Murder on Washington Square

9

“RICHARD, MY BOY, HOW ARE YOU?” HER FATHER ASKED, shaking his hand.

Sarah didn’t like the sound of that “my boy,” especially when she saw that Dennis was just as surprised by the familiarity as she. Felix Decker was never effusive.

“We were afraid you might not make it because of the storm,” her father continued.

“I couldn’t allow you to think I was afraid of a little rain, could I?” Dennis replied. He did look amazingly dry, considering how the wind was howling outside. Sarah couldn’t help wondering how his driver had fared and if he’d agree on the assessment that they were having “a little rain.”

“How are your parents?” her father asked, escorting him into the room.

“Very well, thank you,” Mr. Dennis replied, recovering quickly. “They asked to be remembered to you both.”

While Dennis greeted her mother, Sarah studied him, taking in the details of his appearance with a growing sense of dread. When her father had referred to him as “young” Dennis, she had pictured someone barely old enough to shave. Richard Dennis, however, was at least thirty. While he couldn’t be called conventionally handsome, he was certainly appealing in a well-kept, well-bred sort of way. He carried his rather tallish figure easily beneath his tailor-made suit, and he effortlessly exchanged pleasantries with Elizabeth Decker. Sarah knew beyond the slightest doubt that Richard Dennis would prove to be what her mother considered a very eligible bachelor, which explained her parents’ willingness to help her in this matter. They had eagerly arranged this meeting in hopes of making a suitable match for Sarah.

“And this is my daughter, Mrs. Sarah Brandt,” her father was saying, turning Dennis’s attention to her.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a genuine, if slightly bemused, smile, as he took her offered hand in his. “You misled me, sir,” he said, turning back to her father when he’d released Sarah’s hand. “I thought this would be a dry business discussion, and here you have provided the company of two very lovely ladies instead.”

“Oh, we will be discussing business,” Mr. Decker assured him, “but it’s Sarah who wished to consult with you, not I.”

“And my father was gracious enough to arrange for us to meet,” Sarah supplied, trying to keep any hint of annoyance out of her voice. It wasn’t Mr. Dennis’s fault that her parents wanted to find her a socially acceptable husband. “I hope you will forgive him for misleading you and indulging me.”

Now Dennis looked intrigued. “I’m rarely called upon to discuss business with charming females, Mrs. Brandt. For that alone, I would forgive him.”

Sarah would have quickly made her case for Nelson Ellsworth, but her parents weren’t accustomed to doing things hastily. Getting right down to the issue would be considered bad taste and worse manners. They’d set out to entertain Mr. Dennis, and they would. Her father offered him a drink to ward off the harrowing effects of the storm, and her mother made small talk while Sarah tried to be pleasant. Pouting wouldn’t endear her to Richard Dennis, and she needed his help desperately.

Fortunately, Sarah had spent her youth learning just how to conduct herself in social situations, and she called upon all of those skills now. After a few awkward moments, she found herself slipping naturally into the conversation. She hadn’t seen most of the people about whom they spoke for many years, but she did remember most of them.

“Surely, we must have encountered one another at dancing classes at some time or another, Mrs. Brandt,” Dennis said after a few minutes.

“Sarah is several years younger than you, Richard,” her mother explained. “She wasn’t even out yet when you married Hazel.”

Richard Dennis was married. For one second, Sarah thought she’d been horribly mistaken and that her parents hadn’t arranged this little party to introduce her to a potential husband. But then she saw the shadow pass across Richard Dennis’s finely boned face. She recognized that flash of pain, the same one she felt whenever someone mentioned Tom, and she understood why her parents had considered Richard Dennis so perfect for her.

The shadow passed quickly, however. He was accustomed to dealing with his pain, which mean he’d lost his wife some time ago. “So that explains why I don’t recall ever stepping on your toes while trying to master the waltz, Mrs. Brandt,” he said with a smile.

“I’m sure you never could have done such a thing, even in your youth, Mr. Dennis,” she replied as expected, returning his smile and pleasing her mother enormously.

