The Lexington House Murder
~ Chapter Eight
Crane
and Mailer sat in the small back parlor of Lexington House. They were
waiting for the owners come down and be interviewed. The men had
agreed on the way over, that Mailer would ask the questions and have
Ichabod observe. They both would be respectful and differential to
these persons.
Mr. and Mrs. James Wellington-Trumbell walked
into the room. Crane felt half inclined to bow. James
Wellington-Trumbell was in his forties with a handsome head of red
hair. His face was not handsome in the classic sense, but he was
dressed impeccably and had a certain air of authority about him. His
wife was at least 10 years his junior. She must have been a pretty
girl at one time, but her face was thin and pallid. Her eyes were
dead. They were not a happy couple.
Mailer introduced himself
and Ichabod, and shook hands with James Wellington-Trumbell. As they
took their seats, Mailer frown slightly when instead of asking his
wife to leave the room for a few moments, both James and Helen seated
themselves on the matching chairs before the fire. They turned and
looked at Crane and Mailer sitting next to each other on the settee,
with an affected pleasantness.
“I hope it is not a problem
to talk to both me and my wife at the same time. I understand, you
often want to question people separately in these types of matters,
but since my wife and I were with each other at the time of the
incident and I am assuming you do not think either of us is a likely
suspect, there is no need to drag this out longer than
necessary.”
Although they did not know it until later, when they compared
notes, both Crane and Mailer’s hearts sank when they heard
that
statement by Mr. Wellington-Trumbell.
Unfortunately, the
master of the house’s tone of condescension, meant to make it
clear, who he felt would be in charge of this interview, had the
opposite effect.
Up until this point, both detectives thought
the Wellington-Trumbells’ only association with this crime
was a
misfortunate choice in housemaids. But now, by being so defensive,
they knew the man before them was going to lie to them. And lie not
only to distance his family from the idea of the crime, but to
distance himself or someone else from the crime. This meant he knew
something about why and how the crime happened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Over at the
Crane’s household, Katrina had been silent the whole time
Janelle
poured out her heart. She held many things back, but Katrina did not
ask any questions or make any comments.
When the young girl
had finally stopped talking, she lay her head in her hands and cried.
Katrina went to the kitchen cabinet and took out money from a jar.
She retuned, put her arm about the girl and kissed her lightly on the
cheek. Katrina then called to her son Jonathan, and sent him out to
the street to fetch a cab to take Janelle home.
When Jonathan
returned from his task, he was slightly surprised to have Katrina
fairly crush him with an enormous hug. She must have kissed the top
of his head five times. Murmuring comforting sounds into his hair.
Finally, Jonathan managed to extricate himself from her grasp.
Katrina was scared about something. This is what she did to him or to
Ichabod, whenever she was scared. Scared and angry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mailer took out his note book.
“Well, shall we begin then, first allow me to thank both of
you for
agreeing to this late interview, but we sincerely want to close this
case as quickly and efficiently as possible. And of course to cause
as little disruption to your house.” Mailer’s voice
was smooth
and professional.
“First can you tell us where you were
when you first heard of the crime”?
“My wife and I were
awakened early, very early this morning, by our under-butler, to say
that the head housekeeper had found one of our maids, apparently
dead, attacked by an intruder. I asked my wife to stay behind, while
I accompanied the man back down to the main sitting room. I saw at
once, the poor creature was dead. I sent my driver to the local
police station to report the crime. I believe I told everyone to
leave the room and not attempt to move anything. I returned to my
wife and told her of the unfortunate incident..”
Crane
crossed his arms and glanced over at Mailer. He knew Mailer must be
screaming in his own head, ‘Dammit man, she was not
a creature
or an unfortunate incident, she was a human being!’
But
Mailer did not even flinch as he responded, “yes, yes, must
have
been extremely upsetting to you Mrs. Wellington-Trumbell. Did you
come downstairs at any point or after the police arrived,
Ma’am?”
“My wife did not come down until the police had removed the
body and the room had been shut off. She then instructed the staff to
make sandwiches and coffee for all of the patrol and police officers
on the scene.”
“How considerate of you, Ma’am, to think
of our men at such a shocking moment.” Mrs.
