In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

I shook my head. “Absolutely not. You can tell Captain Sullivan that our acquaintanceship is at an end and I have no wish to speak to him again. And if he continues to annoy me, I'll complain about him to his superiors. Is that clear enough for you?”


The young constable’s embarrassment grew. “Then I have no alternative, Miss. I'm only obeying orders, mark you, but I'm placing you under arrest.” With that he clapped a handcuff onto one wrist before I knew what was happening to me.

I stared down at the wrist in horror and indignation. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! How dare you! Release me this minute or I'll make the biggest fuss you can imagine.”

“I'm really sorry, Miss Murphy, but I've been told to bring you to Captain Sullivan and bring you I will, even if I have to carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“I'd like to see you try,” I said. “Now let me out of this contraption at once.”

A crowd was gathering around us.

“Do you need any help, officer?” a distinguished looking man stepped forward. “Should I summon assistance for you?”

“I think I can handle her, thank you,” the constable said, “but she’s a feisty one, I'll grant you that. A string of outstanding warrants for her arrest as long as your arm.”

“Don't listen to him,” I shouted. “I'm being kidnapped, against my will. I'm a respectable woman. I've done nothing wrong.”

“If you could just hail that hansom for me, I'd be most grateful,” the constable said, wiping the sweat from his brow as I squirmed to break free of him.

The cabby reined in his horse and I was bundled inside by willing hands.

“The Tombs, as fast as you can,” the constable shouted up to the driver and we took off at a lively trot.

“The Tombs? Have you taken leave of your senses?” I demanded, suddenly feeling frightened. “You're taking me to jail? On what charge? Is this Daniel Sullivan’s idea of a joke?”

The constable shook his head. “It’s no joke, Miss. It’s deadly serious I'm afraid, or the captain wouldn't have had you brought in this way. But he had no alternative. He’s in serious trouble, Miss Murphy. He’s under arrest and being held in the Tombs pending his trial.”

I had been looking out of the hansom, wondering if I had any way of making my escape. Now I spun around to face the constable. “Daniel, under arrest? What has he done?”

“I'm not quite sure of the details, Miss. He'll have to tell you himself. I only know that the whole police force has turned against him. There’s only a few of us he can trust, me being one of them, and that’s why he sent me to fetch you. He needs your help.”

“He doesn't deserve my help,” I said.

“But you will speak to him, won't you? I don't want to see a fine officer like Captain Sullivan going to jail.”

I sighed. “All right. I suppose I'll have to see him.” Inside my head a small voice whispered that a stint in jail wouldn't hurt Daniel Sullivan. It would serve him right. But even I couldn't take revenge that far. “But I want these handcuffs removed immediately,” I added. “I'm not going to be seen entering the city jail in handcuffs. I have a reputation to uphold, you know.”

The constable grinned and clicked open the cuff. “Sorry, Miss. Captain Sullivan would never have forgiven me if you'd done a bolt on me.”

I peered out of the cab as it turned onto Center Street and slowed outside the imposing pillared entry to the city jail, commonly known as the Tombs. The nickname came from the architecture, supposedly copied from an ancient Egyptian tomb. But it carried with it a more sinister connotation these days. People who were sent there for a stint didn't always come out alive. The building was notoriously damp and the crowding led to typhoid, consumption, cholera—those same sicknesses that plagued the tenements and flared up during the heat of summer.

“Here we are, Miss.” The constable sprang down and offered me his hand.

There had been some major rebuilding going on since I was last here. Scaffolding covered the whole of one wall and the chink of mason’s hammers echoed as we emerged from the cab. A cloud of fine dust hung in the air. The papers had reported that the whole edifice was finally subsiding into the mud and in danger of collapsing on the inmates' heads any moment. Like many New York buildings, it had been constructed over a former stream or pond. Hence the continual complaints about the damp.