The maid summoned them to supper, and Mr. Dennis offered his arm. Sarah took it and continued to smile, reminding herself that he was just as much an innocent victim here as she. She only hoped she could lead him to understand that she’d had no part in the planning of this, either. On the other hand, he might be flattered if he thought she was attracted to him or had asked to meet him. If she decided that was the best course of action, she was more than willing to flatter him to gain his cooperation.

She tried not to think how similar that would be to what Anna Blake had done to Nelson Ellsworth and Mr. Giddings.

Supper was a simple affair with fried oysters, cold chicken, Welsh rarebit, preserved fruit, stewed tomatoes, roasted potatoes, Charlotte Russe, ice cream, and cake.

As they made their way through the various courses, Mr. Dennis eventually had to express some interest in Sarah.

“I’m surprised our paths haven’t crossed as adults, Mrs. Brandt,” he said.

“We don’t keep the same society,” Sarah said with a smile. “I live down in Greenwich Village.”

He obviously found that odd but was too polite to say so. “It’s a very picturesque part of the city,” he said diplomatically.

“My husband’s work was there, and we enjoyed living in the neighborhood.”

“Sarah’s husband was a physician,” her mother hastily-and somewhat apologetically-explained. “He passed away several years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Mr. Dennis said. “I lost my wife, too. I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t have a high opinion of the medical profession as a result.” His smile was infinitely sad.

“I understand,” she said. “I also wish that medical science could do more to save lives, but even after centuries of study, we still know very little about the causes of death and disease. It’s very difficult for me in my own work that I simply can’t save everyone.”

Sarah ignored the warning look her mother was giving her. She wanted to disenchant Mr. Dennis as quickly as she could and confessing her profession seemed the simplest way to do it.

“Are you a physician as well?” he asked in disbelief.

“A midwife,” she said.

“Sarah was always independent,” her father explained, with only a hint of disapproval.

“An admirable quality,” Dennis said, skillfully concealing whatever his true feelings on the matter might be. “Your life must be very interesting.”

Sarah could have shocked him right out of his chair, but she said, “I’d be bored without my work. I need to feel I’m being useful.”

Mr. Dennis had most certainly never imagined that a woman might be bored with the life of a society matron. To give him credit, however, he seemed at least willing to consider the possibility. “But surely, you must attend only women of your own class.”

“I attend whoever needs my services,” Sarah replied. “I don’t work to amuse myself, Mr. Dennis. I work to make my own living.”

He looked at her as if she were an entirely new kind of creature, but amazingly, she saw no disgust, or even disapproval, in his light eyes. “Hazel, my wife, she sometimes visited a Settlement House on the Lower East Side. I thought she did it because it was fashionable among her friends to play Lady Bountiful to the poor.”

“The Settlement Houses provide valuable services to the women and children in that part of the city,” Sarah said. “Your wife was also helping save lives, in her own way,” she added generously, without any real knowledge of what actual services Mrs. Dennis might have performed.

Sarah’s parents were listening to this conversation with growing discomfort. They knew such things weren’t suitable topics for discussion at table or between members of the opposite sex at any time. On the other hand, Mr. Dennis didn’t seem shocked or even put off by Sarah’s unorthodox vocation or her outspoken opinions. They hardly knew what to think.

But Sarah’s mother couldn’t abide any more of this. “How did your parents enjoy their trip to Europe this summer?” she asked Mr. Dennis, effectively changing the subject for the remainder of the meal.

When the ladies withdrew so the men could smoke their cigars, Sarah steeled herself for her mother’s indignation.

“Really, Sarah, must you inform everyone you meet that you are employed as a midwife? Some people might find that distasteful,” she said when they were alone.

“I’m not ashamed of my life, Mother, and I hope you aren’t ashamed of me.”

Her mother frowned, not pleased by Sarah’s attempt to make her feel guilty. “It’s not a matter of shame. It’s a matter of good taste. I thought you wanted Richard’s help for your friend. He’s much more likely to help you if you excite his chivalrous feelings.”

“Instead of putting him off with my independence?” she asked with just a trace of irony.

