"MURDER ON FIFTH AVENUE spins magic on every page."
Reviewed by Elizabeth Crowley
Posted June 20, 2012
Mystery
In this latest installment in the Gaslight Mystery
series,
Sarah Brandt and Detective Frank Malloy investigate the odd
murder of socialite, Chilton Devries. Devries was found dead
in an exclusive men's club he frequented. But the clues
indicate that Devries was injured outside the club before he
died of a stab wound in his back. As Sarah and Frank
investigate Chilton Devries' family life, they discover one
too many people who wanted Devries dead.
The nature of Chilton Devries' murder baffles the infamously
astute detective, Frank Malloy. Devries was found dead in a
chair at the Knickerbocker men's club. The cause of his
death is found to be a small wound on his back. Although the
wound is small and Devries lost little blood, it is believed
the stabbing caused severe internal bleeding. After
questioning the staff at the Knickerbocker, Sarah and Frank
realize Chilton's Devries' attack occured outside the
Knickerbocker. Their murder investigation takes a surprising
turn when they begin to investigate Chilton Devries' private
life. Not only did Devries argue with his son before his
death, but when Frank Malloy announced his death, his wife
fails to show any emotions, and his daughter-in-law breaks
out into hysterical laughter.
Sarah and Frank have every reason to believe anyone at the
Devries' household, including an ambitious butler, could
have murdered Chilton Devries. But the discovery of a hidden
mistress shakes Sarah and Frank's investigation to the core.
Chilton Devries much younger mistress, Norah English, slowly
begins to reveal the secluded life Devries forced her live.
Just when Sarah and Frank begin to think the unhappy
mistress has something to hide, there is still one suspect
who could finally reveal what really happened to Chilton
Devries. On the day of his murder, Chilton Devries had an
appointment with a man named Salvatore Angotti. When Frank
investigates Angotti, he is astonished to discover that not
only is Angotti considered a dangerous man, but he was also
an employee of Devries. When Malloy meets with Angotti he is
forced to admit that the man is not the murderer, but a
shocking revelation from Angotti points Malloy's
investigation back in the Devries' household.
Victoria Thompson delivers yet another charming turn of the
century murder mystery. Thompson introduces a new twist by
creating a murder with an unlikely murder weapon, which
readers will find very entertaining when trying to guess the
identity of the murderer. MURDER ON FIFTH AVENUE will not
only sweep you away with Frank and Sarah's intricate
theories of the murder, but Thompson also weaves an
enthralling back story on the Devries family. I was
especially intrigued with the mystery story surrounding
Chilton Devries' daughter-in-law, Garnet. Thompson truly
took the time to create fascinating characters with a story
to tell. MURDER ON FIFTH AVENUE spins magic on every page.
SUMMARY
Sarah Brandt's family is one of the oldest in New York City,
and her father, Felix Decker, takes his position in society
very seriously. He still refuses to resign himself to his
daughter being involved with an Irish Catholic, police
detective. But when a member of his private club--the very
exclusive Knickerbocker--is murdered, Decker forms an uneasy
alliance with Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy to solve the
crime as discreetly as possible. Malloy soon discovers that despite his social standing, the
deceased--Chilton Devries--was no gentleman. In fact, he's
left behind his own unofficial club of sorts, populated by
eeryone who despised him. As he and Sarah sort through the
suspects, it becomes clear to her that her father is
evaluating more than the detective's investigative
abilities, and that, on a personal level there is much more
at stake for Malloy than discovering who revoked Devries's
membership--permanently.
ExcerptCHAPTER I
Frank hunkered inside his overcoat against winter's late
afternoon chill as he stopped on the sidewalk outside the
Knickerbocker Club to catch his breath. The trip from the
riverfront warehouse uptown involved more walking than
Frank normally liked to do, but the jam of wagons in the
city streets made it by far the fastest mode of
cross–town transportation. Then he had boarded the
Sixth Avenue Elevated Train, the only truly fast mode of
transportation in the city, squeezing into a packed car for
the trip uptown. Another brisk walk over to Fifth Avenue,
and here he was.
