mrs. Linton said, her voice throbbing on the edge of hysteria.
“You shouldn’t try to decide today,” Sarah advised them. “This is something you’ll need to think about and discuss. Perhaps you’ll want to talk to your minister about it, too, or a trusted friend.”
“You’re right, we will have to tell Grace, of course. She needs to know,” Mrs. Linton said. She turned her pleading glance on Sarah. “Will you help me tell her?”
“Certainly,” Sarah said. “But I think you should wait a while. You’re both very upset right now, and we don’t want to frighten her.”
“Could you come back tomorrow?” Mrs. Linton asked anxiously. “I mean, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“We’ll pay you, of course,” Mr. Linton added. “Whatever your normal fee is, and we’ll want you to take care of Grace when . . . when the time comes.” His voice nearly broke, and he pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
“I’ll come back tomorrow,” Sarah promised. She would have done so even if they hadn’t asked.
FRANK CERTAINLY HADN’T PLANNED TO RETURN TO FELIX Decker’s office so soon. In fact, he’d fully expected never to return at all. Felix Decker wasn’t the kind of man to forgive the kind of snub Frank had handed him yesterday. Frank was clenching his teeth as he waited for Decker to find time to see him. He still detested the man and the way he planned to hurt his own daughter, but if Frank hoped to convince Decker to put him on the case, he’d have to conceal his own feelings.
He’d spent some sleepless hours last night trying to decide how to convince Decker he’d changed his mind and what reason he could give for it. As much as it galled him, he’d finally realized the best way would be to confirm Decker’s low opinion of him. Frank’s pride would take a beating, but it wouldn’t be the first time. He’d survive, and more important, he’d be in a position to protect Sarah from whatever he found out about her late husband.
This time Decker left him cooling his heels for over an hour. Frank wasn’t too worried about getting in trouble at work for being gone so long. They knew about Decker’s summons yesterday, and he hadn’t even had to explain why he was returning today. Frank was allowing himself to wonder what it would be like to command the type of power that meant no one would question you, when Decker’s secretary finally told him the great man would see him.
Decker’s desktop was covered with papers today, and his fine eyes were suspicious and a bit impatient.
“I hope you aren’t going to waste my time again today, Mr. Malloy,” he said coldly.
“I hope not, Mr. Decker,” Frank replied, trying to sound humble but not certain he was successful. He took a seat, even though Decker hadn’t offered one. “I thought a lot about your proposition yesterday, and I decided I should’ve taken it.”
“Why?”
The word hung in the air like a challenge, holding more meanings than Frank could even guess. He cleared his throat and told his lie. “I could use the reward you offered.” The words came more easily than he’d expected, but he couldn’t stop the hot wave of shame that poured over him as he held his face rigidly expressionless.
Decker considered his claim for a long moment. “For your son, I suppose,” he said finally.
This time the hot wave was fury, but Frank managed to hold his temper as tightly as he held Decker’s gaze. “Yes,” he managed through stiff lips.
“He’s a cripple, I believe,” Decker said, pausing to see if Frank would react. He didn’t, although the effort cost him dearly. “Or he was,” Decker continued. “Didn’t David Newton operate on him? David’s father and I were at school together.”
Frank saw no reason to reply. Decker obviously knew everything about Brian. Had Sarah told him? No, he couldn’t imagine her discussing the Malloys with her family. Decker must have had him investigated. How ironic to investigate a man you wanted to investigate someone else, but he supposed men like Decker did things like that all the time. He’d take nothing for granted and trust no one.
When Frank didn’t reply, Decker said, “But he’s still deaf, isn’t he? Your boy, I mean.”
Who else could he have meant? Frank simply sat, his fury like gall in his throat, waiting for Decker to finish demonstrating his superiority.
“So you want the money to take care of your boy,” Decker concluded for him.
Frank swallowed down the bitterness. “Yes.”
Decker studied him for a long moment. “Mr. Malloy, I know you wouldn’t do this for money. I saw your reaction yesterday when I made you the offer. What really made you change your mind?”
Frank saw his error instantly. He’d underestimated Felix Decker, so he’d only prepared one lie, and now he had nothing else to offer. But maybe the truth would serve him just as well, if he only told part of it. “I don’t trust anyone else to get this right,” he tried.
