Murder on Washington Square

14

“MOTHER!” THE BOY CRIED IN HORROR.

If Frank had entertained any lingering doubts about the boy’s innocence, they died in that moment. Obviously, Harold would have done anything to protect his mother from more unpleasantness. In a while, he’d probably realize he could confess to the crime to save her, and then he might even try it, but his first instinct had been to believe her. This meant he had no reason to doubt her word.

“Harold,” Frank said kindly, “Leave me alone with your mother.”

“No!” the boy said, putting his arm around her defiantly. “I won’t let you bully her!”

“I don’t need to bully her,” he pointed out. “She’s already confessed. I just need to ask her a few more questions, and I don’t think she wants you to hear the answers.”

“It’s all right, Harold,” his mother said softly, stroking his cheek. “I’m not afraid.”

Harold was, though. Frank could see it in his eyes. She was all he had left in the world, and Frank was going to take her away from him. He took her hand in both of his, his grip desperate. “Don’t tell him anything!” he urged her. “Don’t say another word!”

“I can’t live with this any longer,” she said, speaking gently to him, as if he were a small child. “I have to clear my conscience. Please, Harold, leave us alone. He’s right, I don’t want you to hear what I did.”

The boy’s face crumpled in despair. “Mother, how could you?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she told him.

Instantly, his despair twisted into anger. “You did it for him, didn’t you? Because you wanted him to come back to us!”

“No, my darling,” she said lovingly, stroking his hair. “I did it for you.”

Sarah walked home early that evening after a fruitless search for Malloy. No one at Police Headquarters knew where he was, or if they did, they weren’t going to tell a mere woman, even if they did think she was his mistress.

Such an assumption should have infuriated her, but for some reason, she simply found it amusing. Why couldn’t people ever accept that a man and a woman could just be friends? Or even business associates? They always had to believe the worst instead. Or maybe the police always saw the worst, so they naturally assumed it in every situation. Or maybe they enjoyed teasing Malloy too much to even care about the truth. Whatever the explanation, Sarah had to admit she enjoyed her unique status at Mulberry Street. They didn’t exactly treat her with respect, but the obvious contempt which had greeted her on her first visit there was gone now. In its place was a strange sort of acceptance. She was the red-headed stepchild who wasn’t exactly part of the family but who must be acknowledged, however grudgingly.

What Sarah hadn’t considered doing in her quest to find Malloy was going to his flat to leave a message with his mother. She would love to see Brian and check on his progress, but she didn’t feel up to dealing with Mrs. Malloy after all she’d been through today. She’d just have to wait until Malloy got her other message and made his way to her. Meanwhile, she would change her clothes and return to Bellevue to relieve Mrs. Ellsworth from her vigil.

But when Sarah turned onto Bank Street, she saw a familiar carriage parked at the curb in front of her house. The matched horses were dozing in the twilight chill, and the coachman seemed to be doing likewise. He’d wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and sat slumped in his seat, his hat pulled down over his eyes. She hoped he hadn’t been waiting for her for very long.

She stepped up to the carriage and thumped on the side to get the driver’s attention. He started awake and looked around in alarm until he saw her standing below him.

“I’m sorry I frightened you, Patrick,” she said. “Why are you here?”

He lifted his hat in respect. “Your father sent me to fetch you, missus. He wants to see you right away.”

“Is something wrong? Is someone ill?” she asked with a worried frown.

“Oh, no, ma’am. He just wanted to talk to you, he said. He has some news you’ve been waiting for.”

Sarah remembered his promise this morning to find out what he could about embezzlement and wondered if that could be his news. If so, he hadn’t wasted any time. She really should get to the hospital as quickly as possible, but hearing what her father had to say was important, too. The coach would carry her to her parents’ home, and then she could have it take her to Bellevue and bring Mrs. Ellsworth home. This would be much safer than allowing the old woman to make her own way home alone, and if any reporters were still about that time of night, the driver could see her safely into her house. As the hour grew later, the traffic would ease, as well, so the carriage would be able to travel relatively quickly through the streets.

“Please wait just a few more minutes while I freshen up,” she said to the driver and hurried inside.

