“IT’S DIRK,” SHE SAID STUPIDLY. HER MIND couldn’t quite grasp the significance.
“Yeah, it’s him all right. And he’s with that girl, Lisle.”
She still wasn’t certain what it meant.
“Turn the picture over,” he suggested.
She turned the cover over and found nothing on the back. He took it impatiently from her hands, pulled the photograph from its frame, and handed it back to her. She recognized Lisle’s handwriting from the note she had left with Mrs. Elsworth. The words were scrawled in pencil, but they might as well have been written in blood: Me and Will at Coney Island.
“Dear heaven,” Sarah breathed, and then she couldn’t breathe anymore. She felt as if all the air in the church had suddenly evaporated.
She could see Dirk’s face, laughing and smirking at her efforts to find the man named Will out at Coney Island. She remembered how he’d stood there winking at the photographer when she’d inquired about him. Had the photographer recognized him and just pretended not to?
Then she remembered how he’d kissed her, pressing his mouth against hers so insistently, and how angry he’d been when she’d resisted his advances. Someone made a small, moaning sound, and she vaguely realized it was she.
“Sit down,” Malloy said gruffly, laying one of his beefy hands on her shoulder and forcing her down onto the pew.
Dirk had touched her. Dirk had kissed her. She felt unclean. She scrubbed the back of her hand across her lips in a vain effort to wipe away the memory of him.
Malloy, who missed nothing, said, “Did you kiss him?” His voice held equal measures of disbelief and disgust.
“Not willingly,” she informed him, equally disgusted.
“He tried to force himself on you?” Was that outrage? Malloy hardly seemed capable of such a thing, so Sarah must be imagining it.
“He tried to steal a kiss when we were in the tunnel on one of the rides,” she recalled, feeling sick to her stomach at the memory. “I pushed him away and told him to stop, and he did.”
“He didn’t get angry?” Malloy was sitting beside her now, leaning close, watching her face as if for clues.
Sarah tried to remember every detail. “I couldn’t see his expression because it was dark, but he sounded angry, at least at first. Not for long, though. He said something about my being a lady, and how he didn’t encounter many real ladies. He’d forgotten himself, he said.” She looked into Malloy’s dark eyes, searching for some reassurance. “I made him angry, Malloy. If he was the killer, then he would have killed me, too, wouldn’t he?”
She wanted so desperately to be right. She needed to be right, because if she wasn’t, then a man she’d known all her life was a killer.
But Malloy shook his head. “All the other girls let him have his way. He didn’t even have to force them. That’s when he beat them to death.”
“But we still don’t know for certain that Dirk is the one who killed them,” Sarah reminded him almost desperately, “even if he really is the man they all knew as Will.”
“I believe I’ve mentioned that before,” Malloy reminded her, although she could see it gave him no pleasure to be right. He wanted Dirk to be the killer, and not just because he wanted the killer caught. He wanted Dirk especially to be the guilty one, because he didn’t like him. “We need some proof.”
Sarah remembered what she’d learned yesterday. “I met with Bertha and Hetty yesterday. They said Lisle knew a man named Will, but she’d stopped seeing him because he hit her.”
“When was this?”
“It must have been earlier this summer, just after Coney Island opened on Memorial Day,” she guessed, glancing at the photograph she still held. “They said she let him… let him have his way. Then he got angry and called her a whore, and he hit her. She fought back, though. Apparently, she’s stronger than she appears. Was stronger,” she corrected herself, her voice catching. “Somehow she managed to get away.”
“Did Gerda know about this?”
“That’s the strange part. They said she did, which should have made her wary of him, but they also said she was the kind of girl who’d think something like that would never happen to her. She may not have told the others the name of her new benefactor because she didn’t want a lecture from Lisle.”
Malloy considered this for a moment. “It fits what we know about the killer. Maybe he gets mad at women who give in to him because he thinks they’re immoral or something and deserve to die. But why would he have gone after Lisle again? He must’ve known she’d be wary of him.”
“Oh, dear heaven!” Sarah exclaimed, covering her mouth as if she could stop the words that may have led to Lisle’s death.
“What is it?” he demanded, his voice too loud for a church.
