“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.”