Victoria Thompson - Murder on St. Mark’s place

“They’re hardly likely to remember,” Sarah pointed out. “Except for Gerda, the killings happened weeks and even months ago.”

“You’re right. The average person won’t remember where he was on a particular evening even just a week ago, at least not without giving the manner some serious thought. But the killer will know exactly where he was on those evenings. Unless he’s very clever, he’ll make up alibis for those evenings. He’ll pretend to remember exactly where he was those nights and give me an elaborate story to explain it.”

Sarah was amazed. “So being clever can be a trap in itself.”

“If the police are even more clever.”

He was enjoying this too much. “But what if the killer is very smart, too. What if he’s smart enough to know he shouldn’t be able to remember where he was on a particular night three months ago?”

“Killers aren’t that smart, Mrs. Brandt. If they were, they wouldn’t be killers.”

Sarah certainly hoped he was right, but so far the killer had behaved with unusual intelligence. He’d chosen girls whose deaths would excite no interest in the police and who moved in social circles where they encountered numerous unfamiliar males. He’d killed them far enough apart that no one noticed the connection between the deaths until now, and that was only by accident. He may even have given his victims a false name or made certain the victims’ friends didn’t see them together. If no one knew they were acquainted, then no one could name him as a suspect. But Malloy had said killers weren’t that smart, or they wouldn’t be killers in the first place. She clung to that.

Looking over the list, she saw the name George was on three of the lists. “I don’t know what he looks like, but remember I told you that Gerda’s friends said a man name George was the one who gave her a new hat right before she died. I just found out he also got angry when she danced with another man right before she was killed.”

“Jealousy is sometimes a motive for murder, but in this case, I’m not so sure.”

“This man must have some reason for killing these girls. Maybe he imagines himself in love with them, and when they take up with someone else, he gets insanely jealous and kills them out of revenge.”

“Maybe,” was all Malloy would give her. “Do you know this George’s last name?”

“The girls said they thought it was Smith. They did say they weren’t sure it was his real name, though,” she added at his skeptical expression.

“George Smith. That narrows it down to about a thousand men in the city.”

Sarah ignored his sarcasm. “He sells ladies’ notions to the big department stores. He has a sample case, and from what I understand, when a girl allows him, uh, certain liberties, he offers her a gift from its contents.”

She’d embarrassed him, although he was trying valiantly not to show it. The flush crawled up his neck, however, betraying him. “Is that all it takes now? A bit of ribbon or a pair of gloves?” He was appalled.

“I’m sure it takes more than that. Gerda got a hat, don’t forget.”

“And a pair of red shoes. Did this George buy them for her?”

“The girls didn’t think so. Seems Gerda took up with another man right before she died, but they never saw him. He spent money on her rather freely, so she gave George the gate. That’s when George got angry. I think you’d do well to question him, at least.”

Malloy just grunted and continued to look over the list. Sarah wished she’d gotten descriptions for the men on her list. She hadn’t even thought to ask for a description of George. It seemed so obvious now that she’d need to know what he looked like. Or rather that Malloy would.

He was making a new list of the names that occurred on three of the lists. A good place to start, she reasoned, when she heard the gate open.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had company.” Mrs. Elsworth didn’t look a bit sorry. In fact, she looked as satisfied as a cat with its head in the cream pitcher. “Good evening, Detective Sergeant.”

Malloy rose reluctantly to his feet as Mrs. Elsworth made her way through the flowers to the back-porch steps. “Good evening,” he replied without the slightest trace of warmth.

“Oh, Mrs. Brandt, you’ll think me such a ninny, but this message came for you this morning, and I completely forgot about it.” She had a piece of paper in her hand that Sarah longed to snatch, but there was no point in being rude. Mrs. Elsworth would give it to her in due time. “I should’ve known,” she was saying. “I dropped a fork this morning. You know that saying, ‘knife falls, gentleman calls; fork falls, lady calls.’ ”

Sarah didn’t know the saying, but she nodded anyway. “Are you saying a lady called for me?”

“Oh, gracious, yes. I thought I’d said that. And she left this message.”

“I hope it isn’t a message about a baby being born.” That would be a disaster.

“Oh, no, of course not. I told her right away that you were out on a delivery, and heaven only knew when you’d return. Babies keep their own schedule, don’t you know. But she said it wasn’t about a baby, and she just wanted to leave a message. She didn’t look like the sort of person who usually calls on you, if you don’t mind my saying so, but she was such a little thing, I didn’t believe her to be dangerous. I let her come in and write you a note, and then I forgot all about it until just this moment.”

At last she handed over the missive to Sarah, who unfolded it quickly. The spelling was poor, but she had no trouble deciphering the message. It was from Lisle. “One of Gerda’s friends saw George at a dance hall last night,” she told Malloy.

When she looked up, Mrs. Elsworth was waiting expectantly. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Elsworth. This is a very important message. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss receiving it.”

“I hope its being late didn’t do any damage,” she said with a worried frown.

“None at all,” Sarah assured her. “Thank you so much for delivering it. You’ve been a big help.”

Sarah was trying to dismiss her, but she didn’t want to be dismissed. She wanted to know what they were talking about, and she kept trying see what was on the papers scattered over Sarah’s table.

“We don’t want to keep you from anything, Mrs. Elsworth,” Malloy said. His tone was unmistakable. He wanted her gone.

Her face fell, making Sarah sorry. Mrs. Elsworth was lonely, and her life held little pleasure and absolutely no excitement. Sharing Sarah’s life was one of her few enjoyments. But Sarah couldn’t share this part of it. “If I don’t get a call tomorrow, perhaps you’ll come over for lunch,” she suggested, softening the rejection.

That seemed to placate her somewhat. “I’ll make a pie,” she offered. “I’ll go to the market first thing tomorrow and see what fruit they have. Good night, Detective Sergeant. Such a pleasure to see you again.”

Malloy did not return the compliment. He waited a few minutes after the gate had closed behind her to say, “Let me see the note.”

The message was brief. Plainly, Lisle wasn’t used to writing formal letters. She had seen George at Harmony Hall the previous night and had come by before going to her job at Faircloths this morning to let Sarah know.

“She says she told him to meet her again tonight,” Sarah said. “There’s a dance at the same place.”

“Do they have dances every night?” Malloy asked, unable to comprehend such a thing.

“It appears they do. And that’s just one hall. There are others all over the city.”

Malloy looked up from the note. “You think this George is the killer, don’t you?”