SARAH FELT A BIT STRANGE IN HER NEW OUTFIT, probably because it had been so long since she’d had one. As much as she hated indulging herself in new clothes when she had no place to wear them, she’d felt her current situation justified the purchase of something more presentable than her usually serviceable, if unstylish, attire. If she was going to be calling on the elite members of the city’s society, she shouldn’t have to risk being ordered to use the servant’s entrance.
And of course, when she’d seen the Macy’s advertisement on the front page of the Times, she hadn’t been able to resist the price. Only twenty-four dollars, when it would usually cost thirty. She could always wear the suit to church, she told herself. The hussar blue serge reefer suit-with silk lining throughout-wasn’t so very grand that she would look out of place among ordinary folk, but it was presentable enough that she wouldn’t have to suffer raised eyebrows from a butler or a maid when she sought admittance to her own family’s home.
She really should be going to visit her mother. And she would. Very soon. As soon as this business was settled, she told herself. Now that she’d settled things with her mother, she had no more excuse not to go. Except, of course, that she wasn’t ready to see her father just yet. And she did have to take care of this business about Alicia. The instant Alicia’s murder was solved and her killer brought to justice, however, she’d have time to think about herself and take care of family business.
Until then, she had a job to do.
The Times said that the temperature yesterday had been eighty-four degrees, a record high for that date, but today was cooler, thank heavens. Still warm for April, but only pleasantly so. A lovely day for a stroll in the nicer neighborhoods of the city. The house on Marble Row was still draped in black crepe, and when Alfred answered her knock, he didn’t seem the least surprised to see her.
“Mrs. Brandt, won’t you come in? I’ll see if Miss Mina is home,” he said, which gave her hope. At least he hadn’t been ordered to turn her away at the door.
This time Sarah had come during regular visiting hours, too, taking the chance that the VanDamms wouldn’t be receiving much company yet and she wouldn’t have to share Mina with other curious acquaintances. Assuming, of course, she was going to be admitted at all. The memory of being refused admittance the last time was still nagging at her when Alfred returned and told her Miss Mina would receive her in the front parlor.
Sarah needed a minute to collect herself and conceal her immense relief. It wouldn’t do to go in to Mina looking joyous with triumph when she was supposedly paying a condolence call. When she was sure her expression was suitably somber, she allowed Alfred to escort her into the parlor.
Mina was ensconced on a sofa at the far end of the room, her back to the heavily draped window. Her black crepe gown was obviously new and in the height of fashion, its mutton-chop sleeves positively enormous. Certainly, she would have missed the jewelry that her mourning forbade, but she managed to look quite elegant all the same.
She extended a limp hand to Sarah, who was glad to see she was alone. Extracting information from her would be difficult enough without competing with other visitors for her attention.
“How are you, Mina?” Sarah asked with as much concern as she could muster, taking the hand Mina offered in both of her own.
“As well as I can be under the circumstances, I suppose,” she allowed with a dramatic sigh. “Please, sit down, and tell me what’s going on in the world. I haven’t been out of doors since poor Alicia’s funeral.”
Sarah was fairly certain Mina wasn’t interested in hearing about the controversy over the enforcement of the Raines Law, which decreed that saloons should be closed on Sunday or about the dry goods store that had burned down the other day. Rather, she’d want to know the latest gossip from the society she couldn’t enjoy because of her mourning. Unfortunately, Sarah knew no more of it than Mina did.
“I’m afraid I’m rather dull and don’t have any news to share. But tell me, have the police learned anything new?” Sarah asked, having decided to play innocent. “Do they have any idea yet who killed poor Alicia?”
Sarah thought she caught a glimpse of annoyance in Mina’s eyes before she lowered them to touch her handkerchief to her nose ever so delicately. “I’m sure I don’t know. Father is the one they speak to. I couldn’t bear to speak of it in any case. But I’ll tell you the truth, I doubt they’ll ever find her killer. You know how incompetent the police are. It’s a wonder it’s even safe for a woman to walk the streets anymore.”
“I know you were able to recover Alicia’s jewelry,” Sarah reminded her. “Has your father offered a reward for her killer, too?”
Mina looked at her as if she’d just spit on the floor. “Most certainly not! How could you put a price on someone’s life?”
