the searing warmth was a comforting reminder that we were safe and alive. As we reviewed the photographs, Joe assured me that more interviews were being done even as we spoke, for the Yonkers police department had assigned a junior detective to help us with the case; he was continuing to interview the neighbors that very night. Still, we were frustrated by the initial lack of evidence or witnesses, and the photographs displayed in front of us did little to allay our concerns as we tried to imagine possible scenarios for how the killing had occurred.
“Sheer butchery.” I grimaced in disgust, sliding the photographs back into a plain envelope. “He’s a monster, whoever did this.”
“You’ve referred to the killer as a ‘he’ all night. Are you quite sure the killer is a man?” Peter had directed his question to me. He leaned back and peered at me through small wire-rimmed glasses. He was a slight man with a remarkable eye for evaluating those he photographed, and the unusual assignment I’d given him had more than piqued his interest. “You’ve found some footprints that appear to be from a man’s boot, but there’s no way of knowing for sure they were left by the murderer. And, ludicrous as it may seem, you can’t rule out the possibility that a woman could have worn thick socks and men’s boots.”
I took a large spoonful of the lentil soup that had just been placed before me. Though not as good as I remembered at McSorley’s in the city, it was piping hot, which was exactly what I needed. “I would suspect the killer is male in part because most killers are,” I said, “but in this case, I am convinced of it because the crime was so brutal.”
Peter listened intently as he pushed his empty glass of ale to the side.
I went on to explain, “When women kill, they usually choose methods that are less messy, like poisoning, or that require little physical strength.” I leaned back and gazed into the fire; the image of Sarah Wingate’s battered, lifeless face seemed to lurk within the flames. “To put this murder in practical terms, I don’t think even a strong, muscular woman would have had the strength to accomplish what was done to Sarah Wingate.”
Joe nodded in agreement. “You didn’t see the victim in person, Peter, but even judging from how she was injured . . .” He shuddered at the memory. “I agree with Ziele that it had to be a man who did it, and a large or heavyset man at that.”
“Have you found the weapon used?” Peter asked.
“No,” I replied. “We’ll have to search the grounds—and the woods—more thoroughly tomorrow.”
“Any idea what you’re looking for?”
“Something with a broad, blunt edge,” I said.
I had begun to recognize my own habit of mind in Peter’s questions. Like me, he attempted to sanitize the horror of this crime by reducing it to base analytical terms. Today, in the midst of so much blood, I had trouble facing up to the Wingate crime scene. But tomorrow I would have no difficulty reviewing and analyzing the autopsy report. It was always far easier to deal with the violence of murder when it was reduced to words and facts on paper.
We ate and drank in silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts, until Peter interrupted us. “Let’s look sharp, boys. We’ve got company.”
I turned around and saw a tall, lean figure purposefully striding toward us. John Fuller, our mayor, was sputtering with anger, and we were fortunate that his respect for our fellow diners—not to mention his own self-interest—kept his voice civil and controlled when he spoke to us.
“Good evening, Chief.” His icy stare was directed at Joe. “You’ve got time for socializing, but no time to inform your mayor about the first murder this town’s seen in twelve years?”
Joe responded evenly, his voice filled with gravity. “If you’ve heard about the murder, then you’ve also heard what a horrific scene it was. Can’t think you would begrudge a spot of dinner to men who have worked such a tough case.”
“Dinner?” The mayor looked pointedly at Joe’s empty pint glass before continuing to complain. “I had to hear the news from Mrs. Keane.”
I groaned inwardly; the interference of the village busybody certainly would not help matters. I had seen her among the group of neighbors clustered on the Wingate property. Since she could know only the barest of details, she no doubt embellished them with whatever