The boy was trembling again. “I didn’t touch her, not ever. They went into her room, and I left. Mattingly told me to get out when they came, so I did. When I heard she was dead… I mean, that’s why you’re here, ain’t it? Because they said I killed her? They’re trying to pin it on me, ain’t they?”

It would’ve been a good idea, Frank thought. In fact, he could have done so himself, just to get the case solved. A boy like this would be an easy target, with no friends to help him. Mattingly certainly wouldn’t, not if he’d framed the boy for the murder. But Frank had a witness who’d seen Fisher leaving the house before Alicia was killed. Or at least when her mysterious visitors were still with her.

“Well?” Fisher asked, his voice reedy with terror.

“I just wanted some information,” he told the boy, releasing him at last.

His legs threatened to buckle, but pride kept him on his feet. Clutching the wall for support, he glared at Frank, or tried to. It was more of a cringe. “You ain’t taking me down to the station house?” he asked, afraid to trust his good fortune.

“I know you didn’t kill the girl, so you can quit running. The police aren’t looking for you. But is somebody else?”

Fear flickered across the boy’s face again. “I couldn’t say.”

“But if you could, you’d say that you think Mattingly and maybe the fellow you let into the house that night are trying to find you so they can say you killed her.”

“Even a fool could see that’s the best thing to do,” he admitted. “Nobody’d believe me over them, not for a minute.”

“I think you can forget about it, then. It only took me a few days to find you, and I wasn’t trying very hard. Mattingly knows how to find somebody in this town. If he wanted to frame you, you’d be in the Tombs by now,” he said, naming the prison building used by the city. They were going to tear the place down, but Frank figured that no matter how modern the new prison was, it would always be called “The Tombs.”

“Maybe it ain’t Mattingly I got to be worried about,” he said quietly. “Nor the Tombs, neither.”

“What do you mean?”

The boy swallowed, trying to get some moisture back into his mouth, and his gaze darted up and down the alley, as if trying to judge who might be the bigger threat, Malloy or some unseen pursuer. “I mean, I know who the swell was who come to her room that night.”

“Who was it? Mattingly?” Frank demanded, resisting the urge to grab the boy again and shake the truth out of him.

But the boy shook his head. “Wasn’t him. It was…” He looked around again, making sure they were alone. “Well, I heard Miss VanDamm call him ‘Papa.’ ”

A FOOL’S ERRAND. That’s what Sarah was on. She didn’t even know why she was going back to the VanDamm’s house, but she was getting too restless sitting at home, waiting to hear back from Malloy. She had to do something.

She was hardly down her front steps, however, when someone called a warning.

“Stop, dear, don’t go any farther!” Mrs. Elsworth cried, hurrying down her own porch steps. Apparently, she’d been watching out her front window for something to happen in the neighborhood that would require her attention. “You dropped your glove!”

Sarah looked to see it lying near the top step, and started back for it.

“Don’t pick it up!” Mrs. Elsworth shrieked in terror, causing Sarah to nearly stumble on the steps. “Bad luck, you know!” she explained when Sarah gaped at her.

Sarah swallowed down her exasperation. “Am I supposed to let it lie there?” she asked, trying not to sound sarcastic.

“Of course not!” Mrs. Elsworth said, her eyes wide at such a ridiculous notion. “I’ll pick it up for you. And that’s good fortune for you today, to have someone else pick up your glove.”

Amazingly spry for her age, she brushed past Sarah and flitted up the steps, snatching the glove, then handing it back to Sarah with a flourish. “There!”

“Well, thank you,” Sarah said, trying to appear suitably grateful.

“Are you off to help a baby into the world?” she asked, plainly delighted to have been of service.

“No, I have an… an appointment,” she said, although it wasn’t any truer than it had been the last time she’d said it.

“Nothing serious, I hope.” Her face crinkled in concern.

“Oh, no, it’s just a visit with an old friend.” This was stretching the truth a bit, but Mrs. Elsworth didn’t need to know everything, however much she might wish to.

“With that gentleman who called on you the other day?” she asked coyly.

“I told you, that was a police detective, and he wasn’t calling on me. He’s working on a case, and I was able to give him some information.”

“Of course, dear, whatever you say.” Mrs. Elsworth smiled knowingly. “But I’d wager he would be calling on you if you’d give him the slightest encouragement.”

Sarah was hard pressed not to laugh out loud at such a ridiculous notion. “I assure you that Detective Sergeant Malloy barely tolerates me, Mrs. Elsworth, and the feeling is mutual. Once his case is solved, we’ll most likely never set eyes on one another again.”

“Oh, my, young people can be so blind,” she clucked, shaking her head in dismay. “He does seem like a very nice man, Sarah, even if he is a policeman. You mustn’t dismiss him too lightly. You never know where your destiny might lie.”

Sarah thought Malloy had seemed rude and obnoxious that day he’d met Mrs. Elsworth, and she was sure Malloy wasn’t any part of her destiny, but she wasn’t going to argue the point standing on the sidewalk. “I’ll give the matter some thought,” she lied to escape further blandishments.

“I should hope so,” Mrs. Elsworth said. “Now I’d best let you be on your way. Watch the weather, though, dear. There’s a storm brewing, and you don’t want to be caught out in it.”

Sarah glanced at the cloudless sky in surprise. The day was unseasonably warm again, and the air was still. “It doesn’t look like rain,” she pointed out.

“I know, but I tried to light a candle this morning, and the blessed thing just wouldn’t catch. That means a storm’s coming, sure as sunrise. Maybe you should take an umbrella, but… oh, dear, it’s bad luck to go back once you’ve started out,” she mused. “Oh, I know, I could lend you mine!”

She would have darted off to fetch it, but Sarah stopped her. “I’ll only be gone a short while,” she assured the old woman with a meaningful glance at the clear sky. “That storm must still be a long way off.”

“Just take care that you’re home before it starts,” Mrs. Elsworth warned. “It’s going to be a bad one.”

Sarah was still shaking her head when she reached the comer.

But as she paused on the VanDamm doorstep nearly an hour later, she couldn’t help giving the sky one last look. Still no hint of impending doom. Mrs. Elsworth’s candle-wick must have just gotten wet.

As usual, Alfred answered the VanDamm’s door. His eyes were still sad, and he now moved as if he carried the weight of the world with him.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Brandt, but Miss Mina isn’t at home today,” he told her before she even asked.

Sarah wanted to curse with frustration, but she knew that would shock Alfred so much he’d probably never admit her again. Instead, she chose to simply bend one of the rules of decorum instead of smashing it entirely. “Is Miss Mina really away from home, or is she just not receiving me?”

Alfred was visibly shocked at such a breach of etiquette. No one in the VanDamm’s social circle would dream of making such an inquiry and certainly not of a servant. If one were being snubbed, one would eventually surmise it and just stop calling. Sarah didn’t have the time or the patience for any more fruitless trips uptown if she had been banned from the VanDamm home, however, so she had to ask.

“I’m sure I don’t know to what you might be referring, Mrs. Brandt,” he informed her stiffly.