How indeed, particularly when finding Alicia’s jewelry seemed more important to them than avenging her death. Sarah decided not to explain to Mina the ways of the world where police efficiency was concerned. She’d be wasting her time, particularly since she knew the VanDamms had already ordered the police to cease the investigation, so Mina would have no interest in the subject. She decided to try a different approach.
“I can’t help thinking that if they could just locate that young man, the one who was living in the boardinghouse and who disappeared the night she died, they might learn something. He must have some information. Since he ran away, he might have seen something that night. Perhaps he even knows who her killer is.”
“Most likely he is her killer, so it seems doubtful he’ll ever show his face again. Even if the police were trying to find him, he’s probably a hundred miles away by now. He’d certainly be a fool if he wasn’t.”
“But if he would just come back, we could at least be sure. I know the police believe he knows something. I wouldn’t mind asking him some questions myself.”
Mina seemed intrigued. “And exactly what would you ask Alicia’s killer if you had the opportunity?”
Sarah pretended to consider. “Oh, for instance, I’d ask him why he was so interested in Alicia.”
“Really, Sarah, don’t you already know the answer to that? Alicia was lovely and young and female,” Mina said, not bothering to hide her animosity. “That explains why any man would be interested in her.”
“And I’d want to know if he saw someone come into the house that night. The doors would have been locked, so how did the killer get in? Perhaps this Fisher fellow was the one who opened the door. And we also know an abortionist came to see Alicia that night. If we could-”
“An abortionist? What on earth are you talking about?”
“An abortionist is a person who… who helps women get rid of babies they don’t want,” Sarah explained, recalling she hadn’t known such people existed, either, when she’d lived in Mina’s world.
Mina seemed shocked. Her face had paled. “What makes you think a person like this visited Alicia that night?”
“The police found one of her instruments in Alicia’s room. I’m sure if we could find this woman, she could at least tell us who hired her and-”
“Really, Sarah, this is ridiculous. You already told me that Alicia was with child, and now you want me to believe someone came to her room that night and got rid of the baby for her. Which is it?”
“Both. If someone did come to perform an abortion on Alicia, I’m sure they refused when they saw how far along she was. Performing the procedure at that time would have been much too dangerous. The woman would have refused and left the house. But the person who hired her could have remained behind with Alicia, and if he did, he must be Alicia’s killer. Maybe he was Alicia’s lover, the father of her child. If so, he might have reason to want her dead. If we just knew who he was-”
“I tell you, Alicia had no lover. The very thought is preposterous. If that’s who the police are looking for, no wonder they can’t find anything.”
“I’m afraid Alicia most certainly did have a lover. She was with child,” Sarah reminded her.
Mina’s face was stark white now, but from what emotion, Sarah couldn’t be sure. Certainly, she was shocked and embarrassed and outraged and probably angry, too. Sarah was sure no one had ever talked to her about such things before in her entire life. But then, her sister had never been murdered before, either.
“No one in authority has told me such a thing about Alicia’s condition,” Mina said, as if she could negate the fact by the force of her denial.
“Then I’m telling you, and the police detective in charge of the case told me himself. Your sister must have known at least one man. Was there someone who befriended her? Someone who could have had the opportunity to seduce her? A family friend, perhaps? Someone you’d never suspect.”
Sarah knew she was foolish to expect Mina to implicate Sylvester Mattingly outright, but she couldn’t help trying to tempt her.
Mina leaned her head back against the cushions and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth for a long moment, as if forcibly controlling her emotions. When she had collected herself, she said, “This is all so horrible.” Then her gaze touched Sarah, and Sarah saw the cunning in her pale eyes. “But I wonder at you, Sarah. Why do you care so much about all this, and how do you know so much about the case?”
“I’ve been very concerned from the beginning,” Sarah explained. “Since I saw Alicia the night before she died, I feel connected somehow. And one of the police detectives has been very kind in answering my questions and keeping me informed about what’s happening.”
Mina sniffed in derision. “Are you consorting with a policeman? Really, Sarah, you have no more judgment in men than your sister did.”