“You were the one who advised me to hire a Pinkerton,” Decker reminded him. “Don’t you believe a professional detective could uncover the truth as well as you could?”
“I think he’d be willing to tell you what you want to hear, whether it was the truth or not,” Frank said. “I’m not interested in pleasing you, just in solving Brandt’s murder.”
“Even if that means proving Tom Brandt wasn’t what he seemed? Even if that means my daughter may learn things she won’t want to know about him?”
“Yes,” Frank lied again.
“Yesterday you didn’t want to hurt my daughter. What happened to change your mind about that?”
There it was, the perfect explanation, the one even Decker would believe. Frank should’ve thought of it himself. “I realized I want her to forget him. You said it yourself, it would be to my advantage.”
Decker studied him for what seemed a long time. He didn’t look as if he believed this, either, but he would have no reason to doubt it. Frank was sure of that. Decker himself had provided the reason.
“All right,” Decker said suddenly, as if he’d come to some conclusion. Then he pushed himself up out of his chair and walked over to the far corner of the room where a small safe sat. He bent over and spun the dial with practiced ease. The handle made a soft, well-oiled thump when Decker twisted it, and the door swung open. He rummaged inside for a moment and pulled out a folder. After closing the safe, he carried the folder back to his desk.
“A few months before Tom Brandt died, I received a letter.” He pulled a piece of paper out of the folder and passed it across the desk to Frank.
The paper was good quality, the handwriting neat and precise. The writer had been an educated man. The text of the letter was short and to the point. “Dr. Tom Brandt is a seducer of young women. He has taken advantage of innocent females under his care and ruined them both in body and in mind. Someone must stop him.”
“There’s no signature,” Frank noted. “How can you take something like this seriously?”
“I didn’t, not at first,” Decker said. “But I had the matter investigated, just to be sure. This is the report.”
He handed Frank the folder which contained half a dozen sheets of a handwritten report from the Pinkerton Detective Agency.
“Don’t bother to read it all now,” Decker said. “It says Brandt had several young, female patients whose symptoms were very similar and who had all lost their minds as a result of some kind of assault.”
“A seduction?” Frank asked skeptically.
“That’s a polite word for it,” Decker said. “The man responsible was their doctor.”
“What did you do about this report?”
“Look at the date on it, Mr. Malloy. I only received it a few days before Brandt was murdered. I hadn’t decided what, if anything, I was going to do, and when he died . . . Well, there was nothing left to do.”
“Except destroy his widow’s memory of him,” Frank said.
“Which would be to your advantage,” Decker reminded him brutally.
Not if Frank were the one to uncover a horrible scandal about Brandt, he thought, but he didn’t say it. Decker had probably already considered all the possibilities and knew even better than Frank how Sarah would feel about the man who did such a thing. She’d hate him, and he wouldn’t blame her, and that would play right into Decker’s plans to free her completely from both Thomas Brandt and Frank Malloy. On the other hand, Frank might be able to protect her from ever learning the truth at all, or at least the worst of it. Or even . . . Well, he hardly allowed himself to think of such a thing, but he might be able to prove these charges against Dr. Brandt were false. That wasn’t something a hired detective would even consider, but Frank prided himself on having an open mind.
“WHY ARE YOU CRYING, MAMA?” GRACE ASKED. “I THINK it’ll be fun to have a baby.”
Mrs. Linton resolutely wiped the tears from her eyes and made herself smile. “I’m just worried because you’re so young,” she explained, looking to Sarah with a silent plea.
Sarah nodded, encouraging her to go on because she was doing fine. They were in the nursery, where Mrs. Linton felt Grace would be most comfortable to hear the news.
“Babies aren’t like dolls,” Mrs. Linton said. “You have to take care of them all day long. They cry, and they get hungry.”
“We could get a nurse to take care of it,” Grace said. “Like you did when I was little.”
“Yes, we could,” her mother said, dabbing at her eyes again.
This time Grace didn’t notice. She was looking down at the mound of her stomach and rubbing it. “Why can’t we get the baby right now? I want to play with it.”
“It’s not big enough yet, dear,” Mrs. Linton said, her voice rough with tears. This time Sarah couldn’t ignore the silent plea.