“I… I led him to her!”
“What do you mean?”
“I… He was asking me about the crimes. I thought he was just interested!” she cried in her own defense.
Malloy nodded. “Go on. What did you tell him?”
“He asked me… No, he told me! He was the one who came up with the theory that Gerda hadn’t told anyone her new beau’s name because she wanted to keep the others from knowing who he was. He suggested they might want to steal him or maybe that Gerda had already stolen him from one of the others. He knew that’s what had happened!”
“Maybe,” Malloy reminded her. “What else?”
“He asked me… He wanted to know which of Gerda’s friends was most likely to have had a beau that Gerda would want to steal. I told him Lisle. Oh. Malloy, I led him right to her!” she wailed.
“We don’t know that for sure,” Malloy said with a kindness that surprised her. He was trying to assuage her guilt, but it wasn’t working.
“Yes, we do! I killed her, Malloy, just as surely as if I beat her myself!” The tears were welling in her eyes, hot as lava, burning and stinging and begging to be shed.
“Don’t be a fool! He would’ve figured it out himself eventually. Or else he would’ve just killed every girl who might’ve led us to him. You probably saved some lives by giving him Lisle’s name.”
She couldn’t bear his vindication, and she certainly didn’t deserve it. She’d caused Lisle’s death, and she would carry the knowledge to her grave. The only hope she had for retaining her sanity was to put a noose around the killer’s neck.
“What can we do now?” she asked. “Will you take him in and question him?”
“Not likely, a man in his position,” Malloy said. “If I did and couldn’t prove he was the killer, he’d have my job. More important, he’d be free to keep on killing, because he’d know the other detectives wouldn’t dare detain him again either, for fear of what he’d do to them.”
“Then we need some proof,” Sarah said, her mind racing as she considered and rejected one idea after another. “Maybe some of the other friends of the dead girls would recognize him.”
“And what if they did? We already know he knew the victims. Unless one of the friends saw him committing a murder, which we know they didn’t, then he’d still go free.”
Sarah felt the old frustrations welling up, the helpless, powerless feeling she’d had when her husband Tom was killed and no one could find his murderer. Behind that came the wave of guilt and shame for her part in all this. “Then I’ll get him to confess,” she said.
Malloy reared back at that. “And exactly how will you do that?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll figure it out. I was thinking maybe I’d take him back to Coney Island. He’s never killed anyone out there, so I should be safe.”
“Are you crazy?” Plainly, he believed she was. She’d never heard that tone in his voice before. It sounded almost like panic.
“I assure you, I’m perfectly sane. You’ve already said the usual methods won’t work with Dirk. He’s too rich and powerful for you to take him into the Mulberry Street cellar and beat him into confessing. He isn’t likely to come to you voluntarily to clear his conscience, either. That leaves us no other choice but to trick him.”
“Mrs. Brandt, you’re not a detective,” he reminded her with more than a hint of condescension. “You couldn’t trick a man like that.”
She gave him a disdainful glance. “Women of my social class are trained to trick men like Dirk Schyler from the time we can talk, Mr. Malloy. All I need is some time to decide the best method to use.”
He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. “And exactly how will you do that?”
He still didn’t believe her capable of such a deception. He obviously knew far too little about upper-class society.
“First of all, I have to figure out why he’s doing these terrible things.” She waited a moment while the ideas formed in her mind. “Unfortunately, it’s not all that difficult to imagine. Dirk has been a slave to social conventions all his life. That sort of constraint can drive people to do strange things. It drove me to become a midwife,” she confessed with a shrug. “I think it’s probably the reason he chose to spend his time with shop girls. With them he didn’t have to worry about all the rules that he’d been taught to obey, and he certainly didn’t have to observe any sexual restraint,” she went on, thinking aloud.
“Why not just go to a prostitute then, if that’s all he’s interested in?”