Anger flooded Sarah, nearly choking her, but she somehow managed to bite back the sharp retort she so desperately wanted to make. She settled for, “I sometimes think I’m the only one who cares if Alicia’s killer is found.”
For a second, Sarah thought perhaps Mina was going to agree with her. But then she said, “I’m really very tired, Sarah. This has been a terrible strain on all of us. I know you’ll excuse me if I cut our visit short.”
Effectively dismissed, Sarah had no choice but to leave. She rose and took a moment to put her gloves on, hoping that Mina would feel compelled to say something into the silence. But she disappointed Sarah by simply waiting until she was finished. Then she summoned a maid to see her out.
Out on the sidewalk, Sarah savored the sounds of busy Fifth Avenue. Briefly, she considered taking a hansom cab back to Greenwich Village. She needed some time to digest her visit with Mina and to figure out if she had learned anything at all. But the fare would be exorbitant, and she could be just as alone with her thoughts on the El.
Feeling slightly out of place in her new gown among the working people on the train, Sarah watched the buildings speeding by, absently noting the advertising signs plastered on nearly every exposed surface of those buildings. “Castoria” and “Ivory Soap, It Floats,” and “Sozodont Toothpaste” and “Buffalo Lithia Water” were all being touted as the cure for whatever ailed a body, from female complaints to bad breath.
By the time the train reached Fortieth Street, Sarah had decided that Mina had told her nothing useful. What she really needed was to see Malloy for a consultation. She needed his guidance and his perspective and most of all, his experience to help her decide what to do next. After a while, even the murmur of the wheels on the tracks seemed to hum his name. Malloy, Malloy, Malloy. Come soon, Malloy. I’ve run out of things to do.
Malloy didn’t come until the following evening. Sarah had long since finished her supper and was reading one of Tom’s medical journals when she heard his knock. Recognizing his silhouette through the curtain, she felt a surge of anticipation she hadn’t felt since she’d lost Tom. For all the satisfaction her work gave her, Sarah realized her life had lacked a certain amount of excitement in recent years. In fact, except for the occasional difficult birth, it had lacked any excitement at all. But Detective Sergeant Malloy had changed all that by asking her to help him solve Alicia’s murder. She might never actually like him-he represented too many things of which she disapproved for that to ever happen-but she must always be grateful to him for giving her a purpose outside herself for the first time in far too long.
“Malloy,” she greeted him warmly. “Come in. I’ve been busy, and I have a lot to tell you.”
He looked bone weary, and his shirt was limp and wrinkled, as if he’d worn it for more than one day in the recent heat. He did, at least, remove his hat this time. Sarah took it and hung it on the coat tree by the door.
“Have you eaten?” she found herself asking. Why she should care, she had no idea, but he looked as if he needed someone to look after him. Sarah’s long dormant feminine instincts demanded she do so.
“I’m fine,” he said, a little gruffly, she thought. “Don’t go to any trouble for me.”
“Come into the kitchen and sit down anyway. I’ve got some coffee left from supper. You look like you could use some.”
She thought he smiled a little at that, although she couldn’t be sure. It might simply have been a grimace. But he followed her into the kitchen, and he drank the coffee she poured for him.
“What have you found out?” he asked when he’d finished half the cup in one swallow.
“Well, let’s see. Where should I begin?” she mused, taking a seat opposite him and picking up her own cup. “I went back to the Higgins house, and this time I talked to the children.”
“The children?”
“Yes, you probably thought they were asleep when Alicia was killed, but Mary Grace wasn’t. She’s the oldest girl. Her bed is right by the window, and she was awake that night. She saw a man and a woman come into the house.”
“When was this?” Suddenly, Malloy didn’t look quite so tired anymore.
“Mary Grace didn’t know the time, but it must have been late, after everyone else was in bed. The man was tall and thin, and the woman was short and round and walked with a cane. The man had to help her up the stairs, Mary Grace said.”
“Did she recognize either of them?”
“She said she didn’t. It was dark, of course, but she recognized Hamilton Fisher when he came out later. She said she could tell it was him by the way he walked, and he was carrying his bag with him. If she’d known the man and woman, I think she would have recognized them, too.”
“She saw Fisher leave then?”
