Murder On Astor Place

6

FRANK SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED TO DISCOVER that the stables at the VanDamm estate were as neatly kept as the house. He found Harvey mucking out one of the stalls, but the groom wasn’t exactly what Frank had been expecting.

The instant Lizzie had mentioned Harvey, Frank had been fairly certain he’d learned the identity of the father of Alicia’s child. Up until now, he’d been unable to determine how she could ever have been alone with any man long enough to have conceived that child, and then Lizzie had described the perfect opportunity. Alicia wouldn’t have been the first young woman to be seduced by a handsome and charming underling with an eye toward bettering himself, and long horseback rides would have provided the perfect opportunity for such a seduction.

But while he was tall and well built, Harvey wasn’t young, and he certainly wasn’t handsome or charming, not by anyone’s standards. In the dim light of the stable, he appeared to be near forty, and his weathered face showed the effects of a lifetime spent out of doors.

He looked up when he heard Frank outside the door of the stall. Squinting into the shadows, he asked, “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy from New York, and if you’re Harvey, I’d like to talk to you about Alicia VanDamm.”

A spasm of pain twisted his face. Plainly, he felt the girl’s loss, although he was too manly to give way to tears as Lizzie had.

“I don’t know what I can tell you,” he said, leaning his pitchfork against the wall and taking his time making his way out of the stall. He seemed to need that time to gather himself. “I ain’t seen her for over a month now, not since she left here.”

Frank stepped back to allow him room to come out. Harvey’s black hair was damp and curled where it clung to his forehead and neck, and his workshirt showed rings of sweat. His body was sinewy and strong, and Frank tried to see him as a young girl might. No matter how he tried, though, he couldn’t picture Harvey as the scheming seducer. Then the groom stepped into a shaft of light that illuminated his face. Frank felt the shock of recognition at the sight of the scar running along his jawline.

Harvey was the man who had pawned Alicia’s jewelry.

Now Frank knew that whatever Harvey told him would probably be a lie, a lie designed to protect him and no one else. Armed with that knowledge, Frank grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels as if every nerve in his body weren’t tingling with the awareness that he might very well be confronting Alicia’s killer.

“I hear you spent a lot of time with Miss Alicia,” Frank ventured.

Harvey nodded. “Yes, sir. She liked to ride more than anything. Loved that little mare of hers. Buttercup’s her name. Miss Alicia named her when she was ten. The mare was a birthday present that year.”

“She rode every day?”

“Except Sunday. It wasn’t proper for her to ride on Sunday.”

Frank pretended to consider this. “I see. And was it proper for her to go out alone with you?”

Harvey frowned. “I’m the groom. Somebody had to keep an eye on her, in case anything happened.”

“And did something happen?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Frank had a feeling he knew very well. “Weren’t you afraid for her to be riding in her condition?”

“What condition was that?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

Frank studied him for a long moment, waiting for some break that would reveal he was lying. But either he was the best liar Frank had ever encountered, or else he was truly ignorant.

“Alicia was with child.”

Harvey’s eyes widened with shock for a second before his face flooded with outrage. “You should burn in hell for telling such an ugly lie about that poor, sweet child! Maybe you are the police, but that don’t give you the right to speak ill of the dead nor to speak such filth about a girl you didn’t even know!”

“You don’t think it’s possible, then?” Frank asked, as if he really valued Harvey’s opinion.

“She weren’t no more’n a child herself!”

“She was sixteen,” Frank reminded him.

“Just turned! She wasn’t even in society yet! A girl like her didn’t even know any men!”

“She knew you.”

It took Harvey a moment to comprehend, and when he did, his face flushed scarlet.

“God damn you to hell!” He drew back his fist, but Frank had already thrown up his arms in defense before Harvey caught himself. As angry as he was, he hadn’t forgotten that Frank was a policeman. Even out here, that meant something.

Harvey dropped his hand, the fury still roiling in his eyes. “She was like a daughter to me! I taught her to ride her first pony, when she was so small her feet wouldn’t even reach the stirrups no matter how short I made them. I loved that child, and you think I could hurt her? You better take your filthy mouth and your filthy lies back to New York City with you.”

But Frank still had one ace left to play, one that should dampen Harvey’s indignation. “Don’t act so innocent with me, Harvey. I know you stole Alicia’s jewelry, and I know where you pawned it. The pawnbroker will identify you.”