Sarah considered. “Possibly he has some compunction about using the services of prostitutes. Perhaps he doesn’t like the lack of romance he encountered with them. But the shop girls were different. They actually liked him, or at least pretended to, and they willingly granted their favors in exchange for trinkets instead of money. This would remove some of the taint. That was what he wanted, but when he got what he wanted, for some reason he couldn’t accept it. Perhaps he felt he had to punish these girls for not adhering to the stringent rules of morality he’d been taught. He might even believe they deserved to die. If I could get him to admit that…”
“And what if you can’t? What if he decides you know too much and kills you, too?” He was furious or outraged or perhaps simply exasperated. She was too distracted to figure it out, and besides, it didn’t matter.
“He won’t kill me, Malloy, because you’ll be following us, ready to arrest him the instant he admits what he’s done.”
THIS WAS CRAZY. The whole idea was crazy. Sarah Brandt was crazy for thinking of it, and Frank was crazy for agreeing.
Not that he’d had any choice. She was going ahead with her plan whether Frank helped her or not. Guilt was a terrible thing, and he knew she felt guilty for causing Lisle’s death. Maybe it was even a little bit her fault, but she didn’t deserve a death sentence for it. If Dirk Schyler really was the killer, that was what she might very well get, too.
Frank had gone over and over it in his mind. He didn’t like Schyler. He rarely liked men of that class, probably because men of that class usually treated him like Irish scum. Schyler was less discreet about it than most, which made it even easier to hate him.
And then there was the matter of him taking liberties with Mrs. Brandt. She wasn’t the kind of woman men took liberties with. He’d known that the first time he’d set eyes on her, and his opinion had been confirmed many times since then. When he thought of Schyler forcing himself on her, he wanted to commit murder himself.
Frank wanted Schyler to be the killer so he could cart him off to prison and watch the bastard sizzle in that fancy electrical chair. What he didn’t know was whether he was letting his personal feelings color his professional judgment. Was he overlooking some important clue in his quest to lock Schyler up? Was he damning an innocent man just because he happened to be obnoxious?
Frank had a lot of time to consider all this while he paced at the Coney Island trolley station and waited for Sarah Brandt to appear with Schyler. They’d discussed various methods of surveillance, and they’d quickly discarded the idea of having Frank follow them out from the city. Dirk knew what he looked like, and he’d be hard to miss in the close confines of the trolley. So Frank had assigned Broughan the task of overseeing their trip out. He only hoped Broughan was sober enough not to lose sight of them. Frank didn’t think Schyler had any reason to kill Sarah Brandt just yet, but he hadn’t really had any understandable reasons to kill anyone else, either. Frank didn’t want to take any chances.
He scratched absently at the false beard he wore in an effort to keep Schyler from recognizing him. He doubted the beard would fool anyone, though. His best bet was simply to stay out of sight, which was what he planned to do most of the time. Now, if Mrs. Brandt could be trusted not to go looking for him in the crowds and tip Schyler off that they were being followed, he would be fine.
He’d been pacing for over an hour, watching trolleys arrive and disgorge their passengers without seeing his quarry. Another one was approaching the station, and Frank stepped back inside the building, where he could watch without being seen.
He saw her at once, even before she got off. He’d seen her wear that hat many times, but he probably would have recognized her no matter what she was wearing. She was the kind of woman who stood out in a crowd. Something about the way she carried herself. He’d never known another like her. Not even Kathleen, with all her sass, would have gone after a killer all alone. At what point did courage become folly? Frank only knew he was not the proper person to judge such a distinction.
Schyler looked the part of gentleman-about-town. He was dressed as if he was going to the races with his society friends. Sarah Brandt looked just as she always did. Was her smile too bright? Perhaps a little strained? Would Schyler notice? If he was the killer, he’d miss nothing. Frank had to resist the urge to rush out there and confront him, which told him more than he wanted to know about his feelings for Mrs. Brandt. Usually, he had all the patience in the world waiting for the trap to spring on his prey. But usually, he didn’t particularly care about the fate of the bait. Today he cared very much indeed.
Another reason to hope Schyler was the killer. As soon as they locked up the man who’d been murdering all these young women, Frank would no longer have to encounter Sarah Brandt. He could return to his solitary existence and everything would be as it was before.
He only wished he believed that.
