For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)

He held up his hand. “I’m not asking what preceded it. This is America, Miss Murphy, not Ireland. You can’t just go around brawling in the streets here. We have laws to protect innocent citizens.”


“Innocent citizens?” My voice rose. “You call those louts innocent citizens? They were baiting us and you know very well that they were paid to bait us, just as the police were paid to watch them. If this is American law, then I don’t think very much of it.”

“Nobody asked you to come here, Miss Murphy,” the judge said. For an awful moment I thought he was going to send me back to Ireland. “I can be lenient with you and charge you with disturbing the peace. That carries with it a ten-dollar fine and a night in jail. I could also add to it a charge of inflicting grievous bodily harm which would mean a month in women’s prison and a hundred-dollar fine. It’s up to you.”

He paused and frowned down at me, like a parent appealing to a naughty child. “If you swear to me that you will not attempt to disturb the peace again, then I’ll let you off lightly this time. However, if I catch you back on the street protesting and harassing innocent passersby, I won’t be so generous next time. It will be a month in prison, and I think you’ll find that prison isn’t a very pleasant place to be, especially not at this time of year.”

He leaned forward. “So what is it to be, Miss Murphy? Do I have your solemn word that you will not attempt to disturb the peace again?”

I was not going to have anyone to speak for me. I was not going to find justice in this court. I looked down at my feet, playing the repentant child. “Yes, Your Honor,” I said.

“In that case I sentence you to one night in jail and a ten-dollar fine.” He brought down his gavel. “Take her away. Bring in the next case.”

Hands led me away. I was still seething with anger. If this was America, did I really want to be part of it? The moment I got out of jail, I’d take the first boat anywhere—South America, Africa, Australia. . . .

I was led down a flight of stone steps, then a door was opened with a big key. It felt cold and clammy down there, dimly lit and very unpleasant.

“Another one for you, Bert,” the man with me said cheerfully as he presented me at the half door of a small cubbyhole. An elderly, toothless man got to his feet. “What’s she done? Killed her old man?”

“Disturbing the peace. She’s in for the night.”

“Okay. Just a moment while I get the featherbeds in the guest room ready.” He gave a wheezy laugh as he shuffled down the corridor ahead of me. An iron door squeaked open. “In you go, honey. All modern conveniences. Bucket in the corner. Breakfast at seven.” I was propelled inside with a hefty shove and the door clanged shut behind me.

I looked around, afraid to see with whom I might be sharing this cell. But I was alone. A narrow wooden plank ran along one wall. There was a bucket in the corner. That was it. I sat on the bench and hugged my arms to me. It was miserably cold and I was sick with hunger. I was also sick with anger that I was so powerless. Were those three little girls also in similar cells, I wondered? Was Jacob also locked up here? I longed for the comforting calm of his presence, but I didn’t wish him in this place. After what he had been through in Russia, a night in a cell like this must be like reliving a nightmare.

I sat on my plank, hugging my knees to me to try to keep warm. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep on this thing. As my anger dissipated I began to feel wretched and alone. My chosen profession was not turning out to be what I had wanted at all. I seemed to be going to prison with monotonous regularity. And it wasn’t as if I was much closer to solving any cases either. When I got out, my next step would be to prove to my own satisfaction that Michael Kelly was alive, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that safely. If he was still alive, then who killed Katherine and how did Letitia Lowenstein get her locket? Every step forward I took, things just became more muddled.

I started as something scurried across the floor. It was too dark to make out what it was—either a rat or a mouse or a very large cockroach. Either way I had no intention of letting it anywhere near me. I hugged my knees tighter to myself and kept watch.