The color left his face as rapidly as it had come, and the fury faded from his eyes, leaving only despair. “How’d you know?” he asked hoarsely.

“The scar on your jaw. The pawnbroker described you. It isn’t often he gets such quality merchandise, so he remembered you very well.”

“I never stole anything,” he said, trying for belligerence but falling somewhat short. “She give them to me. Asked could I sell them for her. She needed the money because she was running away. I had to help her, didn’t I? I couldn’t let her go off alone with no money. What would happen to her?”

Frank glared at him in contempt. “You say you loved her, and you still helped her run away from her family? What did you think would become of her, a girl alone like that? The money from her jewelry would be gone soon enough, and then how would she live?”

“I thought she’d come to her senses before the money ran out. Or her father would anyway.”

“Her father?”

“He was going to marry her off to some nob. Somebody she hated. She said she’d throw herself in the Sound before she’d do it. She meant it, too. She was young and a girl, but she could be just as bullheaded as her father. I couldn’t let her harm herself, could I? So I helped her run away. And I had to make sure she was safe, so I found her a place to live, and I sold the jewelry for her so she’d have money to live. I figured she wouldn’t stay long. She’d get scared before too long, and she’d want to come home, but maybe her father would back down first. Maybe he’d be willing to do anything to get her back. That’s what I figured, except…”

“Except what?” Frank prodded when he hesitated.

Harvey rubbed his work-roughened hands on his pant legs and studied the toes of his worn and muddy boots. When he looked up again, his eyes were full of pain again. “Except we didn’t figure out how she was going to get word to him or how she’d know if he’d really changed his mind. She couldn’t get in touch with him because he’d find her, and I couldn’t tell him I’d helped her get away or that I knew where she was.”

“Because you’d lose your job,” Frank guessed.

“I’d lose more than that. Mr. VanDamm, he’s a hard man. He has no pity in him, and he wouldn’t be kind to anybody who crossed him.”

Remembering VanDamm, Frank could believe this. Harvey would probably be right to fear for his very life if his employer found out he’d stolen his daughter. At least that’s how VanDamm would likely see it.

“You ain’t gonna tell him are you?” Harvey asked in sudden alarm, obviously having just realized what he had revealed to a perfect stranger.

“I don’t have any reason to. Yet. And unless you killed Alicia-”

“I’d never harm a hair on her head!” Harvey insisted. “And I was here when it happened. You can ask anybody.”

“Then you’ve got no reason to worry. But I’m curious about one thing. How did you get her away?”.

“By boat. I hired a fishing boat for the night. Sailed her over and took her to the rooming house I’d found. It was a respectable place. I thought…”

His voice broke, and he covered his face with his large hands.

“You thought she’d be safe there,” Frank suggested.

Harvey nodded, and his shoulders shook as he wept silently for a few moments. Frank didn’t want to watch, but he wasn’t quite finished. And a man in the throes of grief might reveal more than was prudent.

When Harvey had regained his composure, he wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeves and gave Frank a look that defied him to disapprove of the display of grief.

Frank was in no position to judge, so he simply said, “Alicia really was with child. She was about six months gone.”

Harvey was incredulous. “That just ain’t possible!”

“Apparently not. You got any idea who might’ve been responsible?”

Harvey shook his head, shattered.

“Could that’ve been why her father wanted her to marry?”

He shook his head again. “I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “She never said nothing about it to me.”

“Who was the man her father wanted her to marry? The one she was running away from?”

“She never said. It was like she couldn’t even bear to say his name. And it wasn’t my place to ask.”

Of course not, although Frank couldn’t help thinking how much easier it would have been if he had. He’d have to go back and talk to the housekeeper again. She’d know. Or maybe Lizzie would. Frank didn’t think Lizzie missed much, although she hadn’t known about Alicia’s pregnancy. Frank would have bet money on it. Mrs. Hightower knew, though. That’s why she’d kept the other servants away from Alicia, so they wouldn’t find out. She wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret forever, though.

“Detective?”

Frank looked up, startled out of his reverie.

“Do you know… are they going to bury her here?” His voice sounded small with grief, and Frank couldn’t help thinking how differently her family had responded to the news of her death. He’d seen much more true mourning from the hired help than from any of her so-called loved ones.

“I don’t know where they’re going to bury her,” Frank said.