He watched the two of them as they made their way out of the trolley and onto the platform. Schyler offered her his arm, and Frank felt his hackles rise. But she pretended not to notice and pointed at something instead of tucking her arm into his. They started off toward the park. Did Schyler look suspicious? Had she given herself away already? Frank no longer trusted his instincts.
Waiting until they were almost out of sight, Frank finally stepped out of the station. That’s when he saw Broughan stumbling down the steps of the trolley. He was drunk and making no effort to hide it. Frank wanted to thrash him. What if Sarah had needed help? What if she’d asked the wrong question and angered Schyler? What use would a drunk have been?
Frank wanted to slam Broughan up against the wall and ask him those questions rather forcefully, but if he did, he’d lose Sarah in the crowd. He settled for giving him a black look before setting out after them.
They had paid their admission and gone into the park. Frank waited until he saw what direction they were headed before doing the same. The laughter and screams of delight from the crowd mocked him as he made his way into the throng. He’d never felt less carefree in his life.
SARAH SMILED AT Dirk, although her face felt stiff. She hadn’t expected to be frightened. Not that she was afraid exactly. Dirk wouldn’t harm her here, not with hundreds of people around, and certainly not with Malloy nearby. But she was nervous. Anxious. Unable to relax. Her mission was so important, and one false word could spoil everything. She should have let Malloy talk her out of this. He’d certainly tried hard enough. He was probably right, too. Even if Dirk was the killer, he was hardly likely to confess it to Sarah, no matter how clever she might be.
“What are we looking for today?” Dirk asked pleasantly as they strolled through the park. “Do you have more information on this fellow you think killed the girl…? What was her name? Gilda?”
“Gerda,” Sarah supplied, wondering if he could really have forgotten. “No,” she said. “Today I want to forget all about killers and their victims. I just want to have a good time.”
“You chose an odd destination for our outing, then,” Dirk pointed out. “I could have taken you to a museum or to dinner or a show or-”
“Don’t you ever get tired of doing the proper things, Dirk?” she asked, hoping she sounded as rebellious as she should. “I do. Sometimes I think I’Il scream if I have to sit through another dinner party.” Not that she attended many anymore, but Dirk wouldn’t know that.
He arched an eyebrow at her. “Most women I know would faint to hear one of their own talking like that.”
“Most women you know?” she repeated skeptically. “Probably not that girl I saw you with that day we first met here.”
“Ah, touché,” he said. “I forget, you know my ugly secrets.”
“Do I?” she asked.
“Well, you know about my fondness for shop girls, at least,” he replied with a secretive grin.
“Is there more, then? What other ugly secrets could you have?”
“None I would share with a lady,” he replied.
“Do you share them with your shop girls?”
He frowned at this. “Is that why we came? So you could berate me for my lapses in judgment?”
“Is that what you consider them?” She didn’t wait for an answer, knowing he wouldn’t admit to it. “No, I’m just curious. How did you happen to discover that you had a… a fondness for shop girls in the first place?”
“Oh, Sarah, you really can’t be interested in hearing about my follies,” he protested uneasily.
“Nonsense, I’m fascinated. Are you doing it to embarrass your family? Are you planning to bring one of these girls home one day and present her as the future Mrs. Dirk Schyler?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He seemed shocked at the very idea.
“But you are trying to rebel, aren’t you? Why else would you keep company with girls of that sort?”
He was plainly uncomfortable discussing this, which was all the better. “I’ve never given the matter any thought,” he insisted.
“Well, think about it now,” she insisted right back. “At first I thought it was just that you… Well, I’ve been married, so I understand that a man has needs. I thought you were simply using these girls to meet those needs. But then I realized that a man of your means could keep a mistress to satisfy him in that way if that was all he was interested in. Such an arrangement would be safer, surely. You wouldn’t have to worry about disease or even about possible rejection. Surely, all these girls don’t succumb to your seductions, Dirk.”
“Sarah, you shock me,” he said, his voice hoarse with disbelief.
“Do I? I’ve shocked many people with my attitudes. That’s what comes of living alone and earning your own living, I suppose. You lose all sense of what is proper. I thought I’d found a soul mate in you, however. I thought you were a man who understood what it’s like to break the bonds of society. At least tell me how you first discovered an interest in pursuing these girls.”
