Victoria Thompson - Murder on St. Mark’s place

They also watched the sea-lion show again, but the alligator was no longer on display. It had tried to attack a large Newfoundland dog, probably thinking it had found an excellent source of dinner, but the dog had won the battle.

After the shows, they ate some Red Hots and rode Shoot-the-Chutes. Dirk put his arm across the back of Sarah’s seat again and moved closer when they went through the dark tunnel, but she managed to restrain herself from throwing her arms around him when the boat made its terrifying lunge into the lagoon. Malloy had been as appalled as she when they found themselves embracing at the end of the ride, but somehow she didn’t think Dirk would have quite the same reaction. She certainly didn’t want to find out for sure that she was right.

As they came off the ride, Sarah saw the photographer waiting to pose people in the replica of the Shoot-the-Chutes boat to have their pictures made. Remembering that Gerda had had her photograph made that last day she was at Coney Island, Sarah wondered if the photographer would remember. If this Will person made a habit of finding his victims here, he might be a familiar character.

“Excuse me,” she said, startling the fellow. He had been fiddling with his camera.

“Just get in the boat, miss,” he said. “Soon as it’s full, I’ll take a picture.”

“No, I don’t want my picture made. I was wondering if I could ask you a question.”

“About what?” He glanced uncertainly at Dirk, who shrugged, telling him he had no explanation for Sarah’s strange behavior.

“There’s a man who comes to the park a lot. He’s quite a ladies’ man, and he’s probably with a different girl every time. I was wondering if you knew him. His name is Will.”

The photographer stared at her as if he’d never seen a creature like her before. He glanced at Dirk again, but got no help there, either.

“I know that’s not much help,” Sarah admitted, realizing how silly her question must sound. Hadn’t she pointed out to Dirk how many men were named Will? “I also know that he’s well dressed and well mannered,” she added lamely, hoping to jog his memory a bit. “He seems to have a lot of money to spend, too.”

The fellow looked at Dirk once more, and the two men seemed to reach some sort of understanding. Over what, Sarah couldn’t imagine, and it annoyed her tremendously. Why was the fellow looking at Dirk when she was the one asking the questions?

At any rate, the fellow seemed to relax and even smiled at her. “Sorry, miss. I don’t know nobody named Will. The men come through here, they don’t tell me their names. Now, maybe if you had a photograph of him…”

She did have a photograph, of course, but she wasn’t sure the fellow in it was the man named Will, and even if he was, his face was obscured too much to identify him. “Thank you for your time,” she said, less than graciously.

Dirk was grinning as they walked away. “Did you really think that fellow would know who you were talking about?”

Sarah didn’t know what she’d thought. Every time she believed she’d come up with a plan to find the killer, she realized the depths of her ignorance. Malloy would be laughing in her face for being so naive. Her one comfort was that he would never know how stupid she had been.

“Do you plan to ask every man who works here at the park if they know this Will person?” Dirk asked, his amusement all too evident. “Shall we stop here at the freak show? I’m sure the barker would be more than happy to answer any questions.”

Sarah glared at him, but that only amused him more. “I don’t think the killer is a freak,” she informed him. “Or at least he doesn’t look like one. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to attract the attentions of young women.”

“You’re right! Maybe we should try asking if anyone has seen a normal -looking man named Will, then. Someone who doesn’t look like a killer. That should help a lot.”

Sarah sighed wearily. “You’ve made your point. It’s hopeless. I can see that.”

“Oh, perhaps not hopeless. Simply futile,” Dirk allowed graciously.

Sarah wanted to smack him, especially because he was right. Asking if anyone knew this Will was a waste of time. She wasn’t even sure Gerda had known the man named Will. Still, she couldn’t help thinking that the key was here, in Coney Island. If only she could find it.

“Shall we move on then?” Dirk asked, his charm back in place. “What would you like to do next?”

Sarah allowed him to lead her on through the park.

Malloy had won her a prize with his marksmanship, but Dirk had no such skill. Instead, he tried to impress her on the Hi-Striker machine, the one that tested a man’s strength. He removed his jacket-today he had chosen to dress conservatively, probably in deference to her-and handed it to Sarah to hold.

“Dirk, this isn’t necessary,” she protested.

“Of course it is,” he replied with that grotesquely boyish grin. “I’ll take three chances,” he told the barker, who removed the coins from his hand so quickly, Sarah hardly saw his fingers move.

Dirk turned back his cuffs, as if preparing to do a hard day’s work, and he spit on his palms and rubbed them together, probably because he’d seen someone else do it and thought it looked manly. Then he picked up the huge hammer.

Lifting the thing was a challenge in itself. Sarah supposed that kept children from making a pest of themselves, trying to ring the bell. If they couldn’t lift the hammer, they couldn’t play the game.

Dirk raised the huge thing up over his head with practiced ease and brought it down with a crash. The weight rose up more than halfway, then fell back down with a thud. The crowd murmured its disappointment.

“Look at the gentleman here,” the barker shouted. “Out to win his lady a prize. Look how far he got it. Just a little more, sir, just a little more’ll do it! Ring the bell and win, you pick any of the prizes! Step right up, folks! Watch the gentleman win his lady a prize! Try your luck! You there, young fellow, you could do this with one hand tied behind your back!”

Sarah watched as Dirk lifted the hammer again, swinging it in an arc over his head and bringing it down onto the strike plate with a crash. The weight rose up and up, and Sarah found herself rising on her tiptoes, as if by stretching herself, she could help it reach the top. But it stopped just short and slid back down to the bottom again. The crowd moaned.

They were breathless with anticipation now. They started to cheer Dirk on, encouraging him to try again. He flashed Sarah a grin, enjoying the attention. She felt a little foolish, but she was calling out encouragement, too.

The obnoxious barker was whipping up the crowd’s enthusiasm, urging everyone within shouting distance to come and watch. Sarah found it odd that he would be as interested in seeing someone win as the rest of them were, but then she realized that if Dirk won, a dozen more men would be encouraged to try their skill and prove themselves at least as good as he. Few of them would succeed, and the barker would still have their money.

Dirk waited, rubbing his hands together, shaking his arms to loosen the muscles, playing his part to perfection, until the barker had the crowd whipped into a frenzy of anticipation. The look Dirk cast Sarah was one of pride. He was doing this for her, to impress her in some way, or perhaps simply to prove that he had a sort of power. Probably, he had used this tactic to impress his shop girls. The young girls in the crowd were certainly awed. He did look imposing, standing there in the center of the crowd, ready to master the fearsome machine.

He seemed to sense the perfect moment, the time when all eyes who could be on him were. Then he started swinging the hammer again. Back and forth, building up a rhythm, building up momentum. That was when Sarah realized that he had known how to get the bell to ring all along. He could have done so on the very first try, but no one would have been watching. He had to tease it along for a while, until he had the crowd in his thrall. The barker was nearly hysterical, ranting and chanting, the meaning of his words lost to the delirium of excitement building around them.