Mrs. Heffernan had an equally small caretaker’s apartment off the marble foyer. She greeted me with obvious relief.
“Oh, you’re back so soon, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “I was just thinking about fixing the young one some food for his midday meal.”
“Captain Sullivan was summoned back to work unexpectedly,” I said.
“That poor man. He’ll work himself into the grave if you’re not careful,” she said, leading me through to a cramped and overdecorated parlor. It felt uncomfortably warm and stuffy, and looked as if it hadn’t been dusted too frequently, and I felt a jolt of guilt about leaving Liam there.
Liam had heard my voice and was already standing and yelling “Mama!” as I came in. When he saw me he tried to run toward me, impeded by his petticoats. I swept him up into my arms.
“I hope you’ve been a good boy,” I said, showering him with kisses.
“No trouble at all, Mrs. Sullivan. Plenty of curiosity, I’ll say that for him, but not a malicious bone in him.”
I wondered what his plenty of curiosity had been trying to get into, noting the stuffed bird under a glass dome and the large aspidistra plant, but thought it wise not to ask as I thanked Mrs. Heffernan and carried Liam to the elevator. “First lunch and a nap for you, young man,” I said. “Then we’ll go out and get Dada a treat for his supper. I think we’ll throw caution to the winds and buy him a steak. We have to make sure he keeps up his strength.”
By five o’clock I had a nice sirloin steak waiting to be cooked in the pan, after I’d boiled the potatoes and beans. I had no oven, and no way of keeping things warm, but I’d just have to make do somehow. At seven o’clock I fed Liam some mashed vegetables and put him to bed. At eight I had some mashed potato myself and a fried egg. Nine o’clock came, then ten, and still Daniel didn’t come home. There was no way I could go to bed and no room for me to pace. At home on Patchin Place I’d have looked out of the window, but my window here looked onto a faceless wall of brick. I tried to read in the harsh electric light. But I couldn’t concentrate.
A man who taunted the police with notes before he killed—he sounded like the epitome of evil. And he was sending those notes to my husband.
I undressed and climbed into bed, hugging my knees to myself as if it was a cold rather than balmy September evening. I was just nodding off when I heard the click of the door latch. I jumped up right away as Daniel came in.
“You should have gone to sleep, my dear,” he said. He looked worn-out, his hair was disheveled and he was hollow-eyed. “Not stayed awake for me.”
“I was worried about you,” I said. “Have you eaten anything? I bought you a steak as a treat.”
“A steak?” His eyes lit up briefly, then he shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m too tired to do justice to it tonight. I’ve just come from a long session with the commissioner in which I was lambasted for not doing my job.”
He sank into the armchair. “We don’t have any whiskey, do we? That’s what I feel I need right now.”
“I think there’s still a drop in that bottle you were hiding under the sink.” I smiled as I went to find it. I poured the remains into a glass and brought it back to him. He drained it in one gulp. “Thank you. That hit the spot.”
“You have to eat,” I urged. “Are you sure you won’t try the steak?”
“No, really, let’s save it for when I can enjoy it. Some bread and cheese will do. And did you pour the last of the whiskey?”
“Yes, I did, but just this once—I’m not having you turning into an Irish drunk, Daniel Sullivan.”
He gave me a tired smile. “Not much chance of that happening. But after today … well, anyone would have needed a shot of whiskey.”
“Really bad, was it? Your murder investigation? It’s not going well?” I paused in the kitchen doorway.
He was staring down at his empty whiskey glass. “To begin with it wasn’t at all clear that one person was committing these crimes, you see. Now we have to believe that we are dealing with one murderer who feels he can kill with impunity, when and where he likes.”
I went through to the kitchen, cut some bread, buttered it, and added a big hunk of cheddar, then came back and placed them on the table in front of him. “You received a note today,” I said. “From your conversation it sounded as if you’ve been getting these notes on a regular basis.”
He nodded and sighed. “The first ones were only sent after he had killed someone. Now he’s so confident that he sends one before and after a murder, taunting us in our inadequacy.”