Wellington-Trumbell
lowered her eyes. Mailer temporarily gave up trying to get a word
from Mrs. Wellington-Trumbell.
“Can you tell us a little
about Margaret, how old she was, how she came to work for you;
anything you think might help.
“Well of course these things
would best be asked of our head housekeeper Eloise, who heads our
entire staff. Unfortunately she had retired early on doctor’s
orders. The day was particularly disturbing to her.”
“Anything
at all, sir. About any problems during her employment with you or any
unusual recent behavior she may have exhibited.”
This last
question finally elicited a sound from Helen Wellington-Trumbell. A
strangled sound, half moan and half sob. Her husband quickly bent
over his wife solicitously, successfully shielding her face from
Mailer. But not from Ichabod. He saw clearly the woman was
frightened. And it was quite clear to him, it was her husband she was
frightened of. Could this be a romance gone wrong between the Master
of the house and little Margaret. Had it gone too far? Perhaps,
Margaret if scorned by her employer-lover had threatened James
Wellington-Trumbell in some way. But what could she possible hold
over his head which would anger him enough to commit such mayhem on
this young woman?
“I am most sorry, gentlemen, but as you
can see my wife is exhausted. There really is nothing else I can tell
you. As I suggested before, I think you should talk to our Eloise,
she will be much more able to help you with your inquiries. If you
will excuse us please.” James led his wife out of the room.
Ichabod stood up and motioned to Mailer. “Let’s go,
Mailer. I believe I have had my fill of the Wellington-Trumbells for
the day.”
Mailer waited until they were in the carriage,
before he said to Crane. “ Obviously, this is not going to be
as
easy as we anticipated. I made a few notes, I think we may wish to
question servants other that this Eloise, they have practically
shoved at us. It may be best to do this at the precinct, where they
may feel more open to tell us what they know, if anything.”
Mailer
leaned forward. “Are you listening, Crane? Do you have any
suggestions to add?”
“No, your thoughts are fine, Mailer.
We can meet tomorrow at 10:00 at my office and we will work it out
then. We are both exhausted. I need to clear my head, and I need
desperately to see my wife.”
“Just so, then Constable.”
The carriage pulled up in front of Crane’s modest, narrow
brownstone. “My best to Mrs. Crane.”
Crane turned back
once more, “Better yet, Mailer, come by at 8:30, you look
like you
could stand a hearty breakfast. We will talk then. Good night,
Magistrate.”
Mailer envied the man who walked up the path,
took out his key and opened the door. Crane hesitated in the doorway.
He bent over to stroke a small cat who greeted him. The both of them
silhouetted against the lit hallway. Then the door shut and
Mailer’s
carriage drove away into the darkness.
Ichabod came home
to a sleeping family. Only Kitty was up and prowling her nightly
patrol. She was curious enough to follow Crane up the steps into
Jonathan’s room. Kitty sprang onto the foot of the bed. For
several
minutes, Ichabod stood over the boy’s bed and watched him
sleep. He
bent down to stroke Kitty.
Later after he had crept gently
into bed, so as not to disturb Katrina, he fell asleep rather
quickly. But his sleep was uneasy. He kept seeing Katrina before him
naked. He would remember how he felt when he looked at her pubis and
belly. Even in his dream, the thought of it filled him with a mixture
of wonder and desire. But as he looked up, he realized the head of
Katrina’s body had been replaced by that of Margaret
Washington. He
jumped awoke and cried out. He was sweating.
Katrina
immediately woke up and sat up. “Ichabod, what is it. What
has
disturbed your sleep like this?”
“A dream. It was not
important. Just a dream.” He slid down against his pillows,
and
pulled Katrina towards him, placing her head on his shoulder.
“
Close your eyes, love, and go back to sleep.”
“Was it
about your father again? Are you sure you do not wish to talk about
it, Ichabod?”
Crane shook his head in the dark. “Let me
hold you, Katrina. I must feel you in my arms.” Katrina did
as he
asked. She snuggled next to him. One arm cradling her, Ichabod lifted
her hand to his lips and kissed it. He played with the curls in her
hair. After a while he did close his eyes, but continued to move his
fingers slowly through the ends of her hair.