“Yes, she thought he was the one who let the man and woman into the house, although she didn’t see him do it. She must be right, too, since nothing else makes sense. And shortly afterward, he left. He was carrying a satchel, so Mary Grace thought he was leaving for good, which of course he was.”
“But she didn’t think she knew the man and woman.”
“No, but I believe we can assume the woman was the abortionist. The man brought her, and…”
“And he tried to get her to perform the abortion, but Alicia wouldn’t allow it.”
“Or more likely, the abortionist wouldn’t do it when she found out how far along Alicia was. She wouldn’t want to take a chance of Alicia dying, and a procedure so late in the pregnancy would be very dangerous.”
“So she didn’t do it, and then what?” Malloy was thinking out loud, trying to come up with a scenario that made sense. “She stood there while the man killed Alicia?”
“No, Mary Grace said she saw the man leaving later, alone. She said he was running as if someone was chasing him, although no one was. I think the woman, the abortionist, must have left when she found out she had nothing to do there. The man stayed with Alicia. Perhaps they quarreled, or perhaps he’d simply intended to kill her all along if he couldn’t get her to agree to the abortion. In any event, however he came to do it, he strangled her. Then he must have become frightened by what he’d done, so he ran away.”
“I hate to admit it, Mrs. Brandt, but your theory makes a lot of sense,” he said with just the trace of a smile. “Now all we need to know is who he was.”
“Or at least who she was, since she could certainly identify him for us.”
“Oh, I already know who she is,” Malloy said with infuriating confidence as he drained his cup.
“You do? How?”
“I questioned all the abortionists in town, remember? Only one of them is short and fat and walks with a cane. The Russian woman, Petrovka.”
“Emma Petrovka, of course!” Sarah cried. “I should have guessed it myself. I know her slightly. Our paths have crossed once or twice.”
Sarah had thought Mrs. Petrovka an awful woman, but not for any reason other than her profession. She seemed competent and well-mannered, and many women were grateful for her services, as Sarah knew only too well. Perhaps Alicia would have been if given the choice in time.
“Will you question her again?” Sarah asked. “Can you make her tell you who the man was?”
This time Malloy did smile. It was a funny, crooked little thing that looked oddly out of place on his broad face. “I’m not allowed to question anybody, Mrs. Brandt. I’m off the case, remember?”
Oh, dear, she’d forgotten. But then she recalled who was really investigating this case. “But I’m not off the case, am I? I could question Mrs. Petrovka!”
“Are you sure you want to? This isn’t like interrogating the Higgins children. You’re getting pretty close to the killer.”
“Mrs. Petrovka isn’t the killer,” Sarah scoffed.
“No, but she most likely knows who is. If she tells you anything, not necessarily who he is but anything at all that could lead you to him, you’d be in danger.”
“How would the killer know?”
Malloy frowned. “She might tell him. He might already be bribing her for her silence, so she’d feel a sense of loyalty or at least obligation to tell him. Or maybe she doesn’t even know Alicia was killed that night she visited her. Then you both would be in danger.”
“I’m not afraid. I’ll go see her in the daylight.”
“Do you think people don’t get killed in the daylight?” he asked, obviously horrified at her hopeless naivete.
“I think I’ll be safe from a crippled old woman,” she said, amused by his dismay. Could Malloy really be concerned for her safety?
Before he could reply, another visitor knocked on Sarah’s door.
“Who’s that?” Malloy asked, on his feet in an instant.
“I guess I won’t know until I open the door,” Sarah allowed.
“It’s kind of late for visitors.” He was frowning like a disapproving father.
Sarah decided not to point out that he was there, and surely, he also counted as a visitor since he didn’t live there. “I’m a midwife, Malloy. I get visitors at all hours of the day and night. This is actually early compared to some.”
He followed her into the front room, maintaining a discreet distance so he would be out of sight of whoever was at the door but still close enough to hear what was said. Trying to be amused rather than annoyed by his presumption, Sarah asked who was there.
“It’s Will Yardley, Mrs. Brandt.”
Sarah threw the door open. “Is it the baby? Is she sick again?”
Will looked surprised and very young in the shadows. “Oh, no, she’s doing just fine. That tea you told Dolly to make did the trick. It’s that other thing. I got the information you wanted.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if checking to be sure no one was following him, and Sarah decided this was simply a habit.