Somehow her mother managed to resist the temptation to argue with her. “I’m simply reminding you that men like to feel superior to women. If we let them believe we are helpless, they will gladly do whatever we require of them and consider themselves honored to have been of service.”

“Are you saying that men must be tricked into behaving well?” Sarah asked in amazement.

“Of course they do,” her mother said impatiently. “I thought you most certainly must have learned that by now. Men rely on women’s gentler natures to help them overcome their baser instincts. A businessman wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to dismiss your friend after the scandal he’s caused the bank, whether he actually killed that woman or not. I’m not convinced your friend even deserves your help, but since you’ve chosen to offer it, you must ingratiate yourself to Mr. Dennis to compel him to betray his natural impulse and do something kind instead.”

“And it won’t hurt if Mr. Dennis is so impressed with my gentle nature that he falls in love with me, either, will it?” Sarah asked with a sly grin.

Her mother shook her head. “I despair of ever seeing you wed again, Sarah. Dr. Brandt must have been a very tolerant man indeed to have endured your willfulness.”

Tom Brandt had reveled in her willfulness, but Sarah knew her mother wouldn’t believe her if she said so. “I’m perfectly happy as I am, Mother, and I have no intention of pretending to be something I’m not just to catch a husband.”

“If that’s your attitude, then I’m afraid you never will,” her mother said sadly.

The two of them sat in uncomfortable silence until the men joined them a few minutes later. Sarah had seated herself on a sofa so Mr. Dennis could sit beside her to facilitate their discussion of what Sarah wanted of him. Fortunately, he took the hint and seated himself just where she’d wanted him.

“Perhaps you’d play for us, my dear,” Mr. Decker said to his wife, surprising Sarah. She’d assumed the two of them would want to be included in her conversation with Dennis, but her mother rose obediently-too obediently, which meant they’d arranged this ahead of time-and went to the opposite end of the room where a small piano sat. Her father went with her and turned the pages as she played some simple pieces that were neither loud nor lively enough to interfere with Sarah’s purpose but which provided just the right amount of privacy for the younger couple.

“You must imagine I’m going to ask for a very great favor,” Sarah said with a small smile when Dennis looked at her expectantly.

“For your sake, I hope you are. I could hardly refuse you anything after your parents have gone to such lengths to ensure my cooperation,” he replied with a smile of his own.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Dennis. I hope you’ll believe that I don’t have any designs on your person,” she said.

“Why would I be worried by that?” he bantered back. “In fact, I shall be very disappointed if you don’t.”

Sarah had to stifle a laugh at that. “You must understand that my parents believe I married beneath my station,” she explained, “and ever since my husband died, they’ve been trying to rectify the situation. I had no idea you were a widower when I asked my father to introduce us.”

“But your parents did,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “And they were doing what parents do. Mine do the same thing, Mrs. Brandt, and with amazing regularity. I can’t tell you how many women they’ve thrust into my path in the past five years. It’s actually refreshing to discover that others are being imposed upon in the same way.”

Sarah shook her head. “We must stop smiling at each other, Mr. Dennis, or my mother will be sending out our engagement announcement in the morning mail.”

“And she knows I’m too much of a gentleman to renounce it, so you must help me avoid this very cleverly set trap. Quickly, tell me why you needed to meet me. That should certainly stop us both from smiling.”

At the thought of her mission, Sarah did indeed grow solemn. “It’s about Nelson Ellsworth.”

His smile vanished as well. “Ellsworth? What do you know of him?”

“He’s my neighbor, Mr. Dennis, and his mother is a dear friend of mine. I owe her a debt I can never repay, and I can’t stand by while her son is ruined through no fault of his own.”

Dennis had instantly become the cold-hearted businessman her mother had described. “I don’t believe he can be considered free of fault in this matter, Mrs. Brandt. He did seduce that young woman, and it appears that he-”

“Actually, it appears that she seduced him, Mr. Dennis.”

“What?”

“Anna Blake was not what she appeared to be. She took great pains to appear young and innocent, but we now believe she made a career out of seducing and blackmailing vulnerable men.”

At least he was still listening. “What do you mean by blackmailing?”