When she had made herself more presentable, she also made a stop at the Ellsworth house to tell Nelson his mother was fine. Only then did she allow the carriage to take her up to Fifty-Seventh Street. When she sat down in the dark comfort of the carriage, she suddenly realized how very weary she was. She’d begun the day at her parents’ home, certain she would soon discover Anna Blake’s real killer. But the more she’d learned from her various stops, the more confused she had become. Instead of being clearer, the situation was getting more confusing. Nothing about Anna Blake made any sense, or so it seemed. Sarah knew from experience, however, that once she had all the pieces to the puzzle, it would all make sense. A twisted sort of sense, perhaps, but a sense she could understand. Probably, she and Malloy just needed to share what they had learned. Between the two of them, they may already have the solution and simply not know it yet.

Sarah sincerely hoped that was true. She wanted Anna Blake’s murder to be solved so she could concentrate on clearing Nelson’s name and bringing Mrs. Ellsworth’s life back to normal.

The rumble of the carriage wheels over the rough streets lulled Sarah into a light doze. The lurch of the carriage when it stopped in front of her parents’ house woke her, and she was surprised to discover she felt somewhat refreshed from her brief nap.

Her parents’ home seemed warm and welcoming to her now, not forbidding as she had seen it just a few short months ago when she’d ended her long estrangement from them. Her mother greeted her with a kiss and a worried frown when the maid ushered her into the family parlor.

“Where have you been, my dear? We were concerned when Patrick didn’t return with you right away.”

“I was out running errands,” Sarah said with a smile, not bothering to offer details. Her mother would only be upset if she knew Sarah had foiled a murder plot, questioned several suspects, and paid a visit to Police Headquarters since she’d seen them earlier today. “I might have been delivering a baby, you know. In that case, I could have been gone all night. I hope Patrick would have gone on home in that case.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t keep the horses out all night,” her father said, sharing her amusement as he also kissed her cheek.

Her mother insisted that she eat when she learned Sarah hadn’t yet had supper. Since she’d skipped lunch as well, Sarah was happy to accept. She’d have the cook wrap up something for Mrs. Ellsworth and Mr. Prescott before she left, too. Although she was starved, she was also impatient to hear her father’s news. Good breeding prevailed, however, and she managed to wait until they were settled back in the family parlor before broaching the subject.

“Your message was that you had some information for me,” she said as her father lit his pipe. The sweet aroma brought back childhood memories of happier times, when she and Maggie were children and still believed in fairy tales and happy endings. Now she knew better, but she still enjoyed the fragrance of the smoke.

“I was extremely fortunate,” her father said, settling himself in his favorite chair. “Hendrick Van Scoyoc was at the club. He always knows everything that happens in the city.”

“He’s a gossip, you mean,” her mother said.

“I mean he’s well informed,” her father said. “I won’t criticize a man who served my purposes so well and in so timely a manner.”

“As you say, my dear,” her mother said. “I stand corrected.”

“And what did Mr. Van Scoyoc tell you?” Sarah asked, hoping to move things along a little faster.

“I asked him to explain to me how one might embezzle money from a bank. Since he owns several, I thought it a harmless enough question, but he took immediate offense.”

“Why on earth would he take offense?” her mother asked before Sarah could.

“Because his good friend… Well, let’s be discreet and just say a friend of his had recently been a victim of this crime,” her father explained. “Or I should say, one of his banks was. Hendrick thought I was being… unkind,” he said, carefully choosing his words, “in making reference to it. It seems the man has suffered some ridicule from his peers over the incident.”

“How interesting,” her mother said, obviously entertained by the idea.

“I thought so,” her father agreed. “I was apparently among the last to have heard about it. I had to explain my purpose in making the inquiry, so he wouldn’t refuse to ever speak to me again. I did not reveal the identity of the individuals involved,” he hastened to add. “Even though Van Scoyoc was very interested to learn who else had been victimized. You see, the situations were eerily similar.”

“In what way?” Sarah asked, even more interested than her mother.

“The bank employee who stole the money had been, until then, very trustworthy and conscientious. A responsible family man, too. The kind you would never expect to be so foolish.”

“What happened, then?” her mother asked, actually leaning forward in her chair in her eagerness to hear the entire story.

