“She was very pleased when I gave her the clothing you brought. She said that now she would look like a lady.” Mrs. Wells smiled sadly at the memory. “She was going to find work today.”

Sarah could just imagine how excited the girl must have been, setting out in her “new” outfit to start a new life. What had taken her to the park this morning, instead, and who had killed her?

“Do you know where she was going?”

“She was going to look for a job in one of the factories nearby, making clothes. She had developed into a fine seamstress.”

“Why would she have been down by City Hall?”

“I… I can’t imagine,” she said. “I don’t want to believe she lied about where she was going.” Plainly, the thought pained her.

“Could she have gone to meet someone?” Sarah asked.

Mrs. Wells winced slightly. “Your friend, Mr. Malloy, asked me the same thing,” she said. “I told him I didn’t know. I’m sure if Emilia was meeting a lover, she wouldn’t have let anyone here know it.”

That did seem reasonable. “I guess you couldn’t blame her if she wanted someone she knew to see her all dressed up,” Sarah said.

Mrs. Wells lowered her gaze, studying her folded hands for a long moment. “She did say…” she began, then caught herself.

“What did she say?” Sarah asked. “It might be a clue to who killed her.”

Plainly, Mrs. Wells did not want to tell her. “One of the girls told me… You must understand, I’m sure Emilia was just talking when she said it.”

Sarah nodded encouragingly.

“She said she wished Ugo could see her. That is the man who beat her.”

Sarah tried not to let her excitement show. This could be a clue as to who killed Emilia, but she didn’t want to alarm Mrs. Wells or frighten her. “It would be perfectly natural for her to want him see how beautiful she is and to regret losing her,” she said.

“ ‘Favor is deceitful and beauty is vain,’ ” she quoted with a hint of despair in her voice. “In Emilia’s case, I’m afraid it may also have killed her.”

“Do you think that’s what she did? Meet her lover to let him see what he’d lost or even to make him want to take her back?”

“It’s possible. Heaven knows, I’ve seen girls do things even more foolish. And this Ugo is prone to violence, as he proved before.”

“Did you tell this to Mr. Malloy?” Sarah asked.

Mrs. Wells shook her head. “I’m afraid I didn’t think of it. He asked me the name of her family, of course. And I also told him her lover was named Ugo. I never heard his last name.”

“I’m sure her family will know it,” Sarah said. “Malloy should know that she might have gone to meet him this morning, though.”

“Would you have the opportunity to tell him?” Mrs. Wells asked. “I’m afraid I’d rather not discuss it any further. It’s rather painful, and I… Well, I’d really rather not deal with the police anymore.”

“Of course. I’ll be glad to tell him,” Sarah said. No one ever wanted to deal with the police.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brandt,” she said, preparing to rise. Sarah knew this was a signal their visit was over, but Sarah hadn’t yet told her why she’d really come.

“Mrs. Wells, I was wondering if you would allow me and Mr. Dennis to hold a party to raise money on behalf of the mission.”

Mrs. Wells stared at her with that intense gaze she had noticed on her previous visit, as if she were trying to look into Sarah’s soul and read what was written there. “That would be very kind of you,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. She wouldn’t want to appear too eager, of course. That would make her look greedy.

“My parents would actually host the party, at their home. My father is Felix Decker,” she added, knowing this would overcome Mrs. Wells’s wariness.

As self-contained as she usually was, Mrs. Wells could not conceal her surprise. She had obviously underestimated Sarah Brandt. “Mrs. Brandt, I… We would be honored.”

“Mr. Dennis suggested that perhaps you would like to attend the party yourself and speak about the work you are doing here. He thought it might also help if you brought a few of the girls with you, to actually show the success you’re having.”

“I’m sure we can do whatever you think would be most appropriate. We never have enough of anything here at the mission. Raising funds is a constant struggle.”

“I was certain that was true,” Sarah said. “Which is why I want to help. I’d like to think that Emilia’s death can bring some good.”

Mrs. Wells smiled sadly. “I’d like to think that, too, Mrs. Brandt.”

When Emilia Donato left home, she hadn’t gone too far, Frank observed. Her parents lived only a few blocks from the mission, where Mulberry Street made a sharp turn between Park and Bayard Streets. Known as the Bend, the area had long been the location of the most notorious slums in the city. A couple decades earlier, it had been the juncture of five streets. The Five Points area had been so dangerous that even the police never went there except in large groups. Five Points crime had been cleaned up, but the poverty and squalor remained.

Thousands of Jewish and Italian immigrants were now crammed into crumbling tenements and rotting houses left over from the original Dutch settlers. The city had recently decided to tear down the worst of them and build a park on the west side of Mulberry Street, but the work was just beginning. The people who lived here now were still trapped in their poverty and misery, and in addition to the criminals that plagued the entire city, they were also terrorized by the more subtle members of the Black Hand.

Frank had waited until evening to call on the Donato family, figuring the father and brother were more likely to be home at that time of day. Frank was assuming, of course, that they had jobs. From the way Mrs. Wells had spoken of them, he would not have been surprised to find them lying in a drunken stupor in their flat at nine o’clock in the morning.

This part of the Bend was inhabited primarily by Italian immigrants, most of them recent arrivals. The people were dressed in bright colors, and everyone spoke in Italian. Except for the buildings surrounding it, the street might have been in any village in Italy. Peddlers’ carts lined both curbs, and even at this hour, transactions were taking place with much shouting and gesturing as housewives negotiated for the ingredients of their evening meals. Even the doorways of the buildings had been commandeered for commerce. Boards were stretched across the openings and merchandise displayed upon them. Each merchant stood inside the tiny lobby of the building, as if it were his shop, and conducted his business on this makeshift counter. Tenants of the buildings had broken holes in the back walls of the lobbies, and they used those improvised entrances so as not to disturb the transactions taking place in the official doorways.

Everyone on the streets looked suspiciously at an Irish policeman. Conversation died as Frank approached each group and picked up again noisily as soon as he was past. Their fear and distrust were like a miasma through which he walked until he reached the alley that led to the Donatos’ tenement.

Most of the windows in the surrounding buildings were open, even though the day was cool and getting colder, and the residents who weren’t outside were hanging out of the windows, conversing with those below. The Italians liked the outdoors, even if that meant city streets without a tree or a blade of grass for miles. They’d appreciate the park, when it was finally built… if they managed to find cheap lodging nearby after these buildings were torn down.

Frank passed an old hag selling stale bread from a sack made of filthy bed ticking and found his way into one of the many twisting alleys in the neighborhood to the rear tenement where Mrs. Wells had said the Donato family lived.

A woman had just begun climbing the stairs in the pitch-dark hallway when Frank entered. A red bandanna covered her hair, and the darkness shadowed her face, but her weary step and hunched shoulders told of years of suffering. She carried a market basket over one arm.