Deadly Illusions

She was thrilled at the gesture of intimacy and she smiled back. “I also assume the Slasher is a man, but we cannot rule out a woman. Remember, the Cross Killer turned out to be Lizzie O’Brien,” she said, referring to a previous case.

“Of course I remember,” he said, and then his expression changed and she thought he was remembering everything that had once been between them. He cleared his throat. “The two previous victims were Kate Sullivan and Francis O’Leary. Neither woman saw the Slasher, as he assaulted them from behind. But it was a man.”

She nodded. “Who alerted the police?”

“A Mrs. O’Neil found her. Apparently, she has the flat next door.”

Francesca stiffened. “Bragg! Not Gwen O’Neil?” An image of the striking redhead assailed her mind.

His tawny eyebrows lifted. “Yes, that is her name. And she is at headquarters. She is very upset,” he added. “Do you know her?”

She seized his arm. “Not only do I know her, you know her, too!”

AFTER SPENDING AN HOUR or more with Bragg at the crime scene, Francesca went two buildings down to visit the seamstress who had become her dear friend, Maggie Kennedy. As she went up the narrow staircase to the flat Maggie let, she was thoughtful. A killer was on the loose, unless the last victim had been accidentally murdered. All three victims had several characteristics in common: they were young, pretty, working class and they all resided within two square blocks. The first two victims, Francis O’Leary and Kate Sullivan, also lived alone. Apparently Francis O’Leary’s husband had vanished two years or so ago, while Kate Sullivan had left her spouse. Margaret Cooper had not worn a wedding band and there had been no sign of a male occupant in her flat—apparently, she had been single, too, although that they would have to confirm. All the victims had been assaulted on a Monday, each a week apart. There was almost no doubt that there would be another assault next Mon day and the likelihood was high that it would be somewhere in the ward and that the victim would be pretty, young, working class, single and female.

Fortunately, the first two victims were alive, which meant she could interview them, perhaps even that afternoon. Although the police had spoken with them, she had not a doubt they had missed crucial clues. Bragg had not been personally involved in the case at that time. Then she remembered her mother’s dinner party and sighed. She would have to attend or there would be a vast price to pay—Julia Van Wyck Cahill was not to be crossed lightly. The interviews would have to wait, as it was well past six already. And then there was Gwen O’Neil. Francesca intended to interview her, too. She wasn’t thrilled that Gwen and her daughter, Bridget, lived right next door to the last victim, just as she wished Maggie did not reside so close by with her children, either. However, the neighborhood was filled with impoverished young women.

As she paused before Maggie’s flat, she thought about the distance now separating her and Bragg. Perhaps she had been a fool to think that he could reconcile with his wife and she could marry another man and somehow they would remain friends. She could not help but be saddened. On the other hand, it was clear to her that he loved his wife, and she was certainly infatuated with Hart. In fact, he had gone to Chicago on business almost two weeks ago and it had been very hard not to think about him constantly.

At least Leigh Anne would be leaving the hospital and going home tomorrow. She wondered if she dared to call on her at home. Then she heard childish shrieks and laughter. Francesca began to smile as she knocked upon the door. Maggie was a widow and was raising four children by herself.

Eleven-year-old Joel Kennedy, once a pickpocket and now Francesca’s invaluable sidekick, promptly answered her knock. He had pitch-black hair and fair skin and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He knew the city like the back of his hand and had helped her out of danger too many times to count. His face was flushed and he looked extremely annoyed. When he saw Francesca, though, he brightened. “Miz Cahill!”

She glanced past him into the one-bedroom flat, which was usually tidy. Now, goose feathers floated about the family room. Joel’s two young brothers, Matt and Paddy, had clearly been in a pillow fight. The boys were on the floor, holding the mostly empty pillows, howling with laughter. They had clearly eaten, as she saw plates with bread crumbs on the kitchen table. Joel followed her gaze and scowled. “Idi’ts,” he said. “Mum will be fierce unhappy when she sees them down feathers all wasted like that.”

“I see there has been no homework today?” Francesca asked. She knew that Maggie had Matt in school, unlike many other working-class families. Too many of the city’s impoverished classes needed the extra income their children could generate. There was also a question of extreme overcrowding and under-funding for the city’s public schools. It was a shame.

Joel, who could read and no longer attended school, shrugged. “He got some letters to do. But he don’t want to do homework now. I didn’t want to fight about it. Got better things to do.”

Francesca closed the door behind her as Joel’s little three-year-old sister came stumbling out of the bedroom, clearly having been napping. “Joel, if they have eaten, Matt should sit down and do his letters. You know how to read—don’t you want your brother to have the same skills and advantages as you? Hello, Lizzie!” She tousled the sleepy child’s silky black hair.

Joel scowled at her. “Are you here on business, Miz Cahill? It’s been awful quiet for way too long.”

Francesca set her purse down on the sofa. “Yes, I am. And I agree with you—it has been a quiet spell for us. Shouldn’t your mother be home at any moment?”