“Come in and tell me what you learned,” she said, stepping back so he could enter. She closed the door behind him so he would feel safer.
When he judged it was secure and they could not be overheard, he said, “The fellow you was looking for, Fisher?”
“Yes, did you find him?” she asked eagerly.
“Not him exactly, but a friend of mine what knows him, he seen him down in the Bowery.”
“The Bowery?” Sarah echoed in surprise. She would have expected Sylvester Mattingly’s employee to have a better address than the city’s lowest slum.
“Yeah, he’s been living in a flophouse down there. Place they call the Brass Lantern.”
A flophouse? This was the lowest of accommodations, only one step above sleeping on the street. For a nickel, a man could “flop” on the floor, for a few cents more he could have a hammock, and if he really wanted luxury, a dime would buy a cot for the night. Men slept shoulder to shoulder in the most appalling conditions, and only the lowest of the low could be found there. This made no sense at all. What would Ham Fisher, a man who fancied himself a private detective, be doing in a place like that?
“Are you sure it’s him?” Malloy demanded, stepping out of the shadows.
Will started and swore an oath. “What’s a copper doin’ here, Mrs. Brandt? You didn’t tell me about no coppers bein’ mixed up in this.”
He would have bolted, but Sarah grabbed his sleeve and held on tight. “Mr. Malloy is a friend of mine, Will. He’s just visiting.”
“The hell you say. You telling me he ain’t no copper?”
Sarah wondered how he could tell Malloy’s occupation simply by looking at him, but she supposed that was a skill Will would have developed early in life. “He’s trying to solve a murder.”
“This Fisher killed somebody?” Will asked, even more alarmed.
“No, but he might know who did. It was a young girl, Will, only sixteen. Not much younger than Dolly.”
“This ain’t none of my business. I gotta go.”
“Maybe you’d like to answer Mrs. Brandt’s questions down at Police Headquarters,” Malloy said in a voice she’d never heard before. It frightened even her.
The color drained from Will’s face, and she had to hold him with both hands.
“Stop it!” she ordered Malloy. “You’re frightening him!”
“That’s the best way to deal with the likes of him,” Malloy insisted.
“Not in my house,” Sarah insisted right back. “Will, he isn’t taking you anywhere, not after you came here and did me a favor. I want to thank you for that. This Brass Lantern, where is it located?”
“I know where it is,” Malloy said. “You can let him go, if that’s all he knows.”
She glared at Malloy, although it didn’t seem to faze him, then turned to Will with a smile. “Thank you for coming, Will. And tell Dolly I’ll check on her and the baby in a day or two.”
“You didn’t tell me about no coppers,” he repeated plaintively, giving Malloy one last desperate look before bolting for the door.
When he was gone, Sarah turned to Malloy in disgust. “Is that how you treat all your informants? It’s a wonder you ever solve any crimes at all!”
“I lack your charm, Mrs. Brandt. I have to use the tools I’ve got.”
“Well, remind me never to commit a murder in New York. I would hate to see your ‘tools’ firsthand.”
Sarah brushed past him and returned to the kitchen where she refilled her cup. When she saw he had followed her back, she filled his, too. He took that as an invitation to sit again, which he did. Sarah wanted to be angry with him, but she had to admit, she wasn’t. Not really. He was only doing his job, or what would have been his job if someone hadn’t taken him off the case. Since she was trying to do the same thing, she shouldn’t fault him for using different methods than she would have chosen.
“Now, tell me where this Brass Lantern is so I can find Ham Fisher,” she said, taking the seat opposite him.
He smiled again, that odd little grin that looked as if he seldom used it. Obviously, she had startled it out of him. “You’re not going to the Brass Lantern.”
“Then who will?”
“I’ll go. Nobody will question what I’m doing there,” he added when she would have protested. “I can always say I’m working on another case. I find a lot of suspects at places like the Brass Lantern.”
“I can imagine.”
He sipped his coffee, watching her over the rim of his cup with what looked like admiration, but perhaps she was mistaken. Maybe he was just laughing at her again.
“Then I’ll find Mrs. Petrovka and see if she’ll tell me who took her to see Alicia that night, and you’ll go to the Brass Lantern to talk to Fisher. One of us is bound to find out who the killer is, and then what will we do?”
