“Are you saying her death was a blessing?” Sarah asked in amazement.
“Death can be a blessing, Mrs. Brandt. We should trust the Lord’s judgment.”
“But the Lord didn’t kill her,” Sarah pointed out. “A human being took matters into his own hands.”
“Then we must trust the Lord to be the judge of that, too.”
“I’m afraid I can’t be as forgiving as you, Mrs. Wells,” Sarah said. “I’d like to see justice done.”
“ ‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord,’ ” she quoted.
Sarah would have to be sure to tell Malloy that he and Mrs. Wells agreed about the necessity of catching Emilia’s killer. “I suppose I’m going to have to learn to accept your point of view.”
“Because you’ve seen the wisdom of it?”
“No, because the police have closed the investigation into Emilia’s death.”
“Closed it?” Mrs. Wells echoed as if she didn’t understand.
“Yes, they aren’t particularly interested in who killed her or why, and since no one else is either, they’re not going to waste any more time on it.”
Mrs. Wells was staring intently at Sarah. “Your friend Mr. Malloy seemed very determined to solve the case, and you were certain he would.”
“He was ordered to stop the investigation,” Sarah said, trying not to sound bitter. “I’m very much afraid no one will ever find out who killed Emilia.”
Mrs. Wells closed her eyes as a spasm of pain twisted her features. It was the first strong emotion Sarah had seen her display, and it lasted only a moment. Then she lowered her head, and Sarah realized she must be praying. Even though she hadn’t betrayed her grief at Emilia’s death, Sarah now knew she had been concealing her true emotions, holding them tightly in check as well-bred females were expected to do. Perhaps she had been hurt so many times, she could no longer allow herself to feel the true depths of anguish and loss at all. Even still, losing Emilia was a blow, and her grief was just as real as if she’d collapsed on the floor in hysterics.
When she raised her head, Sarah saw how fragile was her self-control and how strained the smile she managed. Her eyes were moist with unshed tears. “We must accept God’s will,” she said softly, as if trying to convince herself. Obviously, she wasn’t as resigned to Emilia’s death as she’d wanted Sarah to believe.
“The question is, will you accept me?” Sarah asked. “I couldn’t do anything for Emilia, but perhaps I can help the next girl. I’d like the chance to try.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Brandt,” she said, shedding her grief by force of will. “We would be honored to have you here.”
Frank shouldn’t have felt guilty. He didn’t have any reason to feel guilty. Nobody could find Emilia Donato’s killer. Even if someone knew something, the Italians didn’t trust the police. They’d carry a secret like that to their graves before sharing it with the cops. All things considered, the killer had probably spared the girl a life of misery anyway. Not that he approved of murder, of course, but some deaths were more tragic than others. This girl’s was less tragic than most.
And it wasn’t that he’d just given up or anything. He’d been ordered to close the case. He could lose his job if he disobeyed. Which was why he didn’t feel guilty, not a bit.
He just wished he could forget the expression on Sarah Brandt’s face when he’d told her they’d never find Emilia’s killer.
So now he was back in the alley where he’d found the mysterious Danny, the boy who supposedly knew who’d killed Sarah’s husband. This time he’d brought some help, though. He’d had to hunt down these two cops from the night watch and wake them up. When things were quiet, the beat cops found a safe hideyhole and nodded off. They weren’t too happy about being disturbed, but since he could’ve reported them for sleeping on duty and Commissioner Teddy Roosevelt had been cracking down on malingerers on the force, they weren’t complaining too much.
“You sure he’s back? I ain’t seen him around,” one of the cops asked as they groped their way through the alley to the rear of the tenements.
“He’s back,” Frank said with more confidence than he had a right to feel. What he knew for sure was that somebody was living in the hovel where he’d found Danny the last time. An empty space where no one would charge rent, no matter how humble, wouldn’t stay vacant for long. Probably the most he could hope for was that someone inside would know where to find Danny now. A slim possibility, to be sure, but the only one he had.
Frank cursed as he tripped over a drunk sleeping it off in the alley. “Light your lantern,” he told one of the cops irritably. “We’ll need to see who’s in the house.”
After some fumbling and some more cursing, the cop got the lantern lit. It made an eerie glow in the shadowy courtyard, revealing more sleeping forms on the ground here and there, drunks taking advantage of the relative shelter.
Frank sent one of the cops around behind the shanty in case someone tried to create a new exit through the rear wall when the trouble started. Then he stationed the other cop on one side of the crude doorway, holding the lantern up to illuminate the inmates, and he took the other side himself. When they were in position, he nodded to the cop with the lantern. The fellow raised his nightstick and pounded on the door, nearly shattering the flimsy structure with the force of his blow.
“Police!” he shouted. “Everybody out!”
The other cop began pounding on the back wall of the structure to hurry the evacuation process along.
The place came alive like a disturbed beehive. Shouts and screams and the sounds of bodies thudding against walls and each other erupted from within. In another second, the door swung open and small forms spewed out, arms covering heads to ward off blows from the dreaded locusts. They ran in every direction, disappearing into the darkness.
Frank waited like a patient fisherman, letting the little ones go. Finally, a larger figure emerged. The cop brought down his locust, and the taller boy fell to his knees with a cry of pain. He wasn’t Danny, but Frank grabbed him and dragged him out of the way, holding on to the limp form in case he was only faking injury. They watched until the last of the children had vanished, but Danny didn’t come out. Frank sent the cop with the lantern inside to make sure no one else was lingering, then he jerked his prisoner to his feet and slammed him up against the wall of the hovel.
The cop shone the lantern light directly in the boy’s face. He squinted in pain, but Frank recognized him as the one who had sliced his arm so Danny could escape. “Do you remember me, b’hoyo?” Frank asked menacingly.
The boy blinked, trying to focus, but having little success. He stank of beer, among other things, and the blow from the cop’s locust had scattered whatever brains he’d had left.
“Let’s take him down to Headquarters so he can think about his situation for a little while,” Frank suggested and turned him over to the two cops. They each took an arm and began dragging the protesting boy toward the alley that led to the street.
Frank followed, absently rubbing the cut on his arm. The stitches still itched like crazy. His mother said that was a good sign, but it didn’t feel good. It just made him angry. This kid would bear the brunt of his anger. Frank couldn’t help hoping the boy didn’t betray Danny too quickly.
Mrs. Wells had scheduled Sarah’s first class for Tuesday morning. The girls had entered the classroom quietly, almost hesitantly. She could see their wariness and suspicion. Like stray dogs who had been kicked too many times, they trusted no one. The red-haired girl, Maeve, was the worst of all. She glared at Sarah with undisguised animosity.
Sarah forced herself to keep smiling, as if she sensed nothing amiss. At least they were paying attention, she thought, painfully aware of their unblinking stares as she began her lesson. At first they seemed to be afraid to react, but then Sarah said something especially silly, just to test them. Someone in the back giggled, quickly slapping a hand over her mouth as if afraid of being reprimanded, but Sarah laughed, too, and soon they were all laughing. All except Maeve, who continued to glare.