“It seems he fell into the thrall of a young woman.”

Sarah could hardly believe she’d heard him correctly. “Who was she?”

Her father shrugged, puffing on his pipe. “If Van Scoyoc knows her name, he didn’t mention it. But I can’t believe he would care to know it. Some Irish girl, I think he said.”

Sarah felt her hackles rise over the tone with which he said “Irish,” as if the Irish didn’t need names, being something less than human. But to Van Scoyoc and her father and others like them, they didn’t. It was a hideous injustice, but she must choose her battles. She would fight that one another day. She had more pressing matters with which to deal at the moment. “Why did he think she was Irish?” she asked, recalling she’d noticed Catherine Porter looked Irish the first time she’d seen her.

“I don’t… Oh, yes, now I remember. Van Scoyoc said something about a red-haired vixen. That must be why I assumed she was Irish.” He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand, although Sarah made careful note that the woman he described might have been the elusive Francine. “In any case, this fellow stole several thousand dollars from the bank before anyone discovered it. He’d given the money to this girl, of course, and once his crime was discovered, she disappeared.”

“What happened to the embezzler?” Sarah asked, fairly certain the mystery of Francine’s departure was now solved and the identity of her “rich gentleman” discovered. Surely there weren’t many other red-haired women in the city doing the same thing. “Was he arrested or did he escape?”

“Neither. He was dismissed from his position, of course, but the bank didn’t press charges. The scandal would have ruined them, so they didn’t dare.”

“Could you find out who this man was?” Sarah asked urgently, certain now he must be another victim of the Walcotts and their tenants.

“I probably could, but I don’t believe that would help you,” her father said. “According to Van Scoyoc, the fellow hanged himself from shame after it all came out.”

“How cowardly of him,” her mother said. “And selfish. You said he had a family. What would become of them with him dead?”

“It wouldn’t be much different than if he were alive, my dear,” her father explained. “He’d never be able to find another position. People talk, you know, and his crime would follow him wherever he went, even if no one spoke of it publicly. At least with him dead, his family could be free of that.”

“Yes,” Sarah said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “With him gone, they could starve in respectability.”

Her father frowned at her tone. “Life is frequently unfair, Sarah. When it is, the innocent often suffer. That’s the way of the world, and we cannot hope to change it.”

He believed that, of course. They’d had this argument many times. This argument had driven her sister Maggie to her death. Unfortunately, Sarah didn’t have the energy to answer it tonight. She had more important things to do, in any case. She, for one, was going to change at least one of the ways of the world and make things better for the Ellsworths and Webster Prescott.

Before she left, however, she still needed a bit more information. “Did Mr. Van Scoyoc explain how one might embezzle from the bank without being caught?”

“Not without being caught. Eventually, the discrepancies would be found, no matter how careful the thief was. Blame might be diverted onto another, but the crime could not be concealed forever. He was also surprised that the discrepancy was found so quickly. He did not believe that such a thing couldn’t be discovered in a day, even if the auditors knew what they were looking for.”

“Then how does he explain it?” Sarah asked.

“He doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t believe they found it at all.”

The hour was late by the time Sarah finally arrived at Bellevue. She found Mrs. Ellsworth dozing in her chair, her chin resting on her bony chest, her breath coming in unladylike snores. Webster Prescott was sleeping, too. He seemed to have recovered a bit from his earlier ordeal, and the nurse confirmed he’d been resting comfortably for several hours. Even his fever was a little lower.

Mrs. Ellsworth awoke with a start and a snort when Sarah touched her shoulder. “What…? Oh, Mrs. Brandt,” she said in relief. Then she instinctively looked at Prescott. “How is he?”

“He seems to be doing fairly well.”

“Oh, heavens, don’t say that! It’s bad luck to say a sick person is doing well!” she informed Sarah, aghast at her ignorance.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, however insincerely. “I mean to say he’s not doing as poorly as he was.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” the old woman replied with some relief.

Sarah bit back a smile. “You’ve done a good job guarding him, but it’s time for you to go home to your own bed now.”

“Nonsense! Someone must stay with him all the time. What if that woman comes back to kill him again?”

“Then I’ll be here,” Sarah told her.

