Murder on St. Mark's Place (24 page)

“And you need not fear that I will stick you with a hat pin,” she replied archly.

“Oh, dear, I hadn’t expected such spirit from you, Sarah.” She heard amusement in his tone. “I must count myself lucky that I didn’t press my suit.”

“You must indeed.” There, at last the darkness was lifting. The opening of the tunnel had appeared and was drawing ever closer. Or rather they were drawing closer to it.

Sarah looked at Dirk in the growing light, judging his mood. He seemed perfectly composed, his features calm, his eyes expressionless. Whatever passion had possessed him in the tunnel had passed now. She only wished the words he’d said could pass as easily from her mind. He’d displayed a disturbing contempt for women, and she wondered how he had developed it. True, most men of his class believed women to be helpless creatures who weren’t very bright and had to be looked after by men. That was far different from the genuine disdain he had shown, though. He apparently believed women were liars and cheats, saying one thing and meaning another. That was sometimes true, of course. Occasionally, one had to conceal one’s genuine feelings or risk giving offense. But that wasn’t what he’d meant, she was sure.

She remembered how Malloy had taken an instant dislike to Dirk. She supposed he had much more practice than she at judging a man’s character. He’d seen what she hadn’t known to look for. She’d have to remember to take his assessments more seriously in the future.

As they emerged into the summer sunshine, Dirk smiled at her. She studied his face, noticing again the signs of dissipation. The puffiness around the eyes, the sagging along his jawline in spite of his relative youth. His eyes were carefully expressionless, or perhaps he had no expression to reveal.

“Can we still be friends, Sarah?” he asked, trying the boyish charm she found so unappealing.

“Of course. We’ve known each other since the nursery, after all.” A slight exaggeration, but what did that matter? She had no intention of ever purposely seeing him again once this day was finished. In the meantime, she would make what use of him she could.

As the boat reached the docking point, a young man caught it with a long, hooked pole and pulled it in. Dirk helped her disembark, taking her hand with just the right amount of pressure but assuming no other liberties.

Sarah felt relief. Perhaps they could get through the rest of the day without any more unpleasantness.

She began to believe it when he said, “I must confess, Sarah. I always was rather fond of you. You were the prettiest girl in our dancing class, but you never looked at me twice. I must have been remembering that and thinking that I could get you to notice me now.”

“I noticed you then, Dirk. It’s just that I didn’t like boys yet. And now ... well, I think we’re much too different to suit, don’t you?”

His smile was strange. “Sometimes I think I’m too different to suit anyone.”

Sarah had no intention of exploring that subject with him. “Tell me, Dirk, are there shops around here where someone could buy articles of ladies’ clothing?”

“What types of articles?” he asked, his good humor returning instantly as he realized she was going to forgive him.

“Shoes.”

“Ah, let me guess. Red shoes in particular.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you really expect to have more success with that than you did with the photographer?”

“Hundreds of people get their photographs taken at the park, but I can’t believe that many women would buy red shoes. Surely, the sale would be a memorable one.”

Dirk sighed, but it was a patient sigh. “I’ll take you over to Surf Avenue. That’s where you’re most likely to find what you’re looking for.”

Surf Avenue was the main street in Coney Island, flanked on either side by the impressive hotels built for those with the time and money to spend more than one day at the shore. The crowds here were more sedate that the ones in the amusement park, although Sarah saw a few suspicious-looking couples in which the man was old enough to be the girl’s father but was showing her more than paternal affection.

“Do, uh, some men,” Sarah began, trying to phrase her question delicately, “take the girls they meet at the park to hotels here?”

“Why, Sarah,” he said. “How shocking of you to ask!”

“I’m sure it would take far more than that to shock you, Dirk,” she said. “Of course if your sensibilities are too offended, don’t feel obligated to reply.”

He conceded. “Although I would have no personal knowledge of such things,” he began, both of them knowing he was lying, “I have heard that some men, those whose tastes extend to the lower classes of women, will meet those women at the park and then take them to the hotels here for assignations. Of course,” he added with a sly grin, “many of the girls in question can’t be away from home overnight. Their families would never allow such inappropriate behavior.”

“So those are the virtuous ones,” she guessed.

“Heavens, no!” he said, taking perverse pleasure in telling her. “Those are the ones who do it standing up in a hallway or an alley.”

“Do what?” she asked, certain she must have misunderstood.

“Allow a gentleman to enjoy their favors,” he said brutally, leaving her with no room to misinterpret.

Sarah was appalled. “What kind of a man would do such a thing?”

“Any kind of man, if the girl is willing. I’m sure your Sergeant Malloy would confirm it.”

Sarah couldn’t imagine Malloy doing any such thing, any more than she could imagine discussing it with him in the first place. She was learning far more than she had wanted to know about the society of Coney Island, and more about Dirk Schyler than she wanted to know, too.

Fortunately, they were passing a shop window in which some ladies’ shoes were displayed. “Let’s try this place,” she suggested. She didn’t wait for Dirk’s reply.

A long time and several shops later Sarah was exhausted and discouraged. More shopkeepers than she cared to count had looked at her with contempt when she had asked to see a pair of red shoes. She couldn’t imagine that they believed she wanted to purchase anything like that, but apparently, they did. Unfortunately, none of them could oblige her.

They were coming abreast of the Elephant Hotel, and Sarah was just about to surrender her quest when Dirk said, “I think there are some shops in here.”

“Inside the Elephant? I thought it was a hotel.”

“They have a few rooms, but it’s mostly for people to come in and look around. There’s a vista room in the head and a diorama in one of the front legs. The other front leg is a cigar store, I think, and there are several shops inside the body.”

Sarah studied the curious edifice. Surely, it was the only one of its kind in the world, an enormous wooden elephant standing over a hundred feet high.

“What do you think, Sarah? Are you ready to see the elephant?” Dirk teased.

She supposed she was. She could use a vista right now, anyway.

They entered the Elephant through a spiral staircase in one of the creature’s hind legs. Their shoes clanked on the metal stairs, echoing hollowly in the building. The place was dim and stuffy. Inside the body was a little better, however. Windows opened to catch the sea breeze, which hardly ever ceased to blow, and people on holiday strolled through the various shops, looking for souvenirs of their visit.

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.”