“She would convince a man that she was alone in the world and penniless, then begin an illicit relationship with him. She would pretend to be with child and then demand money from the man. She did the same thing with another man, a married man who couldn’t afford a scandal. He actually stole money from his employer to satisfy her demands.”

“And she did this to Ellsworth, too?”

“Yes. And she wasn’t even with child. She lied about everything, to both men.”

Dennis frowned. “All the more reason why a man would be furious enough to murder her, Mrs. Brandt.”

“But Mr. Ellsworth didn’t kill her. You know him. He couldn’t possibly do violence to anyone, certainly not a female.”

Dennis smiled condescendingly. “Ellsworth is fortunate to have you as his champion, Mrs. Brandt, but you are hardly in a position to know that for a fact. Men will do strange things when their passions are aroused.”

Sarah forced herself not to take offense. “Actually, I do know for a fact that Nelson didn’t kill her, and the police are going to arrest the real killer very soon.”

“How could you know such a thing?” he asked skeptically.

“Because I have been working closely with one of the detectives on the case.”

Now she’d shocked him. “You associate with the police?” he asked incredulously.

Once again, she forced herself not to take offense. “Not all of them are corrupt, Mr. Dennis,” she chided. “Don’t you read the newspapers? Teddy Roosevelt has made significant changes in the department. Officers are promoted on the basis of merit now, and corruption is punished.”

Dennis was unconvinced. “You are a courageous woman, Mrs. Brandt, but you’re naive if you believe the police are any better than the criminals they purport to control. Not even our friend Teddy can change that.”

Sarah wanted to be outraged. She wanted to defend Malloy and convince Dennis of the foolishness of his prejudices, except that she knew he was right. No matter what Teddy Roosevelt told the press or how righteous he tried to be, the corruption in the police department went too deep and had endured too long for a few months of reform to change things. Rumors about Teddy campaigning for McKinley for president so he could get a more important job in the national government were already rampant. The instant he resigned as police commissioner, the department would return to being just what it was before.

“Mr. Dennis,” Sarah said, “all I’m asking is that you give Nelson Ellsworth the benefit of the doubt for the time being. If he really is innocent, as I believe, you will have ruined his life for no reason if you dismiss him from his position. He’s the sole support of his widowed mother. Could you live with that on your conscience?”

Richard Dennis sighed in defeat. “I’m sure you wouldn’t allow me to, Mrs. Brandt. All right, I’ll at least wait to see what transpires. But if he’s charged with murder, I will have no choice but to dismiss him. I’m afraid that’s the most I can promise.”

“Oh, Mr. Dennis, I can’t thank you enough!”

“But,” he said, stopping her effusive gratitude with an upraised palm, “I can’t permit him to return to work until this is settled, one way or the other. Those hounds from the press have been an unbearable nuisance all week, and if he were there… Well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain. People expect their bank to be quiet and dignified and trustworthy. If it isn’t, they move their money elsewhere.”

“I’ll make sure Nelson understands. He is as concerned about the bank’s reputation as you are, and he certainly doesn’t want to encounter the press, either.”

“But if the killer isn’t identified quickly,” he warned, “I can’t promise how long I’ll be able to keep him on.”

“Of course, but it won’t be much longer,” she assured him, without the slightest compunction about lying. She had no idea how long it would take to catch the killer, or if he’d ever be caught at all. But at least she’d accomplished her purpose, and Nelson’s career wouldn’t be ruined just yet.

“Now tell me, Mrs. Brandt, how on earth did you ever decide to become a midwife?” Dennis asked, changing the subject completely.

Since he seemed to be genuinely interested, she gave him the slightly edited version of the story, simply mentioning that it was a relative’s death in childbirth that had inspired her choice of careers. They chatted about inconsequential things for a few more minutes, until her parents judged it was safe to join them again. Then her father engaged Dennis in small talk until their guest deemed he had fulfilled his social obligations. In view of how violent the storm outside had become, this was rather sooner than he might have left, but the Deckers had no choice but to allow him to go.

Sarah gave him her hand, and he bowed over it. “It’s been a delight meeting you, Mrs. Brandt. I hope it won’t be long until we encounter each other again.”