Just one more thing he didn’t know, added to a very long list.

SARAH WAS SAMPLING the pot of stew she’d had simmering all afternoon when she heard the doorbell jangle. With a sigh of exasperation, she replaced the heavy lid on the big pot and carefully slid it to a cooler place on her coal stove. She wasn’t a very accomplished cook. Her early training had assumed she would have servants to handle those duties, and since Tom’s death, she hadn’t often been inspired to prepare anything fancier than the odd chop or steak. And it seemed that every time she did accomplish some culinary feat, as she just had with the stew, someone would decide to give birth before she had a chance to eat it.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she made her way resignedly out of her living quarters into the office area. She could see a man’s silhouette on the window. Ordinarily, she would have asked who it was, but she realized instantly that she already knew and opened the door to Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy.

He looked so unhappy to be there, she couldn’t help but smile. “Good evening, Detective,” she said cheerfully.

He didn’t smile back. “I got your message.”

Although it had taken all her fortitude, Sarah had forced herself to return to Police Headquarters to inform Malloy of what she had learned about Hamilton Fisher. This time, when he wasn’t available, she had declined the desk sergeant’s sly invitation to wait-one visit to the interrogation rooms was enough-and simply left word that she had some important information for Malloy.

“I’m sure you’ll understand why I didn’t wait for you this time,” she said, still smiling because he still looked so annoyed.

“Don’t think for one minute that I came here because you sent for me, Mrs. Brandt. The main reason I’m here is to find out who exactly it was told you to investigate this case yourself?” He looked as if he expected her to feel some shame for having done so. Sarah believed this was unreasonable of him.

“I’m only trying to help,” she said.

He was unimpressed. “I don’t need any help. Especially yours.”

“Have you found out who Ham Fisher is yet?” she challenged.

The color came to his face, and Sarah couldn’t be sure if it was anger or embarrassment. She rather thought it was anger.

“Mrs. Brandt,” he said very distinctly, as if he were holding his temper with great difficulty, “a girl was murdered. Whoever killed her wouldn’t hesitate to kill another woman if he thought she was going to get him caught. Have you thought about that while you’ve been running around asking questions?”

Actually, she hadn’t, but she didn’t want Malloy to think he’d frightened her. “I’m just gathering information. Secondhand information. The killer will never even know I was the one asking about him.”

He seemed unimpressed by this argument, too. “You’re sure about this, are you? I guess you midwife for a lot of killers, which is how you know so much about them.”

Now Sarah was getting angry, too. “I’m not stupid, and I’m not going to be foolish, either, Mr. Malloy. I’m not going to try to find the killer myself. I’m just trying to help you find him.”

For a second she was sure he was going to insist once again that he didn’t need her help, but apparently, he thought better of it. “I guess if you’re set on getting yourself killed, I shouldn’t complain. This time the killer might leave some clues that would make him easier to find.”

Sarah refused to rise to his bait. “Rest assured that I’m not quite that anxious to help,” she assured him sweetly.

She heard the door to the Elsworth house next door open, and she knew she’d been foolish to allow this conversation to go on so long right here on her doorstep. Certainly, it would have attracted Mrs. Elsworth’s attention, and if Sarah didn’t take action, it would be attracting more than her attention in another moment.

“Maybe we should discuss this inside,” she suggested, looking meaningfully at the figure in black who had appeared on the next porch.

Mrs. Elsworth waved. “Nice evening, isn’t it?” she called. “Such a change after the snow the other day.”

Sarah agreed and returned the wave. “Should I introduce you?” she asked Malloy in a whisper. “Or should we go inside?”

He didn’t appear too eager to accept the invitation, but he was just as reluctant as she to continue this conversation in front of eavesdroppers. She stepped aside to allow him to enter.

“That’s Mrs. Elsworth,” she explained, closing the door. “Nothing is ever too insignificant to escape her attention.”

Malloy grunted his reply and stepped into her office.

He wasn’t as fascinated by her equipment as Will Yardley had been. He took it in with one swift glance before turning his attention back to her. “All right. What do you know about Ham Fisher?” he asked, as if he didn’t expect very much at all.

“Apparently, I was wrong about him being a cadet, or at least that’s not his main occupation,” she said. “My, uh, informant tells me that he works as a private detective for an attorney named Sylvester Mattingly.”

