Deadly Illusions by Brenda Joyce Page A

happened? Are the girls all right?”
    â€œThe girls are fine. The Slasher is at work, Francesca, and now the question is who will his next target be, and will he strike again on Monday?” Bragg handed the file across the desk. “I am glad you are on this case,” he added. “We don’t have much time.”
    She took the file but did not open it; she could only stare. He looked away. Clearly he did not wish to discuss anything personal with her. Yes, everything had changed, because not very long ago he would open his heart to her without a moment’s hesitation. The urge to be his friend—a real friend—andto help him now overcame her, but so did guilt. What right did she have to the happiness she had just been feeling when his life was causing him such anguish? Surely, whatever was wrong, it could be fixed. Surely she could help! She had to help. Otherwise she was no friend at all.
    But now was not the time to push or pry. As hard as it was to back away, she would do just that. She took a deep breath and opened the file. “Margaret Cooper was killed Monday afternoon, between noon and 4:00 p.m.,” she read from the file’s notes. A chill tickled her nape and she knew she was missing something very important. “So Margaret was not attacked at night like the others.”
    â€œNo.”
    She glanced back at the file. “Her neck was cut with a blade no more than three inches long.” Surprised, she looked up. “Would that not be a common pocketknife?”
    â€œYes.”
    Diverted now from Bragg’s private dilemma, she saw that it had not been an easy task to sever Margaret Cooper’s jugular. Some sawing had been involved. And the same dull blade had been used on all three victims, the cutting from right to left. She looked up. “In all likelihood, the Slasher is right-handed.”
    â€œYes.” He was intently focused on her now. “Apparently there is a nick on the murder weapon, a small indentation on what Heinreich believes to be the right side of the blade. That nick has caused a slight vee on the track of the slit on Miss Cooper’s throat. He said he noticed it on Kate Sullivan’s wound as well, but at the time thought nothing of it.”
    â€œThat is a wonderful clue!” She handed the file back to him and sat staring at him, wide-eyed. He stared back as thoughtfully. Her mind raced, but not conclusively. Something continued to nag at her, but she could not identify it. She heard herself wonder, “Is he going to sharpen that knife? And if so, will the nick be filed out?”
    â€œYour guess is as good as mine.” Bragg rocked in his cane-backed chair. “I hope not,” he added.
    She continued to think. “I see that there was no forced entry at Margaret Cooper’s. Did he pick the lock? Attain a key? Follow her inside?”
    â€œThere was no forced entry at Sullivan’s or O’Leary’s, either. None of the two women have any idea how he got inside their flats,” Bragg said. “I take it you will interview both women today?”
    â€œI intend to try,” Francesca said grimly. And then she knew what she was missing and she shot to her feet. “Bragg!”
    His eyebrows lifted and he stood. “What is it?”
    â€œBridget O’Neil stayed home from school on Monday! She had a cough. She was at home— alone —when Margaret Cooper was murdered.”
    For one moment, he simply stared back at her. Then, “I cannot get away for a few hours.”
    She almost smiled, for she knew exactly what he was thinking. “I did not notice her coughing yesterday. She is probably in school now, anyway.”
    â€œYes. How does 4:00 p.m. sound?”
    â€œI’ll meet you at the O’Neils’.”
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    I T WAS NOON WHEN she stepped out of a hansom cab in front of the attractive limestone building that housed the Lord and Taylor store on the corner of