“The baby has to grow inside of you for about three more months, and then it will be born,” Sarah said.
Grace turned her innocent gaze on Sarah. “How does it get out?”
Her mother made a small, distressed sound.
“Would you mind leaving me and Grace alone, Mrs. Linton? I would be happy to explain everything to her.”
Mrs. Linton made some token protests, but Sarah easily persuaded her to leave this awkward task to a professional. Carefully and simply, Sarah explained the birth process to Grace and answered her questions as honestly as she could. Grace didn’t ask the one question Sarah had dreaded the most, “Will it hurt?” Probably, she hadn’t even considered the possibility. Sarah would save that explanation until much closer to the time. There was no use in frightening the girl now.
When Grace was satisfied that she knew enough, she went back to playing with her dolls. Sarah decided she would use this time to ask a few questions of her own.
“Grace, you seem to be a very happy girl,” she began.
“Oh, I am. Mama and Papa want me to be happy. They’re always telling me.”
“Is there anyone in your life who doesn’t make you happy? Maybe someone who hurt you?”
Grace’s pretty face wrinkled in thought. “No one ever hurts me. Except Barbara sometimes, when she brushes my hair too hard. Is that what you mean?”
“No, I meant something much worse. Did a man ever hurt you? It would have been a long time ago, last summer. Can you remember back that far?”
“I already told you, I remember last summer,” Grace reminded her. “I don’t remember getting hurt, though.”
“Maybe the man was someone you didn’t know. Maybe he told you not to tell anyone what happened. Maybe he frightened you, or threatened to hurt your family if you told anyone. But it’s all right to tell, Grace. What that man did was wrong. He shouldn’t have hurt you.”
Now Grace looked really puzzled. “Nobody hurt me or scared me. Why are you asking me these things, Mrs. Brandt?”
Sarah had fully expected the girl to at least become upset when Sarah mentioned the strange man and the possible threats. How else could Grace have become pregnant except by rape?
Then another, even more horrible thought occurred to her. She hadn’t considered it before, but now . . .
“Grace, do you and your father have secrets? Things you don’t tell your mother about?”
The girl considered this. “I don’t think so.”
“Does your father ever do things and tell you not to tell your mother?”
Grace tried hard to think of something, but then shook her head.
“Does he ever come into your bedroom?”
“Oh, no, that wouldn’t be proper. I’m a big girl now, and it’s not proper for a man to come into my bedroom. Mama explained it to me.”
“So no men ever come into your bedroom?”
Grace gave Sarah an exasperated look. “I just told you, it’s not proper.”
“Does your father ever kiss you?” Sarah tried.
“He kisses me good night every night.”
“Where does he kiss you?”
“Here,” she said, pointing to her cheek.
“Do you kiss him?”
“Oh, yes. I like to kiss him. He smells good.”
“Where do you kiss him?”
“On the cheek, but sometimes . . .” She covered her mouth and giggled.
“Sometimes you kiss him someplace else?” Sarah asked, not certain she wanted to know.
“It’s a funny place. He likes it when I kiss him there, too.”
Sarah’s smile felt frozen on her face. “Where is this funny place?” she asked.
Grace giggled again, and looked around, as if checking to make sure no one could overhear. “I kiss him here,” she whispered and touched the top of her head.
Sarah blinked. “You kiss him on the top of his head?”
“Where he doesn’t have any hair,” Grace confided. “His cheeks are scratchy, but the top of his head is really soft, and when I kiss him there, he always laughs. I like to make him laugh.”
Sarah felt the tension drain from her body, leaving her limp with relief. Thank heaven Grace’s situation hadn’t been caused by incest. But it didn’t appear that she had been raped, either, at least not that she could recall. Sometimes women didn’t remember things like that, as if their minds were protecting them, but their shock was obvious. Their loved ones always knew something terrible had happened to them, even if the woman couldn’t recall what. Surely Grace’s family would have noticed if something awful had happened to her.
Sarah remembered Mr. Linton’s reaction that it was impossible for Grace to be pregnant. Sarah was starting to feel the same way, and yet she was. There must be some logical explanation, and finding it was important. Someone had taken advantage of Grace, and he would probably do it again—if not to her, then to another unfortunate girl. He must be found and stopped.
But how, if his victim didn’t even know what he had done to her?