New York had hundreds of men's clubs, few more exclusive
than the Knickerbocker. Micks need not apply, nor much of
anyone else, as far as he knew. Except for a few of the
Jewish upper crust, membership was restricted to
descendants of the original Dutch and English settlers of
the city. Knickerbockers. Some said the nickname
Knickerbocker came from the knee–length pants the
early colonists wore. Others said from a story by
Washington Irving. What did he care? Even though they
allowed Jews to belong, he'd bet a year's pay no Irish
Catholic had ever crossed the threshold.
So why in God's name had Decker set their meeting here
and not at his office? Unfortunately, the only way to find
out was to go inside.
He climbed the front steps and gave the imposing brass
knocker a serious thump. The door swung wide, and he
exchanged glances with a man got up for a fancy dress ball
in his cutaway and stiff white shirt. Fortunately, Frank
had been around enough rich people to know the fellow who
answered the door was a servant, no matter how he might be
dressed.
Frank opened his mouth to quickly explain his presence
here before the butler could slam the door in his
face—it had happened before—but the fellow
said, "Mr. Malloy, Mr. Decker is expecting you," before he
could speak.
He stepped back to allow Frank to enter and took his hat
and coat, then led him down a short hallway. Thick carpets
muffled their footsteps, and Frank inhaled the scent of
expensive cigars and old leather. Dark paneling covered
the walls, and decorative light fixtures muted the glare of
the electric lights. Nothing but the best. As they
reached a small sitting room, he caught sight of Felix
Decker who was apparently trying to pace a hole in the
expensive carpeting.
"Mr. Malloy has arrived," the butler said, then took his
leave.
The tall elegant man stopped instantly and strode
forward, offering Frank his hand. "Thank you for coming so
quickly, Mr. Malloy."
As if he could have refused. Frank simply nodded as he
returned Decker's firm handshake.
"Please, sit down." Decker indicated the Chesterfield
sofa. A liberal amount of silver threaded Decker's fair
hair, and his blue eyes held the wisdom and cynicism of
age, although today they were troubled in a way Frank had
never seen before. Decker took the closest chair and
rubbed his hands together as if uncertain exactly what to
do with them.
Felix Decker was upset. Frank didn't think Felix Decker
ever got upset.
"Have you been here before?" Decker asked.
"No." Frank didn't bother to explain his theory that he
was the first Irish Catholic to ever to enter the club by
the front door.
"We aren't a particularly old club," Decker said. "We
formed back in seventy–one, when some Union Club
members felt the membership requirements there had become
too liberal."
Frank had no trouble believing that at all.
"I tell you this so you'll understand the men with whom
you'll be dealing."
Frank didn't think Felix Decker was going to propose him
for membership, so he couldn't imagine needing to have any
contact with the other members at all. "Dealing?"
"Yes, you see, one of our members was found dead here
this afternoon."
"Dead or murdered?" Simply finding somebody dead
wouldn't prompt anybody to send for a police detective.
Decker drew a deep breath. "At first we assumed he had
simply passed away from natural causes. A bad heart,
perhaps. He seemed to be dozing peacefully in his chair,
but when one of the waiters accidentally bumped the chair
and he didn't react... Well, he was quite cold, so they
knew he had been dead for a while."
"But now you don't think he just passed away."
"No. You see, we sent for an undertaker. He was the one
who noticed the bloodstain on the chair and then on
Devries's clothing. He quickly determined that he had been
stabbed in the back."
"So somebody here stabbed him?"
"Certainly not. At lease we are fairly confident it
couldn't have happened here without Devries raising some
kind of alarm, so it must have happened prior to his
arrival. As far as I can ascertain, he appeared here
sometime in the mid–afternoon and went to the library
to read the newspapers. He complained to one of the staff
of not feeling well. He asked for some brandy but only
drank a small amount, and then he fell asleep, or so
everyone thought."
This wasn't making sense. If a man got stabbed, why
wouldn't he get medical attention? Or at least stay at
home and tend to his wound? Why would he go out to his
club of all things? "Was it possible he didn't know he'd
been stabbed?"