“But you shouldn’t waste your time here. You have things you could be doing, while I don’t have anything to look forward to except more waiting.”

“Yes, you do,” Sarah assured her. “I need for you to go home and tell Mr. Malloy where I am when he comes looking for me tomorrow. I have some important things to tell him, especially about the woman who tried to kill Mr. Prescott, and I need to see him as soon as possible.”

“Then I should stay here while you go find Mr. Malloy,” she argued.

“I’ve spent a good part of the afternoon trying to do just that without success. I left a message for him at Police Headquarters, so I think the best plan is for me to stay in one place and let him find me. But he’ll go to my house, and he won’t know where else to look unless you tell him.”

She started sputtering additional objections, but Sarah cut her off.

“You’re going home, and I’m staying here, and I won’t hear any more on the subject. Now, I’ve got a carriage waiting for you downstairs, and you’re keeping the poor driver from his bed.”

“A carriage?” she echoed suspiciously.

“It’s my parents’. They sent me home in it, so I thought I should make good use of it. Now don’t make that poor man wait any longer. There’s food, too, for your and Nelson’s supper, courtesy of my mother’s cook. Enjoy it.”

Mrs. Ellsworth offered a few more feeble arguments, but finally she surrendered. She really was starting to feel the strain of the day. Before she left, however, she pressed a rabbit’s foot into Sarah’s hand.

“It can’t hurt,” she said when Sarah looked skeptical.

“How many of these do you have?” Sarah asked, remembering she’d given one to Malloy as well.

“As many as I need,” she replied.

When she was gone, Sarah made herself as comfortable as possible and settled in for a long night.

Frank wondered how Sarah Brandt could give him a headache when he wasn’t even with her. He’d been feeling pretty good this morning, having arrested Anna Blake’s confessed killer the night before. Although he’d had no reason to be concerned about her comfort, he’d managed to get Mrs. Giddings locked up in The Tombs instead of at Police Headquarters. The Tombs were grim, but they were still far more tolerable than the cellar at Mulberry Street.

Getting Gilbert Giddings released from jail had been the work of a few moments, and he hadn’t even had to deal with the man himself. Let his son tell him the awful news about what his wife had done. He never wanted to see that sorry drunk again. Frank’s sense of accomplishment had dimmed somewhat when he’d gotten Mrs. Brandt’s message, though. He was used to being teased about her, or as used to it as he was ever going to get, but that didn’t mean he was used to having her involved in his cases. He’d never get accustomed to that, especially when being involved meant confronting would-be killers in the act, as he’d learned from Mrs. Ellsworth when he’d gone looking for Sarah Brandt at her home.

“I’m sure Mrs. Brandt is perfectly fine,” Mrs. Ellsworth said from where she was sitting beside him on the El as they sped uptown toward Bellevue. “We scared that woman off. She won’t be back.”

Frank gritted his teeth. “If it was a woman,” he said. “You said yourself you didn’t see her face.”

“Well, whoever it was who tried to poison poor Mr. Prescott, they won’t be back,” Mrs. Ellsworth insisted.

Frank only hoped she was right. The thought of Sarah Brandt facing down a killer in the middle of the night on a deserted hospital ward was unsettling, to say the least. It unsettled Frank so much he wanted to strangle somebody. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, not for the first time. “I told you I’d get somebody to stand guard over Prescott. His newspaper will probably hire a guard when they find out what happened. It would make for a good story.”

“A guard can prevent the killer from striking again, but he won’t be able to give Mr. Prescott the special care he needs,” she pointed out. “Besides, I’m tired of being locked in my house day and night.”

When Frank had gone to Sarah Brandt’s house this morning-and he’d gone the instant he’d gotten her message-the last thing he’d expected was to find Mrs. Ellsworth watching for him.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Mrs. Ellsworth was always watching for something to happen on her street. If she’d been unable to do anything about what had been happening lately, that only made her more anxious to get active again. Frank would’ve had to tie her hand and foot to keep her from accompanying him to the hospital to find Mrs. Brandt. When she told him about the attempt on Prescott’s life, he hadn’t wanted to waste time trying to deter her, either.

“If it’s any comfort to you, I arrested Anna Blake’s killer last night,” he told her.

