Dirk was grinning as they walked away. “Did you really think that fellow would know who you were talking about?”
Sarah didn’t know what she’d thought. Every time she believed she’d come up with a plan to find the killer, she realized the depths of her ignorance. Malloy would be laughing in her face for being so naive. Her one comfort was that he would never know how stupid she had been.
“Do you plan to ask every man who works here at the park if they know this Will person?” Dirk asked, his amusement all too evident. “Shall we stop here at the freak show? I’m sure the barker would be more than happy to answer any questions.”
Sarah glared at him, but that only amused him more. “I don’t think the killer is a freak,” she informed him. “Or at least he doesn’t look like one. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to attract the attentions of young women.”
“You’re right! Maybe we should try asking if anyone has seen a normal-looking man named Will, then. Someone who doesn’t look like a killer. That should help a lot.”
Sarah sighed wearily. “You’ve made your point. It’s hopeless. I can see that.”
“Oh, perhaps not hopeless. Simply futile,” Dirk allowed graciously.
Sarah wanted to smack him, especially because he was right. Asking if anyone knew this Will was a waste of time. She wasn’t even sure Gerda had known the man named Will. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that the key was here, in Coney Island. If only she could find it.
“Shall we move on then?” Dirk asked, his charm back in place. “What would you like to do next?”
Sarah allowed him to lead her on through the park.
Malloy had won her a prize with his marksmanship, but Dirk had no such skill. Instead, he tried to impress her on the Hi-Striker machine, the one that tested a man’s strength. He removed his jacket-today he had chosen to dress conservatively, probably in deference to her-and handed it to Sarah to hold.
“Dirk, this isn’t necessary,” she protested.
“Of course it is,” he replied with that grotesquely boyish grin. “I’ll take three chances,” he told the barker, who removed the coins from his hand so quickly, Sarah hardly saw his fingers move.
Dirk turned back his cuffs, as if preparing to do a hard day’s work, and he spit on his palms and rubbed them together, probably because he’d seen someone else do it and thought it looked manly. Then he picked up the huge hammer.
Lifting the thing was a challenge in itself. Sarah supposed that kept children from making a pest of themselves, trying to ring the bell. If they couldn’t lift the hammer, they couldn’t play the game.
Dirk raised the huge thing up over his head with practiced ease and brought it down with a crash. The weight rose up more than halfway, then fell back down with a thud. The crowd murmured its disappointment.
“Look at the gentleman here,” the barker shouted. “Out to win his lady a prize. Look how far he got it. Just a little more, sir, just a little more’ll do it! Ring the bell and win, you pick any of the prizes! Step right up, folks! Watch the gentleman win his lady a prize! Try your luck! You there, young fellow, you could do this with one hand tied behind your back!”
Sarah watched as Dirk lifted the hammer again, swinging it in an arc over his head and bringing it down onto the strike plate with a crash. The weight rose up and up, and Sarah found herself rising on her tiptoes, as if by stretching herself, she could help it reach the top. But it stopped just short and slid back down to the bottom again. The crowd moaned.
They were breathless with anticipation now. They started to cheer Dirk on, encouraging him to try again. He flashed Sarah a grin, enjoying the attention. She felt a little foolish, but she was calling out encouragement, too.
The obnoxious barker was whipping up the crowd’s enthusiasm, urging everyone within shouting distance to come and watch. Sarah found it odd that he would be as interested in seeing someone win as the rest of them were, but then she realized that if Dirk won, a dozen more men would be encouraged to try their skill and prove themselves at least as good as he. Few of them would succeed, and the barker would still have their money.
Dirk waited, rubbing his hands together, shaking his arms to loosen the muscles, playing his part to perfection, until the barker had the crowd whipped into a frenzy of anticipation. The look Dirk cast Sarah was one of pride. He was doing this for her, to impress her in some way, or perhaps simply to prove that he had a sort of power. Probably, he had used this tactic to impress his shop girls. The young girls in the crowd were certainly awed. He did look imposing, standing there in the center of the crowd, ready to master the fearsome machine.
He seemed to sense the perfect moment, the time when all eyes who could be on him were. Then he started swinging the hammer again. Back and forth, building up a rhythm, building up momentum. That was when Sarah realized that he had known how to get the bell to ring all along. He could have done so on the very first try, but no one would have been watching. He had to tease it along for a while, until he had the crowd in his thrall. The barker was nearly hysterical, ranting and chanting, the meaning of his words lost to the delirium of excitement building around them.
Sarah watched in fascination as Dirk finally swung the huge hammer up over his head and brought it down with a resounding smack that sent the small weight sailing up and up and up until it struck the bell with a clang that set the crowd to cheering wildly.
Men were slapping him on the back and shaking his hand. Women were gazing at him in admiration. And Sarah was taking it all in with a combination of amazement and amusement. Anyone would think Dirk had just accomplished something important, like saving someone’s life or bringing peace to warring nations, instead of just using brute strength to ring a bell.
No one was interested in Sarah’s opinion, however, so she stood back, still holding Dirk’s jacket, while he finished receiving his accolades. The barker encouraged him to select his prize while the crowd was still interested. He wanted to remind everyone that there was a higher purpose in ringing the bell. The satisfaction of achievement was only part of it. But Dirk finally remembered Sarah, and he insisted she make the selection.
The prizes were cheap trinkets, glass beads and small toys. Sarah thought of Malloy’s son, but she knew he wouldn’t appreciate her bringing Brian a prize Dirk Schyler had won for her. Then she remembered Gerda Reinhard’s nieces and nephew. She chose a small rag doll. She could purchase toys for the other children, and deliver them next time she was in the neighborhood. Perhaps that would gain her admittance to the Otto home.
Dirk was still teasing her about her selection of a prize when they came to the Old Mill ride. “What does this do?” Sarah asked.
“Let’s get on and find out,” Dirk suggested.
Sarah could think of no reason to refuse, so they got in line and quickly made their way to the front. They were seated in a boat which began drifting down a man-made stream toward the opening of a tunnel, much like the Shoot-the-Chutes tunnel. A mill wheel turned picturesquely in the water, and over the entrance of the tunnel, Sarah saw a tableau of scantily clad girls performing some kind of spring Maypole dance.
“Oh, my,” she said, a little shocked at how suggestive the picture was.
“People come to Coney Island to be shocked,” Dirk explained cheerfully as their boat was swallowed up into the darkness of the tunnel.
Before Sarah could think of a suitable reply, she was shocked once more. Dirk took her roughly in his arms and covered her mouth with his.