Murder on St. Mark's Place (34 page)

“I know,” Sarah assured her. “I told you, that man wasn’t the one who hurt Gerda.”

Agnes shook her head. “No, not that. Lars. Lars did not hurt Gerda.”

Once again every nerve in Sarah’s body leaped to attention, but she willed herself to calmness. “What do you mean?”

“Gerda was a wicked girl,” Agnes said, almost as if she were trying to convince herself. “She stayed out late and went with strange men. She was always flaunting herself in front of Lars. She made him so angry, but he did not hurt her!”

“No, of course, he didn’t,” Sarah said, her mind racing with possibilities. “Why would anyone think he did?”

She swallowed, as if trying to get some moisture in her mouth. “He ... he was so angry because she did not come home that night. He went out to look for her. We know where she goes because she tells us. He came home very late. He was very nervous. He said he did not find her, but ... but his hands are ... are ... like my face.”

“Bruised?” Sarah guessed.

“Yes, bruised,” Agnes confirmed. “And cut. He is bleeding. I try to take care of him, but he will not let me. He said some men tried to rob him, and he had to fight them. That is how he got hurt.”

Sarah remembered noticing Lars’s hands when she saw him at Gerda’s funeral. She had thought he’d injured himself at work.

“But you didn’t believe him?” Sarah asked.

Agnes’s eyes widened with renewed terror. “Yes, I believe him! He would not hurt Gerda. He is not that kind of man.”

Sarah was looking at living proof that Lars Otto was exactly that kind of man, but she didn’t say so. “But you said Gerda made him very angry,” she reminded her gently.

“He told her she was disgracing us. He told her she would come to no good, but still she goes out every night. She would not listen to anyone. I knew something bad would happen to her, but she would not listen!”

“Agnes, is it possible that Lars did find her that night and—”

“No! He would not hurt her! But if the police know he was out that night, they might think he did! The police, sometimes they punish the wrong man. I know this is true. If a man is poor, they will put him in the jail even if he is not guilty. You must tell them Lars did not do it. Please, Mrs. Brandt, you must tell them! If they take Lars away to the jail, what will become of us? We will starve!”

Sarah’s heart was beating so loudly, she wondered Agnes couldn’t hear it. Could Lars Otto have been the killer all along? That would explain so much, such as why he had ordered Sarah not to see his wife anymore and why he’d forbidden Agnes to mourn her sister’s death. Of course, she could be wrong again. Malloy would most certainly remind her that she had no proof. Perhaps Otto really had gotten his bruised knuckles from a street fight, as he’d said. Perhaps he was simply ashamed of his sister-in-law and didn’t want to hear her name mentioned again.

Or perhaps he had been so ashamed that he had sought her out on a dark street comer and beaten the life out of her before she could bring even more disgrace to his family. Fortunately, it wasn’t Sarah’s job to find out. Malloy could do that. And if he had to use force to get Otto to tell the truth, for once Sarah wouldn’t criticize his methods. Looking at Agnes’s battered face, she couldn’t think of a more fitting punishment for Otto, killer or not.

Meanwhile, however, Sarah had more pressing issues to be worried about. “Agnes, your husband is probably worried about the same things you are. He’s probably afraid the police will blame him for Gerda’s death. That’s probably why he has been so nervous lately.”

“Yes,” Agnes agreed eagerly. “I am sure that is why. He is very frightened.”

Sarah sent up a silent prayer for wisdom. “That is also probably why he’s been so ... so violent with you. He might be afraid you’ll tell someone he was out that night.”

“I would never do such a thing!” she cried, then covered her mouth in horror, realizing she had just done so.

“Even if he only suspects, he’ll be very angry,” Sarah suggested reasonably. “Agnes, I think your life is in danger.”

She was horrified. “Oh, no, Lars would never hurt me!” she insisted.

Sarah stared at her in astonishment. “Agnes, he’s already hurt you terribly!”

“He did not mean it! I just made him so angry. He is very sorry. He will not hit me again. He promised!”