Her eyes widened, almost erasing the wrinkles around them. “Oh, Mr. Malloy! That’s wonderful! Who was it?”

“The wife of another man Anna Blake was blackmailing. This man was ruined. He stole from his employer to pay her. When he got caught, he impoverished himself to pay back what he’d stolen. His wife was very angry, so she took it out on the person she held responsible for her troubles.”

“That poor woman! The wife, I mean. Anna Blake asked for her trouble, but this poor woman didn’t. I guess I can’t blame her for wanting vengeance. I probably would’ve felt the same, in her place.”

“You women,” Malloy snorted. “You’re so cold-blooded.”

“I didn’t say killing Miss Blake was right,” she defended herself. “I just said I could understand why she wanted that woman dead. If my Nelson had been ruined, I might have considered the same thing.”

Frank didn’t point out that Nelson was as good as ruined unless they could find out who had really stolen money from his bank. Even if they could, it was possible the sensational stories about him that had appeared in the various newspapers would have destroyed his reputation and he would be unable to make a respectable living again. In Frank’s experience, innocent people often had to suffer for others’ crimes. Nelson Ellsworth would probably be one of them, and there might be nothing Frank could do to save him. He wasn’t going to be the one to explain all this to the man’s mother, however. His job was hard enough as it was.

To Frank’s chagrin, he had to quicken his usual pace to keep up with Mrs. Ellsworth as they walked from the train station to the hospital. The old woman was a caution.

They found Sarah Brandt sitting beside Prescott’s bed, feeding him something from a bowl. She glanced up and smiled when she saw them. Frank felt a strange flutter in his chest at the sight of that smile. Or maybe it was from the sight of her. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a week, and Frank didn’t like that one bit. Why did she feel responsible for sitting up all night and guarding a newspaper reporter she hardly knew, especially one who’d caused her friends so much trouble?

“Good morning, Malloy,” she said, her eyes shining, as if she were enjoying a secret joke at his expense. “You’re a difficult man to find.”

“Finding you isn’t so hard,” he replied in kind. “I just need to look where you have no business being, and there you are.”

“I’m a nurse,” she reminded him. “Why shouldn’t I be at a hospital?”

“Because…” he began, but stopped when he realized he didn’t really want to explain. If he did, he’d have to reveal how worried he was about her safety, and then she might start to wonder why he cared so much. This was a topic he didn’t even want to consider himself, much less discuss with her. “Have you seen any sign of that woman who tried to kill Prescott?” he asked instead.

“No, but I’m sure she’s the same one who stabbed him in the first place,” she said. “Nothing else makes sense. And she’s also probably the person who killed Anna Blake, although I never would’ve guessed her killer would be a female.”

“Mr. Malloy arrested Miss Blake’s killer last night,” Mrs. Ellsworth reported helpfully.

Frank shot her a disapproving look, but she wasn’t paying any attention.

“Who was it?” Mrs. Brandt asked, brightening at the thought.

“Who… was… it?” Prescott echoed feebly.

Frank looked at him in surprise, having forgotten he was even there and certainly that he was listening to every word. “You’re in no condition to write a story about it, Prescott, so I’ll tell you. It was Mrs. Gilbert Giddings.”

“Mrs. Giddings!” Mrs. Brandt exclaimed in surprise. “I thought you were going to arrest the son!”

“She confessed when I went to question the boy,” Frank said. “She was afraid I was going to arrest him for the crime.”

“You were,” Mrs. Brandt reminded him with a small smile.

“Only if he was guilty,” Frank said, not liking the defensive tone in his voice. He didn’t need to make excuses to her, he reminded himself. “But he wasn’t.”

“Did she tell you why she tried to kill Mr. Prescott?” she asked.

Frank shook his head. “She didn’t try to kill him.”

“But-” she began to protest.

He cut her off. “Not in front of Prescott,” he cautioned.

The patient was growing restless, his eyes intent. Frank could almost imagine him mentally composing his story for the World.

“How’s he doing?” he asked Mrs. Brandt.

She glanced at Mrs. Ellsworth before replying, and he thought she was holding back a grin. “He’s not doing as poorly as he was before,” she said.

