“I know for damn sure that is not the case,” said Hickey. He stood. “Mr. Baumgarten pays my salary, and yours, too, Bacon. You’re not a detective anymore, no matter what Dr. Phipps might believe. You need to do your job. Make the visitors feel safe. Wasserman’s meeting with the newspapers in the morning. He’ll tell them about the reward and the plainclothesmen. Surely that will be enough to scare off this madman. Or capture him.”

“No doubt,” said Dr. Phipps.

Hickey gazed expectantly at Francis, who remained silent as he stared at the motionless white form in the back of the room. “I hope you’re right,” he finally said. “But I don’t believe you are.”

Chapter 62

Chapter 62

NEXT MORNING, PIN woke to the sound of her mother getting dressed, then grunts of annoyance as Gina brushed her thick hair and pinned it up, and finally a thunk as her mother tossed the hairbrush onto the trunk.

“Get up.” Gina prodded her shoulder as Pin feigned sleep. She smelled of cherry elixir and Sen-Sen. “I know you’re awake.”

“Your breath stinks.” Pin rolled over. “What time is it?”

“Getting on to eight.”

“Jesus! It’s so early!”

“Watch your mouth.” Her mother swatted her. “It’s Monday. You need to do me up.”

Pin rubbed her eyes, sat up, and clumsily began to button her mother’s clothing, shirtwaist first, then the cheap metal buttons that ran down the back of her skirt. Pin did this every day, morning and night, and never got any better at it. Or any faster, it took at least five minutes. When she finished, she flopped back onto the mattress and noticed an object on the rumpled sheet where her mother had lain.

A billy club. She picked it up. “Why do you have this?”

Her mother looked over her shoulder. “Put that down.”

“It must weigh ten pounds.” Pin turned it back and forth. “Maybe fifteen.”

“I said, put it down!”

Pin dropped it to the floor with a loud thud. “Where’d you get it?”

“Mr. Bacon loaned it to me.”

“Mr.—Fatty Bacon? The cop?”

“His name is Francis.” Her mother stooped to gather her bag and fortune-telling cards. “Why do you call him by that idiotic nickname?”

“Why do you think?” Pin nudged the weapon with her foot. “Why’d he give you a billy club?”

Gina straightened. She stared at Pin with an odd expression. “Someone else was killed last night,” she said. “He wanted me to be safe. Us.”

“Someone else?” Pin looked at her stupidly: Was she still asleep, and dreaming? “You mean here at the park?”

Gina nodded.

“Who was it?”

“A girl, I don’t know her name.”

“At Hell Gate?”

“No. The Hippodrome.” Her mother plucked at her blouse. Her hands were trembling. “I don’t know any more than that.”

“But how did you find out?”