“Agnes, let me at least make sure you aren’t more seriously hurt. If you die, who will take care of your children?” Sarah tried.
Sarah would have thought the other woman couldn’t be more terrified, but she would have been mistaken. Every last vestige of color drained from Agnes’s face, leaving the bruises standing out in stark relief. “My children,” she whispered.
“You must think of them. Where are they now?” Sarah asked, almost afraid to find out.
Agnes pointed an unsteady finger at the bedroom door. Sarah hurried over and opened it. She found the two older children huddled on the bed, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes. The baby was lying in a cradle in the comer. Her eyes were open, but she wasn’t making a sound. She wore only a diaper, and her little body was covered with a rash. Sarah hoped it was only prickly heat. The room was like an oven, without a breath of air, but the children didn’t seem to be sweating. Most likely they were dehydrated, even the baby. How long had they been cooped up like this? Sarah didn’t even want to think about that.
The next hour passed in a blur as Sarah got the children to drink large amounts of water and bathed them to help them cool off and dusted them with cornstarch and examined Agnes to make sure she had no more serious injuries than the ones she already knew about.
When she was satisfied that everyone was physically as comfortable as possible, she turned her attention to the rest of it.
“Agnes, you can’t go on like this. You’re going to have to do something to protect yourself and your children.”
“I do,” Agnes insisted. “I work very hard. I try to have Lars’s supper on the table when he comes home, and I keep the children as quiet as I can, and I clean until my hands are raw. But I am not a good enough wife. Lars is so nervous. He must have peace and quiet in his home. I try, but I cannot do things the way he likes them. But I will try harder. I promise!”
“No, Agnes, I’m sure you already try as hard as you can. I’ve seen men like Lars before. No matter how hard you try to please him, you’ll never be able to. He’ll always find a reason to beat you. There’s nothing you can do to stop him.”
“Yes, there is!” she insisted. “I will be a better wife. That is what he says he wants. I will work harder and take better care of the children. Then he will be happy, and he will not have to hit me anymore.”
Sarah wanted to scream. She knew all the logical arguments, but rarely did they work on women like Agnes. Not only did their husbands injure their bodies, they also injured their minds, twisting them until they actually believed they deserved the beatings they received. This time, however, Sarah had an argument she’d never been able to use before.
“Agnes, do you want to end up like Gerda?”
Her eyes grew wide with renewed terror. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, do you want to end up beaten to death?”
Agnes reached out and grabbed Sarah’s arm, squeezing with surprising strength for one so frail. “What do you know? Tell me the truth? Do you know who killed my Gerda?”
Sarah couldn’t identify the emotions burning in Agnes’s bloodshot eyes, but they frightened her. “No, we haven’t found her killer yet,” she admitted reluctantly.
“But you told me… You promised! You said you would soon know!” Agnes reminded her brokenly.
Sarah swallowed down the lump that rose in her throat. “You know that other girls were killed the same way as Gerda, don’t you?” Agnes nodded. “Well, we found out who murdered them, but… but he didn’t kill Gerda. He couldn’t have. He was somewhere else that night. So we still don’t know who killed Gerda.”
Sarah watched Agnes’s eyes fill with tears that spilled over and ran down her battered cheeks, but still she didn’t release Sarah’s arm or her gaze. She wanted to tell Sarah something. Sarah was sure of it, although she couldn’t imagine what it might be. So she waited, willing Agnes to unburden herself as she prayed for the wisdom to know how to reach her.
After what seemed an eternity, Agnes said, “He did not hurt her.”
“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.”