Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)

“I’m Molly Murphy.” I held out my hand, even though I wasn't too keen on touching her wet and greasy one. “I used to work for Paddy. I wonder if I might have a word with you.”


“I’m doing the washing-up from breakfast,” she said. “I got behindhand today. Had to call in the police to get a drunken layabout evicted, but you can come in if you want.” She led me down a narrow dark hallway that smelled of boiled cabbage and drains and into a dark, dank kitchen beyond.

“So what sort of work was it you were doing for Mr. Riley?” she asked, picking up a large saucepan to dry.

“I was his business associate. He was training me.”

“You? A young woman?” She laughed uneasily. “I thought he couldn't stand the sight of women. Me excepted, of course.”

“I understand he thought very highly of you.”

The stern expression softened. “He did indeed. I always took good care of him—I did his laundry and cooked his breakfast every day. Kept his room clean for him. He told me he never remembered his own mother, but I was as close as he'd ever come to having a mother look after him.”

“So he was with you for a long time then?”

She sucked through her teeth. “Must be at least twenty-five years. I was a young woman and Mr. O'Shaunessey was working on the docks when he first came to us. Himself has been long departed, God rest his soul.”

“Mr. Riley also thought highly of me, as I did of him.” I paused, wondering which tack was best to take. “The police are looking into his murder, of course. I take it they've been round here.”

“Yes, some young whippersnapper demanded to search the place. I don't know what he was looking for, but he didn't find nothing. Only stayed a couple of minutes. He told me to touch nothing in Paddy's room because they might be back, but when—that's what I'd like to know. I'd like to get his stuff cleared out of there, so that I can rent out the room again.”

So much for Paddy's substitute mother.

“I presume he paid his rent through to the end of the month?” I couldn't help inquiring.

“Always paid up regular. A real gentleman.”

“So the room is officially his until the end of the month anyway.”

She gave me a strange sideways look, as if I were a sweet puppy that had just bitten her. “That's right, I suppose,” she admitted. “But it's going to take time for me to clear out his things.”

“I'll be happy to come over and help you, when the police give you permission,” I said. “And if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at his room now.”

“What for?”

“Now that I'm left alone to run the business, there are certain papers I can't find at his office,” I said. “I just wondered if he'd left them here. Things like bills I am supposed to pay.”

“I don't recall seeing any papers, but you're welcome to take a look if you like. I just need to do the last of this washing-up, then I'll take you there.”

I offered to help, was rejected and waited until the last pot had been hung on the hook over the stove. Then I followed Mrs. O'Shaunessey as she huffed and puffed her way up the narrow staircase. Paddy's room was as dark and depressing as the kitchen had been. The window opened onto a narrow courtyard. It was over-furnished with a heavy wardrobe and a chest of drawers that took up most of one wall. There was also a small desk against the far wall and a single bed, unmade and untidy. I stood there, looking around, trying to take in the fact that Paddy had chosen to stay in this place for more than twenty years, when he could have afforded better. Maybe his bond with Mrs. O'Shaunessey was real. Maybe—I allowed myself to go further—there had been some mutual comforting going on, Mr. O'Shaunessey being dead these many years now, God rest his soul. Otherwise I saw no reason for him to stay.

As I started to examine the room in detail, something else struck me. There was nothing personal in this room at all—no photos, no mementoes, not even a picture on the wall. Paddy Riley had lived in that room for more than twenty years and not bothered to put his mark of identity into it. At that moment it finally hit me that this had been a person who really was alone in the world. No ties, no family, nothing. And on the heels of that thought came a second. This case will not warrant a proper investigation. There is nobody who will make sure justice is served, unless I do it.

I opened drawers aimlessly. The first one contained neatly arranged pairs of socks, the second neatly stacked underwear. Since Paddy himself was obviously not a neat person, the drawers must have been arranged by Mrs. O'Shaunessey—which would account for why he had hidden his savings at his office.

“Not found any papers yet, have you?” she asked, eyeing me suspiciously as I closed a drawer that obviously could not have been expected to contain papers.