Mrs. Schyler’s face had gone white. Sarah was wondering if she should summon a servant to fetch some smelling salts, but before she could, Mrs. Schyler disabused her of the notion that she was about to faint.
“Are you telling me my son died from a fall from a… what did you call it?”
“A Ferris wheel,” Sarah explained patiently. “It’s an amusement-park ride. It’s a large wheel, about a hundred feet high, that goes around. It has cars that people sit in-”
“And you made Dirk ride on this… this
“Actually, it was his idea to ride on it,” Sarah said. She wanted to add that he’d intended to push her off of it, too, but that would accomplish nothing.
“Nonsense,” his mother insisted for the second time that evening. “My son would never choose to do anything so common. I’m sure he never visited this Coney Island place before he met you, either. How will we ever explain this to our friends?”
She seemed outraged. Sarah had seen unusual reactions to grief in her time, and anger was fairly common. Blaming the messenger was also fairly common. She tried not to be insulted. She had, however, expected at least a rudimentary form of grief. “It does seem a rather unpleasant way to die, but I assure you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of-”
“Ashamed! How dare you even suggest such a thing! You, who are nothing more than a fortune hunter who tried to trap my Dirk into marriage and ended up killing him instead!”
The truth burned inside of Sarah, but she knew Mrs. Schyler would never believe her now. On the contrary, she’d accuse Sarah of making up lies about Dirk to cover her own guilt. She reached into her purse and pulled out a slip of paper. “I’ve written the name and address of the doctor in Coney Island. You may send someone there for Dirk… Dirk’s remains. I’m very sorry, Mrs. Schyler.” She laid the slip of paper on the table between them.
“Sorry! You haven’t begun to know the meaning of the word! I’ll ruin you! No other respectable man will ever speak to you again!”
Sarah didn’t bother to point out that hardly any respectable men spoke to her now, in the course of an average day. “I’ll see myself out,” she said, rising from her chair and only too happy to put an end to this conversation.
Mrs. Schyler wasn’t finished, but Sarah didn’t listen to the rest of what she was saying. Or rather, shrieking. She’d already heard enough. At least she had a better understanding now of what might have inspired Dirk to kill women. It was small comfort.
“OH, MY DEAR, what on earth is wrong?” Mrs. Elsworth exclaimed when she saw Sarah coming down the street that evening. “I dropped a pair of scissors today, and the point stuck in the floor. That always means bad news. It’s not another lost little one, I hope!”
“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Sarah assured her.
“Is it something to do with that fellow I saw you with this morning? I knew he was trouble the moment I set eyes on him! I warned you, didn’t I?”
Sarah only wished she could tell Mrs. Elsworth just how right she’d been. “Dirk won’t be any trouble to anyone ever again,” she said, knowing at least a small measure of relief at the thought of how many young women would be safe now that he was dead.
“Oh, my, that sounds serious,” she said, coming down the steps she’d been sweeping to meet Sarah in the street. “From the looks of you, it is, too!”
Sarah toyed with the idea of telling her the fable she’d invented to protect Dirk’s family, but she no longer had the stomach for it. “You were right, Mrs. Elsworth, he was an evil man. Today he was trying to frighten me on one of the rides at Coney Island, and he accidentally fell to his death.”
“Good heavens! You poor dear! You must be devastated!”
“Not exactly,” Sarah admitted, “but I am exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, I’d-”
“Let me take you inside and make you a cup of tea. I’ve got some lamb stew left from supper. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten, either. No matter, I’ll take care of you.”
“I’d really rather just go home and-”
“Of course, dear, go on. I’ll be over in a minute with something to eat.”
Sarah was too tired to argue. She let Mrs. Elsworth feed her and put her to bed, where she dreamed of the faceless man who had killed Gerda Reinhard.
THE NEXT DAY Sarah visited her mother, knowing she would soon hear of Dirk’s death and demand to know the details. Their visit was a trial for Sarah. Her mother assumed she had been romantically interested in him, and nothing she could say would convince her that she wasn’t grief-stricken at his loss. At least she had no trouble explaining why she wouldn’t be attending Dirk’s funeral. Sarah knew it was because she wouldn’t be welcome by his family, but she allowed her mother to believe it would be too difficult for her.
That evening, Sarah took advantage of the coolness of the evening to weed her garden. That’s where Malloy found her.
“Your neighbor told me where you were,” he explained when he came through the back gate.
Sarah rose from where she’d been kneeling and pulled off her work gloves. She felt a little self-conscious to be dressed in the shabby gown she used for cleaning, but she reminded herself she had no need to impress Malloy. “Have you found out anything?”
He didn’t look very pleased. “I found out that Schyler really was entertaining his friends the night Gerda Reinhard was killed. There’s no chance that he killed her.”
“Damn,” Sarah said, throwing her gloves down in disgust.
“Mrs. Brandt, I’m shocked,” he said, pretending to be.
“Shut up, Malloy. You’re as annoyed as I am about this!”
“You’re right, I am. I wanted him to be the killer, and it looks like he was, but not in this case.”
Sarah sighed. “Come and sit down. Mrs. Elsworth brought over a bottle of homemade elderberry wine last night. I think we deserve a glass, don’t you?”
“Homemade, did you say?” Malloy asked, following her to the back porch. “My opinion of the old bat just went up a notch.”
Sarah smiled in spite of herself. It was the first time she’d felt like smiling since Dirk had plunged to his death.
When they were seated at the table on her back porch with glasses of wine in front of them, Sarah said, “What do we do now?”
Malloy stared out at the garden for a long moment. “I’m not sure we can do anything at all. We’re right back to where we started-too many suspects to even hope to find the right one. And now so much time has passed that any chance we might have had of finding the killer are pretty much gone.”
He was right, of course. They were back to suspecting every man Gerda had known, and that was a lot of men. Even if Malloy had the time and resources to question all of them, there was no way of proving which one of them-if any of them!-had actually killed her unless he chose to confess, which seemed highly unlikely. She may have even been the victim of a total stranger, someone she didn’t know at all, which meant that all the investigation in the world probably wouldn’t find him.
“How do you deal with it?” she asked him. “With knowing that a killer is walking free and there’s nothing you can do, I mean?”
His dark gaze met hers. His eyes were unfathomable. Finally, he said, “How do you deal with it when one of your patients dies?”
There was, of course, no answer to his question. She simply went on, learning from past mistakes and doing the best she could in the future. Now she understood that he did, too.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping their wine. It was very good, and after a while Malloy poured himself a second glass without asking, then refilled her glass, too. Perhaps it was the wine that gave her courage.
“How did your wife die, Malloy?”
She felt the instant tension, but she waited, refusing to take back her question.
“I told you,” he finally said. “A midwife killed her.”
“What happened exactly?”
At first she thought he wouldn’t answer, but she waited, giving him time. Her patience was rewarded.
“It was a difficult birth. After three days, the baby still hadn’t come.”