“Are you thinking of following in my footsteps?” he asked in an effort to put her on the defensive.
“Perhaps,” she allowed with a small smile.
He smiled back, reluctantly. “I was coerced,” he said. “In the beginning, at least. My friends were bored one evening, and one of them said he knew a place where we could meet some attractive… uh… harlots. He took us to one of those places where they have dances. We asked the door-man to introduce us, but he insisted that he was unable to tell the respectable girls from the other kinds, and he left us to our own devices.”
“And were you able to tell?”
“Not at all,” Dirk assured her, warming to the story. “They all looked alike. And they all seemed quite pleased to have such well-dressed gentlemen paying attention to them. We bought drinks for some of them and engaged them to dance. Their behavior was quite outrageous, but they were insulted when we offered them money for their favors. My friends quickly lost interest when they learned they had been misled about the kind of female who frequents such dances, but I was intrigued.”
“You like a challenge,” she guessed.
He shrugged. “What man doesn’t?”
Indeed, she knew few who didn’t. “So you rose to that challenge.”
“I went back on another night, alone. This time I met a young woman who wasn’t quite so coy.” He grinned, a smile that chilled Sarah’s blood, but she managed to smile back.
“Your first conquest?” she asked, tempting him to brag.
“Ah, a gentleman never tells,” he replied.
“Does a gentleman seduce shop girls?” she countered.
He pretended to be offended. “Sarah, you cut me to the heart.”
“That assumes you have one, Dirk.”
“How cruel you are. When you lived in your father’s house, I’m sure you had better manners.”
“No, I didn’t,” she said. “I just had less opportunity to prove it.”
She surprised a bark of laughter from him. The sound wasn’t pleasant. “Are we quarreling?” he asked.
“Are you angry?”
“Not yet, but I can’t promise not to become so if you continue to insult me.”
“I can’t resist a challenge either,” she confessed. “What if I told you that all the murdered girls were killed after attending a dance? And they also had one other, very important thing in common.”
“What was that?”
“They all knew a man named Will.”
Dirk didn’t so much as blink. “You told me this before, and I believe I pointed out that it’s a fairly common name.”
“They all knew the same man named Will. A man who gave them all gifts right before they were murdered.”
He gave her a pitying look. “I’ll admit I don’t know as much about murder and murderers as your friend the policeman, but is it common practice for killers to give their victims gifts before murdering them?”
It did sound strange, but everything about this was strange. “We believe this man named Will seduced these girls, and when they succumbed, he became enraged and beat them to death.”
“Sarah, my dear, that is preposterous. Who would believe that a man would become enraged and kill a woman because she submitted to him? Isn’t it usually just the opposite?”
“Yes, it is, which is why this case has been so difficult to solve. But just the other day, we discovered a clue that puts everything into perspective.”
“A clue?” She had his interest once again. “What kind of clue?”
“We have a photograph of the man named Will, Dirk. I don’t think it will surprise you to learn that it’s a picture of you.”
She watched the play of emotions across his face. Surprise came first, but the others followed so rapidly, she couldn’t even keep track, much less identify each one. The final one was, of all things, amusement.
“You think I killed those girls?” he asked in astonishment.
She didn’t want to admit it. She wanted to be wrong.
“You knew them all,” she reminded him.
“So you say. I don’t know which girls were murdered, so I can’t deny it. But I know dozens of girls like that, Sarah, much as it must shame me to admit it. Surely, not all of them have been murdered. Not a tenth of them, or the newspapers would have been raising a hue and cry against such a slaughter!”
“We don’t know why the victims were singled out,” Sarah said.
“And who is this we you keep talking about? You and that Irishman? Sarah, don’t you know anything at all about the police? They’re nothing more than uniformed criminals themselves! That detective-what’s his name?”
“Malloy,” Sarah supplied.
“Malloy,” he repeated, making a face as if the word left a bad taste in his mouth. “I already told you why he’s so interested in this case, if you don’t. He doesn’t care who killed these girls. He’s only pretending to in order to impress you. Any fool can see he has designs on you, Sarah. He must consider you quite a prize to spend so much time chasing a killer of women no better than prostitutes. Why should he care how many of them die? The world would be a better place with fewer such creatures in it!”
