mentioned someone she was afraid of,” he suggested.
“No, never,” her mother insisted. “She does not tell us anything. Except…”
“Except what?” he asked when she hesitated.
She was thinking, remembering. “There was a photograph…”
Frank couldn’t believe he would be this lucky. “A photograph of what?”
“Of Lisle. And some other people. In a boat, I think. I do not know when she would have been in a boat. She tried to hide it, but nothing is private here. That is what she always says. The other children, they get into her things, so she cannot keep anything a secret. She cries to me about it, but what can I do?”
“It’s hard in a place so small,” Frank agreed. “And the other children found this photograph?”
“Yes. Her brothers teased her about it, but she said she did not care because she did not like the man anymore. She told them to burn the picture. I think she said it because she knew they would not hurt it if they thought she didn’t care. They kept it to tease her, though.”
“Do you know where it is now?” The chances that it would help him were very slim, but he was willing to take even the smallest clue.
“No, I-”
“It could be very important.”
“Do you think it could help find who did this?”
“It might.”
“I will try to find it.”
SARAH HEARD A baby squalling as she climbed the stairs. The cry was loud and strong, a good sign if it was coming from the Ottos’ flat. The door was open, and Agnes was moving around, preparing dinner while she bounced the wailing baby on her hip.
“She’s really growing,” Sarah said from the doorway.
Agnes turned around, obviously startled. Her eyes widened with what looked like alarm. “The baby, she is fine,” she said, offering her for Sarah’s inspection. “You do not need to worry about her anymore. There is no reason for you to come here.”
Indeed, the child was plump and much healthier looking than she’d been the last time Sarah was allowed to see her.
“Sounds like she’s hungry,” Sarah suggested.
“I will feed her as soon as I am done here. Lars wants his supper on the table when he comes home.”
Oh, yes, she had forgotten about the charming Mr. Otto. “I won’t keep you. I was just wondering… Perhaps you heard that another girl was murdered last night.”
Agnes’s eyes grew large, and she murmured something that sounded like a prayer in German. Then she noticed her other two children, who had come from the other room to see who their visitor was. She spoke to them sharply in German, and they retreated. Then she turned back to Sarah. “I did not know. Who was it?”
“Gerda’s friend Lisle.”
Agnes paled, and she sank down into one of the chairs. She was murmuring in German again. The baby was wailing louder now, and Agnes automatically unbuttoned her shirtwaist and offered her breast.
“It was the same? The same as Gerda?” she asked, not quite meeting Sarah’s eye.
Sarah hardly heard the question. She was too busy looking at the nasty bruise on Agnes’s chest, right above her breast.
Seeing Sarah staring, she quickly pulled her shirtwaist to cover it. “My skin makes the black spots so easy,” she said self-consciously. “Is that the reason why you come here? Just to tell me about Lisle?”
It made her sound so cold. “No, not exactly. I wanted to pay my condolences to Bertha and Hetty, but I don’t know where they live. I thought maybe you could help me.”
She seemed relieved and gave Sarah an address on Seventh Street. “That is where Hetty lives. I do not know about Bertha. Please, you must go now. Lars will be home soon, and he does not want you here.”
How well Sarah remembered. “I brought some gifts for the children,” she said. “Just some toys,” she added when Agnes would have objected.
“I cannot take them,” she said, her eyes frightened again. “Lars would want to know where they came from. He would be angry. Please, you must go now.” She sounded almost desperate.
Sarah was beginning to understand. How she could have been so dense, she had no idea. Agnes was afraid of her husband, and probably for good reason, if the bruise had come from his hand, as Sarah strongly suspected. Well, she certainly didn’t want to be the cause of another beating.
“I understand,” she said. “Thank you for the information. I’m glad to see the baby is doing so well.”
Agnes’s eyes begged her to be gone, so she turned to go, but just as she reached the door, Agnes called, “Do they know…? Do they know who the killer is yet?” She could hardly get the words out.
Sarah was only too happy to be able to ease her mind, if only a little bit. “We have a good idea. I think it won’t be long until he’s arrested.”
She’d expected Agnes to be relieved. Instead, she looked alarmed, almost frightened. “You know who it is?”
“Yes, or at least we’re fairly sure it’s a man named Will. Gerda and the other girls all met a man named Will just before they died.”
“Will?” She repeated the name carefully. “You are sure?”
“As sure as we can be without catching him in the act,” Sarah said, exaggerating slightly.
Agnes closed her eyes for a moment, as if offering a silent prayer. Perhaps she was giving thanks that Gerda’s killer would soon be caught. “Thank you,” she said when she opened her eyes again.
Sarah marveled at Agnes’s gratitude, but she also remembered that Lars would be home soon and wouldn’t be happy to find her there. “Send for me if you need me,” she said, and left. Moving more quickly than she ordinarily would have, she felt a strong sense of relief when she reached the street without encountering Lars Otto.
Good thing for him, too. She wasn’t certain she could have been civil to him just then. She could be wrong, of course, but if he was responsible for the bruise she’d seen on Agnes, he was despicable. And now she also remembered how Agnes had clutched at her side the last time Sarah was here. Could that have been another injury inflicted by her husband? She’d seen too many abused wives to be shocked, but she would never be complacent about that kind of violence. She always had an urge to go after men like that with a bullwhip, although she was well aware of the irony of her desire to punish violence with violence. Not that she would ever have the opportunity to punish anyone, but she could enjoy her fantasies all the same.
In the meantime, she had a grim job to do.
SARAH EASILY FOUND the address that Agnes had given her, but Hetty wasn’t at home. The woman who answered the door, whom Sarah guessed was Hetty’s mother, looked Sarah up and down suspiciously before giving her that information.
“I’m Sarah Brandt,” she said, as if that would impress the woman somehow. “I just heard about Hetty’s friend being killed, and I wanted to express my condolences. Do you know where-?”
“She’ll be with Bertha. The two of them was carrying on so loud, I made them leave. Don’t know where they went.”
“Could they have gone to Bertha’s?”
The woman shrugged a shoulder, indicating she had no idea and cared less. Sarah was able to convince her to give her the address, however. A few minutes later she was walking down Avenue A and found Hetty and Bertha sitting on the front stoop of one of the tenement buildings. They were no longer “carrying on,” but they were slumped against each other, their young faces ravaged by tears. They were the very picture of despair.
“Hello,” she greeted them gently.
Bertha looked up and her red-rimmed eyes widened in surprise. “It’s Mrs. Brandt,” she said, poking Hetty in the ribs.
The other girl looked up without much interest, then slowly her expression hardened into anger. “You did this to her. You killed Lisle!”
“What?” Sarah asked in surprise.
“You made her lead that policeman to George, and now he’s done for her just like he did for Gerda!”