“I hope so, too,” she replied sincerely, “and I promise not to ask you any favors next time.”

“Even if you did, I could only be flattered by your attention,” he replied.

Sarah smiled at the compliment, and he returned her smile. She didn’t dare look at her parents. They must surely believe their matchmaking had been a success, and oddly enough, Sarah was no longer annoyed with them for tricking her. Meeting Mr. Dennis had been a pleasure, especially because he’d proven himself a reasonable man by doing what she asked him. Nothing could have made him more attractive to her. No, she wouldn’t mind a bit if their paths crossed again.

“Did Richard agree to help your friend?” her mother asked when her husband had walked Dennis out and they were alone.

“Yes, he did,” Sarah said. “And thank you for arranging for me to meet him.”

Her mother’s eyebrows rose. “I thought you were angry with me for that.”

“I was merely annoyed, and not because you arranged for us to meet. You should have warned me, however, that he’s a widower. I’m not the only widow he’s ever been thrown together with, Mother. He had a right to feel he’d been deceived after Father invited him here to discuss business.”

“But you did want to see him because of a business matter, didn’t you, dear?” her mother asked without a trace of regret. “And if he suspected we were bringing him here to meet our daughter, he might not have come at all, especially with the weather being so bad.”

“So I’m in your debt,” Sarah said with a trace of amusement.

“Of course not,” her mother insisted. “We would do anything in our power for you, Sarah, without ever expecting something in return. Surely, you know that.”

“Especially if it involves meeting eligible men,” she said, not believing her mother’s protests for an instant.

“I hope someday you will thank us for that. You and Richard seemed to get on very well.”

“Once he agreed to help Nelson, we got along famously,” Sarah agreed. “Mr. Dennis is charming. How did his wife die?”

“Brain fever, they said. She fell ill, and the doctors could do nothing for her. They hadn’t been married very long. He was devastated, naturally, and he went to Europe for a while to recover.”

“And when he returned, his father put him to work at the bank,” Sarah guessed.

“Something like that,” her mother said. “I don’t know all the details.”

Her father came back into the room. “Dennis thanked me for introducing you,” he said to Sarah. “He seemed quite taken with you.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Father,” Sarah chided. “I can be very charming when I make up my mind to it.”

“Apparently,” he replied, “but I felt certain you were trying to put him off with all that talk at supper about being a midwife.”

“Not every man would consider that off-putting,” Sarah said, wishing she didn’t sound so defensive.

“Then we’re fortunate Dennis isn’t one of them,” her father said, annoying her all over again.

“Now, dear,” her mother chided, “we mustn’t argue. Sarah has made a new friend, and she has also helped her neighbor. It has been a very successful evening.”

Her father took a seat opposite her. “So it appears. You would do well to cultivate your acquaintance with young Dennis,” he advised. “He has a promising future, and he stands to inherit a fortune.”

“What other recommendation could I need?” Sarah replied sarcastically.

“Sarah,” her mother cautioned, “there’s no reason to take offense. Your father and I only want to see you comfortably settled. Is that so wrong of us?”

“I’d prefer you wanted to see me happy,” Sarah said with a sigh.

Her mother’s smile was sad. “Why can’t they be the same thing?”

Frank decided his chances of finding Gilbert Giddings at home were better early in the day. Even the worst drunks went home eventually to sleep it off, and the storm last night had probably driven Giddings there earlier than usual. So he set off early Monday morning for the Giddings home. Strong winds had driven the storm out to sea, but they continued to endanger every man’s hat. Frank saw more than a few scudding along in the gutters before he reached Giddings’ house.

As before, he had to knock several times before Mrs. Giddings finally-and grudgingly-opened the door to him. She looked paler than she had the last time he saw her, and the strain of her circumstances had tightened the skin across her cheeks so that she looked as if she were held together with only the sheerest of willpower.

“Is your husband at home?” he asked. He felt sorry for her, but he couldn’t let sympathy stand in the way of doing his job.

“He’s here, but he’s asleep,” she said. “If you could come back later-”

“I can’t. Wake him up,” Frank said, pushing the door open wide enough to allow him to enter and making her take a step back. “I’ll wait.”

