Brigit didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but she was thoroughly frightened. “Even Nainsi wouldn’t be that stupid!”
“Wouldn’t she? Well, it doesn’t matter now because she’s dead. What I want to know is how long did Dickie stay with you?”
“As long as he always does. He has to be home by midnight, so he left a little before. He checks his pocket watch all the time to make sure he’s not late. He doesn’t want to worry her. She’s sick, like I said.”
“He’s very considerate.”
“Yes, he is.”
Frank figured Brigit missed the irony. Well, at least he’d established Keith’s alibi for the entire night. Too bad. He would’ve liked to see a man like that sit down in Old Sparky, New York’s new electric chair. He’d just have to hope there was a special place in hell for people like Dickie Keith.
Frank was just about to tell Brigit to get herself cleaned up and off to her job when they heard a scream. Frank ducked out onto the landing, looking up and down to see if he could tell from what direction it had come.
“Murder!” someone was screaming from above. “Help, somebody! It’s murder!”
11
Frank set off up the stairs, taking them two at a time. By the time he reached the top floor, people had started emerging from their flats, eyes wide with curiosity and fear. A middle-aged woman stood in front of a half-opened door wailing in terror. Then he saw which door it was, and he groaned.
Frank showed his badge, and the woman pointed. “All that blood! She’s dead, ain’t she?”
He pushed the door open all the way and peered in. The first thing he saw was the sprays of blood all over the wall.
The metallic smell filled his nostrils. Mrs. O’Hara sat in the same chair she’d occupied when he’d called on her a few days ago. The ties she’d been sewing were still spread on the table, only now the woman was slumped over them. Her dark blood had stained them, pooled on the tabletop, and spilled onto the floor.
He stepped back and pulled the door closed behind him.
When he turned, he saw a sea of horrified faces staring at him, waiting for him to make sense of it. Brigit had followed him up the stairs. She stood on the landing, her tear-blotched face now a ghostly white.
“Somebody go find a beat cop,” he said, using the tone that demanded obedience. No one moved, so Frank pointed at a young man. “You!” he said sharply. The fellow turned tail and fairly flew down the steps.
“Ain’t you gonna help her?” the woman who had been screaming demanded desperately.
“No one can help her now. Are you the one who found her?”
The woman’s eyes were unfocused. She was probably in shock. “We go to the market every Friday, but she didn’t come down, so I come up to get her,” she said in wonder.
“When she didn’t answer, I opened the door . . .” She swayed, and one of the other women caught her before she fell. Several others hurried to get her into a neighboring flat.
“Why’d anybody want to kill Mrs. O’Hara?” Brigit asked Frank.
Frank could think of a lot of reasons, and those reasons pointed to several people in particular. He was beginning to think things might finally be falling into place.
The medical examiner had been looking around the room and at the body for much longer than Frank’s patience would permit.
“How long does it take to figure out somebody cut her throat?” he asked with annoyance.
Dr. Haynes gave him a jaundiced look. “Not long, since they told me that before I even left my office,” he said, matching Frank’s tone. “I thought you’d like to know how it happened, too, or am I wasting my time?”
“All right, you win. How did it happen?” Frank asked wearily.
“Looks like she was sitting here at the table, working on these . . . ties, are they?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Somebody came up behind her. Probably, he grabbed her by the hair. See how it’s all sticking up on top there, like somebody pulled it?”
Frank nodded.
“He pulled her head back.” The doc pretended to be grabbing himself by the hair on his head with his left hand and pulling it back. “Then he sliced her throat from behind.” He made as if he were holding a knife and drawing it across his throat from left to right.
“Doesn’t look like she put up much of a fight,” Frank observed.
“He probably snuck up behind her and took her by surprise. Maybe the door was open, and he just walked in. Or maybe it was somebody she knew who’d come to call, and she never expected him to grab her from behind and cut her throat.”
“Not many people expect that.”
“It’s a messy way to kill someone,” the doc added, pointing at the blood sprayed on the wall in front of where Mrs.
O’Hara had been sitting.
“So he would’ve had blood all over him?” Frank asked.
“Not likely, doing it from behind like that. The blood would shoot out in front. He’d get some on his hand and maybe his sleeve, but that’s about all. When he let her go, she was still alive for a minute or two. She’d be sitting up, bleeding on everything, and then she slumped down on the table when she died. Killer would’ve been long gone by the time the blood started dripping onto the floor, so he didn’t step in it, either.”
“Any idea when she was killed?”
“Not today,” doc said. “She’s in full rigor mortis, so anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours ago.”
“That would make it sometime between mid-morning yesterday to late last night.”
“You might find somebody who saw her yesterday to help narrow down the time, although it won’t help much if nobody saw the actual killer.”
Frank didn’t want to think about that possibility. “Why do you think there’s blood on that towel?” Frank asked, pointing at a piece of rag lying on the floor near the body.
“Did the killer wipe his hands?”
The Doc picked it up and looked at it. “No, the smear is too neat. I didn’t find the murder weapon. Looks like the killer used this to wipe the knife off and took it with him.”
