Victoria Thompson - Murder on St. Mark’s place

Most of the shops featured useless trinkets. All manner of elephant figures were available in every imaginable size and material, as were picture postcards one could send to one’s friends. Sarah considered sending Malloy one of the postcards, perhaps one with a picture of some girls in bathing costumes. Then she reconsidered and purchased a wooden carving of an elephant for his son. Now she had a doll for Agnes Otto’s child and an elephant for Brian. Another elephant and another doll, and she was finished with her shopping.

Dirk watched her with amused interest, and she didn’t bother to explain for whom she was making her purchases. Let him wonder.

In the end, she almost missed the shop. It was at the end of the row, and the display case was filled with gaudy hats and shawls and cheap jewelry. Only when Dirk stopped to admire something-probably to annoy her-did she see the red shoes. She’d been looking so hard for them, she somehow hadn’t expected them to be displayed so prominently. But there they were, in the front of the case, in plain view of anyone passing by. Sarah felt a surge of excitement. When she looked up, Dirk was smirking.

“You knew these were here all along, didn’t you?” she accused.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I knew this shop was here, though. I figured if anyone would have such a thing as red shoes, this fellow would.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. It would be just like Dirk to make her trudge all over town before taking her right to what she was looking for. She didn’t bother to accuse him of it again, though. No use wasting any more time on this. Inside the shop, the proprietor was helping a young girl in a cheap suit and a tasteless hat decide which brooch the older man with her was going to purchase for her. Payment for services rendered, no doubt, Sarah thought sadly. She waited patiently, glancing outside once to see Dirk pretending to be interested in a display of picture postcards in the shop across the way. At least he hadn’t come inside with her to roll his eyes at the man while she questioned him.

She pretended an interest in the shoddy merchandise which had been selected more for ostentation than for quality. Along one wall were displayed an assortment of shoes, none of which could be worn for everyday use. They were all too fancy, too fragile, and too vulgar. Just the sort of thing to appeal to a poor shop girl’s idea of style and glamour. After what seemed an eternity, the man paid for the brooch, and the couple left. The girl seemed pleased, and the man just looked satisfied. Sarah tried not to picture him taking his pleasure standing up in an alley. Would she ever be able to get that vision out of her mind?

“Can I help you, miss?” the man behind the counter asked. He was an older man, slightly stooped and balding. What hair he had left was pure white and combed carefully in a futile attempt to conceal his bald patches.

“Yes, I’m interested in the red shoes you have on display.”

His expression betrayed surprise. “For yourself?” Plainly, he didn’t believe it.

Sarah smiled. “No, actually, I’m not interested in buying the shoes. I’m interested in someone who did buy a pair like them a few weeks ago.”

The man was worried now. “If she wasn’t happy with them, I can’t-”

“Oh, no, I’m sure she was very pleased with them. It’s just… something happened to her. She was… murdered.”

The old man’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, as if trying to get away from Sarah. Or at least from what she was saying. “I don’t know nothing about it,” he insisted.

“Of course you don’t,” Sarah assured him, wishing she knew more about interrogating people. Malloy would know what to do. But maybe not. This poor man was terrified. Malloy would have had him reduced to hysterics by now, and they’d never find out anything. She tried another smile, making it as kindly as she could manage. “I was just wondering if you might be able to remember who bought the shoes for the young lady in question. We think he might be the one who killed her, you see, but we don’t know anything about him.”

“Who’s this ‘we’ you keep talking about?” he asked suspiciously.

Sarah thought fast. If she mentioned the police, she’d get no help at all. “Her family. I’m a family friend, you see, and they’ve asked me to help them find her killer.”

“They would’ve done better with one of them detectives,” he told her. “You can hire men to look into things like this. Females got no business with such things.”

Sarah gritted her teeth to keep from telling him she most certainly did have business with such things. “I have some experience in these matters. And I did manage to locate the place where the poor girl got the shoes, didn’t I?”

He frowned, not quite certain he should admit to it. “And what good did it do you?”

“None yet, but it might if you can remember who the man was who bought the shoes for her. Her name was Gerda. She was a pretty, blond girl. German. She hadn’t been here very long, and she spoke with an accent. We think the man who bought her the shoes would have been well dressed. Expensively dressed, that is.”

“A lot of them is, you know,” the man told her. “They come down here where nobody knows them and takes up with these girls. It’s a scandal. In my time, girls didn’t go off alone with men. They stayed home where they was safe. You say this girl got herself killed?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“It’s no wonder, then. She was asking for trouble. What kind of family don’t know to keep their girls home where they’ll be safe?”

Sarah wanted to point out that Gerda had been forced to work to support herself, so she couldn’t possibly have stayed home. Arguing would be a waste of time, though, and she might annoy him enough that he wouldn’t tell her anything.

“You’re right,” she said, trying to be patient. “But we still need to find out who murdered Gerda. He’s killed other girls, and he’ll most likely kill again if we don’t catch him.”

“Others, you say? That’s terrible! But it wouldn’t happen if they’d stay home-”

“I know, I know.” Sarah had reached the end of her patience. “But can you give us any help at all? Do you remember the German girl who bought red shoes? It wasn’t very long ago.”

He frowned with the effort at remembering. “I only sold a couple pairs this summer, but I’ve seen hundreds of people coming through my store. She was German, you say?”

“Yes, and she would have been very excited about the shoes.”

He nodded slowly, concentrating as he remembered. “Thick ankles.”

“What?”

“She had thick ankles. I see a lot of ankles in my business. A woman tries on a pair of shoes. you see her ankles. Can’t help it.”

Now Sarah wanted to throttle him, but she restrained herself. He surely wouldn’t tell her anything if she did. “So you do remember her?”

“I only sold two pairs of the red shoes, and the other girl was an American.”

He really did remember. He was just being difficult. “Do you remember the man who was with her, the one who bought her the shoes?”

He frowned again. “I ain’t too sure. Is there some kind of reward or something?”

“If the information leads us to the killer, there’s a reward of one hundred dollars,” Sarah lied without batting an eye. Quite frankly, if someone could tell her who the killer was, she’d gladly pay the hundred dollars herself.

The man suddenly seemed much friendlier than he had been. “Can’t blame me for being careful, can you? Don’t know just who might be coming in here, asking questions. Don’t want to get mixed up in no murder, now do I? Can’t have the police in here. Bad for business, you know.”