“Maybe a private agency hired by the parents,” he mused. “If this was a kidnapping that went wrong.” He returned his attention to Pin. “Why’d you go speak to Lord Clyde?”

“Some days he plays Satan in Hell Gate. I thought he might’ve seen the girl in the yellow dress.”

O’Connell looked up from the stenotype machine. “Clyde’s surname?”

“Smithson,” said Fatty. “Clyde Smithson. He’s the Negro magician at the freak show. Never had any complaints about Clyde.”

Pin looked at him, startled. “Nobody has! Jesus Christ.”

“Watch your tongue, boy. You said he’d just gotten off working at Hell Gate when you saw him,” Hickey went on. “You told him about the missing girl, but he didn’t remember seeing her.” Hickey stared at her pointedly, and she felt a spike of panic. “If Clyde was working inside the attraction, wouldn’t he have noticed if something went awry, and reported it?”

She shook her head. “He couldn’t check ’cause he had to get to his show at the Ten-in-One. He had to dress in a hurry.”

“So he was changing his clothes when you saw him at the Ten-in-One?”

“No. He already had his suit on.”

Hickey and Fatty exchanged a look. Hickey brooded, finally asked, “Why didn’t you report this to the police when it happened, Pin? There something you’re not telling us? This girl, did you know her? Anything happen between you and her that you want to tell me?”

Pin stared at him, aghast. “What? No!”

Hickey stood for a long time, waiting for her to say something. She clenched her hands in her lap and refused to look at him. After a minute, he turned toward O’Connell. “You got all that?”

O’Connell nodded. Someone knocked at the door and cracked it open.

“Sir, Captain Cabell is here from Robey Street station.”

Hickey waved him off. After the door closed, he shook his head. “Goddamn it. Now it’ll all go to hell.” He pointed at the stenotype machine. “Get that out of here before that son of a bitch sees it. Bacon, ask someone to escort this young man home. I want him in his mother’s custody for the night.”

“I’ll bring him,” Fatty replied quickly. Pin scowled. Now the stupid bastard would know where she lived.

Captain Hickey grabbed his hat from the desk. He gave Pin a terse nod of dismissal. “If you hear or see anything else, I’ll trust you to let us know immediately. Especially about that man, the detective or whatever the hell he is.”

Hickey left. O’Connell followed, the stenotype machine bundled beneath his uniform jacket. Pin stared sullenly at the floor, willing Fatty to leave.

Instead he stepped to the door, motioning impatiently for her to join him. “Well, let’s get you home,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night for the rest of us.”