“It won’t be mine,” Sarah assured her, wondering with amusement if anything ever happened to Mrs. Elsworth that didn’t have some sinister interpretation. “But I’ll be careful.”
“See that you are. And watch out for those infernal bicyclists. Did you see the story in the
Sarah promised again to be careful and managed to escape without hearing about any other superstitions.
By the time she reached Gramercy Park, she had settled on an excuse for her visit to Mrs. Petrovka. She would say she was consulting her because one of her patients had requested the services of someone like Petrovka, but Sarah wasn’t certain the procedure could still be performed so late in the pregnancy. This, she thought, would be a natural opening for mentioning Alicia’s case. Not that she expected Petrovka to bring it up, but Sarah certainly intended to.
Petrovka’s house was small but meticulously kept. The steps were swept clean, and the windows sparkled. Behind them, Sarah could see lace curtains, and the door fittings were solid brass. Emma Petrovka had made a very comfortable life for herself out of the misfortunes of others.
Steeling herself for a confrontation with a woman she despised, Sarah lifted the knocker and let it fall. She waited a reasonable time before knocking again, louder and more insistently this time. Apparently, no one was home. Disappointed, Sarah had decided she would have to come back later, but as she was turning away she noticed something about the front curtain she hadn’t seen before. One edge was pulled away from the window, as if someone was peering out, except when she looked more closely, no one was there. The curtain seemed to be caught at an odd angle on a piece of furniture. Curious now, Sarah leaned over the porch railing for a better view, and what she saw made her gasp.
Galvanized now, she tried the door, something she would never have dreamed of doing before, and to her surprise, it opened under her hand. Later she would realize she should have been afraid, but at the moment, all she could think of was trying to help.
The door opened into a center hallway. Stairs went up to the second floor and the parlor opened off to the right. The pocket doors stood open, and now Sarah could see clearly what she had only glimpsed through the window. Emma Petrovka lay sprawled on the parlor floor, and for all her intentions of coming to the woman’s aid, Sarah saw instantly that her help was no longer needed.
FRANK COULDN’T BELIEVE this. He gazed down at the mound of Emma Petrovka’s body and frowned. The bruises on her throat were just like those on Alicia VanDamm’s. Which only meant that they’d both been strangled in the same way, not necessarily that they’d been strangled by the same person.
Frank could imagine that the woman hadn’t had a friend in the world, but he also couldn’t imagine anyone hating her enough to kill her in such a personal way. Except, of course, Alicia’s killer. If Petrovka really had known who the killer was, it was only natural he’d want her dead, and he could want her dead so badly, he might have surrendered to the impulse to murder a second time. What Frank couldn’t figure out was why he’d waited until now to get rid of her. Obviously, it wasn’t because he knew Sarah and Frank knew about her, because no one had known that but the two of them.
He found Sarah Brandt sitting in the dining room. She was alone at the large mahogany table, her hands folded primly, her expression grim.
He was a little annoyed at her for asking for him by name. Actually, she’d insisted that the officers send for him, making such a fuss that the whole department would probably be talking about it. They would want to know why she’d insisted that he come instead of another detective, but he supposed he could explain it away. Nobody but them needed to know Petrovka’s death was connected to the VanDamm killing, so they could just say she asked for him because she knew him from the other case. Or maybe Frank could make them believe she was sweet on him. At least it would give them something else to talk about.
“You still think it’s safe to go looking for a killer in the daylight?” he asked her softly so none of the other officers would overhear.
She gave him a mutinous look. “You don’t know she was killed in the daytime,” she whispered back.
“Seems likely. Unless abortionists are used to getting cases in the middle of the night, too. It looks like she opened the door to whoever it was willingly, so most likely it wasn’t the middle of the night. And if she opened the door to him, she must not have thought she had any reason to be afraid.”
“So she wasn’t afraid of Alicia’s killer, which makes it likely she didn’t even know Alicia had been murdered.” She frowned. “If only I’d come yesterday. Maybe…”
“Maybe you’d be dead, too. And you didn’t know about her yesterday.”
“How long has she been dead? Do you have any proof she died this morning?”
“In this heat, the body would’ve spoiled if she’d been dead longer than a few hours. And she’s still stiff. After death, the body-”
“I know about
“Do you feel up to going through her things?” he asked. “Maybe we can find something.”
She looked up in surprise. “What would we be looking for?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the curette they had found in Alicia’s room. “To see if she’s missing this.”
Her eyes lighted with instant comprehension. “Of course! Why didn’t I think of that?”
She was on her feet instantly. “Her examining room is in the back. That’s the most logical place to start.”
The killer hadn’t disturbed anything in the house, probably because he knew there would be no evidence here linking him to Petrovka, or even to Alicia’s murder so long as Petrovka was dead and couldn’t identify him. The examining room was spotlessly clean and in perfect order. Mrs. Brandt began a systematic search, going through each drawer and cabinet as thoroughly as he would have himself. Frank couldn’t help but think how she’d changed since the day he’d forced her to look through Alicia’s things. She’d been so hesitant then, but now… He’d make a detective of her yet.
“What’s so funny, Malloy?” she wanted to know when she looked up and caught him staring.
“Nothing’s funny,” he said sobering instantly. “A woman has been murdered.”
She wasn’t fooled. “Am I doing this wrong?”
Perversely, he wanted to tell her she was, but he couldn’t lie. “Not at all. Couldn’t do it better myself.”
“Then why don’t you help?” she snapped. “Start on that side of the room.”
“What am I looking for?”
“The instruments will probably be rolled up in a soft cloth and tied.”
Malloy was the one who found them. They were just as she had said, in a drawer. The cloth was black, and when he untied the string holding it, it rolled out to reveal a set of instruments similar to the one he’d found in Alicia VanDamm’s room the morning after her death. The sizes were graduated, and each instrument was in its own individual pocket. One of the pockets was empty.
“Did you find it?” she asked, hurrying over to see.
He handed her the curette from his pocket. “Is this the one missing?”
She examined the curettes in the set, pulling them out and holding them to the light, then comparing them with the one they’d found. “Yes,” she decided. “It matches the others, and it’s the size that’s missing. This proves Emma Petrovka must have been the one in Alicia’s room that night.”
“For all the good that does us,” he said.
She sighed, a sad sound. Frank had forgotten how forlorn a woman’s sigh could be. “I don’t suppose you’ve found Mr. Fisher yet, have you?”
“He wasn’t in when I called this morning,” he said, “but that’s not unusual. Nobody stays around a flophouse during the day. I’ll check back late tonight.”
“He’s the last one alive who knows who went to Alicia’s room that night. What happens if you don’t find him?”
He could see from the look in her eyes that she already knew the answer, but he said it anyway. “Then we might never find out who killed Alicia VanDamm.”