He glanced around the shabby room. “Why’d somebody want to kill her? There’s nothing here worth stealing, and what could she do to make somebody that mad at her?”
“Did you see the stories about the Italians who suppos-edly kidnapped an Irish girl and killed her to get her baby?”
“Yes, the Ruoccos were supposed to have done it, but I don’t believe it for a minute. I’ve eaten at their place for years, and I know every one of them.”
“This woman was the Irish girl’s mother.”
“The one who wanted to get the baby back?”
Frank nodded. Doc Haynes snorted in disgust. “She took on the Black Hand and Tammany Hall. She’s lucky they just cut her throat.”
“Detective Sergeant?” a voice called from the doorway.
Frank looked up to see Gino Donatelli. “What is it?”
“We’ve been questioning all the neighbors,” he reported.
“Some people outside remember a woman asking where Mrs. O’Hara lived yesterday.”
“A woman?” Frank echoed in surprise, instantly thinking of what Ugo Ruocco had said about Patrizia. Putting a pillow over someone’s face was one thing, but slitting someone’s throat . . .
“Yes, sir, a woman. Mrs. Murdock here, she was the one who sent her up to this flat.”
Frank hurried to the door, and he saw a woman standing on the landing, a baby on her hip. She was the one who had directed him to Brigit’s flat earlier. The child looked at him gravely, his thumb stuck securely in his mouth. “Do you remember what time it was you talked to this woman?” he asked.
Mrs. Murdock shrugged. “I didn’t think about it at the time. We hadn’t had dinner yet, so it was morning. Not real early, though.”
“Did you see her leave?”
“No, didn’t see her anymore after that at all.”
“Can you tell me
what she looked like?” Frank asked, reaching into his coat pocket for a pad and pencil to jot down some notes.
“She doesn’t have to describe her,” Donatelli said grimly.
“She recognized the woman.”
“You know her?” Frank asked, unable to believe his luck.
Mrs. Murdock nodded.
“You’re positive?” Frank prodded.
“I should be,” Mrs. Murdock said. “She delivered this baby. It was the midwife, Mrs. Brandt.”
Sarah was looking at the cold ham and stale bread in her larder and wondering if she dared hope Mrs.
Ellsworth would drop in with something more appealing for supper when someone rang the doorbell. Hastily, she sliced off a bit of the ham and popped it into her mouth. If this was a delivery call, she wouldn’t get any supper at all.
She heard the girls running to answer the bell, so she quickly took a few more bites before making her way to the foyer. Before she arrived, however, she’d already heard the familiar voice and knew she wouldn’t be going on a call.
Frank Malloy was teasing the girls, and Aggie and Maeve were responding gleefully.
“Malloy,” she said in greeting, but when he looked up at her, she saw instantly that he was furious. She tried to remember what she might have done to merit such a response, but she couldn’t think of anything.
“Is Mrs. Ellsworth here?” he asked gruffly.
“No, she’s not,” she answered, confused by the question.
“Girls,” he said, his tone switching instantly back to pleasantness, “why don’t you go next door and pay her a little visit. I need to speak to Mrs. Brandt alone.”
Sensing his anger, the girls sobered, and Maeve hastily shoved Aggie into her jacket and ushered her out the front door. At the last second, she hesitated, looking back at Sarah. “What if she isn’t home?”
“Then take a little walk,” Sarah said, forcing a smile before Malloy closed the door behind her. “Whatever is the matter?” she demanded anxiously when it clicked shut.
“What were you doing down on Howard Street yesterday?” he demanded gruffly.
So that was it! She’d known he wouldn’t approve, but this reaction was way out of proportion to her offense. “I went to see Mrs. O’Hara, as you must have figured out,” she explained.
“What in God’s name for?”
She’d seen him this angry, but never at her. “I thought . . .
that is, I wanted to be sure she understood everything she’d need to know to take care of the baby.” She hated sounding defensive. It was a perfectly legitimate concern. He didn’t have to know she was also trying to convince Mrs. O’Hara to give up the idea of claiming the child.
“That’s a pretty story, but I know you too well, Sarah.
And you’re a terrible liar.”
“I’ll have you know I’m an excellent liar!” she claimed, earning a derisive glare.
“Why did you really go down there? No, wait, let me guess. You thought you could convince her to stop trying to get the baby away from the Ruoccos.”
“Why would I do a thing like that?” she asked, aware that he was right: she was a terrible liar.
“Because you’re a meddling do-gooder who can’t mind her own business,” he informed her, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
“Somebody has to put a stop to this,” she argued. “Mrs.
O’Hara can’t keep the baby healthy in that place, even if Tammany Hall does give her the money they promised.
And if she stops fighting for the baby, Tammany will back off and the riots will stop.”
“I doubt Tammany would have even let her change her mind. They had too much at stake, and they couldn’t let the Italians win, no matter what she wanted.”
“Well, she refused to even consider it.” Sarah said with a sigh. “So no harm done.”
This seemed to make Malloy even angrier. “Oh, harm was done, all right. A lot of harm was done, because Mrs.