“Dirk!” she cried, horrified by his attitude, although she knew far too many others shared it. She could also have set him straight about Malloy’s interest in her, but she didn’t think it was worth the effort.
“Don’t bother to be offended, Sarah. You’ve accused me of murder. I think I’ve got a right to be offensive in return.”
“Can you explain how you happen to know all the dead girls?” she asked.
“I told you, I know dozens of these girls, dead and alive. I’ve given them gifts and enjoyed their favors. At least give me an opportunity to defend myself. I probably have an alibi for the crimes. When were these girls killed? I’ll consult my calendar and give you a full report!” He seemed genuinely offended.
Sarah was starting to feel foolish. Although she wanted him to be innocent, she hadn’t really considered the possibility that he was. “Dirk, really, this isn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is. I can see I must prove myself to you or live under a cloud of suspicion for the rest of my life. Tell me. You must know when these girls died. What about this Gretel, the one you knew? You must have the date of her death engraved in your memory.”
Sarah wanted to deny it, but she did know the date. “Her name was Gerda. She died on the night of July sixth.”
He stared at her for a moment, then slowly a smile spread across his face. “I knew it. I thought I’d have to go home and check, but that’s a date I’ll never forget. Timothy Vandervort. You remember him. He got married a few weeks ago. I was his best man. That was the night we had a bachelor party for him. There were about twenty of us. We had a suite at the Plaza Hotel, and several young ladies came to… uh… to entertain us. All of the men are from the best families in New York, and every one of them will vouch for the fact that I was there with them all night. So you see, I could not possibly have killed your poor little Gerda.”
Malloy would make discreet inquiries, of course, but she knew Dirk wouldn’t lie about something that could be so easily disproved. He wasn’t the killer.
“What’s the matter, Sarah? You look disappointed.”
“No, I… I’m just so relieved,” she said, realizing that she was. So relieved that she was weak from it.
“Here, let’s find a bench,” Dirk said, taking her arm and leading her over to where two old men were sitting, feeding crumbs to the pigeons. “Excuse me,” he said to them. “The lady is feeling faint. Do you mind?”
They jumped up and scurried away, allowing Sarah to sit down just before her knees gave out completely. She felt like a complete fool.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asked solicitously.
Now she felt guilty. The man she’d just accused of murdering half a dozen young women was concerned about her welfare. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine. I just… Oh, Dirk, I’m so sorry. How could I have ever believed…?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, looking hurt. “How could you?”
“Everything seemed to suggest… And then Lisle was killed, right after I told you about her.”
“Lisle?”
“She was the one I said was most likely to have had a beau that Gerda would want to steal. She was murdered just a few days later.”
“Good God, how awful.”
“And Malloy found a photograph of you and Lisle that had been taken here at the park. She’d written the name Will on the back of it.”
“So Malloy’s the one who convinced you I’m a killer,” he said, thinking he understood everything.
Had he? Sarah couldn’t really remember. She’d thought it had been her own conclusion, but now she wasn’t sure. And Malloy hated Dirk. That much was certain. He’d wanted Dirk to be the killer. Had his prejudice colored his judgment? Had she let it color her own? She didn’t know. All she knew was that Dirk was innocent. Well, perhaps not innocent. His conduct had been too degenerate for that. but at least he wasn’t guilty of murder.
“Is that why you brought me here, to get me to confess to you?” he asked. He seemed to be amused again.
“It does sound silly, when you say it out like that, doesn’t it? Even if you were the killer, that hardly seems likely to happen. I’m terribly sorry, Dirk. Can you ever forgive me?”
“I’m not sure,” he said with amazing good nature. “But I will allow you to grovel a bit to get back in my good graces before I decide.”
“You’re very generous,” she allowed.
He shook his head in wonder as he considered the situation. “I can’t believe you came here alone with me if you believed I’d murdered those girls.”
Sarah had an urge to look around for Malloy, but she resisted. She didn’t want to alarm Malloy, and she didn’t want Dirk to know the extent of their folly. It was enough that she was embarrassed. No use embarrassing Malloy, too.
