The building was larger than the New Amsterdam, utilitarian in design and materials, and while Anna imagined that every bed was already filled, there was a deserted air about it. She wondered if most of the boys were out on the streets selling papers and blacking shoes, or if they had someplace else to be.
Elise said very little. She walked with her chin to her chest and her arms folded against her abdomen.
“If he realizes that you were once a nun, it will be because of your posture and the way you stare at the ground,” Anna said. “Look at people directly when they talk to you. I know it’s not easy after so many years of hiding away, but it’s a crucial skill to learn.”
“I’ve been trying,” Elise said dryly. “It’s a hard habit to break.”
Anna felt a flush of embarrassment. “I apologize,” she said. “For patronizing you.”
Elise stopped, surprised. “You have nothing to apologize for. I owe you everything.”
“No, you don’t,” she said firmly. “I am simply lending a hand to a promising student. All the work is yours. And while I’m lecturing you on your habits, I should at least be doing as much for myself.”
One side of the wide mouth curled up in what Anna took for reluctant agreement.
“Let’s face down the lion together,” she said, and opened the door for Elise to pass through first.
• • •
“I AM DR. Anna Savard, and this is Nurse Elise Mercier. We have an appointment with Father McKinnawae.”
The young man who sat at the reception desk sorting through papers glanced up at them. Anna felt herself judged, but whatever conclusions were reached, he hid them away well.
“Father McKinnawae’s office is down the hall.” He spoke English with an accent that could have been German or Danish, a young man of maybe twenty years. Not a priest or a monk, by his clothes. He gestured with his head to point them in the right direction. “It’s clearly marked.”
Before they had turned away he spoke to Elise. “Do I recognize your face?”
“I don’t know,” Elise said. “Do you?”
“I’m good with faces.”
“But I’m not. I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”
But he continued to study her, his curiosity overriding common good manners.
He said, “I’m Elmo Tschirner. From Holland.”
A little color came into Elise’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize your face or your name.”
“Are you Irish? You have the coloring, that red hair.”
“I’m not,” Elise said. “Pardon me, we need to be going.”
“Was it something I said?” he called after them, and Anna saw a spark of surprise and pleasure in the younger woman’s face.
• • •
THE HALLS ECHOED with the sounds of boys’ voices reciting lessons. Multiplication tables, primarily. From farther away there was the faint echo of hammers and saws. There was still the bite of fresh lumber in the air, and just below that, lye soap.
“It feels very familiar,” Elise said. “Like every other orphan asylum and mission I’ve seen. It’s good that they get lessons, don’t you think?”
Anna did agree. Homeless children needed food and shelter and someone who cared about their welfare and their futures. Father McKinnawae certainly took those needs to heart, and, she told herself, that was reason enough to respect the man, sight unseen. Even given Elise’s clear concerns.
The first door they came across had Father John McKinnawae stenciled in plain black on wood painted a dull green. It stood half open, but Anna knocked anyway, pushing the door open as she did.
The man standing at the window turned to them, iron-gray eyebrows jumping high on a shiny pink forehead. “Is it that time already?” He looked at a clock hanging over the door. “So it is. Come in. Come in. Did you find your way without difficulty?”
“Mr. Tschirner was helpful,” Anna said.
“Yes, a fine lad, excellent manners. I was lucky to find him. Now, which one of you is Dr. Savard?”
It took a moment for them to satisfy the need for polite introductions, and then Anna and Elise sat down across a desk as broad as a boat. It was covered with papers and binders and books, but everything seemed to be carefully ordered.
“Now, how can I help you?”
Anna took in a deep breath and told the story of the Russo children, starting with the church basement in Hoboken. She had decided to say nothing of Staten Island in the hope that he would volunteer the information. As she talked she watched his face, broad and unremarkable and unreadable.
“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble for these children,” he said when she had finished.
“We’ve done what we can. We’d like to do more.”
“Why? Why these four children? Why not some other children?”
Anna hesitated. “I don’t have a good answer for that, except that Rosa made an impression on me.”
“You pitied her.”
Anna wondered if this was a provocation. “I felt compassion for all the children, but her situation I found particularly difficult. May I ask why this is relevant?”
He made a tent of his hands, the fingers touching his chin. “The children in my care are vulnerable.” His gaze pivoted to Elise.
“Miss Mercier,” he said. “What’s your interest in the fate of these children?”
At first Anna thought that Elise would simply not answer, but then she cleared her throat. “I was there when the two boys went missing. I’d like to help in any way I can.”
“You feel responsible?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Father McKinnawae,” Anna said. “We would like to talk to you about the youngest of the children, Vittorio Russo. We believe that he was taken to the Foundling on the twenty-sixth of March, and that you found him there and took him away with you the next day.”
He blinked at her with what she thought was meant to be seen as mild surprise. “Why ever would you think that?”