Malloy couldn’t hide his surprise, although Sarah suspected he wanted to. “Mattingly? Who told you this?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you in danger by revealing my source,” Sarah said, delighted at the opportunity to prick him a little.

Malloy regarded her for a long moment, his dark eyes equally outraged and admiring. He might hate her sass, but he enjoyed her spirit. Sarah decided to show him a little more of it.

“I don’t often deliver babies for killers, but I do occasionally encounter people who are, shall we say, a little less than honest. Everyone has babies, Mr. Malloy, the just and the unjust alike.”

He ignored this. “If Fisher was a detective, why would he have been following Alicia VanDamm?”

“Probably he was trying to find her for her family.”

Malloy shook his head. “Then why didn’t they know where she was? He lived in the house almost a week. If he’d just been sent to trace her, as soon as he located her, they would’ve swarmed down and dragged her home. And he wouldn’t’ve had any reason to move into the house at all.”

Sarah hated to admit it, but he was right. “Could he have been trying to find her for someone else?”

He weighed this for a long moment, and Sarah was somewhat gratified to realize he was at least giving her theory the courtesy of his consideration. “Then we have to ask the same question: Why didn’t he just tell that person where she was? Why move into the house and watch her for days?”

“Maybe the person trying to find her was afraid of shocking her, considering her condition. Maybe she would’ve been too upset-or even frightened-if they’d forced her to return home, and she might have lost the baby.”

“But wouldn’t that be the best thing that could happen? She was much too far along for even a marriage to explain her condition. There’d be a scandal no matter what, and from what you told me, these people hate scandal.”

Sarah sighed in dismay. “You’re right. I guess I’m no good at this. You’re the detective, not me!”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to tell you?”

Sarah had to admit he’d won that round, although she didn’t say it aloud.

“I guess you were getting your supper,” he said dismissively, probably smelling the stew. “If that’s all you had to tell me, I’ll let you get to it.”

He might be finished with her, but she wasn’t finished with him, not by a long shot. “Have you questioned the VanDamms’s servants yet?”

“I can’t imagine that’s any of your business, Mrs. Brandt,” he replied dismissively, turning to go.

“Maybe not, but I do want to know all about it. Could I bribe you with supper in exchange for your information?”

He raised his eyebrows in feigned surprise. “Is that how you found out about Fisher?” he countered.

“I never reveal my interrogation techniques, Detective. So, do we have a deal?”

Malloy shook his head again. “Thanks anyway, but I’m afraid I’m not very hungry,” he said, but at that very instant, his stomach growled rather determinedly.

Sarah grinned. “Although my medical training is limited to nursing skills, I’m fairly sure that indicates that you are a liar, Detective. And allow me to add that I’m a very good cook. If you stay, I’ll even make you a deal: If you tell me what you found out in Mamoraneck, I’ll promise not to bother you again.”

“I guess it would be rude to call you a liar in return,” Frank said, thinking she was probably the most interesting woman he’d met in years. Which was why he would be insane to accept this invitation. Allowing Sarah Brandt to become more involved in this murder investigation could be dangerous, and not just because it might get her killed. Frank couldn’t afford any entanglements, and Sarah Brandt was just the kind of woman who caused them.

“Since when are you concerned about being rude? Please, don’t disillusion me by becoming polite so late in our acquaintance, Detective. You can wash up in the sink. Right this way.”

Frank opened his mouth to show her just how impolite he could be, but his stomach growled again, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten since morning. And something did smell awfully good. Well, what could it hurt? He’d eat her food, give her a few unimportant tidbits of information and be on his way. And then he’d never have to see her again.

The middle room of her flat was the kitchen. The light from the front window barely reached here, so.a gas jet on the wall provided most of the illumination. He could see she’d spent some time making the room comfortable. A table and chairs sat on one side, and the stove, sink and icebox took up the other. A picture of a country scene hung on the wall above the table, and a flowered skirt decorated the front of the sink. There was even a bouquet of spring flowers on the table, the kind sold for pennies by ragged, homeless little girls in the street. He could just see Sarah Brandt handing one of them a nickel and telling her to keep the change.

She began to set the table while he washed his hands. At home, he would have removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he didn’t want to be that informal with Sarah Brandt, so he just pushed his sleeves back as far as he could and was very careful not to get them wet in the spray of water from the pump. Only after he was finished did he realize he hadn’t bothered to remove his hat. She must think him a barbarian, although why he should care what she thought of him, he had no idea.