“We’re hardly alone, Dirk,” she pointed out, glancing meaningfully at the throngs of people passing by. “All the murders were committed in the city, in the dark of night.”
“And Malloy agreed to this idiotic plan?” he asked incredulously.
“I… I didn’t tell him,” she lied. No use making Malloy look as foolish as she did.
“Oh, Sarah, I thought you were such a sensible woman. When I think of what could have happened if you’d confronted the real killer this way…”
“I know.” She drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “I suppose I’m not cut out to be a detective. I should leave that to the police.”
Dirk made a rude noise, reminding her of how infrequently the police did any detecting of their own. She ignored him, choosing instead to begin making up for her ugly suspicions.
“I suppose you’ll want to go back to the city now.”
“Why?” He seemed genuinely surprised at the suggestion.
“Because I can’t imagine you want to spend any more time with me after the way I treated you.”
He shook his head again. “Sarah, you may find this hard to believe, but I’m actually sort of flattered.”
“Flattered?” She couldn’t believe it.
“Do you know, I believe this is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to me? I shall have the most fascinating story to tell at my club, about how I was suspected of murder! It’s too delicious.”
Sarah could hardly believe anyone would be bragging about such a thing to his friends, but Dirk seemed actually delighted.
“And we most certainly will not return to the city, at least not yet,” he went on, his face alight with excitement. “First we will enjoy the amusements to be found here, we will eat a delicious dinner, and then we will dance under the stars. I want to remember this day forever.”
Sarah didn’t want to remember it at all, but she couldn’t be rude, certainly not after the way she’d treated Dirk. If he wanted to spend the day here, she’d do her best to help him enjoy himself. She knew a pang of guilt over knowing Malloy would be traipsing around after them all day, but perhaps she could slip away at some point and tell him what had happened so he could go home. She pasted a smile on her face and said, “What would you like to do first?”
“Let’s ride on the Ferris wheel.”
Sarah found this the most pleasant of all the rides at the park, so she readily agreed. The line was long, but it moved quickly since the wheel was large and held many cars. Dirk was in boisterous good humor, almost unnaturally so. She tried to match his enthusiasm, but her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t really like him, after all. Even if he wasn’t a killer, he’d taken terrible advantage of many young women to satisfy his own lusts, and she could never overlook such a damning character flaw. When this day was over, she would make a point of never encountering him again.
When they reached the head of the line, Dirk stepped over to the ride operator and spoke quietly to him, slipping something into the fellow’s shirt pocket.
“What did you say to him?” she asked when he returned.
“I asked him to give us an extra-long ride. And to make sure we stop on the very top. The view is breathtaking.” He smiled, eager for her approval, and she gladly gave it. She couldn’t fault him for trying to make sure she had the best time possible, could she?
At last it was their turn. Dirk helped her into the car, then took his place beside her. The attendant fastened the gate across the front and then stepped back as their car swung up a notch to allow the people on the next car to exit and new ones take their place.
Soon they were halfway up, stopped momentarily for another car to load, when Dirk began to rock the car back and forth.
“What are you doing?” she cried in alarm, grabbing onto the gate for support.
“Are you frightened, Sarah?” he asked without a trace of concern. “Don’t worry, the car won’t tip over.” He lurched forward, leaning over the gate, so that the car tipped so far forward, Sarah could imagine them both tumbling out to their deaths.
“Dirk, stop it!” she cried, bracing her feet and clutching the back of the seat with one hand while still clinging to the gate with the other.
The wheel lurched into motion again. carrying them up another notch. When they stopped, the car swayed, and Dirk made it rock dangerously again.
Sarah saw his expression, and then she understood. He was frightening her on purpose, punishing her for her suspicions. “This is childish, Dirk. I told you I was sorry.”
“You’re going to be even sorrier, Sarah,” he assured her. “You know, you weren’t far wrong when you suspected me of murder.”
“What?”
“You heard me. I am a murderer, Sarah.” He smiled, and the coldness in his eyes chilled her to her bones.
“What do you mean?” She was glad to hear her voice sounded almost normal.
