Free In the Shadow of Gotham by Stefanie Pintoff

their marriage. In short, her life revolved around Alistair’s domestic and professional interests in a way that was considered unhealthy, if not wholly improper.
    “Shall we begin?” She immediately took charge. “I see we’re finally all here.” With a glance to the area behind me, she made a final introduction. “Detective Ziele, also joining us this morning is Horace Wood, Professor Sinclair’s research assistant.”
    I turned sharply, for standing beside me was a slightly balding, pudgy man in his late twenties with thick brown spectacles, worn-looking trousers, and a rumpled shirt that was not fully tucked in. I scarcely registered his clammy handshake or awkward greeting, for I could not help but stare at the large purple lump on the left side of his forehead. It was a nasty injury.
    “What happened, Horace?” Isabella asked.
    “Tammany toughs tried to discourage my vote yesterday.” He sidled into the room and slouched into the chair next to Isabella. It may have been my imagination, but I thought I saw Isabella flinch, ever so slightly, as he brushed against her while reaching for his chair. “They knew I was a Hearst supporter.” This last was muttered almost under his breath.
    “Sorry to hear that, Horace,” Alistair said, adding for my benefit, “Of course, we don’t discuss politics here as a rule.”
    “We are all here to collaborate in a large effort.” Isabella picked up Alistair’s cue; his nod of encouragement was barely perceptible. “Our effort will be twofold. First, we want to find and question Michael Fromley. As you know, he has been missing for over two weeks now, and we are faced with a new, urgent reason to locate him. Detective Ziele”—she nodded toward me—“is investigating a case involving the unfortunate killing of a young woman named Sarah Wingate—a student here at Columbia, actually—and Professor Sinclair has reason to suspect Michael may be responsible. If this is true, then we need to help find him and establish his guilt.”
    Horace Wood spoke up; he had a nasal-sounding voice, and his words were fast and clipped. “But we are not detectives. Isn’t what you describe a job for the police—in fact, for our detective, Mr. Ziele? I don’t see how we can help.”
    “Of course you are right,” Alistair interjected smoothly, “inthat Detective Ziele will provide the greatest expertise here, in terms of the murder investigation. But he has already confirmed enough information to establish a strong probability of Michael Fromley’s involvement; suffice it to say that the crime scene in Dobson almost perfectly embodies one of Fromley’s recurring fantasies. That makes Fromley the most likely suspect in the detective’s case.”
    Horace raised an eyebrow. “Does this mean you’ve given up on the idea of rehabilitating him, Professor?”
    “One never gives up when something is important,” Alistair replied firmly, his tone admonishing, “but we have larger responsibilities now that will take pre ce dence. It’s our duty to help find and apprehend Fromley. Because of our work these past three years, no one else knows as much about his habits and behavior as we do.”
    “Professor Sinclair believes we should begin our search for the connection between Michael Fromley and Sarah Wingate here, at Columbia,” Isabella continued. “Would you agree, Detective Ziele?”
    “It’s a worthwhile avenue to explore,” I said noncommittally. I wanted to learn more about Fromley and their work with him here at the research center before I made up my mind for certain.
    She went on to explain, “At the moment, it is the only common point in their lives that we can identify: She was a student here, and he of course came to the research center each day. At least, until recently.”
    Alistair added, “Of course, we cannot know whether the connection we are looking for is a formal one or not. They may have crossed paths on neighboring streets or ridden the same subway