She drew a breath, not out of fear but rather to steal herself against even more unpleasantness. “He won’t be of much use to you until later in the morning,” she admitted, although Frank could see it cost her a bit of the tiny scrap of dignity she had left to do so. “The storm frightened him. He was quite… indisposed when he came home.”

“I’ve dealt with drunks before. They usually cooperate pretty easily when they’re feeling their worst. Just wake him up and tell him he can either talk to me here or I’ll drag him down to Headquarters for a little chat.”

He could see the hatred in her eyes, but he figured she didn’t hate him for what he was doing to Gilbert. She simply resented him for causing her one more indignity when she wasn’t sure she had the strength to bear even that one.

She didn’t offer him a seat. There was, after all, no furniture in their front rooms. She simply turned and walked up the stairs, her back ramrod straight, her step slow and deliberate. She knew Frank would wait for as long as it took, so she took her time. It was the one thing over which she had control.

Frank was good at waiting, though, and he got some extra practice now. The silence of the house was oppressive, and except for a loud thump from upstairs that startled him-probably Gilbert falling out of bed or his wife hitting him with the chamber pot-he heard nothing until Mrs. Giddings appeared at the head of the stairs again.

She descended slowly and gracefully, her hand resting on the railing mostly for effect since she didn’t appear to need the support. He noticed she had some color in her cheeks now, but she’d blotted every other trace of whatever emotion had caused it from her expression.

“My husband will be down shortly,” she said when she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Frank gave her a moment, but she offered nothing else. “Do you mind if I wait in the back parlor? I’d like some privacy when I talk to him.”

She’d been purposely rude to him so far, but she simply couldn’t deny this request. Good manners had been too thoroughly bred into her. “Come,” she said with an air of resignation, and led him to the back parlor, where he’d spoken with her and her son before.

She was going to leave him there, but he stopped her. “Can you tell me where your husband was the night Anna Blake was killed?”

She looked at him for a long moment. She didn’t appear to be thinking or even trying to decide whether to answer or not. She simply stared, a woman who had been pushed to the very edges of her strength and wasn’t certain she had any reserves left. “He was at home that night, with me. And our son, Harold,” she added.

“Why didn’t he go out drinking as he usually does?” Frank asked, knowing he was hurting her but also knowing he needed the answer.

Again the silence before she replied. “Harold got paid that day. He brought a bottle home for his father so he’d stay with us for a change.”

That sounded very thoughtful of the boy-and also very hard to believe. Families of drunkards usually did like them to stay at home but not if they were going to be drinking. Frank made a mental note of the niggling doubt and went on. “That means all of you were here, all night. No one went out for any reason?”

“No, we did not.”

“Not even your son?”

She stared at him for another long moment, trying to read something into the question. “No, not even my son,” she replied finally.

“He didn’t even go out to buy his father another bottle?” Frank pressed, remembering what Mrs. Walcott had said about a young man coming to see Anna Blake the night she was killed.

Was that fear in her eyes? If so, she wasn’t going to let it break her. “I told you, my son was home all night.”

“And what night was this?”

Mrs. Giddings blinked in confusion. “What?”

“What night did your son get paid and your husband stay at home?”

“The night that woman was killed,” she said with a trace of impatience.

“And which night of the week was that?” he pressed, testing her since her answers had come too easily.

She took a moment to consider. “Tuesday,” she said finally.

“Your son gets paid on Tuesday?”

If he’d thought to catch her in a lie, he was disappointed. She was either a good liar or was telling the truth. “Harold does day labor. Sometimes he gets paid at the end of the day and must get another job the next morning.”

Frank nodded. He could check on what the son had been doing that day, but it might not be easy. The people he was working for could be hard to find, since they probably would have moved on to new jobs by now. He might not even know their names, and even if he did and Frank could find them, they might not remember him. In any case, they’d have no idea whether Harold or his father had been at home that night or not.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see if I can hurry my husband along,” she said. “I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary,” she added with more than a trace of malice.