“What does that mean?” Frank asked.

“That means it’s bad luck to say someone is doing well,” she explained, with another glance at the old woman.

Frank managed not to snort in disgust. “So the opium didn’t hurt him?”

“He must not have taken very much,” she said. “The mixture was very strong, so it was also very sweet. Apparently, that didn’t appeal to Mr. Prescott, to his great good fortune.”

“Don’t like… sweets,” Prescott explained. He looked as if he were trying with difficulty to keep his eyes open.

“What’s going on here?” a woman demanded. “Are you the doctor? Webster, my dear boy! What’s happened?”

A small woman inserted herself into the group beside Prescott’s bed, forcing her way to him. Malloy was just about to grab her when Prescott said, “Aunt Orpah!”

“Webby, dear, what have they done to you?” she asked, smoothing his hair back from his forehead as she checked for fever. Then she turned accusing eyes to the rest of them. “Who are you people?”

“I’m Sarah Brandt,” she said. “I sent you the message about your nephew, Mrs. Beasley.”

The woman softened immediately. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Brandt. It was such a shock! I got here as soon as I could. Webby is my sister’s boy, and I promised I’d look after him for her. How on earth you can look after a grown man, I’m not sure, though. He seems determined to get himself in trouble!”

“Indeed he does,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “He’s been set upon twice by females intent on murdering him.”

Mrs. Beasley looked shocked, but Mrs. Brandt distracted her by introducing the two older women. “And this is Detective Sergeant Frank Malloy,” she added. “He’s going to find the person who attacked Mr. Prescott.”

Actually, Frank wasn’t particularly interested in finding out who had attacked Prescott. His concern had been finding Anna Blake’s killer and clearing Nelson Ellsworth. Since the person who had attacked Prescott was someone else entirely, he felt no further obligation, especially to someone who had made the Ellsworths’ lives miserable. He wasn’t going to mention all this to Aunt Orpah, though. He needed her to take over caring for Prescott so he could get Sarah Brandt away from here. Let Aunt Orpah worry about fending off would-be murderesses.

“Mr. Malloy is going to order the World to hire a guard to protect Mr. Prescott in the meantime, too,” Mrs. Ellsworth added.

Now Frank knew he should have tied her hand and foot to keep her from coming with him today. “I can’t order them to do it,” he quickly clarified, “but I was going to strongly suggest it.”

“What a good idea,” Mrs. Brandt said, smiling her approval. Frank wished her approval didn’t matter so much to him.

“And if you can’t order them to, I can,” Mrs. Beasley said tartly, sounding very much like Mrs. Ellsworth. “If they don’t, I’ll contact another newspaper and give them the story in exchange for a guard!”

“Aunt Orpah!” Prescott protested feebly, but his aunt paid him no attention.

Fortunately, the editor at the World immediately saw the news story potential in Prescott’s situation. Arrangements were quickly made by telephone to dispatch someone from the newspaper both to protect Prescott and to get the full story.

“You mustn’t allow them to tire Mr. Prescott,” Mrs. Brandt instructed his aunt when the arrangements had been made. “He’s still in danger and needs lots of rest.”

“I can talk,” Prescott protested feebly, but no one seemed interested in hearing him do so.

The three women consulted on what the best course of treatment would be for the reporter. By the time the representatives from The World arrived-three of them and all very excited at the prospect of reporting the second attempt on Prescott’s life-Mrs. Brandt was finally satisfied that she could safely leave Prescott in his aunt’s care.

Frank’s goal was to get Sarah Brandt home as quickly as possible since he was afraid she might keel over from exhaustion at any moment. Taking her on the train seemed the most difficult means of travel, but a Hansom cab could barely hold two passengers, and he had to return Mrs. Ellsworth to her home as well. Besides, the train was faster, even if it meant walking some distance both to and from the stations. They managed to make the trip without any mishaps.

Just in case the reporters were still keeping their vigil on Bank Street, however, Frank led the women down the alley behind their houses. A stray dog was rooting through a pile of garbage, and he looked up and growled as they approached. The animal was mangy and scrawny, and Frank hoped it wasn’t also rabid. He shouted and clapped his hands, advancing threateningly, and to his relief, the dog tucked his tail and ran.

