Sarah judged that the landlady, who opened the door, was probably a retired prostitute who’d invested her money wisely in this house to support her in her old age. She looked Sarah up and down, withholding her approval.
“You the nurse?” she asked around the cheroot dangling from her lips. Ashes had spilled unnoticed down her ample bosom.
“Yes,” Sarah said, offering no other information. “Is Mr. Malloy here?”
“Upstairs,” the woman said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder toward the stairway. “End of the hall.”
So much for the social amenities, Sarah thought in amusement. Malloy was waiting for her in the doorway of the room, looking grim.
“Who is it?” she asked. “And what happened?”
“It’s Dudley. Somebody stabbed him,” he said, admitting her to the room.
An older man sat in the one chair of the room, his head drooping to his chest, dozing. Sarah thought he looked vaguely familiar, but she went immediately to the bed where Dudley lay amid the bloodstained sheets. His face was pale, but he seemed to be breathing easily. “How bad is it?” she asked.
Malloy kicked the chair leg, jarring the older man awake. He shook his grizzled head and rubbed his hands over his face. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, and the stubble glistened silver on his cheeks. He blinked bloodshot eyes at her, and Sarah immediately recognized the signs of chronic alcoholism. She also recognized the man.
“Dr. Woomer,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”
He gave her a sad smile and nodded. “Too long. You’re looking well, Mrs. Brandt.”
“I am well, thank you,” she said, not returning the compliment. “How is Mr. Dudley doing?”
“He’s alive,” he said, rising stiffly from the chair. “No thanks to whoever attacked him.”
He shuffled over to the bed and pulled down the top sheet so Sarah could see Dudley’s chest. “Somebody took after him with a knife. Didn’t know what they was doing, so most of the wounds hit bone and aren’t deep. This one here is the worst. Don’t look like it hit the heart or a lung, since he’s still alive, but it’s worrisome. He lost a lot of blood, too.”
Sarah nodded. She gave Malloy a questioning look.
“Dr. Woomer here thinks Dudley needs a nurse to look after him for a few days,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d take the job.”
Would she? He knew perfectly well she was more than willing to remain involved with the case. Sitting beside an unconscious man who might well die hardly seemed like an ideal occupation for someone who wanted to find a killer, but she also knew Dudley had most likely been attacked by the same person who’d killed Blackwell and Calvin Brown. When Dudley regained consciousness-assuming he did-Malloy would want someone there he could trust to hear anything he might have to say. Sarah wanted to be that person.
“I’ll be happy to assist in any way I can,” she said, managing to sound merely cooperative. Malloy wasn’t fooled, but probably Woomer was. “Unless I’m called out on a case, of course, but we’ll worry about that if it happens. Just tell me what care he’s going to need.”
“That’s good of you, Mrs. Brandt,” Woomer said, scratching his chin. He quickly told her what Dudley’s condition was and what he wanted her to do. Then he gathered his things and started to leave.
“Who’s going to pay me for this?” he asked Malloy when he was ready to go.
“Mr. Dudley is,” Malloy said, and he paid the doctor from a worn wallet he pulled from Dudley’s suit coat. Woomer seemed relieved.
They both waited a few moments, until Dr. Woomer was on his way down the stairs, before speaking, lest they be overheard.
“I guess this means Dudley isn’t the killer either,” Sarah said.
“Unless he figured out some way to stab himself in the back,” Malloy said in disgust.
“Was he able to give you any information at all?”
“No, although it looked like he was trying to say something before he passed out. The doc gave him some morphine, too, so it’ll be a while before he’s awake again.”
“Morphine,” Sarah said, thinking of all the trouble this drug had caused. She sighed. “Who could the killer be now? We shouldn’t have too many suspects left.”
“No, killing Dudley isn’t something any of Blackwell’s clients would think of doing, even if they knew anything about him, which they wouldn’t. They’d have been satisfied with casting suspicion on Calvin. And killing Dudley would eliminate him as a suspect, in any case.”
“I guess it’s a good thing you never got around to questioning the Fitzgeralds.”
“That’s right. I almost forgot all about them when Calvin was killed, but now it looks like they’re eliminated completely. They didn’t have anything against Dudley, and I think whoever tried to kill him did so for a very personal reason.”
“Because Letitia was going to marry him,” Sarah guessed. “It’s too much of a coincidence to be anything else. That certainly gives Amos Potter a good motive,” she added hopefully.
“But not for killing Blackwell and then Calvin. We know the person who killed Blackwell also killed Calvin and tried to make us believe the boy was the killer. We know the reason for Calvin’s death was to end the investigation. We don’t know why Blackwell was killed, but we do know why someone tried to kill Dudley.”
“Yes, to prevent Letitia from marrying him. That was the only threat he posed.”
“Which means only one person has a motive for all three murders,” Malloy said.
“Amos Potter,” Sarah tried again.
But Malloy shook his head. “He might’ve thought Blackwell was a bad husband-and we really don’t even have proof of that-but he would hardly offer me a reward to find Blackwell’s killer if he was the killer.”
“And if he didn’t kill Blackwell, he wouldn’t have killed Calvin,” Sarah said. “Then who’s left?”
“The only person left who’d kill just to protect Letitia is Maurice Symington.”
Sarah’s heart sank. “Oh, dear.”
“Yeah, oh, dear.”
They both knew a man with Symington’s wealth and influence would never even be charged with a crime like this, no matter how much proof they found against him. The worst part was that he might well have hired the killings done, which put him even further from being held responsible.
“What are you going to do?” Sarah asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not sure yet, but one thing I’m not going to do is tell Symington that Dudley is still alive. Or anybody else, for that matter.”
“Why not…? Oh, because if Dudley names his attacker-”
“I’ll know who the real killer is,” he finished for her. “If Dudley is still alive, the killer is liable to come back and try to finish the job, too.”
“That’s why you sent for me to take care of him, then. You want me to try to get him to tell me who did this.”
“I just want you to keep him alive,” Malloy corrected her.
Sarah smiled knowingly. “And guard him in case the killer returns.”
“Absolutely not! I’m going to leave a patrolman here to guard you. I know you think you’re practically a police detective now, but I doubt you’re up to defending Dudley against the killer.”
“Maybe you could get Mrs. Ellsworth to help me. Between the two of us, I’m sure we could-”
“That’s not funny,” Malloy informed her.
“Are you going to tell Letitia that Dudley’s dead? She’ll be very upset.”
Malloy considered this. “I think I will. I’d like to see if she really is upset or if the whole thing with Dudley was a bluff. Maybe she was just trying to get her father’s goat with talk of marrying him.”
“You seem to have changed your opinion of the lovely Letitia,” she noted.
“What do you mean?” he asked, a little affronted.
“Nothing,” she said sweetly. “So you think the lovely widow might have been involved in the killings?”
“She’s involved all right, but I’m pretty sure she’s just the reason men are getting killed. I can’t see her getting her hands dirty. Or sneaking around the city in the middle of night to stab her lover in his bed. And why would she want Dudley dead in the first place?”