Death in Saratoga Springs by Charles O'Brien Page B

Francesca in a small interior cell with two rough-looking older women.
    Prescott complained to the jailor, Mr. Wilbur Smith. “Sir, the judge gave explicit instructions to place Miss Ricci separate from adult inmates.”
    The jailor glowered. “It doesn’t cost him anything. We have a tight budget.”
    â€œI’ll pay the difference,” said Prescott. He arranged to move Francesca to a private room with a window, barred, to be sure, where she could sing without disturbing anyone. Pamela also brought her fresh undergarments, a book of her favorite music, and toiletries.
    Though their visit seemed to please her, she remained listless and sad. Prescott pressed her to speak about the “stolen” bracelet.
    â€œHad you seen it before Captain Crake gave it to you?”
    â€œMrs. Crake wore it often during the day. When she dressed for dinner, she’d toss it aside and put on a fancier bracelet for the evening. She’d pull up her sleeve and wave her arm around so everyone could admire it.”
    He turned to Pamela. “Where is the ‘stolen’ bracelet now?”
    â€œHere in the courthouse, probably in the sheriff’s office. It was presented as evidence during Francesca’s arraignment but not examined. I’ve looked at it and saw problems I’d like to point out to you.”
    â€œLet’s talk to the sheriff.”

    That afternoon, Prescott and Pamela met Sheriff Worden in his office and asked to examine the bracelet. He had earlier said he was too busy, so they made this appointment.
    With a sigh, he opened his safe. “The town police brought the bracelet here together with other evidence for the court.” He laid it on a table. On the wide gold band was a lightly etched floral pattern. On the underside, opposite the jeweler’s mark, was inscribed RC.
    â€œI was stunned when I noticed the initials,” remarked Pamela. “I also recognized the design and the jeweler’s mark, Tiffany on Union Square. The bracelet looks like Ruth Colt’s.”
    â€œThe company probably made dozens of them,” said Prescott dismissively.
    Irritated, Pamela lightly rubbed the RC initials. “They must be Ruth Colt’s.”
    â€œAnd, of course, Rachel Crake’s initials as well,” Prescott countered. “Still, an extraordinary coincidence.”
    This discussion confused the sheriff. Pamela gave him a brief summary of the Ruth Colt investigation. “There’s a strong possibility that Crake killed her and possibly other young women.”
    She explained that Crake must have removed the bracelet from the murdered girl’s wrist. Later, after a quarrel with his wife, Rachel, he gave her the bracelet in a false gesture of reconciliation. On July 6, still angry with his wife, he offered it to Miss Ricci.
    The sheriff’s lips parted in astonishment. He shook his head. “I see that the issue of the bracelet is complicated. The girl’s story begins to look plausible. But, for the time being, I’ll reserve judgment on Crake. It’s hard to believe that one of our decorated heroes committed such crimes. Did you report your findings to the NYPD?”
    â€œOurs was a private investigation,” Prescott replied. “We reported confidentially to our client, who must remain nameless. Had we found the victim’s body with signs of homicide, we would have gone with our evidence to the police.”
    â€œUnfortunately,” added Pamela, “the body is still missing.”
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    When they returned to Saratoga Springs, Pamela proposed tea and sandwiches at the Phila Street Café. Prescott looked pale and drawn. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and probably hadn’t slept well recently.
    After they placed an order, she asked, “Is something the matter, Jeremiah?”
    Her use of his Christian name seemed to startle him. Then he smiled. “You’ve read my mind, Pamela. Yes, I