Malloy didn’t argue. She could almost see him considering her theory and coming to the same conclusion she had. “Maybe there isn’t any money missing at all,” he said after a moment.
“What?”
“Maybe this banker just told you that so he’d have an excuse to get rid of Nelson without losing your good opinion.”
Sarah gaped at him. “I’m sure my good opinion doesn’t mean that much to him.”
“Are you?” Malloy asked. “Is this Dennis a married man?”
“He’s… a widower,” she admitted reluctantly, not liking where this conversation was going.
“How old is he?”
“About your age,” she allowed.
Malloy nodded as if she’d proven his point.
“What difference could that possibly make?” she asked impatiently.
“Believe me, it makes a lot of difference.”
“In what way?”
“In every way.” A flush had crawled up his neck. “When a man wants a beautiful woman, he’ll do just about anything to keep her good opinion.”
Sarah’s jaw dropped in surprise, but before she could even frame a response, he said, “The coffee’s boiling over.”
Instinctively, she jumped up to rescue it. By the time she’d gotten the pot off the heat, burned her finger, found some butter to put on it, and poured them both some coffee, the shock of his remark had passed.
When she turned back to face him, his expression was once again bland, and the flush had faded from his face.
Before she could say a word, he said, “Did you go see Prescott at the hospital?”
“Yes,” she said, grateful for the change of subject. She set the coffee cups on the table and took her seat again. “He’s not doing very well.”
“Is there any chance he’ll survive?”
“He might. He’s got an aunt. I’m going to… Oh, dear, I was going to write her a letter this evening to ask her to visit him and bring him some nourishing food. Then Mr. Dennis came and… I guess I’ll have to take him some food myself tomorrow. I was going to go see him anyway. I’d really like to move him here, where I could take care of him, but he’d never be able to stand the trip.”
“That’s what I figured. If it’s any consolation, I think I know who stabbed him.”
“You know who the killer is?” Sarah exclaimed.
“It had to be Giddings’s son.”
“Giddings’s son? Why would he try to kill Prescott?”
“Because he killed Anna Blake.”
“How do you know that?”
“Remember the landlady said a young man came to see Anna right before she was killed? The first time I visited Mrs. Giddings, her son came in and told her she didn’t have to worry about ‘that woman’ anymore. That made me think maybe he knew more about Anna’s death than he let on. I didn’t know then that he’d visited her the night she died, though. Then Prescott starts snooping around. Sooner or later he was going to find out about Giddings and put his name in the paper, too. The boy wants to protect his mother from any more scandal, so he sends Prescott a note, asking him to meet him. He shows up dressed like a woman and lures him into the alley off of Washington Square and stabs him.”
Sarah frowned. “I know we once encountered a woman who dressed up like a man to walk the streets safely at night, but for a man to dress up like a woman… isn’t that a little far-fetched?”
“What better way to lure Prescott away so he could kill him?” he pointed out reasonably.
Something about the theory bothered Sarah, but she couldn’t say quite what. It did make sense, far-fetched as it was. “Why haven’t you arrested him yet?”
“I was busy all day on a warehouse robbery, and when I went to their house just now, no one answered the door. I know Mrs. Giddings doesn’t want to talk to me again, so she probably just pretended she wasn’t home. I’m going to try again tomorrow, and this time if she doesn’t open the door, I’ll be a little more forceful.”
Sarah winced at the thought of him breaking down the door or something equally violent. “My evening was much more interesting, although not much more fruitful. I talked to Irene.”
“Who’s Irene?”
She stared at him in amazement. “Didn’t Prescott tell you about her? She’s the actress he found, the one who knew Anna Blake.”
“Oh, yeah.” He was unimpressed, so Sarah set out to impress him.
“Did you know that Mr. Walcott was an admirer of Anna’s, when she was on the stage?”
“What do you mean by ‘admirer’?”
“I mean he waited outside the stage door for her and gave her flowers. Then he convinced her to come and live at his house, free of charge, so she could meet rich men like her friend Francine had done.”
“Who’s Francine?”
“Another actress Anna knew. Irene knew her, too. She went to live at the Walcotts’ house a few months earlier. I thought it might have been Catherine Porter by another name, but Francine had red hair and freckles, so it couldn’t be the same person. At any rate, Francine supposedly met some rich man and went off with him.”
“She must’ve been the one Miss Stone told me about.”
“Who’s Miss Stone?”
“The Walcotts’ next-door neighbor. She doesn’t miss much that goes on in the neighborhood-like another old woman I could name. She said she didn’t think this girl’s hair was naturally red, though.” Sarah smiled in spite of herself. Miss Stone did indeed sound like her own neighbor. “This Francine must’ve been the woman Prescott was trying to find,” Malloy mused. “He said he went back to the Walcott house to find out where she went when she left, but Catherine Porter either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell him. He’ll be glad to know she did so well for herself.”
“Irene also knows Catherine Porter, and she doesn’t have much good to say about her. It seems that when Catherine couldn’t find work in the theater, she sold the one thing of value that she had on the streets.”
Malloy raised his eyebrows. “Which would make her very good at doing the same thing Anna Blake was doing, seducing men and blackmailing them.”
“That’s exactly what I thought, too. And the Walcotts must have known. They may even have encouraged it. But that doesn’t make any sense. The Walcotts claimed they take in boarders because they need the money, but according to Irene, Anna didn’t even pay any rent.”
“She didn’t have to. Nelson and Giddings paid it for her,” Malloy reminded her.
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten! That’s why she could live there for free, because someone else paid her way.”
“And if she was an actress, that explains why she was so good at tricking men into doing what she wanted,” Malloy pointed out.
“I remember when I met Anna, I had the feeling something wasn’t right. Nelson was trying to reassure her, but she kept insisting on misinterpreting everything he said. It was like she was trying to make the situation worse than it really was.”
“More melodramatic?” Malloy offered.
“Yes, that’s it exactly!” Sarah exclaimed. “She was acting in her own private play.”
“I guess the last act didn’t end the way she’d planned, though.”
Sarah remembered Anna the way she’d looked that evening Nelson had introduced them. The woman had pretended to be fragile and helpless, but even then Sarah had sensed a confidence and strength behind the facade. Anna Blake was a woman who knew what she wanted and was willing to do whatever she had to in order to get it. Only one thing still bothered her.
“I just don’t understand why she went out that night. No woman who valued her safety would go into the Square alone at that hour of the night.”
“Harold Giddings must have arranged to meet her later,” Malloy suggested. “Maybe he threatened her in some way or maybe she thought she could charm him into something if she got him alone. I’ll find out everything when I question him.”