“She should be home real soon. So what case are we on?” he asked with an impish grin. His dark eyes sparkled.

She patted his shoulder. “We are of a similar nature, you and I,” she said fondly. Then, her smile fading, she said, “A woman was murdered two doors down, Joel. She was Gwen O’Neil’s neighbor.”

He paled. “Miz O’Neil an’ Bridget?”

“They’re fine,” she assured him. “Can you start asking questions in the neighborhood? Did anyone notice a suspicious sort lurking about Margaret Cooper or her apartment or building? Was she afraid? Did she know she was in danger? Who were her friends? Did she have any visitors recently? We suspect the killer to be a man. And it might be the Slasher,” she added.

His eyes were wide and he nodded eagerly. “I can get started the minute Mum comes home,” he said.

“Get started on what?” Maggie Kennedy asked, letting herself into the flat. A paper sack filled with groceries was in her arms. “Francesca!” She smiled brightly. “How nice to see you!”

“We got another case,” Joel told his mother in a rush as she gave him a hug. “Been a murder, right on this block!” Maggie paled.

“Joel, please, let me explain,” Francesca said.

Maggie moved to hug the rest of her children in turn, but Francesca could see her distress. “What is this mess?” she asked the two younger boys. “You know I can’t afford more down! Now start picking up the feathers, every single one. Shame on you both,” she added, a tremor in her tone.

Francesca knew that Joel had worried her. She laid her palm on Maggie’s back as the other woman straightened and smiled reassuringly at her. “Shall we sit?”

“Of course, where are my manners!” Maggie cried, flushing. She rushed to the small dining table not far from the stove and sink and pulled out one chair. “Let me boil some water for tea.”

Francesca went to her and took her arm. “Please, Maggie, do not stand on ceremony. I really wish to discuss the case with you.” She gave her a significant look.

Maggie met her gaze and slowly nodded. As they sat down, Joel slammed out of the apartment. Maggie started, clearly un- happy. “It’s a miracle, really, for you to be giving him a salary, but…I worry so!”

Francesca had quickly realized just how invaluable Joel was, so she had offered him employment as her assistant. He, of course, had been thrilled. “You know I would never knowingly put him in the path of danger,” Francesca said, meaning it.

“I know. You have saved my life—and you have really saved Joel’s life, by taking him away from a world of thievery.” Briefly, she cupped her face in her hands, her eyes closed. Then she sighed. “I am glad that Joel works for you, truly I am…”

Francesca knew that Maggie was very tired from the long hours she put in sewing at the Moe Levy Factory. She touched her hand. “If you do not want him to work for me any longer, I will change it.”

Maggie shook her head. “He adores you. And he no longer is out on the streets, stealing purses behind my back. I’m just distraught today.”

Francesca could sense that and she wondered why. “Gwen O’Neil found her neighbor’s body,” she said after a pause.

Maggie made a choking sound. “Is she all right?”

Francesca took her hand. “I don’t know. Bragg said she was upset. I imagine she will be home shortly, but she was at police headquarters this afternoon. We suspect it is the Slasher at work again, Maggie. But unlike the others, Margaret Cooper did not survive his latest attack.”

Maggie made a sound. “I knew them all! They live—lived—nearby.”

Francesca leaned forward eagerly. “So you are acquainted with all of the victims?”

“In one way or another,” Maggie cried. “Francis and I seem to shop for our groceries at the same time—she is so kind and so sweet—I often bump into her at Schmidt’s Grocery Store. She was so happy,” she added in a whisper. “She recently told me she was seeing someone she thought very special.”

Francesca sat up straight. “Isn’t she the one whose husband disappeared some time ago?” If so, then she was still wed.

“I know she was once married. I had thought she was a widow, actually,” Maggie said with some surprise.

Bragg had reviewed the file with her, and Francis O’Leary was no widow. “Do you know the name of the man she is seeing?” Francesca asked.

“No. She didn’t say. But she lives two blocks from here.”

“Yes, on Twelfth Street.” Francesca decided she must interview Francis O’Leary immediately on the morrow. “Where does she work?”

“She is a shopgirl at the Lord and Taylor store,” Maggie said. “But when I saw her at church yesterday, she looked terrible.. I think she wore a bandage under the collar of her gown and she had a black eye. Perhaps she is not back at work yet.”

Francesca absorbed all of that. If she called early enough, Francis O’Leary would be at home. “And you also knew Kate Sullivan and Margaret Cooper?”

“I don’t really know Kate, but we nod to one another at church on Sundays. She seems very sweet, but a bit shy. You know I’m friends with Gwen, and I met Margaret at her flat one evening when I had to borrow some sugar. She was so nice as well!” Maggie cried.

A circle of friends, Francesca thought grimly, then revised her assessment of the situation. It was a circle of acquaintances, all hardworking women who lived very close to one another and would bump into one another in the course of the day or the week. “I want you to be careful,” she finally said.