“But I didn’t even see him that day! I wasn’t even in the house. And I don’t have a gun, either!”
Frank was inclined to believe him. Calvin didn’t even know Blackwell was killed with his own gun, so the killer wouldn’t have had one. The story about the policeman sending him on his way was easy enough to check, in any case. And his theory about Blackwell refusing to pay the boy seemed farfetched. Blackwell wouldn’t dare take a chance on offending Calvin and having him spread his story. Paying him off was a simple solution to a very complicated problem, one that Blackwell would have been a fool not to accept. Frank didn’t think Blackwell was a fool.
Besides, if Calvin had taken the money and killed his father, he’d be miles away by now, just as Amos Potter had suggested. He certainly wouldn’t have come knocking on the door and drawing attention to himself.
Now the boy was looking really frightened. “Are you gonna put me in jail?”
It would be so easy. The boy was penniless and alone. No one except his mother would care what happened to him, and she was miles away and powerless to help him. Frank could stick the boy in jail, beat him until he confessed, close the case, and collect his reward from Potter and Symington. That’s what most of the detectives on the force would do. Frank had done it a time or two himself, although never with an innocent boy. The people he usually dealt with were criminals, guilty of something or another, even if it wasn’t the crime he was investigating. If they went to jail, they deserved it, and the world was a better place with them behind bars.
But Calvin Brown was guilty of nothing.
“Did you kill your father, Calvin?” he asked.
“No, sir! I already told you.”
“If I don’t arrest you, what will you do?”
His eyes widened. Frank could see the fear and the hope mingled in them. “I… I guess I can’t do nothing much. I’m about out of money, so I’ve got to go back home soon. The ticket was just one way, so I’ll have to hop a freight or something, but I got to get back home to help my ma.” He thought a minute. “I sure would like to find out who killed my pa, though. I kinda feel like it’s my duty or something.”
Frank wanted him to stay, too. He might need to ask him more questions when he found out more about the case. And he did need to know who had sent the poster to Mrs. Brown. Someone, it seemed, was trying to cause Dr. Blackwell trouble. If he could find out who, he’d be a lot closer to finding the killer.
“If I pay your rent for another week, would you stay in town?” Frank asked. A few dollars was cheap enough for the help the boy might be able to give him. Besides, he wanted the boy close so he could keep an eye on him. “If you do, I’ll even buy you a ticket back home when you’re ready to leave.”
Now the boy was thoroughly confused. “You ain’t gonna arrest me?”
“I don’t think you killed your father, Calvin, but you may be able to help me find out who did.”
“How?”
“You can start by showing me the poster that was sent to your mother, if you still have it.”
“I do. I even have the envelope, but it won’t help you none.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Let’s go to your lodging house. I’ll take care of your rent while we’re there.” The boy might be innocent, but Frank didn’t trust him not to run if he had the means, so he wasn’t going to give him money directly.
They went out into the hall to find Amos Potter waiting on a bench in the entrance hall. He jumped to his feet.
“Where are you taking him?” Potter demanded. “Are you arresting him?”
“Not yet, Mr. Potter,” Frank said, noticing the boy’s alarm.
“Why not?” Potter was outraged. “You know he’s the one who killed Edmund! He’s the only one who had a reason.”
“I don’t think we can be sure of that. But don’t worry, Mr. Potter, Calvin will be in safekeeping in the meantime. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have business to attend to.”
Plainly unhappy, Potter reluctantly stepped aside and allowed them to leave. Frank was sure he’d have a few choice words to say later about the way Frank was handling the case, but he’d worry about that when it happened.
WHEN SARAH CAME downstairs after checking on her patients, she was furious to discover that Malloy had left with the boy. She’d intended to comer the detective and demand an account of what he’d learned. Now she’d have to find out later.
She collected her things, and Granger asked if he should summon the carriage for her.
“That won’t be necessary. It’s a lovely day, and I’d prefer to walk. I’ll be back in the morning to see how the baby is doing,” she told him.
“That wouldn’t be a convenient time,” Granger told her. “Dr. Blackwell’s funeral is being held here at ten o’ clock.”
Why hadn’t she expected this? Now she’d be sure to be here tomorrow. She wouldn’t miss Blackwell’s funeral for anything. “Thank you, Granger,” she said, not telling him of her plans.
On the way home, Sarah mulled over the things she had learned from Amos Potter. She would have to share this information with Malloy, although she thought he probably knew most of it already. What he might not know was the difference in the versions of the truth that she had heard today. Potter insisted that Letitia had been happy to speak at Blackwell’s lectures, and Sarah knew that Letitia had hated it so much she’d needed to use morphine just to get through them.
Did Potter know her true feelings? Was he trying to protect her, or did he honestly believe she was that devoted to her husband? Fortunately, it wasn’t her job to find the answers. She could simply collect observations and pass them along to Malloy. He hadn’t wanted her involved in this case, but here she was, in up to her eyebrows just the same. She hoped he’d be grateful for her help after all, but if he wasn’st, it didn’t matter. She was going to help him anyway.
A quarter of an hour later she reached Bank Street, and as she strolled toward her front steps, she saw her elderly next-door neighbor, Mrs. Ellsworth, come out with her broom and begin to sweep.
No dirt ever had a chance to collect on Mrs. Ellsworth’s front steps because she was out there ten times a day sweeping. She used this activity as an excuse to encounter everyone who passed by. Sarah wondered when she had a chance to do her inside housework since she always seemed to be watching out her front window for any activity that required her attention in the neighborhood.
“Hello, Mrs. Brandt!” she called cheerfully.
“How are you today, Mrs. Ellsworth?” Sarah replied. Since Mrs. Ellsworth had once saved her life, Sarah would indulge her whenever she could.
“Oh, I’m feeling quite cheerful, Mrs. Brandt. My apron fell off this morning, and that gave me quite a laugh.”
This didn’t seem particularly funny to Sarah, but she knew Mrs. Ellsworth well enough to know there must be some hidden meaning in the event. Mrs. Ellsworth found hidden meaning in just about everything that happened. “And why did you find this so funny?”
“Because when an apron falls off, it means the wearer is going to have a baby within the year!”
Even Sarah had to laugh at this, too. Mrs. Ellsworth was in no danger of having a baby this or any year. “Perhaps someone is going to leave one on your door-step,” she suggested.
“Wouldn’t that be something?” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “I don’t think I’d even remember what to do with a baby, it’s been so long. It’s a nice thought, though.”
“Or maybe it means you’re going to be a grand-mother,” Sarah said, teasing her. “Has your son been keeping company with anyone special lately?”
“Lord, no,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “All Nelson does is work at the bank, day and night. I tell him it’s making him old before his time, but does he listen? Of course not. He tells me he needs to get ahead. I tell him he needs to get a wife. I want some grandchildren to spoil before I die.”