“That’s right,” Frank said, watching the other man’s face carefully.

“The wound… Did it bleed a lot?”

“Hardly at all. In fact, it was so small, we almost didn’t notice it.”

Dennis closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, as if he’d sustained a great shock and couldn’t quite absorb it. “Mr. Malloy,” he said in a strangled voice, “I think I may know who your killer is.”

Gina had never ridden in a Hansom cab before, and she enjoyed it thoroughly. Fortunately, the traffic was much lighter at this hour than usual, and they traveled relatively quickly down Seventh Avenue. The driver refused to go into the tenement section of the city, however, so she and Gina were forced to walk the rest of the way. If Gina felt any apprehension at walking through the neighborhood after dark, she gave no indication. She was probably used to it, and Sarah certainly was, too.

After what seemed an eternity, they finally reached the mission. Sarah saw Gina safely inside, where Mrs. Wells anxiously awaited them, with Aggie clinging to her skirts. The little girl rushed to Sarah and threw her arms around her legs as usual. Sarah stooped and gave her a hug.

“It’s nice to see you, too, Aggie,” she told the child, who looked at her with such longing, she thought her heart might break. She knew Aggie was becoming too attached to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it.

“Thank you for finding Mrs. Brandt, Gina,” Mrs. Wells was saying. “You did a good job.” Gina fairly beamed with pleasure, reminding Sarah how desperate these girls were for approval of any kind. “Now you can go on upstairs with the other girls and get ready for bed.” She glanced at the child Sarah still held. “And take Aggie, too, please.”

Aggie struggled a bit, but a stem look from Mrs. Wells defeated her. As soon as they were gone, Mrs. Wells closed the parlor doors and asked, “What did the message say?”

“The priest thinks he knows who Emilia’s killer is,” she said. “I’m going to see him right now.”

“Are you sure he can be trusted?” Mrs. Wells asked with a worried frown.

Sarah almost pointed out that the man was a priest, for heaven’s sake, but then she realized that was probably exactly why Mrs. Wells wouldn’t consider him trustworthy. “I believe so,” she said instead. “I’m at least going to hear what he has to say.”

“You’re going tonight?” She seemed surprised.

“I think we need to learn the truth as soon as possible.” Sarah didn’t point out that she wanted to find the killer before anyone else was murdered, but she could see that Mrs. Wells understood just the same.

“I can go with you, if you’d like,” Mrs. Wells offered tentatively. “Although they might not welcome me there.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Sarah said. “I can’t imagine any place safer than a church.”

The city was settling down for the night. The hoards of people who congregated in the streets during the daylight hours had gone to seek their beds or some indoor entertainment. Saloons catering to every pocketbook would be crowded with patrons who had no place they’d rather be, while those fortunate enough to have a job would be at home in bed, in anticipation of another long workday.

St. John’s sat forlornly on the comer, its steeple towering over the surrounding neighborhood. Only a feeble light from within illuminated the stained glass windows. Church, she realized, was a daylight activity. She was glad she’d chosen to come this evening, when Father Ahearn would be free to give her his full attention, and no one would be around to overhear what he was going to tell her.

The heavy front doors of the church were unlocked and moved silently on their hinges. Inside, she saw that one source of the light was a display of candles sitting in a wooden rack. They lit the foyer with a welcoming glow, and Sarah stepped inside. She moved forward, letting her eyes become accustomed to the shadows. Stopping behind the last pew, she scanned the sanctuary. She saw no sign of Father Ahearn, or anyone else, for that matter.

Of course, he couldn’t have any idea how quickly she’d receive his message. He’d hardly be sitting here waiting for her. She’d have to find the door that led to the priests’ private offices and see if he was there.

The church seemed cavernous in the semidarkness. The light from the candles in the foyer could not penetrate the depths of the sanctuary. Some solitary lights burned up near the altar, too, and Sarah used them to mark her progress down the long aisle. She was halfway to the door she was seeking when she heard a sound behind her.

“Father?” she called, turning. But the shadowy figure who had entered the door through which she’d come wasn’t a priest.

Frank didn’t like the idea of bringing Dennis along, but the man had offered the use of his carriage. Besides, Frank figured he wanted to see the confrontation that was coming. If Dennis was right in his theory about who the killer was, he certainly deserved the opportunity.

The carriage stopped in front of the mission, and the two men climbed out. Frank could see the driver looking around nervously, wondering how safe he’d be in this neighborhood. Curious eyes were probably already peering out at him from every building.

Frank climbed the front steps and pounded on the door. “Police, open up!” he shouted. The windows were dark, but he couldn’t believe everyone inside was already asleep. Even if they were, he’d soon have them awake again. He needed to pound a few more times before someone finally unbolted the door and opened it a crack.

Without waiting for an invitation, Frank pushed it open, forcing whoever was behind it to back up or be knocked over. Once he was inside, he saw it was the same red-haired girl who had opened the door to him before. This must be Maeve, the girl Sarah suspected of being the killer. She wore a nightdress and carried a candle. “You can’t come in here,” she tried, but her voice trembled. Her face had gone so pale, her freckles looked almost black.

“Where’s Mrs. Wells?” Frank demanded. Several other girls had come to see what the disturbance was about, and they stood on the stairs, staring down at him in wide-eyed terror.

“She’s in her room, asleep,” Maeve said. The candle she was carrying trembled.

“Then get her up,” Frank said. “I need to speak to her.”

For a second, he thought she might refuse, but then she obviously realized the futility of it. She nodded at a dark-haired girl, who took off running down the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor.

“What do you want? Is something wrong?” the girl asked, but Frank just glared at her.

They stood like this for a minute or two. All the girls seemed to be holding their breath, sensing something awful but having no idea what it might be. Then they heard the sound of the girl’s running feet returning. She stopped beside Maeve, her dark eyes wide with terror. “She ain’t there.”

Maeve turned on her in exasperation. “What do you mean she ain’t there?”

“I mean, she ain’t there. And she ain’t in the kitchen. I looked.”

“Where else could she be then?” Frank asked, his voice gruff and as frightening as he could make it without terrifying the girls into total silence.

“Nowhere,” the dark-haired girl offered before Maeve could speak. “She told us all to go to bed, that she was going to her room to pray.”

“When was this?” Frank asked.

“Just a little while ago,” the dark-haired girl said. “Right after Mrs. Brandt left.”

“Mrs. Brandt was here?” Frank nearly shouted, grabbing her by the arm.

Her eyes widened in terror and the color drained from her face. Instantly, Frank realized he’d made a tactical error. If the girl was too frightened, she wouldn’t tell him a thing.