“You’re much better at that than I am,” Mrs. Brandt remarked.

“I’m louder,” he said.

“And bigger,” Mrs. Ellsworth added.

They reached the rear of their houses without further incident. “We’ll wait here until you’re safely inside,” he told the old woman.

Mrs. Ellsworth wasn’t eager to be dismissed, however.

“Mrs. Brandt, you need to get some rest immediately,” she said. “I’ll be happy to come in and fix you something to eat so you don’t have to exert yourself.”

Frank opened his mouth to protest, but Sarah Brandt beat him to it.

“Thank you so much for the offer, but I’m afraid I must consult with Mr. Malloy before I can even think of resting. I have a lot of things to tell him… and to ask him, too,” she added with a meaningful look he didn’t even try to interpret.

“But you must eat,” Mrs. Ellsworth insisted. “You probably haven’t even had any breakfast.”

“I’ll fix her something,” Frank said, earning an amazed look from both women. “And if anyone comes looking for Mrs. Brandt to deliver a baby, tell them she’s already out on a call,” he added to Mrs. Ellsworth.

“Malloy!” Mrs. Brandt protested, but Frank wasn’t going to argue that point.

“Don’t you want to hear all about Mrs. Giddings’s confession?” he asked provocatively, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward her back gate.

“Thank you for your help,” she called over her shoulder to the old woman. “I’ll check on you this afternoon.” Then she said, “Ouch!” because Frank was squeezing her elbow pretty tightly.

But he didn’t let her go until he was sure she was safely in her yard with the gate closed behind them, away from Mrs. Ellsworth.

As soon as they were inside her house and the back door was shut, she said, “You better not have used the third degree on Mrs. Giddings.”

Frank pulled off his bowler hat and hung it on a hook by the back door before trusting himself to respond to that. “I didn’t lay a hand on the woman, or on her son either, for that matter. I figured out from what he told me that he didn’t kill Anna Blake. I wasn’t even going to arrest him, but I guess his mother didn’t know that, which is why she decided to confess.”

She pulled off her gloves and then her hat, jabbing the lethal-looking hat pin back into it with far more force than necessary. “Something’s not right about this, Malloy,” she insisted, making her way into the kitchen without bothering to invite him to follow. He did anyway.

“I don’t know why you can’t just accept that the woman killed Anna Blake,” he tried. “She had every reason to, and she admitted it.”

“How did she even know where Anna lived?”

“She followed her son there that night. The boy had followed his father before, so he knew where the house was. Harold wanted to confront her. He wanted her to give back the money she’d taken from his father.”

She was stuffing kindling into the stove. “I’m sure Anna found that amusing.”

“The boy said she laughed at him, if that’s what you mean. Then he left, but his mother waited for a while, so the boy wouldn’t see her, and when she saw Anna leave the house, she realized this was her chance. She followed her to the park and stabbed her.”

Mrs. Brandt had lit the kindling and looked up while she waited for it to catch. “She stabbed her in broad daylight?” she asked.

“They were standing off by themselves. No one paid them any attention.”

“And Anna just lay there until morning?” She was feeding small sticks into the growing flames. “No one noticed her?”

“She must’ve walked a bit, trying to find some help. But if anyone saw her, they probably just thought she was drunk.”

“Wouldn’t they have seen the blood?”

“The coroner said she covered the wound with her shawl, probably trying to stop the bleeding.”

“And what about the man?”

“What man?”

“The man the coroner said Anna had been with before she died. The sponge, remember?”

He’d been trying not to think about it. “She probably had a liaison with somebody we don’t know anything about,” Frank suggested.

“Malloy, this doesn’t make any sense.”

“Murder doesn’t have to make sense,” he reminded her in exasperation. “In fact, it hardly ever does!”

“I’m not talking about the why. I’m talking about the how. Mrs. Giddings couldn’t have killed Anna Blake.”

“She confessed!” Frank reminded her angrily. “Why would she do that if she didn’t kill her?”

“You said it yourself, she thought you were going to arrest her son. She might have done it to protect him. But whatever her reason, she was lying. Mrs. Giddings did not kill Anna Blake.”