Malloy took another sip of his coffee. “Then we go see Roosevelt.”
SARAH HAD NO trouble finding Emma Petrovka’s address. The woman advertised openly in the newspapers, even though her profession was patently illegal. No one ever prosecuted abortionists. There was too much real crime in the city for the police to have time to bother with such trifles, especially when no one was likely to pay a reward for apprehending them. Unless Petrovka killed too many patients, and even then no one would care unless one of them was someone of importance.
Sarah was going over a speech in her head when she left her house that morning, trying to figure out what to say that would sound like a plausible reason for having sought out an abortionist. Mrs. Elsworth’s cheery greeting interrupted her thoughts. The woman was sweeping her immaculate porch. If she came out to sweep every time someone she wanted to talk to walked down the street-and Sarah was fairly certain she did-it must get swept a dozen times a day.
“Looks like it’s going to be another warm one, today, Mrs. Brandt. Off to deliver a baby this morning, are you?” she asked.
“No, I’ve got an appointment,” Sarah said. It wasn’t quite a lie. She had an appointment even if Mrs. Petrovka didn’t.
“Be careful then. I baked some bread this morning, and the top of the loaf split. I’ve been worried sick ever since. You know what that means, don’t you? There’s going to be a funeral soon.”
“It won’t be mine,” Sarah assured her, wondering with amusement if anything ever happened to Mrs. Elsworth that didn’t have some sinister interpretation. “But I’ll be careful.”
“See that you are. And watch out for those infernal bicyclists. Did you see the story in the Times this morning? Some fellow ran his cycle into a wagon and very nearly killed himself and everyone else involved!”
Sarah promised again to be careful and managed to escape without hearing about any other superstitions.
By the time she reached Gramercy Park, she had settled on an excuse for her visit to Mrs. Petrovka. She would say she was consulting her because one of her patients had requested the services of someone like Petrovka, but Sarah wasn’t certain the procedure could still be performed so late in the pregnancy. This, she thought, would be a natural opening for mentioning Alicia’s case. Not that she expected Petrovka to bring it up, but Sarah certainly intended to.
Petrovka’s house was small but meticulously kept. The steps were swept clean, and the windows sparkled. Behind them, Sarah could see lace curtains, and the door fittings were solid brass. Emma Petrovka had made a very comfortable life for herself out of the misfortunes of others.
Steeling herself for a confrontation with a woman she despised, Sarah lifted the knocker and let it fall. She waited a reasonable time before knocking again, louder and more insistently this time. Apparently, no one was home. Disappointed, Sarah had decided she would have to come back later, but as she was turning away she noticed something about the front curtain she hadn’t seen before. One edge was pulled away from the window, as if someone was peering out, except when she looked more closely, no one was there. The curtain seemed to be caught at an odd angle on a piece of furniture. Curious now, Sarah leaned over the porch railing for a better view, and what she saw made her gasp.
Galvanized now, she tried the door, something she would never have dreamed of doing before, and to her surprise, it opened under her hand. Later she would realize she should have been afraid, but at the moment, all she could think of was trying to help.
The door opened into a center hallway. Stairs went up to the second floor and the parlor opened off to the right. The pocket doors stood open, and now Sarah could see clearly what she had only glimpsed through the window. Emma Petrovka lay sprawled on the parlor floor, and for all her intentions of coming to the woman’s aid, Sarah saw instantly that her help was no longer needed.
FRANK COULDN’T BELIEVE this. He gazed down at the mound of Emma Petrovka’s body and frowned. The bruises on her throat were just like those on Alicia VanDamm’s. Which only meant that they’d both been strangled in the same way, not necessarily that they’d been strangled by the same person.
Frank could imagine that the woman hadn’t had a friend in the world, but he also couldn’t imagine anyone hating her enough to kill her in such a personal way. Except, of course, Alicia’s killer. If Petrovka really had known who the killer was, it was only natural he’d want her dead, and he could want her dead so badly, he might have surrendered to the impulse to murder a second time. What Frank couldn’t figure out was why he’d waited until now to get rid of her. Obviously, it wasn’t because he knew Sarah and Frank knew about her, because no one had known that but the two of them.