“I’m sure he means that promise, too, but I’m also sure he’s made the promise before. Sooner or later you’ll make him angry again, and he’ll forget it. One night, he might start beating you and not be able to stop himself. You’ll be dead, and who will take care of your children? You must get away from him before it’s too late.”

Once again, terror twisted her face. “I have no place to go! No one will take a woman with three children, and I cannot work. How will I live? My children will starve!”

“I can take you to the settlement house.”

“They will take away my children!” she wailed, and Sarah silently cursed herself for using that threat.

“No, they won’t. They’ll help you there. They’ll give you a place to live and food, and your children won’t have to hide anymore, and neither will you.”

“Lars will find us! He will be so angry!”

“We won’t tell him where you are.” Sarah didn’t add that Lars might well be in jail and unable to find anyone. “You’ll be safe, I promise you. Agnes, if you stay here, you might die. If you don’t care about yourself, think of your children! They need their mother.”

But Sarah could see she was fighting a losing battle. How many times had she made this argument to women like Agnes? Even in the few cases when she’d succeed in getting a woman to seek safe shelter, she had eventually returned to her husband. Life for a woman alone, especially if she had children, was simply too terrifying and uncertain. The settlement house would keep such women only for a short while, and then they would have to make their own way. The choice between destitution and an occasional beating--especially when the woman probably believed her husband had every right to beat her if she didn’t please him-was no choice at all.

“Mrs. Brandt, you should go,” Agnes said, her fear plain. “Lars does not want you here.”

“There’s no reason for him to know I was,” Sarah reminded her. “I certainly won’t tell anyone. Just please, promise me you’ll take the children outside for some fresh air every day and make sure they get plenty of water to drink. Otherwise, the heat can make them sick.”

Agnes nodded absently, glancing at the door to her flat. She was probably worried that her husband might be coming soon. If he found Sarah there ... But he wouldn’t. She was leaving. She gathered her things. Before she let herself out, however, she said, “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to send for me, Agnes. And if you’re ever afraid, you can come to me. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Agnes wouldn’t even look at her.

As Sarah made her way down the stairs to the front door of the building, she knew her only hope was to find Malloy and send him after Lars Otto. If he really was the one who’d killed Gerda, then Agnes and her children would be safe. Safe from Lars Otto, that is. Sarah would have to figure out how to keep them safe after that as well.

 

M
ERCIFULLY. MRS. ELSWORTH was nowhere in sight when Sarah finally made her way home that evening. Unutterably weary after leaving Agnes’s flat, she’d had to walk over to Fifth Avenue to find a cab. Then she’d had to go to police headquarters on Mulberry Street to leave word for Malloy, and since no cab would wait for her in that neighborhood, she’d had another long walk ahead of her. Now, at last, she was home.

Too tired to cook, Sarah made herself a sandwich with some cheese and drank what was left of the elderberry wine. She’d earned the indulgence. Only when she felt the warmth of the alcohol seeping into her blood did she begin to question her actions that day.

What right did she have to try to convince Agnes to leave her home? Many would condemn her actions. She had, after all, tried to break up a marriage. Not many people would consider the fact that Lars had beaten his wife savagely as grounds for such a desertion. Many men beat their wives, and they considered it their right. The law, in most cases, supported them, too. A man might go to jail for beating up a total stranger, but if he did the same thing to his wife, the law would turn a blind eye, even if she died from her injuries. Just one more injustice to feel outrage about in an unjust world. Sarah would go mad if she allowed herself to feel outrage for all of them, so she had to focus on righting the ones she could. If she was able to put Lars Otto in jail for murder, she would have won another battle.

She wished Malloy were here. She’d just discovered that this was the answer to his question about how she coped with losing patients: she coped by saving the ones she could.

Unutterably weary, she decided to go to bed, even though it wasn’t very late. She’d taken down her hair and begun to brush it when she heard someone pounding on the front door. It was the unmistakable sound of a panicked man whose wife had just gone into labor. Suddenly her weariness vanished. She always had the energy to bring a new life into the world.

