“Malloy, what are you doing here?” he demanded, either annoyed or embarrassed by Frank’s appearance at his door.
“I have a few questions to ask you, Mr. Potter,” he said, exaggerating his tone of respect and making no intimidating moves. Potter wouldn’t like being caught unawares and looking so disreputable, and he probably hated having Frank, of all people, find out where and how he really lived. He was, Frank had noted, a man who liked to maintain the image of genteel respectability.
“How did you find me?” Potter snapped.
“I asked at the Blackwell house,” Frank said, still mild and unthreatening. “I won’t keep you long, Mr. Potter. I just need to ask you a few more things about Dr. Blackwell. I know you want to help me find his killer, and I need a little more information from you to accomplish that.”
“I already gave you all the information I had that would help find Edmund’s killer, and in spite of that, you let your best suspect escape,” Potter said impatiently. A door opened across the hall, and Potter glanced over uneasily. “Come inside,” he snapped, having decided he didn’t want to give his neighbors any more fodder for gossip.
Frank gladly obliged him.
Potter’s flat was sparsely furnished with items that had probably been left by a previous tenant, judging from their condition. If Blackwell had been prospering in his career as a healer, he hadn’t been sharing much of his newfound fortune with his assistant.
“What do you want to know?” Potter asked, making no effort at courtesy.
Frank chose to make himself comfortable anyway and took a seat in what appeared to be the best chair in the place. “Let’s see,” he said, pretending to try to recall why he had come. “I’ve been hearing lots of rumors about Dr. Blackwell and his relationship with his female patients,” he tried.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Potter said, grudgingly seating himself in another chair. He didn’t lean back, though, giving Frank the silent message that he didn’t intend to be sitting there very long. “I have no idea who would be spreading such scandalous rumors about poor Edmund.”
Frank let him get by with the lie. “Some people seem to think that Dr. Blackwell laid more than just his hands on the women he treated.”
“That’s preposterous!” Potter sputtered. “Edmund was a healer. His treatments were revolutionary, but there was nothing improper about them or about him.”
“Then if I question the husbands of some of these women, I won’t find out that they had any reason to be jealous of Dr. Blackwell,” Frank said.
“Certainly not! Of course,” Potter added, backpedaling just a bit, “some men are just naturally jealous of any male who pays their wives attention. Dr. Blackwell’s cures inspired a high level of gratitude and devotion from his clients, so naturally the ladies would be excessively fond of him. I’m sure you noticed how distraught they were at the memorial service.”
“Yeah, like a real close friend had died,” Frank agreed.
“And some men might feel a bit uncomfortable if their wives expressed such affection for another man.”
“How do you think they expressed their affection?” Frank asked mildly.
Potter wasn’t fooled. “Mr. Malloy, your questions are insulting. Although Edmund is beyond being hurt by your innuendos, the ladies in question are not.”
“And speaking of the ladies in question, what do you know about this Mrs. Fitzgerald? The one you were talking to at the funeral.”
Potter seemed surprised. “Why, nothing in particular. Edmund treated her for a back ailment, I believe. He helped her tremendously.”
“And she was so grateful she gave him a house to live in,” Frank said, as if that were the most natural reaction in the world.
“I’m sure I don’t know anything about that,” Potter insisted.
“Have you met with Mr. Fitzgerald to discuss the matter?”
“Yes, but… Well, he’s a reasonable man. He doesn’t expect Mrs. Blackwell to move out under the circumstances. I managed to convince him to… Well, what gentleman could do such a thing?”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” Frank said. “How long will he let her stay there? Or maybe you arranged for her to start paying rent.”
“I…” For some reason, Potter’s face grew red, and he seemed very uncomfortable. “That is, I haven’t spoken to Letitia about this yet. I’m sure when she understands the situation-and when she’s able, of course-she’ll be only too happy to retire to her father’s house. It’s the only sensible course of action, under the circumstances.”
“Why would she do that?” Frank asked. “She could just get another house if Fitzgerald doesn’t want her in his. It would be hard to go home to live with her father again after being married and on her own.”
Potter squeezed his mouth down to a bloodless line. Frank pretended not to notice his agitation. The man was, after all, taking great pains to appear reasonable. After a moment of intense self-control, he said, “I’m afraid Mrs. Blackwell would find it difficult to… to manage without her father’s assistance.”
Frank considered the possible meanings of this astonishing admission. “Are you saying that Mrs. Blackwell isn’t able to manage a home on her own?”
“Oh, no, I’m sure… that is, she’s been doing so for a while now, so… It’s not that, not that at all.”
“What is it, then?” Frank asked. It was, he had to admit, much easier to interrogate an intelligent man than a stupid one. He didn’t have to bloody his knuckles.
“Well, it would seem that… I don’t want to speak ill of the dead, you understand, but it would appear, from the records I have been able to find, that Edmund hadn’t been… Well, what I mean is-”
“Spit it out, Potter,” Frank ordered, unable to bear Potter’s hedging another moment.
Potter’s face blanched. “Edmund left no estate,” he blurted.
“Did you think he would?”
Potter was obviously uncomfortable with this subject. “He was very successful. He led me to believe… I received a salary, of course, but I was also a partner in the practice. I handled the business aspects, scheduling the lectures and renting the halls, that sort of thing. In return, Edmund trained me in his techniques, and I was to get half of the profits of the practice as soon as I was proficient enough to become a healer myself. When Edmund bought the house on Gramercy Park, or rather, when he led me to believe he’d bought it, I believed I owned half of it, too. He had many wealthy clients who paid him well for his services, but now…”
“Now it looks like he managed to spend all of it before he died,” Frank supplied. Too bad Potter had offered him a reward to find the killer before he found out there was no estate. If the man thought he’d inherit a prosperous business, he would have had an excellent motive for murder. But that would have been far too easy. Frank was going to have to work harder than that to earn this reward.
“Edmund was rather proud of his success,” Potter was saying, making excuses for the dead man. “He’d never had any before. He felt it was important to maintain the trappings of affluence in order to win the confidence of the affluent clients he wished to attract. He kept a carriage and had a full complement of servants. That’s very expensive.”
“This must’ve been a shock to Mrs. Blackwell to find out she’s penniless,” Frank suggested.
“Oh, I haven’t told her anything about this yet. She’s… Well, she’s not even receiving visitors yet, and this isn’t something I could tell her in a note or through an intermediary, and certainly not until she’s stronger.”
“Of course not,” Frank agreed. He wondered how Potter would break the news to the young widow and if he was hoping she would seek comfort from him. Or possibly even support. Potter may once have imagined he would be able to offer it, with half of Blackwell’s estate at his disposal. Now, of course, he could only offer her space in his shabby flat. “Well, now, the reason I stopped by today is that I need a list of Blackwell’s female clients, the ones who seemed most devoted to him.”