"The wound is small, according to the undertaker, and it
had bled very little. I can't imagine he would have been
traveling around the city if he'd suspected he was mortally
wounded."
"Did the undertaker think this small wound could have
killed him?"
Decker pressed his lips together, as if he had tasted
something unpleasant. "Mr. Robinson, the undertaker,
suggested as much. He said he has seen similar things
before in his line of work. Most of the bleeding occurs
inside the body, apparently."
Frank supposed such a thing could happen. He'd seen
someone die from being stabbed with a hat pin, of all
things. "Did Robinson refuse to take the body?"
"Oh, no, not at all. I gather he was perfectly willing
to be discreet, but he felt the club should know, in case
we wanted to deal with the matter ourselves."
So they were back to dealing again. This, Frank
assumed, was to be his part in it. "What did you decide?"
Now Decker looked positively gray around the gills.
Plainly, he wasn't used to discussing such unpleasantries,
at least not within the walls of his beloved
Knickerbocker. "We called together all the board members
who happened to be on the premises this afternoon. I'm
sure you understand we want the club's reputation protected
at all costs."
"Then tell the undertaker to pack up the body."
"Please do not judge us so harshly." He was angry now,
and Frank didn't blame him. "If Devries did indeed die by
the hand of another, we would also like to see justice
done."
Frank leaned back on the surprisingly uncomfortable sofa
and studied Decker for a long moment. He didn't like this
one bit, probably because he didn't believe Decker'
protests about wanting justice. "Are you saying you want
me to find out who killed this Devries character?"
"Find out, yes. That's exactly what we want you to do."
"And then what?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. Usually, when I solve a murder,
I arrest the killer, and he goes to trial, and then, if
he's found guilty, he goes to prison or gets executed." Of
course, it wasn't always so neat, but he didn't need to
mention that to Decker. "Is that what you want?"
"It all depends."
Ah, now we're getting down to it. "On what?"
"On who is responsible for Devries's death. You must
realize this is why I summoned you, out of all the
detectives in New York, Mr. Malloy, because I know you can
be trusted."
Frank didn't know how trustworthy he was, but he knew
Decker rarely called him Mister. He must be feeling
desperate.
"What you mean is I know how to keep a secret."
"I would have said you know how to be discreet."
He was right about that. Frank nodded.
"You will make your report to me, when you have all the
facts, and then I will take the matter to our board to
decide."
Now this was something Frank could understand. The rich
looked out for each other. He assumed it was much like the
police department, where you watched out for your own and
stood up for them when they were in trouble. Frank
couldn't imagine why rich people would need that kind of
help, but he knew it was available to them.
"Just so I'm clear, what happens if I find out one of
your club members is the killer?"
"Then you would not need to take any action at all. We
would take care of the matter among ourselves."
Frank doubted the club had an electric chair on the
premises to "take care" of murderous members or even a cell
or two for confining the drunk and disorderly ones. "You'd
let a killer go free?"
"Malloy, you know as well as I do your chief would never
allow you to arrest any member of this club, no matter what
he had done. If you did, he would be freed with an apology
from the Mayor within hours, and you would lose your job."
Frank did know this. He'd just wanted to find out what
Decker had in mind. "Then why call me in at all?"
"If Devries's killer is someone you can bring to
justice, you may do so with our blessing. If the killer is
someone whom the law cannot touch, then we will take care
of the matter ourselves. That is all you need to know.
Now, are you willing to assist us?"
Did he really have a choice? Decker and his kind were
more than capable of taking care of him if he
refused. "Devries's family and the other members of your
club aren't going to want an Irish cop nosing around in
their business." That was the real problem with calling
Frank in on this, and Decker should've known it.
"They will when I introduce you, and if anyone fails to
cooperate with your investigation, you are to notify me
immediately."
Frank wanted to refuse. He wanted to have a good reason
to refuse, but investigating crimes was his job, and
pleasing men like Felix Decker was the job of everyone in
the city, if they knew what was good for them.
Besides, what would he say to Sarah Brandt if he refused
to help her father?
Frank managed not to sigh in defeat. "Is the body still
here?"Is the body still
here?
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