“I’ve never played the helpless female in my life,” I said, tossing back my hair.
“No, I don’t suppose you have,” he admitted, smiling, “but this would be a good time to learn.”
“Come on now. Move it. Up the steps.” A constable swung his baton to chivvy us along.
“We are not cattle, Officer,” I said, “and we do not need driving.”
“What have I just been telling you?” Jacob whispered. “This is serious, Molly. If you annoy the judge, you could find yourself in prison.”
“Nonsense. You can’t send someone to jail without proof that they’ve done something wrong.”
“But that’s just what I’m trying to tell you. They will manufacture proof. Now, please, keep quiet and act submissively, I beg you.”
“No talking. In you go,” The voice behind the cattle prod said.
We were marshaled into a long hallway and then into a small holding room. A clerk was sitting at a high, old-fashioned desk. He took down our names and addresses, then left us with just a police guard.
One by one the three girls were taken out and did not return. Jacob and I sat on the hard bench waiting. It must have been well past my suppertime and my insides were growling with hunger. I was also cold and tired, and just a little bit scared too, if the truth be known. I had always been a staunch believer in right and wrong, and the ultimate triumph of right. Now it seemed that right might not be about to triumph. Should I do what I had sworn never to do again and summon Daniel to my aid? A disturbing thought crossed my mind. He might not wish to go against the official police position.
I had heard, of course, that the New York police could be bribed, but I had never seen it in action until now. I went through that scene again in my mind, those constables standing on the opposite corner, arms folded, smirking, as the louts came at us. I could almost smell that foul breath again and I shuddered. I tried to picture their faces—were any of them gang members I had seen before? Could the police really be working with a gang? That one familiar face at the back of the crowd—where and when had I seen him before? Then it hit me like an ice-cold shower. He was in shadow, at the back of the group, and I hadn’t had a chance to see him clearly before the brawl began. In fact I had never seen his face clearly. The only time I had seen it before was on a newspaper cutting from Ireland, standing at Katherine’s side as she prepared for a day’s hunting. If I was not completely mistaken, the man I had spotted today was Michael Kelly.
Twenty-two
If Michael Kelly was still alive, and working with the Eastmans, then that changed everything. He would probably know who killed Katherine. Was he out to get revenge right now, and did this mean that the Eastmans had no part in her death? Somehow I would have to find him and talk to him. Then I reminded myself that a lot of Irishmen have that sort of face—the typical look of what they call Black Irish. Daniel himself looked not unlike Michael Kelly. And I had only glimpsed him for a moment in the shadows, hardly enough to make a positive identification.
“Miss Murphy.” I jumped to my feet as my name was called.
Jacob reached across and touched my arm. “Now remember,” he said. “Helpless, innocent, frail. No outbursts.”
I nodded, hung my head, and looked coy, making him smile.
I was taken into a drafty, dimly lit courtroom. It was empty apart from a judge, sitting at a high bench, and a couple of policemen. My footsteps clattered on the marble floor as I was led forward.
“Miss Molly Murphy, Your Honor,” the bailiff said. “She is charged with disturbing the peace.”
The judge peered down at me. He had a cold, beaklike face, like a stone eagle, and I couldn’t tell if he might be moved by my youth and frailty. Did he know that I had been framed? Had he also been bribed?
“I understand that you were part of a street disturbance, earlier this evening.”
“I was part of a picket line. My coworkers and I are on strike against Lowenstein’s garment factory, Your Honor.”
“I also understand that you struck passersby with a wooden sign.” His voice matched his face in coldness.
“Only after I was struck myself by a very large loutish bully. It was self-defense, Your Honor.”
He glanced down. “The witness’s statement only mentions your attack with the sign. The complaint says that you were blocking the sidewalk, preventing pedestrians from passing by. When one attempted to pass, you hit him with your sign. So I ask you now, Miss Murphy, did you or did you not attack a person with a sign?”
“Yes, but it was after . . .”