“Just what I said. It happened by accident the first time. I didn’t mean to kill the miserable little wench. She was just another one of those whores. You wouldn’t believe how cheaply they sell themselves. Sarah. A string of glass beads or a pair of gloves, and they’ll lift their skirts practically on a street corner.”
The wheel lurched again, and they rose another notch. At least Dirk had forgotten about rocking the car. He was too engrossed in his story.
“They’re disgusting, Sarah. They whimper and moan and pretend they enjoy it while you’re pressing them against a wall in a filthy alley. Even while I was using them, I hated them. I despised them. Each time the urge to punish them somehow got stronger and stronger, until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’d just finished with her, and she was simpering, pretending it had been so lovely when it was cheap and dirty and disgusting, so I hit her. I used an open palm the first time. A gentleman would never strike a woman with his fist, you know. You should have seen the look on her face. She was so surprised that I hit her again. She ran away, but I’ll never forget that feeling of triumph.”
Sarah could only stare. She seemed paralyzed with her horror. It was just as she’d imagined when she and Malloy had been trying to figure out what had happened. She felt no satisfaction, though. How could she take pride in having guessed such an awful truth?
“After that, I hit all of them. Each time I hurt them worse. I was trying to experience that surge of power I’d felt the first time, but it became more difficult each time. I had to hit them harder and more often. I had to beat them until they begged for mercy, and finally I hit one of them until she stopped begging at all. I didn’t know she was dead at the time. I just thought she was senseless. Then I saw something about her in one of the newspapers a few days later. They’d found her body.”
“Dirk, if you’re just trying to frighten me-”
“I think I’m doing more than trying, aren’t I?” he asked confidently. “It’s nice to see you at a disadvantage for once, Sarah. I knew I could manage that, given the appropriate opportunity.”
She’d been trying to convince herself he was making it all up just to terrify her. How could anyone speak of these horrors so matter-of-factly? But now she understood. He’d really committed these murders, and for some reason he wanted her to know all about it. “So after that first time,” she guessed, “you killed the next girl on purpose.”
“Of course I did. How could I do less? There was no going back after that, Sarah. And nothing else would appease me. I can’t describe to you the pleasure of feeling their flesh and bones breaking beneath my fists. There’s nothing else like it.”
His eyes shone with a light that she might, under other circumstances, have described as divine. Indeed, he looked transported.
She cringed away from him as far as the confines of the car would allow, which wasn’t far. She tried to reason, tried to find an escape from the truth.
“But you told me about Tim Vandervort and the party!” she remembered. “You couldn’t have killed Gerda.”
“Don’t you understand?” he asked with a sneer. “That’s the irony here. You started out looking for the man who killed this Gerda and then found out about the other girls who’d been killed. I killed the other girls, but I didn’t kill this Gerda. I might have. I was considering it. She would probably have been next, but someone else beat me to it.”
The car lurched again, and they rose higher into the summer sky.
“And what about Lisle? You couldn’t have killed her either.” At least her conscience would be spared this agony.
“Oh, but I could. And I did. I had to, you see. She was one of my failures. That happened sometimes. I could usually judge which ones would put up a fight, but Lisle surprised me. She looked so fragile, I never expected-”
“But why go back and kill her later if you didn’t kill Gerda?” Sarah cried, horror choking her.
“Because she might have remembered what happened between us and made the connection with the other murders. I had an alibi for Gerda’s death, but not for the others. If your detective had suspected me, I would have had to answer some difficult questions. Ordinarily, I’d think a decent-sized bribe would get me out of trouble with the police, but I don’t think I can offer the one thing that might appease this Malloy. His lust for you makes him very dangerous indeed.”
“Dirk, you shouldn’t have told me all this.”
“Why not, Sarah?” he asked, as if he really didn’t know.
“Because I have no choice but to tell Detective Sergeant Malloy. Surely, you must know that. I can’t allow you to kill anyone else.”
He waited until the car had moved again, bringing them to a stop at the very top of the wheel. “Don’t worry, Sarah. You won’t have to tell Mr. Malloy anything, because you’re going to have a terrible accident, and you won’t be able to tell anyone anything ever again.”