He pulled off his derby and hung it on the ear of the chair she indicated he should use and sat down. He was thinking this was all a terrible mistake in the instant before she set a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. Then he decided that perhaps it wasn’t quite as big a mistake as all that.

“What did you find out from the VanDamms’s servants?” she asked, setting a plate of bread down on the table. It was bakery bread, but Frank had lost his taste for homemade, hardly ever being home to eat any.

“I found out that when she was sent to the house there, the servants weren’t allowed to speak to her. Nobody was, in fact. The housekeeper kept her pretty much a prisoner in her room.”

“That’s understandable, considering her condition, although I don’t imagine they could’ve kept it a secret for long. But surely her maid told you something.”

“Even her maid wasn’t allowed to speak to her. Only the housekeeper.”

Mrs. Brandt was in the process of taking a seat opposite his, and she stopped halfway down in her chair to consider this for a moment. “How strange,” she said, sinking down into the chair at last.

“The maid thought so. But Alicia did go out riding every day. With a groom,” he added, wondering if she would jump to the same conclusion he had.

“A groom?” A crease formed between her eyes as she considered this information.

“Yes,” he remarked casually. “He seems to be the only man she was ever alone with outside of her own family.”

“He’s young? A boy her own age?” From her expression, she thought he’d solved the mystery.

But Frank shook his head, raising a spoonful of stew to his mouth. It was hot, but he blew on it and tasted. Not as good as his mother’s, but the company was better. Which wasn’t saying much, but at least it was something. “No, he’s older than me, I’d guess. Probably near forty. But he’s a nice looking fellow. And he’s known her all her life. She’d be suggestible. If he wanted to take advantage of her, she wouldn’t know-”

“No,” she said decisively. “The groom isn’t the father of her baby.”

Frank swallowed down the automatic prickle of annoyance at her certainty, even though he was inclined to agree. “Why not?” he challenged.

“Because it wouldn’t take long for her family to figure out. And he wouldn’t still be there if it was true. He’d be… I don’t know, gone. Perhaps even dead. I’m not sure how men like Cornelius VanDamm deal with servants who seduce their daughters, but I don’t imagine they show any mercy.”

“How would he find out, though? If the girl didn’t tell him…”

“She would have told him. He’d browbeat her until she did, and believe me, a girl like Alicia wouldn’t be able to hold out long against a man like her father. And he’d suspect the groom first off, if he is indeed the only man she’s ever alone with. I guarantee that Mr. VanDamm knew who the father of the baby was. And if it was a servant, that servant will have vanished.”

“It’s not a servant, then. Lizzie-that’s her maid-told me they’re all still working there.”

“Well, then, who did this Lizzie think it was?” she asked, her fine eyes lighting with interest.

Frank chose not to notice. “She didn’t even know about… about the girl’s secret. The groom didn’t seem to, either.”

He took a renewed interest in his supper, feeling suddenly awkward to be once again discussing such a delicate subject, this time over dinner, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, which it wasn’t, not to Frank.

She must not have shared his discomfort, however. “Did you find out how she got away from the house without being caught?”

“The groom helped her. Hired a fishing boat. He sold her jewelry for her and found her the room at the Higgins’s house.”

Her lips pursed as she considered this information. “Mr. VanDamm certainly doesn’t know all this or the groom wouldn’t still be there.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

He wasn’t sure if she disapproved or not, but he didn’t really care. “Not unless it serves my purpose.” It was the only answer he could give, and he was oddly gratified by her apparent approval.

“So we still don’t know who the father of her child was,” she mused, and Frank felt his hackles rising again.

“Mrs. Brandt, there is no we in this investigation. I’m the detective. You’re, not.” He’d almost said she was nothing, but he’d thought better of it just in time. He figured Sarah Brandt would take offense, and besides, she wasn’t really nothing, no matter how much he might wish it.

“I did find out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him.

He had to give her that. “You’d just better hope he doesn’t come looking for you some dark night.”

She seemed amused at the thought. “So if the groom isn’t the father of her child-and I think we can be rather certain of that-then who was?”

Frank thought he had already reminded her this wasn’t her business, but obviously, she didn’t care. She just kept right on, not even waiting for Frank to respond.