“We went to the Foundling and looked at the records. Sister Mary Irene remembered the boy because of his unusual coloring. She was very helpful.”
“More helpful than I can be. I’m afraid I have no information for you.” His expression was stony, even hostile.
“You may not remember that you answered a letter of mine some weeks ago and suggested I come see you at Mount Loretto on Staten Island. My husband and I did in fact go to Staten Island on the twenty-sixth of May, but you had been called away because of some emergency.”
He had a polite but empty way of looking at her, as if he were humoring her need to tell a story.
“Brother Jerome gave us a tour, and then we went for a walk on the beach. That’s when we happened to see Vittorio with his adoptive family. He was introduced as Timothy Mullen. We didn’t intrude or ask questions, but I am certain that the boy called Timothy is in fact Vittorio.”
The empty expression gave way to irritation. “Did this child you think is Vittorio Russo seem to be suffering in some way? Underfed? Abused? Uncared for?”
“No,” Anna said. “He looked very content, and he is clearly much loved. Did you place him with the family, Father McKinnawae?”
“I know nothing about a child called Vittorio Russo,” said the priest. “Let me clarify something for you, Dr. Savard. Adoptions are private and anonymous. They are not discussed. With anyone, for any reason. Once a child has been adopted into a family, there is no turning back. It would be terrible for the child and the adoptive parents both. I’m sure you would agree that a child in the situation you’ve described has been through enough, and shouldn’t be wretched from a stable and loving family.”
“So you are saying that Timothy Mullen is not in fact Vittorio Russo.”
A line appeared between his brows, as if she were a dull student giving him
a headache. “As I have said, I cannot help you.”
“Let me understand,” Anna said. “If a child were separated from his parents in an emergency—a fire, for example—and they came to you in the hope you might know something of their missing son, a child you had taken in, you would lie to them.”
“That isn’t the situation at hand.”
“But if the child already has a family—”
“Does this boy you’re asking about have parents?”
Anna pulled up. “They are both deceased. But he does have sisters, who love him and miss him.”
“Dr. Savard,” the priest said with great solemnity. “I will try again to make you understand. Where we can, we find good, stable Catholic families to adopt orphaned children, and then we step back and allow those families their privacy. I can’t talk to you about any case, even in hypothetical terms. Do we understand each other now?”
“I understand that I have to tell two little girls who have lost everything that their brother is lost to them too, because the Church won’t allow them to be reunited.”
The smooth pink mouth puckered. “You are used to getting your way, Dr. Savard. But this time you will not.”
“The girls are Catholic,” Anna said. “As a priest, would you care to explain your position to them?”
He smiled at her. “Certainly. You may bring them to see me anytime. Now tell me, who has legal custody of these two Catholic children? Are they being raised in the Church?”
Anna gave him the same insincere smile as she got to her feet. “That is not a topic open to discussion. With anyone, for any reason. I want you to know that I may decide to talk to the Mullen family without your permission.”
There had been some condescension in his manner, and now that disappeared entirely.
“Do not test me, Dr. Savard.”
“But you are having such a grand time testing me, Father McKinnawae. And turnabout is fair play, even for Catholics.”
• • •
ELISE SAID, “I feared as much. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not finished yet.”
They turned from Great Jones Street onto Fourth Avenue, walking briskly. Elise wondered if it would be best to leave the subject until Dr. Savard had time to gather her thoughts, but then decided it was best not to hesitate.
“He will do what he can to stop you,” she said.
“And what would that be? Will he try to have me arrested, do you think?” She produced a sour smile.
“Would you really approach the family?”
Dr. Savard stopped and looked at her. “I might. Do you have objections?”
“Concerns.” Elise didn’t look away.
“Yes, there is no shortage of concerns.” Her posture relaxed, quite suddenly. “Don’t worry that I’m going to go marching off to Staten Island to confront the Mullen family. I have no interest in hurting them. We’ll talk about it at home, when the girls are asleep, and decide how to proceed. Does that put your worries to rest?”
Elise said, “I don’t know.”
“Fair enough,” said Dr. Savard. “Neither do I.”
They walked back to the New Amsterdam in silence.
• • •
DETECTIVES LIKED TO think of themselves as foolproof, able to tell an honest man from one who played at being honest. In Jack’s view of things this was true much of the time, but only because the first lesson learned on the job was not to trust anybody about anything. Something like Anna’s work, where she had to assume that all patients lied, whether they meant to or not.
Harry Liljeström wasn’t lying about anything. His wife’s death had torn him in two; at the morgue he stood looking at her remains with tears streaming down his face. Jack stood back to leave the man his privacy, then took him to the Gilsey House, where he had arrangements to make and a bill to settle.
“I have questions,” Jack said. “But if you’d like to wait until tomorrow—”
Liljeström was ashen, almost as if he were about to faint. “I have to get back home. Ask your questions now.”