She was almost to the front door when she realized that the pounding wasn’t quite right. Usually, they stopped after a while to give her a chance to answer the door, but this pounding hadn’t stopped. In fact, it seemed to be getting even more frantic. Her instincts had just warned her not to open the door when it burst open on its own, the wood splintering around the lock as Lars Otto stumbled in.

“You!” he cried, pointing at her. “You tried to take my family away!”

“You’re crazy!” she tried. “Get out of my house this instant before I call the police!” Sarah only wished she didn’t sound quite so frightened. He’d startled her, bursting in that way, and now he glared at her with utter contempt.

“I know what you tried to do! You tried to make Agnes run away with my children! You were going to hide them from me!”

“I was worried about Agnes’s safety,” she tried. “You hurt her very badly.”

“She will not listen!” he roared. “She makes me hit her. I cannot help myself.”

“You can help yourself now,” Sarah said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Get out of here before the police come and arrest you.”

His face contorted with hatred. “Why would the police arrest me?”

Sarah wanted to accuse him of murder but decided that would be foolish. “For breaking into my house.”

“When they find out what you have done, they will praise me! A man must protect his home.”

“And you protect yours by beating your wife?” Sarah asked before she could stop herself.

“What happens in my home is none of your business, you meddling bitch!”

Sarah had been mentally plotting her escape, and when he lunged for her, she bolted, heading for the kitchen and the back door. Once outside, he wouldn’t dare harm her, and if he tried, neighbors would come running.

She dodged around the kitchen table, but her foot caught on the leg of a chair, throwing her off balance. She grabbed the edge of the sink and righted herself, but before she could take another step, Otto grabbed her by the hair that was hanging loose down her back.

Sarah screamed with both terror and pain as he yanked savagely on the fall of her hair, dragging her backward to the ground. She reached up, instinctively trying to grab his hands, but he wrapped her long hair around his fist and dragged her across the floor. She was screaming in pain now, fighting and clawing and trying to get at him, but the worst damage she could do was a few scratches to his hands. He hardly seemed to feel them.

“You cannot steal a man’s family away! I will get the law after you!” he was saying.

“The law is on their way right now!” Sarah cried. “I sent for Detective Sergeant Malloy! He knows what you did!”

Twisting in a vain attempt to free herself, Sarah caught sight of the poker she kept beside her kitchen stove. If she could reach it ...

But Otto jerked her head back and put his face right against hers so that she could feel the spittle when he shouted, “What did I do, you whore? Tell me what I did!”

“You killed Gerda!” she shouted right back.

She shocked him so much that he reared back, loosening his hold on her just enough that she could lunge for the poker. Her fingers closed around the cool metal just as he dragged her back again, wrenching a scream from her throat.

But she had the poker now and the element of surprise. She swung it, aiming for his knee, the most vulnerable part of the leg. The angle was poor, but she felt the satisfying thump of solid metal hitting solid flesh and heard his answering grunt of pain.

He swore as she lunged for freedom, but she hadn’t hurt him badly enough or else his fingers were too tightly woven into her hair, because he pulled her back with a howl of triumph. She swung the poker again, unable to aim, just hoping for a good, solid hit, but this time he grabbed the end of it with his free hand.

Although she clung with both hands, he was stronger than she, in spite of his lanky frame, and he wrenched it from her fingers and flung it away. Lars Otto didn’t need a weapon to hurt a mere woman.

When she looked up, she saw his eyes blazing with a hatred she could only imagine. He drew back his fist, and Sarah covered her head with both arms.

“If you hurt me, they’ll know who did it! I left word at the police station that you’re Gerda’s killer!”

“You’re lying!” he cried, but at least he didn’t hit her.

“Agnes told me you killed Gerda! She said you came back that night with your hands all bruised and bloody. She said you were nervous, and you’ve been angry ever since Gerda died.”

“She was a whore! I saw her that night. She was in an alley with a man. She lifted her skirts for him like it was nothing! She had no shame!”

“And she wouldn’t lift her skirts for you, would she?” Sarah guessed. “Is that why you killed her? Because she wouldn’t give you what she gave others so freely?”