Frank had a pretty good idea of what Mrs. Keith would be like, so he found himself speechless early the next morning when the woman who opened the front door acknowledged she was indeed Richard Keith’s wife. Mrs.
Keith was a wisp of a woman, her face pale and drawn, and her eyes sunken and shadowed. She’d once been pretty. The evidence was still present, even though suffering had etched deep lines across her beauty.
“Is my husband dead?” she asked raggedly when Frank had identified himself.
“Oh, no,” he hastily assured her. “He’s fine.” But even still, she looked as though she might faint as her thin shoulders sagged in a sigh of relief.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Keith?” he asked, instinctively reaching to catch her in case she fell.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m . . .
I’ll be fine,” she said. When she opened her eyes, he saw resignation there along with the pain that he realized must be constant. “Do you know where he is? He didn’t come home last night.”
“Yes, he’s . . . he’s helping us with an investigation,”
Frank said, not really lying. “Can I come in for a minute? I’d like to explain what happened with your husband, and you look like you need to sit down.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you,” she said and moved aside to allow him to enter.
The Keith home was modest but well tended. The parlor where she led Frank had the comfortable look of a room where a family gathered to enjoy each other’s company. She took a seat near the fireplace where a coal fire burned on the grate, even though the day was mild. He realized she had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, too, as if she was unable to get warm.
Frank took the chair she offered.
“You’re certain my husband is all right?” she asked anxiously. “He’s never been away from home all night before.
He’s late sometimes, when he has to work, but he always comes home by midnight. I’ve been terrified for him.”
Nainsi had been killed in the wee hours of the morning, according to Maria’s account of her waking up when Joe came home. Mrs. Keith had just confirmed her husband’s alibi. He wouldn’t even have to question her, thank God. He didn’t relish the idea of causing this woman any more pain.
“He’s in perfect health, I promise. He’ll explain everything when he gets home,” Frank said, figuring that would be his small revenge on Keith. Let him come up with a believable story for this poor woman. He’d thought Keith was afraid of a harridan who would make his life miserable. Instead he’d been trying to protect a woman who had already suffered enough. Frank didn’t feel any more kindly toward Keith, of course. The man was adding to her pain, even if she didn’t know it. “We needed his help just a bit longer, so he asked if I would come and let you know not to worry.”
“Will he be late for work? He mustn’t lose his job,” she asked.
Frank had seen the photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Keith and their two children on the mantel. “I’ll speak to his em-ployer as well. We’re sorry to have caused you distress, Mrs.
Keith.”
“I’m very grateful that you came to tell me. If anything happened to him . . .” She bit her lip and managed not to weep.
Now Frank really did want to smash Keith’s face in. Unfortunately, he’d only be hurting this woman if he did.
Frank stopped at the factory next, but Brigit hadn’t come in to work that morning. The owner was rant-ing about his foreman not showing up, but Frank was able to calm him with a story about Keith being in an accident.
The lie was like gall in his throat, but he thought about Mrs. Keith and the children and swallowed it down.
“I need to talk to one of your other girls,” Frank added at the end of his explanation. Not waiting for permission, he strode down the center aisle to where Nainsi’s other friends sat. He found the one he remembered being so talkative the last time he’d been here. He took her by the arm and jerked her out of her chair.
“I didn’t do nothing!” she protested as Frank roughly conducted her to the back of the room.
“What happened to Brigit last night?” he asked softly, so no one would overhear.
The girl’s eyes grew large. “She disappeared! We was all at the dance house like always, and then she and Mr. Keith was both just gone. We thought . . .”
“Well, don’t think it anymore. I put Keith in jail. Brigit must’ve gotten scared and run. Where would she go?”
The girl shrugged. “Home, I guess. She didn’t come to none of us, and she’s got no place else.”
He was just about to let her go when he remembered one more thing. “When did you first meet Antonio?”
She looked at him in surprise at this sudden change of subject. “I don’t know. Right before they got married, I guess. She was talking about him for so long, we all thought she made him up. Then she just shows up with him one night and says they’re getting married.”
He did let her go then, and she scurried back to her seat, casting an apprehensive glance at the owner before putting her head down and starting up her sewing machine again.
With a weary sigh, Frank started back downtown to the tenement where Brigit lived. He didn’t want to let Keith go if there was any chance he might’ve killed Nainsi, so he wanted to hear what Brigit had to say before he cleared him completely.
The building was still as dark and dreary as he remembered. He wasn’t sure which flat was Brigit’s, so he had to knock on a few doors before a plump young woman holding a screaming baby directed him to the third floor. According to the neighbor, Brigit lived with her mother and several younger brothers. Frank knew they’d rely on her meager in-come to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads.
She wouldn’t have missed work without a good reason.
Even before he reached the landing, he could hear the sobs. Someone was crying as if her heart would break. Frank pounded on the door, and the weeping ceased abruptly.
“Who’s there?” a female voice called hoarsely.
“Police,” he replied in his official voice. “Open the door or I’ll break it down.”
He heard a little cry of distress, but after a moment, the lock turned and the door opened a crack. Frank pushed it wide, sending Brigit stumbling back into the room.
“What do you want?” she asked fearfully. “Where’s Dickie?”
“Who’s Dickie?”
“Richard . . . Mr. Keith,” she corrected herself. Her eyes were swollen nearly shut, her face blotchy and tear-streaked.
“You took him, and he didn’t come back. What did you do to him?”
“He’s in jail.”
She cried out in dismay. “Why? He didn’t do anything!”
“I’ll be the judge of that, and this time you’ll tell me the truth.”
“I never lied!”
“Oh, I think you did, Brigit. What happened the night you found out that Nainsi had her baby?”
“What do you mean?” She seemed to be trembling. That was good. Terrified people seldom had the wit to make things up.
“What did you do after Mrs. O’Hara told you Nainsi’s baby was born?”
“I . . . I went out.”
“To the dance house where I saw you last night.”
She nodded, relieved. “That’s right. To see my friends.”
“Maybe you went to see Dickie,” he suggested.
She swallowed. “No, I . . . I didn’t know he’d be there, but . . . but he was.”
“I said I wanted the truth,” he reminded her, taking a step closer.
Her breath caught in her throat. “He goes there a lot!”
she admitted quickly. “He wanted to know when the baby was born, so I went there to find him.”
“What did you tell him?” Frank asked, keeping his voice even and icy cold.