Sarah had to endure a cursory search of her purse and her person before being admitted to the women’s section of the jail. Once in the cell block, she was surprised to find the prisoners sitting not in their cells but out in the open hallway that ran between them. The women were engaged in various pursuits, some sewing or knitting or doing other handwork, others just gossiping, and one was even reading what appeared to be a Bible. Except for the surroundings, they might have been women gathered in a public place in any city or town. They all looked up with interest when Sarah came in, perhaps hoping she was a friend or relation who had come to visit them.
Even when they’d satisfied their curiosity and realized she was a stranger to them, they still continued to stare. Probably any visitor at all was a novelty.
“Who’re you here to see, miss?” the matron asked her. She was a large, coarse-looking woman, but her eyes were kind. Or at least courteous.
“I’m here to see Mrs. Giddings,” Sarah said, hoping she wouldn’t have to confess she’d never even set eyes on the woman before, which was why she needed assistance.
“Oh, she’s still in her cell, miss. Won’t come out with the others. Just lays on her bunk. She hasn’t eat nothing, either. Most of ’em are like that at first, not eating and hiding in their cells, but she’s worse than usual. It’ll be good for her to see a familiar face. Maybe you can cheer her up some.”
Sarah certainly wasn’t a familiar face, and she didn’t know if she could cheer the woman up or not, but she was certainly willing to try. “Which cell is hers?”
The cells were little more than small caves carved out of the granite walls. Only five by nine feet, the room was illuminated by what little sunlight stole in through a small slit cut high in the wall. The barred door was forbidding, but it hung open, as did the doors to all the cells. Unsure of the etiquette of jail visits and seeing no place to knock, Sarah stepped just inside the doorway and said, “Mrs. Giddings?”
The figure huddled on the narrow bed stirred a bit, and a pale face appeared from beneath the folds of the blanket. “Who are you?” she asked dully. Fortunately, the matron had stepped away and didn’t hear this question.
“I’m Sarah Brandt. You don’t know me. I’m a friend of Nelson Ellsworth’s.”
“Who’s Nelson Ellsworth?” she asked without much interest.
“He’s the man who was originally suspected of killing Anna Blake. She was blackmailing him, too.”
“Oh. That banker. In the newspapers.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve been trying to help find the real killer so he could clear his name.”
Sarah couldn’t make out Mrs. Giddings’s expression in the dim light, but she didn’t seem very impressed. “Did you come here just to look at me then?” she asked bitterly.
“No,” Sarah said. “I came here to find out if you really killed Anna Blake.”
This finally got her full attention. She pushed herself up on one elbow. Her hair was disheveled and falling out of its pins, and her eyes were bloodshot and sunken. “Who sent you here?”
“No one sent me,” Sarah said. “I came to see you because I want to make sure you’re really guilty.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would I say so if I didn’t do it?” she asked.
Sarah didn’t want to answer that question herself. Instead, she said, “Did you know that Mr. Malloy did not believe your son killed her?”
“What?” She pushed herself up to a sitting position and brushed the strands of hair out of her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m also a friend of Mr. Malloy, the police detective who arrested you. He told me he realized after questioning the boy that he hadn’t killed her. And then you confessed.”
Mrs. Giddings rubbed her eyes as if trying to clear her vision. “He was going to arrest Harold. I could see that.”
“No, he wasn’t. He knew the boy was innocent.”
“Since when does that stop the police from arresting someone?” she asked angrily. “I know what they do to people. They beat them until they confess, guilty or not.”
“Mr. Malloy doesn’t arrest innocent people,” Sarah said. “And he wasn’t going to arrest your son, even if you hadn’t confessed.”
“But he was asking him all those questions!” she argued.
“To find out if he could have done it. Mr. Malloy also suspected that you confessed to protect your son.”
“Of course I did! I couldn’t let him put Harold in a place like this, could I? He’s just a boy!”
Plainly, Mrs. Giddings was on the verge of a nervous collapse, and Sarah didn’t want to push her too far, but she had to learn the truth. “I know you confessed, but did you really kill Anna Blake?”
“What kind of a question is that? Are you trying to trick me?”
“Not at all,” Sarah assured her. “I just want to make sure we have the right person in jail. Because if you didn’t kill her, the real killer is still walking free.”
“Where’s Harold?” she asked, suspicious again.
“I don’t know.”
“Is he in jail, too?”
“Of course not. I told you, Mr. Malloy doesn’t arrest innocent people.” She wasn’t going to find out what she needed to know this way. She decided to try a different tactic. “Mrs. Giddings, how long did you wait outside of Anna Blake’s house before she came out that night?”
Mrs. Giddings stared at her for a long moment, either formulating her answer or trying to decide whether to reply or not. At last she said, “Not very long. I was just waiting for Harold to get well away. I didn’t want him to see me and know I’d followed him there. Then I saw her come out.”
“How did you know it was she?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, had you met Miss Blake before?”
“Certainly not!”
“Then how did you know the woman who came out of the house was Anna Blake?” Sarah pressed.
“I… Who else could it have been?” she countered defensively.
Sarah decided not to answer that question. “Why had you carried a knife with you?”
“I… I thought I might need it.”
“Then you’d
“Yes, yes, that’s it,” she said almost eagerly. “I was planning to kill her, so I took the knife with me.”
“What kind of a knife was it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what kind of a knife was it? Where did you get it? How big was it? Where did you carry it? When did you pull it out? Did you stop Anna Blake and try to talk to her first? Did you tell her who you were? Did you ask her to leave your husband alone? Did you beg her to give back the money she’d taken from him?”
“Stop it! Stop!” she cried, covering her ears.
“What’s the matter, Mrs. Giddings? Don’t you know the answers to those questions? The real killer would!”
“I do! I do! I just can’t think!”
“Then take some time to think. Where were you when you stabbed Anna Blake?”
She looked up, suddenly confident. “Under the hanging tree in Washington Square, just where they found her.”
“Why didn’t anyone notice you stabbing another woman to death in broad daylight?”
“I… No one was around. We were alone there, under the tree. She laughed and said she’d never give my husband up. I couldn’t help myself. I stabbed her.”
“And she fell down dead?” Sarah asked.
“Yes, that’s right. Right where they found her.”
“What did you do with the knife?”
“I don’t know, I… I dropped it, I think. Yes, that’s right. I dropped it somewhere. I don’t remember where.”
Sarah was aware that some of the women had begun to gather outside Mrs. Giddings’s cell to listen to this curious exchange. She only hoped the matron wouldn’t come over and order her out for upsetting a prisoner or something. She took a step closer to where the woman sat on the bunk.