“Mina-her sister-insisted that Alicia didn’t have any gentlemen friends. She hadn’t even entered society yet, so that would eliminate possible suitors.”

Frank merely grunted as he continued to devour his stew.

“What is it?” she demanded.

He looked up in surprise and swallowed a mouthful of meat and potatoes. “What is what?”

“What you aren’t telling me. I said Alicia didn’t have any suitors, and you disagreed.”

“I did not!”

She gave him a pitying look. “You know something you haven’t told me. Don’t try to deny it.”

“You shouldn’t be too surprised at that,” he warned her. “There’s no reason for me to tell you anything at all.”

She obviously couldn’t be insulted. “Alicia did have a suitor, didn’t she? Who was he?”

Frank was beginning to wonder if Sarah Brandt might be a witch. Very deliberately, he took another piece of bread from the plate, tore off a bite and popped it in his mouth. Chewing slowly, he regarded her, marveling at the way she met his stare levelly, not even blinking, when hardened criminals usually flinched. Well, what the hell, maybe she could help him make sense of this.

“Harvey, that’s the groom, he said she ran away because her father wanted her to marry somebody she hated.”

“Good heavens! She was barely sixteen!”

“And six months gone with child,” he reminded her. “Naturally, he’d want to marry her off to somebody.”

“But that man wasn’t necessarily the father, was he?”

Frank shrugged. “There’s only a couple people can tell us that, and the one most likely to is dead.”

“And the rest will probably lie.”

Frank stared at her again. Really, she had missed her calling. Of course, the police didn’t employ female detectives, but if they did, Sarah Brandt would have been pretty good. He saw she was thinking, and he knew that could be dangerous.

“It’s still none of your business, Mrs. Brandt,” he reminded her. “No matter how much you want to see the killer caught, it’s my job to catch him, not yours.”

“But I could-”

“No.” He gave her the glare that stopped felons in their tracks, but she merely frowned.

“Do you think Cornelius VanDamm is going to tell you anything? Or that Mina will? Or Mrs. VanDamm?”

“Do you think they’ll tell you either?” he countered.

“I could find out,” she insisted.

“No,” he said again. “Stay out of it.” He sighed wearily. “I thought you said if I told you what I know, you’d promise not to interfere anymore.”

“I said I’d promise not to bother you anymore. I don’t think it would be a bother if I found out who Alicia’s father wanted her to marry.”

“It will bother me if you don’t stop meddling in my investigation.”

“I found out who Hamilton Fisher is,” she reminded him again. “I told you to question the servants to find out more about her.”

“And you might’ve put yourself in danger in the meantime. You’ve done enough. Let the police do their job now, Mrs. Brandt.”

Her face hardened with a bitterness that shocked him, and anger flared in her blue-gray eyes. “I’m fully aware of how the police do their job, Detective Sergeant Malloy, so you’ll forgive me if I’m less than confident in your ability to solve this case.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, angry himself.

“I’m talking about a murder that happened three years ago and still isn’t solved.”

“Was this someone you knew?” he asked skeptically.

“My husband.”

For a full minute, Frank could only stare. He’d known she was a widow, of course, but he’d never troubled himself to wonder what had become of the late Mr. Brandt. “How did it happen?”

“Tom was coming home late one night from a case. I didn’t think it odd when I woke up the next morning and he wasn’t here. He was frequently gone all night. Then the police came and told me he’d been found dead in an alley. His money was gone, and his skull was…” her voice caught, but she swallowed down whatever emotions threatened to choke her and forced herself to go on. “His skull was fractured.”

“It’s almost impossible to solve a case like that,” Frank said, feeling oddly defensive. “A robbery at night, with no witnesses. No connection between the killer and the victim. No clues or evidence.”

“They could have tried,” she countered, plainly not interested in reason or logic. “People like that don’t keep secrets. They brag to their friends. Someone knew who killed Tom. A few well-placed bribes, and someone would have-”

“Why didn’t you offer a bribe, then? You offered one to me quick enough,” he recalled with bitterness of his own.

“I didn’t know the rules back then, and I was too grief-stricken to learn them at the time. I thought the police would find the killer because it was the right thing to do. I know better now, and I intend to see that this killer doesn’t get away.”

“Even if it means using yourself as bait?” he asked baldly, but if he’d hoped to shock her, he failed.

“If that’s what it takes, Mr. Malloy. If that’s what it takes.”