I stood staring at all that was left of Paddy's world. My first thought was annoyance that I hadn't come straight here from the cab, and thus maybe averted this disaster. Then reason took over and I reminded myself that I had been fortunate. I could easily have walked in on a man who had killed once and who would not hesitate to kill for a second time. For it had to have been Paddy's killer who had done this. He had tipped over Paddy's file cabinet on the first occasion, in a frustrated attempt to get inside. And now he must have returned, just to make sure that no evidence remained.
But evidence of what? I had taken the three folders on his only active cases and they had all proved to be relatively harmless. A closed case would be of no interest to anyone, as Paddy would already have turned over the information to his clients. None of it made sense, and yet I wished I could have had that second look. Maybe I had overlooked something—a secret file hidden among the rest? Anyway, there was no point in moping about it. It was too late now. Paddy's records were effectively destroyed.
“What do you think you're doing here?” a voice behind me demanded.
I jumped a mile, realizing I hadn't heard footsteps on the stairs. Surely a good detective is always on guard— clearly I was lacking in many ways. Sergeant Wolski was standing in the doorway, eyeing me coldly. Come to think of it, I don't think he had any other expression, but it was definitely chilling.
“I heard about the fire and came to see for myself,” I said. “How about you?”
“It should be quite obvious that this place is no longer safe,” he said. “I want you out of here right now. Until the building owner is notified and decides what he wants to do with this wreck, nobody is to enter. Do you still have your key?”
I nodded.
“Then hand it over immediately, please. I'm going to have the front door boarded up, just in case you get any more silly ideas.”
I handed him the key. “How is the investigation coming along?” I asked. “Have you got any leads?”
“The investigation is none of your business,” he said, pointing me to the doorway. “But so far the results have not been encouraging.”
“Wait.” I shook myself free from his grasp on my arm. “If the place is to be condemned, then I'll remove what can be salvaged of Mr. Riley's things.” I went back into the burned room and took down the clothes hanging on the wall: a big cloak, a raincoat, an umbrella, a top hat and a fancy waistcoat. They were all the worse for their recent experience—singed, wet, smoke-damaged. I couldn't think how they might be useful to me—I just didn't want anyone else to get his hands on them. “You've no reason why I shouldn't take these with me?” I asked. “Since they belonged to Mr. Riley's business.”
Wolski looked at me with distaste. “Take them by all means, although I can't imagine you'd get anything for them if you tried to sell them.”
It was my turn to look at him with scorn. “I wouldn't be thinking of selling them. They belonged to Mr. Riley's business. I might even decide to keep that business going on my own.”
A supercilious smile. “Then I wish you good luck.” This time he gripped my arm and led me to the steps. “Just don't think of trying to come back here again.”
“I don't need to,” I said over my shoulder. “There's nothing here anymore.”
I walked down the steps and out of the alley, trying to keep the cloak and raincoat from trailing in the mud as I carried them home.
There was blissful peace as I came into the O'Hallarans' front hall. No Mrs. O'Hallaran to leap out at me, wanting to know my business or tell me gossip, no sound of monster children leaping and screaming upstairs. I tiptoed up the stairs and let myself into my room. My arms felt as if they were about to fall off with the heavy garments in them and I dropped them onto the nearest chair. I was about to sink into the other chair myself when a loud snore from my bed almost had me jumping out of my skin. My bed was occupied by Nuala and Finbar, both out like lights, on their backs and snoring. First my apartment, then my room and now my own bed—this had gone too far.
I strode across the room and shook them awake. Nuala sat up, arms flailing and demanding, “What? What is it?” in the panicked voice of one woken from deep sleep.
“What in heaven's name do you think you are doing, sleeping in my bed?” I demanded.
“You weren't here to use it yourself,” she said in an aggrieved voice.‘The little‘uns went out to play, so Finbar and me thought we'd catch forty winks of peace and quiet. I've been missing out on my sleep, up at all hours ministering to my sick cousin in there.”
“Catch up on your sleep by all means, but not in my bed,” I said. “Come on, out. I want you both out of there right now.”
Nuala prodded Finbar, who still seemed to be in total oblivion. At last he jerked awake, spluttering and snorting. “Wassamatter?” he growled.
“We're being thrown out, Finbar. Miss Ungrateful here, who shared our own bed and board without paying a cent, has decided that she can't spare the use of her bed for a half hour.”
I said nothing but stood there with arms folded, watching as they got up—Finbar an alarming sight in long grayish combinations—and slunk to my door.
“And if you had any decency you'd offer to wash the sheets,” I called after them.