“Nelson would never have a mistress, and he would certainly never kill anyone!” she said to Sarah. Her tone was pleading, her eyes begging Sarah to reassure her.
Sarah only wished she could. “Don’t work yourself up into a state. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I’ll find Malloy, and he’ll sort everything out.”
Mrs. Ellsworth brightened at this prospect, and she turned to the reporter triumphantly. “Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy is a good friend of ours, and he won’t be very pleased that you’ve come here bothering us!”
Prescott sat up straighter, his eyes widening. “Malloy?” he repeated, then looked at Sarah. “Of course, you’re a midwife! Then you must be Mrs. Brandt. I should’ve known.”
“How did you know my name?” Sarah demanded.
“Everybody in the press shacks knows who you are,” he said, referring to the rooms across the street from Police Headquarters where reporters rented space and waited for a news story to break. “Is it true they locked you up in a cell when you went to Headquarters to see Malloy?”
“No, it most certainly is not true!” Sarah snapped. She had been locked into an interrogation room, but that was only for her protection. She saw no need to explain that to Mr. Prescott, however. “You said they’d arrested Mr. Ellsworth. Do you know where they’re holding him?”
“They took him to Headquarters, him being such a respectable citizen. Seems like the Commissioners want to keep an eye on the case and make sure everything’s done right and proper. I’ll tell you what, if you give me some information about Ellsworth, I’ll write him up real nice. He’ll need public opinion on his side if he don’t want to meet up with Old Sparky.”
Mrs. Ellsworth made a strangled sound in her throat. Old Sparky was the nickname that had been given to New York’s new electric chair.
“Mr. Prescott,” Sarah said quickly, “we have nothing to say to you, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. You’re upsetting Mrs. Ellsworth.”
“You think she’s upset now, just wait until her boy’s tried for murder,” Prescott said reasonably. “I’m telling you, you’ll need my help. I don’t need much. Just tell me what he was like as a kid and where he went to school and-”
“Mr. Prescott,” Sarah said in a tone she’d learned from Malloy. “If you aren’t out of here in ten seconds, I’m going to go out on my front porch and start screaming that you’re attacking me. Then you can find out firsthand what it’s like to be questioned by the police.”
Prescott jumped to his feet, looking aggrieved. “There’s no call for you to be like that. I’m just trying to do my job.”
“Then do it somewhere else. Your ten seconds are already half gone.”
Giving Sarah a murderous scowl, he made for the front door, almost forgetting to grab his hat on the way out. He left the door hanging open, so Sarah hurried to close it, turning the lock with a decisive click.
“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, whatever shall we do?” Mrs. Ellsworth wailed.
“We’ll find Malloy. He’ll take care of this,” Sarah said with more confidence than she felt. If the police had Nelson in custody, they could have already beaten a confession out of him, guilty or not. Even Malloy might not be able to help then. Their only hope was that Prescott had been right about the Commissioners wanting to be careful with this case because Nelson was a respectable citizen.
The city had already dealt with one scandalous murder trial recently in which a young Italian woman had stabbed her lover to death when he refused to marry her. Thousands of newspapers had been sold over the misfortunes of Maria Barberi, and the press would pounce like hungry jackals on another case with the same potential for salacious reports.
“I’m going to go straight to Police Headquarters,” she told Mrs. Ellsworth.
“I’ll go with you!” the old woman exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
“I don’t think that’s wise. There’ll be dozens of reporters swarming around, and if they found out who you are… No, I want you to go home and lock yourself in. Don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know. If Mr. Prescott found you so quickly, others will, too. I’ll be back just as soon as I can, but don’t worry if it takes a long time. I might not even be able to find Malloy for a while if he’s out on a case.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Brandt,” the old woman said, taking Sarah’s hands in hers. “I don’t know what I would have done without you!”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Sarah said, wondering what on earth she would tell her friend if her son really had killed Anna Blake.
Just as Sarah had suspected, Mulberry Street was swarming with reporters jostling for a good spot from which to view the comings and goings at Police Headquarters. The cab Sarah had taken over had to let her off a block away. Fortunately, the morning rain was over, and the sun was trying halfheartedly to break through the clouds. Sarah had still brought her umbrella, though, and she gave thought to using it to force her way through to the building.
Fortunately, saying “Excuse me!” several times very loudly, and shoving a few times in a very unladylike manner, got her almost to the narrow stairs that led up to the arched doorway of the four-story building.
“Let the lady through, you vultures!” a voice called from above her, and she looked up to see the imposing figure of Tom, the doorman to Police Headquarters.
The reporters looked around in surprise to see a female in their midst, and Sarah took advantage of their momentary distraction to squeeze through and make her way up the steps to the front door, which Tom obligingly opened for her.
“ ‘Morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said, tipping his derby hat.
“Thank you very much, Tom,” she said as she slipped past him into the receiving area of Police Headquarters.
The desk sergeant looked up, and when he saw Sarah, his normal scowl slid one notch lower in disapproval. “You’ll be wanting Malloy, I expect,” he said, “Or have you come for Commissioner Roosevelt this time?” he added sarcastically.
Police Commissioner Theodore Roosevelt was an old family friend, and he kept an office upstairs. Sarah had visited him here when she’d needed his help in the past. She smiled sweetly. “I’d be happy to see either one of them. Whoever is available.”
“Mr. Roosevelt ain’t in right now,” he told her a little too smugly. “But I’ll see if I can scare up Malloy for you. Would you be wanting to wait?”
She could see from the gleam in his eye that he remembered the time he’d sent her to wait in the depths of the basement, but she had the upper hand now. “I’ll be upstairs. I’m sure Miss Kelly can find a place for me to sit where I won’t be in anyone’s way.” Minnie Kelly was the first female secretary in the history of the New York City Police Department, just one of Roosevelt’s innovations and a constant source of aggravation to the old guard. “No need to escort me,” she added, knowing full well he’d had no intention of doing so. “I know my way.”
Minnie Gertrude Kelly was a small, comely girl with raven black hair which she wore in a severe chignon so as not to appear too flashy. She looked up from her typewriter and greeted Sarah with a friendly smile.
“I’m sorry, but Commissioner Roosevelt isn’t in today, Mrs. Brandt,” she said.
“I know, but I needed a place to wait while someone tries to find Frank Malloy for me,” she explained.
Minnie understood completely. She knew all about Sarah’s adventures in the bowels of the building and invited her to have a seat.
“Do you know anything about the murder this morning? The woman who was killed in Washington Square?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, I heard. What a terrible thing. At first everyone assumed she was a… a lady of the evening, but then someone recognized her. They said she was a respectable woman from a good family. She lived in a rooming house nearby. But they’ve already arrested the man who did it, I heard.”