He found Sarah Brandt sitting in the dining room. She was alone at the large mahogany table, her hands folded primly, her expression grim.
He was a little annoyed at her for asking for him by name. Actually, she’d insisted that the officers send for him, making such a fuss that the whole department would probably be talking about it. They would want to know why she’d insisted that he come instead of another detective, but he supposed he could explain it away. Nobody but them needed to know Petrovka’s death was connected to the VanDamm killing, so they could just say she asked for him because she knew him from the other case. Or maybe Frank could make them believe she was sweet on him. At least it would give them something else to talk about.
“You still think it’s safe to go looking for a killer in the daylight?” he asked her softly so none of the other officers would overhear.
She gave him a mutinous look. “You don’t know she was killed in the daytime,” she whispered back.
“Seems likely. Unless abortionists are used to getting cases in the middle of the night, too. It looks like she opened the door to whoever it was willingly, so most likely it wasn’t the middle of the night. And if she opened the door to him, she must not have thought she had any reason to be afraid.”
“So she wasn’t afraid of Alicia’s killer, which makes it likely she didn’t even know Alicia had been murdered.” She frowned. “If only I’d come yesterday. Maybe…”
“Maybe you’d be dead, too. And you didn’t know about her yesterday.”
“How long has she been dead? Do you have any proof she died this morning?”
“In this heat, the body would’ve spoiled if she’d been dead longer than a few hours. And she’s still stiff. After death, the body-”
“I know about rigor mortis,” she said impatiently. “It sets in after an hour or two and lasts for seven to ten hours and then the body grows limber again.”
“Do you feel up to going through her things?” he asked. “Maybe we can find something.”
She looked up in surprise. “What would we be looking for?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the curette they had found in Alicia’s room. “To see if she’s missing this.”
Her eyes lighted with instant comprehension. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”
She was on her feet instantly. “Her examining room is in the back. That’s the most logical place to start.”
The killer hadn’t disturbed anything in the house, probably because he knew there would be no evidence here linking him to Petrovka, or even to Alicia’s murder so long as Petrovka was dead and couldn’t identify him. The examining room was spotlessly clean and in perfect order. Mrs. Brandt began a systematic search, going through each drawer and cabinet as thoroughly as he would have himself. Frank couldn’t help but think how she’d changed since the day he’d forced her to look through Alicia’s things. She’d been so hesitant then, but now… He’d make a detective of her yet.
“What’s so funny, Malloy?” she wanted to know when she looked up and caught him staring.
“Nothing’s funny,” he said sobering instantly. “A woman has been murdered.”
She wasn’t fooled. “Am I doing this wrong?”
Perversely, he wanted to tell her she was, but he couldn’t lie. “Not at all. Couldn’t do it better myself.”
“Then why don’t you help?” she snapped. “Start on that side of the room.”
“What am I looking for?”
“The instruments will probably be rolled up in a soft cloth and tied.”
Malloy was the one who found them. They were just as she had said, in a drawer. The cloth was black, and when he untied the string holding it, it rolled out to reveal a set of instruments similar to the one he’d found in Alicia VanDamm’s room the morning after her death. The sizes were graduated, and each instrument was in its own individual pocket. One of the pockets was empty.
“Did you find it?” she asked, hurrying over to see.
He handed her the curette from his pocket. “Is this the one missing?”
She examined the curettes in the set, pulling them out and holding them to the light, then comparing them with the one they’d found. “Yes,” she decided. “It matches the others, and it’s the size that’s missing. This proves Emma Petrovka must have been the one in Alicia’s room that night.”
“For all the good that does us,” he said.
She sighed, a sad sound. Frank had forgotten how forlorn a woman’s sigh could be. “I don’t suppose you’ve found Mr. Fisher yet, have you?”
“He wasn’t in when I called this morning,” he said, “but that’s not unusual. Nobody stays around a flophouse during the day. I’ll check back late tonight.”
“He’s the last one alive who knows who went to Alicia’s room that night. What happens if you don’t find him?”
He could see from the look in her eyes that she already knew the answer, but he said it anyway. “Then we might never find out who killed Alicia VanDamm.”