O’Hara is dead.”
“Dead!” Sarah cried, covering her mouth. Tears stung her eyes. “How could that happen? I just saw her—”
“Yesterday. Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m here. A lot of people were only too happy to tell us they saw you going to visit the murder victim. Near as we can figure, you were the last visitor she had.”
“Good heavens!” She looked into Malloy’s dark eyes and saw the rage boiling there. “You don’t think I killed her, do you?”
“No, but I should lock you up on suspicion just the same. At least I’d know you were safe. What if you’d been there when the killer came?” He was shouting now. “It could’ve been your blood splattered all over that kitchen along with hers!”
Sarah cried out in protest, tears filling her eyes as the truth of it washed over her in a sickening wave. Then Malloy’s strong arms were around her, holding her with a desperate strength as she wept against his chest. His familiar scent enveloped her, and his hands moved across her back, comforting and caressing at the same time.
“Don’t cry,” he begged after a long moment. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She gave a watery laugh at that and raised her head. She found that he was close, dangerously close, so she pulled a safer distance away. He released her with obvious reluctance, and they stood staring at each other for an awkward moment—each wanting the same thing but certain the price the other would have to pay was too high.
Sarah broke the strained silence, swiping away her tears.
“I’m sorry, Malloy. I had no idea.”
For a second, he looked as if he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. Then he ran one over his face, as if to clear his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he admitted. “It wasn’t your fault. Are you all right?”
“I will be.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, wondering how badly her face was blotched. “I could use a cup of tea.”
“I’ll make it for you,” he offered almost gratefully and led her into the kitchen.
True to his word, he made Sarah sit down while he put the kettle on. She was always amazed at how comfortable he was at domestic tasks. He sat down opposite her at the table while they waited for the water to boil.
“You said there was blood . . . splattered blood,” Sarah recalled with distaste. “I guess she wasn’t smothered then.”
“Someone cut her throat,” he said baldly.
She winced, knowing his bluntness was her reprimand.
“How awful.”
“It was fast, at least.” He briefly described what Doc Haynes thought had happened.
This time Sarah shivered. “But who would want to kill her?”
“That’s pretty easy to figure out. Somebody who wanted her to stop trying to get the baby so the trouble would be over.”
“But you said Tammany wouldn’t back down.”
“They were trying to get the baby back for Mrs. O’Hara.
If she’s dead, there’s nobody to fight for. If they did get the baby from the Ruoccos, what would they do with it?”
“Oh,” Sarah said in dismay, realizing that suspicion would fall squarely on the Ruoccos. “Could Ugo have sent one of his men to do it?”
“Maybe, just like he might’ve sent one to kill Nainsi, but it doesn’t seem likely. Yesterday, he was trying to convince me that Patrizia Ruocco was the killer.”
“Mrs. Ruocco?” she echoed in amazement.
“They don’t get along. It started back when Mrs. Ruocco and her family came over from Italy. Her husband, who was Ugo’s brother, couldn’t get into the country because he was sick, so they sent him back to Italy. She stayed here with the kids, and he died alone. Ugo never forgave her.”
“And you think he’s accusing her of murder to get even?
But that was so long ago. What makes you think that’s the reason?” Sarah asked.
“Donatelli says Italians are like that.”
Sarah blinked in surprised. “You don�
�t believe she did it, do you?”
“She could’ve killed Nainsi,” he pointed out. “She had a good reason.”
“I guess she did, but the others had the same reason,” she argued. “It could just as easily have been one of them, and she seems too sensible to take a chance like that.”
The water was boiling, so Malloy got up and poured it over the leaves in the pot to steep.
“Do you think the same person who killed Nainsi killed her mother?” Sarah asked.
“That would make it nice and neat, but it might be more than we can hope for.” He paused. “I’ve got to ask you some questions about your visit with Mrs. O’Hara.”
“Of course,” Sarah said, touched that he would be reluctant to bring up an unpleasant memory.
He sat down again. “Do you know what time you were there?”
“I don’t know exactly, but I went there right after I left you yesterday morning.”
“Oh, yes, right after I told you to go straight home,” he remembered with annoyance.
She smiled sweetly, refusing to be baited.
“How long were you there?”
“Not long. Half an hour at most. Then I went straight home.”
“Finally,” he muttered. “What did you talk about?”
“I told her all the things she’d need to know to take care of the baby. I thought . . . I admit it, I thought that if she knew how difficult it would be, she might reconsider and let Maria have him. She’ll have a terrible time trying to keep him fed with goat’s milk from bottles. She’ll never be able to keep the bottles clean and getting the milk will be a constant struggle . . . Oh, listen to me, talking like she’s still alive. Anyway, I tried to make her see that the poor little fellow wouldn’t have much of a chance living with her.”
“Didn’t she believe you?”
“I think she did, but she didn’t care. She must have thought anything was better than letting the Ruoccos have him. She reminded me that one of them had killed Nainsi.
In her place, I would probably feel the same way.”
“And now one of them has killed her.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” Sarah argued.
“Two of the Ruocco boys left the restaurant last night.
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