Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue by Victoria Thompson Page B

when any of the family tried to visit her, they were turned away. She wrote us a letter, telling us that Pollock didn’t think our family was a good influence on her, and he preferred that she not see us.”
    â€œNot a good influence?” Elizabeth echoed. “In what way?”
    â€œShe didn’t say, and our family is perfectly respectable, so there was no legitimate reason to cut off contact. I think Pollock just didn’t want us knowing what was going on.”
    â€œAnd what was going on, Mr. Yorke?” Felix asked.
    â€œI don’t know, but I do know Cecelia wasn’t herself. Occasionally, she’d send a brief note to let us know she was fine and we weren’t to worry, but I could tell that she wasn’t fine at all. She seemed frightened, but I never could find out of what.”
    â€œAnd then Pollock told you she died?” Elizabeth said very gently.
    â€œOnly after we finally ran him to ground,” he said bitterly. “We hadn’t heard from Cecelia for several months, so my father and I went to the house. We were going to demand to see her, but the place was empty. They’d moved out. It took us several more months to find Pollock, and when we did, he was living alone in some rented rooms. When we confronted him, he told us Cecelia had died. In childbirth, he said.”
    â€œHow tragic,” Elizabeth said.
    â€œExcept her death was never reported in the newspapers, and he wouldn’t tell us where she was buried. My poor mother was hysterical. She just wanted to be able to mourn her daughter properly, and that cad wouldn’t even tell us where her grave was. This led us to suspect he’d lied to us about Cecelia and that perhaps she was still alive. We were afraid he might have turned her out and she’d been too embarrassed to return home. But when we went back to try to find out, he’d vanished again. It’s taken months, but we finally traced him to New York.”
    â€œAnd what do you want from us, Mr. Yorke?” Felix asked again.
    â€œI just want to know where Pollock is. I confronted him the other day, and that’s when I found out he’d remarried, which was a shock, as you can imagine. He still refused to tell me anything, and he threw me out of his house, but we still hope to find my sister or at least find out where she’s buried if she truly is dead. But when I tried to call on Pollock again today, the servants said he wasn’t home and I’d have to speak with you, Mrs. Decker.”
    Felix exchanged another glance with Elizabeth and saw her distress. “The servants didn’t tell you what happened?” she asked.
    â€œWhat do you mean, what happened?”
    â€œMr. Pollock is dead. Someone murdered him.”
    *   *   *
    H enry Nicholson, Esq., had his office across the street from the Tombs, which was convenient for him and his clients. Maeve climbed the stairs to the second floor, where his name was stenciled on the glass window of one of the doors along the long, dusty hallway. Inside, half a dozen clients waited in wooden chairs lined up against the walls—gang members, madams, and bunco artists—while several young men escortedthem in and out of the adjoining offices of the various partners. A harried-looking fellow in a green eyeshade sat at a desk, and he looked at Maeve suspiciously as she entered.
    â€œMay I help you, miss?”
    â€œI’d like to see Mr. Nicholson. He’s an old friend of my family’s. Tell him Maeve is here.”
    Frowning doubtfully, he went into an inner office, and in a moment, Henry himself bustled out of his office, his fleshy face wreathed in smiles. As usual, he wore a too-flashy vest and violently checked pants that made him look even fatter than he was. His vest was stained with whatever he’d had for lunch, and his shirt needed a fresh collar, but a solid gold watch chain stretched across his broad belly, and