Victoria Thompson - Murder on St. Mark’s place

For a time he had hated the child, blaming him for killing Kathleen. But that had passed, leaving only a profound sadness and pity and a bitterness so deep, Frank doubted he would ever find the bottom of it. And, of course, the guilt. Because if the boy had killed Kathleen, Frank had been the one who put the child inside of her in the first place. If he hated the boy, he would have to hate himself as well.

So the guilt drove him to do right by the child, no matter what his true feelings might be. It drove him to take the bribes that had enabled him to move up in the police force so he could ensure the boy would always be provided for. It compelled him to tolerate his mother because she was willing to take care of the boy.

Now he looked at his son, this imperfect remembrance, all he had left of the woman he had loved more than life itself. She would have expected Frank to love the boy simply because he was their flesh and blood. She would have done anything, made any sacrifice for him. Frank had been willing to make every sacrifice except one. He hadn’t been able to love him.

He gazed into the face that was so much like Kathleen’s, it caused him physical pain to behold it. The boy was looking up at him through Kathleen’s lovely eyes, pleading with him for something he couldn’t say but understood instinctively.

The small, spindly arms were reaching up even as he held himself back, braced for the rejection he almost always received. For so long, Frank had believed the boy an idiot, too damaged even to feel normal human emotions. He’d shielded himself with that belief, telling himself his indifference didn’t matter to the child because he couldn’t understand such things. Now he looked down into the boy’s face and knew it had all been a lie.

If Frank was guilty of causing Kathleen’s death, then there was only one thing in the world he could do to earn absolution. He reached down and caught the boy up into his arms. Small arms and legs wrapped around him, as if the boy felt he had to hold on with every ounce of his strength for fear of being thrust aside. From the comer of his eye, he saw his mother had risen to her feet, her eyes wide with surprise. She crossed herself and pressed a fist to her lips.

He wrapped his arms around the boy’s small body, amazed at how slight he was, hardly there at all. He buried his face into the cloud of silken red-gold curls and inhaled the clean, fresh scent of him.

Frank felt a stabbing pain in his chest as years of bitterness cracked and fell away. He’d wronged the boy terribly, but it wasn’t too late. He still had a chance to really do right by him.

“Ma,” he said, “there’s some people I want Brian to meet. They’re deaf.”

SARAH HAD BEGUN to regret her decision to ask Dirk to accompany her to Coney Island before their trolley had even left the city. He seemed highly amused by the entire escapade, and he felt compelled to share his mirth with everyone they encountered. Sarah found it exhausting, and by the time they reached Coney Island, she was wishing she had come alone.

“Have you seen the Elephant yet, Sarah?” he asked cheerfully as they strolled from the trolley station toward the park.

She looked to where he was pointing and saw the Elephant Hotel, a enormous hotel actually built in the shape of an elephant. It was one of the landmarks of Coney Island. “Seeing the Elephant” had come to mean making a trek out of town to see something extraordinary.

“I saw the elephant the last time I was here,” she reminded him.

“I don’t think you did,” Dirk said meaningfully. “I doubt Mr. Malloy is adventurous enough to allow such a thing. Fortunately, I am.”

Yes, fortunately, Sarah thought cynically.

“I’m surprised Mr. Malloy didn’t take you bathing, Sarah. I imagine the sight of you in a bathing costume would be quite pleasant. Have you ever bathed in the ocean?”

“Have you?” Sarah countered, trying unsuccessfully to imagine herself wearing one of those skimpy bathing costumes with the skirts that only reached to the knees.

“Certainly! I find the sand a bit annoying. It does tend to creep in where one least desires it to, but the water is quite refreshing. Healthful, too, I’m told.”

“I thought warm springs were good for the health, not the frigid ocean.”

“It’s not frigid this time of year,” he chided her.

“No, only very cold.”

He conceded defeat graciously. “Where would you like to go first? The Flip-Flap Railroad?” he suggested with a glint in his eye. Malloy had been afraid to go on it.

Unfortunately, Sarah was, too. “I think I’d rather just look around and talk to people. If the killer frequents Coney Island, and we have reason to believe he does, then someone may know him.”

“Are you planning to just walk up to everyone you meet and ask if they know any killers?” he asked incredulously.

“Certainly not.”

“Then what will you ask?” Plainly, he thought her either a fool or an idiot.

“I’ll ask them if they know a man named Will.”

Dirk stopped in his tracks and looked at her in amazement. His eyes were darker than she remembered, and his expression was strained. He was so shocked that for a moment he couldn’t even speak. “You know his name?” he asked when he got his voice back. “If the police know his name, why on earth do they need a midwife to help them find him?”

Sarah was beginning to enjoy knowing more about something than Dirk for a change. “Do you have any idea how many men are named Will? And we don’t know what he looks like or where he lives or really anything much at all. Just the name, and that might not even be his real one.”

He studied her face for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. “And you think he killed this girl? The one who wore the red shoes. What was her name?”

“Gerda Reinhard. I guess we don’t know for sure that he did, but…” She debated mentioning the other victims and decided not to. Dirk was already unbearable enough. If he knew all the facts in the case, he might begin to hinder her investigation. “We do know that she met a young man she liked very much here at Coney Island shortly before her death. He spent a lot of money on her and bought her the red shoes.”

“That’s not very much to hang a man on, Sarah,” Dirk chided. “I daresay, most of the men here would have been executed if that was a punishable offense.”

“Including you?” she countered.

He grinned boyishly. When he was younger and not quite so jaded, it might have been an appealing expression, but now it just looked grotesque, at least to Sarah. “A gentleman never tells,” he said. He took her elbow and directed her toward the entrance to the park.

Dirk took her to the Flip-Flap Railroad with its unbelievable loop, and they watched people going around, shrieking in terror, for a few minutes. “You see, no one ever falls out,” he said wisely. “It’s perfectly safe.”

Sarah watched the people getting off at the end of the ride. Some of them were rubbing their necks. None of them looked particularly pleased with their experience. “I notice no one is going back for another ride,” she pointed out.

Dirk shrugged. “I thought you’d have more courage than that, Sarah. How about the Ferris wheel, then?”

Sarah enjoyed the view of the ocean from the top of the wheel, and she didn’t even mind that Dirk put his arm across the back of the seat and sat closer than he needed to. He was only teasing her. Since his tastes ran to fifteen-year-old shop girls, she figured her virtue was safe. Besides, she had a hat pin handy if he got any ideas.

They watched Captain Boyton perform his aquatic feats in the reflecting pool. The captain was the owner of the park. He’d had an interesting career that included trying to market inflatable suits for bathing in the ocean. This had led to founding a water park, in which trained seals performed. The seals hadn’t drawn enough customers by themselves, so the captain had added Shoot-the-Chutes and some other amusement-park attractions, and Sea Lion Park was born.