They sat in a quiet corner of the hotel’s main lobby. Liljeström cleared his throat, wiped his face with a sodden handkerchief, straightened his shoulders, and looked Jack in the eye.
Jack decided that the direct approach would be best. He said, “There was a postmortem. Your wife died of blood loss following an operation.” He waited, watching Liljeström’s expression. He was a man like a thousand others in the city, someone Jack might have walked past every day and never noticed. But there was a dignity about him, and when he spoke his tone was even and unapologetic.
“We have two children,” he said. “Healthy, beautiful children. A boy and a girl. But the first confinement was hard, and the second even worse. Our doctor said that she was unlikely to survive a third pregnancy.”
“So you are aware of the operation she had.”
The man had very pale blue eyes, almost colorless. “Yes. She missed twice, you see, and we decided together that it was the right thing to go to a doctor who could bring her courses on. I wanted to come with her but she refused. It wasn’t the first time, and she thought she had nothing to fear.”
Jack said, “She had the procedure done previously? By the same doctor?”
“She had it done once before, but that doctor died, and she decided she didn’t want to approach anyone else near home. We’ve heard of women being blackmailed, you see.”
Jack sat back. “Well, no, I haven’t run into that before. Does it happen often?”
“I don’t know,” said Liljeström. “I only know of one case, a lady who goes to our church. Her daughter was in trouble and so they went to a doctor who could fix the problem. Afterward his nurse threatened the lady that she’d tell everybody about her daughter’s shame if she didn’t give her money.”
“How do you know this?” Jack asked.
“Because the lady is a close friend of my wife’s. Was a close friend.”
His eyes filled with tears. Jack concentrated for a moment on his notebook, and then in an even tone he said, “Do you know the doctor’s name, the one your wife came to see? Anything about him?”
“I only know that she was confident about his qualifications, and that his office is here in the city in a safe neighborhood.”
“To be clear, we believe that what happened to your wife might have been done with malice aforethought. Any information you have could be helpful in bringing the responsible party to account,” Jack said.
Color flooded the man’s face, rising from his neck like mercury in a thermometer. “You mean to say this wasn’t a simple error by the surgeon?”
“We have reason to believe that it may well have been premeditated. It’s still under investigation. And so perhaps you’ll understand why any information at all is important.”
“I would tell you if I knew. All I can say with certainty is that he charged two hundred fifty dollars, and was supposed to provide nursing care for up to three days, or until she was ready to come home.” He let out a harsh laugh, then pressed his handkerchief to his eyes. “He put her in a cab and sent her to a hospital. I know that I’d kill him with my own two hands, if he were standing here with me, and if it meant going to the gallows.”
“Would your sister-in-law know more about your wife’s arrangements?”
Liljeström’s head came up quickly. “No. She had no idea that Abigail was here. She wouldn’t have approved.”
“So it wasn’t Mrs. Liljeström’s sister who gave her the name of the doctor. Did she have other close friends in the city?”
“No. I really don’t know how she found him. Believe me, if I knew who was responsible, I wouldn’t keep it to myself. Are we almost done? I have arrangements to make. I want to take her home. The children and her parents—” He closed his eyes briefly, and then let out a long sigh.
>
“Just one more question,” Jack said. “They gave you her things at the morgue, and you’ve been through her room here. Is anything missing? Jewelry, anything of value?”
“She didn’t bring jewelry with her when we traveled,” Liljeström said. “It’s still at home in the safe. Her wedding ring was on the bedside table in her room.”
He stood abruptly. “You have my address if you have more questions.”
Jack shook Liljeström’s hand. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Would you like to be notified when we find the responsible party?”
“I want to know when he’s dead,” said Harry Liljeström. “I want to know that he’s burning in hell.”
• • •
ANNA SOMETIMES WOKE suddenly in the middle of the night, her heart hammering, sure that something crucial had been forgotten and left undone. Most usually Jack went right on sleeping. She wondered if it should irritate her that he was so impervious to her sleeplessness, and decided that it did not. It would be unfair, and beyond that, these short episodes provided her with the rare opportunity to study his face without embarrassing either of them. He teased her about her inability to accept compliments, but he disliked being studied and would go to lengths to distract her when she did it. Extreme lengths, on occasion.
In the dimmest light she saw that his eyes were moving behind closed lids. Scanning for trouble, even in his dreams.
Almost a week had passed and they had made no progress with Mrs. Liljeström’s case. There was still no indication of where she had gone the morning she died, or how she had found the person who operated on her. Apparently a case like this one became more difficult to solve with every passing day.
Oscar and Jack were still convinced that there was a connection between Janine Campbell and Abigail Liljeström, something they had missed. Anna wished—as she did every day—that Sophie were here to talk through this with her. Sophie had always been the better diagnostician, able to jump with dexterity from fact to fact, weaving them together until she had spun an answer.