Frank didn’t take offense, however. He’d been insulted by far more talented people than Mrs. Giddings. He took a seat on the worn sofa to wait, and finally, he was rewarded by the sound of shuffling footsteps in the hallway.

Frank literally winced at the sight of Gilbert Giddings. The man looked as if he’d be better off dead. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, his face ashen. He held himself closely, as if he were extremely old and feeble-or were afraid of jarring his aching head. He wore a collarless shirt, wrinkled trousers, and carpet slippers. His hair was uncombed and his face unshaven.

“Good morning,” Frank said more loudly than necessary.

Giddings grabbed his head with both hands and groaned. This was going to be even easier than he’d hoped.

“Better have a seat, Giddings,” Frank suggested in a more moderate tone. “I’ve got a few questions to ask you.”

“I’ve already told you all I know,” Giddings said in a hoarse whisper as he shuffled to a chair and carefully lowered himself into it.

“Where were you the night Anna Blake was killed?” Frank asked, getting up from his seat and walking over to where Giddings sat. Standing over someone, even if they were in fine fettle, was always a good tactic when interrogating them.

“What did my wife say?” Giddings asked, looking up through squinted eyes.

“Don’t you know where you were?” Frank asked in amazement. “Or are you two trying to get your stories straight?”

“No, I-” Giddings started to say, but he’d forgotten to moderate his tone, and he had to grab his head again. “She told me I was home but…”

“But what?” Frank asked, making as if to grab Giddings by the shirt front.

He cringed away, as terrified of being manhandled as he was of loud noises. “Please, don’t hurt me,” he begged. “I’ll tell you whatever you want to know!”

“Where were you the night Anna Blake was killed?” he repeated with far less patience.

“I don’t know,” Giddings whined. “I don’t remember!”

“What do you mean, you don’t remember? It was only a week ago.”

“I know, but I… sometimes, I forget things.”

“What kind of things?” Frank asked skeptically.

“Things that happen when I’m drunk,” Giddings admitted as tears filled his eyes. “She drove me to this. I can’t help myself!”

“Your wife?” Frank guessed.

“No,” Giddings said, starting to shake his head vehemently but stopping abruptly when he realized how much pain that would cause him. “No,” he repeated more softly, hands bracing his head again. “Anna did it. She was never satisfied. She said she’d go to my wife and my employer and ruin me! I had no choice! So I borrowed the money from a couple of the estates our firm handles. I was going to pay it back, just as soon as I…”

“As soon as you what?” Frank asked curiously when he hesitated. “As soon as you killed Anna?”

“No!” Giddings said too loudly and winced at the pain. “I didn’t kill her,” he added softly.

“I thought you couldn’t remember what happened that night,” Frank reminded him.

“I don’t. I mean, I don’t know.” Giddings blubbered, awash in self-pity. “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“I guess that means you also don’t know if your wife and son were home that night, either,” Frank said.

Even through his haze of pain, Giddings heard the implication. “My wife and son had nothing to do with this. How can you even suggest such a thing?”

“They had a very good reason to want Anna Blake out of the way,” Frank pointed out. “She’d taken everything they had and ruined you. They both must have hated her.”

“That doesn’t mean they killed her!” Giddings protested in a horrified whisper. “Harold is only a boy and my wife could never harm another human being!”

Frank figured his wife was very close to harming Gilbert very seriously if he didn’t sober up and start taking responsibility for his family again. That was only an opinion, however, and try as he might, he had a difficult time imagining a lady like Mrs. Giddings stealing through the darkened city streets with a knife concealed in the folds of her cloak so she could murder her husband’s mistress. Women hardly ever killed with knives except in the heat of passion or self-defense. They didn’t like making a mess. And Anna Blake wasn’t killed in the heat of passion or self-defense, as far as Frank could determine, certainly not if her killer had arranged to meet her for just the purpose of killing her.

“Would your wife lie to protect you, Giddings?” Frank asked.

He looked up with his rheumy eyes and frowned. “I have no idea.”

“Would she lie to protect your son?” Frank asked.

Giddings face drained of what little color was left. “No,” he said, his eyes filled with horror.

Frank didn’t think he was answering the question.