In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“Looks like another pickpocket, Bill,” he called to another constable who was standing across the street. “Back in a jiffy. Listen for my whistle in case I have trouble with him. Is it far, miss?”


“Giacomini’s on Thompson. Hurry, before he gets away.” I fought back the desire to grab his arm and drag him. But he set off with me willingly enough at a trot. Sweat was running down his round, red face by the time we reached Giacomini’s. We stepped into the warm, spicy darkness of the store just as the man was paying at the counter.

“Is that him, miss?” the constable whispered.

This was hardly a necessary question as he was still the only man in the store, but I nodded. “And the lady behind him—the one in the blue skirt—she’s the one whose purse he took. I told her to act naturally until I came back with you.”

“Nice going, miss. Don't you worry. Ill surprise the blighter on the way out.” The constable positioned himself in the doorway just as the big fellow turned and made his way past the queue.

“Not so fast, sir.” The constable stepped out to block his progress. “I think you have something on your person that doesn't belong to you.”

“I do? Now what might that be?” the man asked with feigned surprise.

“You were seen taking a lady’s purse.”

“A lady’s purse? Me?”

“My purse,” the woman in the blue skirt said.

The remaining women in the store spun around to stare.

“Ridiculous. How dare you suggest such a thing.” The man attempted to force his way outside.

“Well, my purse has gone from my basket and this young lady says she saw you take it,” the woman said. The man’s gaze fastened on me.

“She did, did she? And did anybody else see this brazen act? Did any of these other women standing in line with a good view of me?”

Nobody answered. Some women averted their eyes. The man turned to glare at me again.

“I don't know what you hope to gain from this,” he said, “but you can wind up in serious trouble from making false accusations against upright citizens. Go on then, Officer. Search me if you must.”

“If you'd just step outside, into the light, sir, and don't think of making a run for it. There are plenty of other officers close by.”

“I'm certainly not about to make a run for it until I've cleared my name.” The man stepped out through the door and spread out his arms. “Go ahead then. Search me.”

His complete confidence unnerved me. He had an insolent smirk on his face as the constable began searching. He knows the purse isn't on him, I thought. And then in aflashit came to me: He must have already hidden it somewhere, to be picked up later.

I slipped inside the store and looked around frantically. If I were he, where would I stash a stolen purse? He could have dropped it on the floor easily enough and kicked it under one of the shelves, but he'd have to get down on all fours to look for it—which would make him most conspicuous. So he must have made good use of his height. On therightside of the aisle there were shelves of bottles and cansrightup to the ceiling. I stood on tiptoe, reached up with myrighthand to the top shelf that contained canned tomatoes and was rewarded as my fingers touched a softer, slimmer object. I stretched and reached even harder and managed to knock it down. Then I pushed past the women and ran outside, waving it triumphantly.

Only just in time too.

“There. I hope you're satisfied,” the man was saying. “And believe me, your chief’s going to hear about this.”

“I'm sorry, sir, I was only doing—” the constable began as the man turned on his heels.

“Don't let him go,” I shouted. “Here’s the purse.” I waved it at the constable, who grabbed the man by the arm. “He put it up on the top shelf where it was too high for anyone else to see it. He was going to come back for it later.”

“Very smart,” the constable said. “Unfortunately for you, this young lady was smarter.” His grip tightened on the fellow, who wasn't looking smug any longer.

“You can't pin anything on me. You've only got her word. Anyone could have taken it and put it there. She could have taken it herself,” he blustered.

“Nobody else in the store could have put it on that shelf,” I said. “I was the tallest woman in there and I had to stand on tip toe to reach that high. Everyone would have noticed me if I'd tried to reach up there. But you—all you needed to do was pretend you were adjusting your hat or brushing your mustache.”

“Come on, I'm taking you in,” the constable said. “Jefferson Market Police Station is where you're going.”

“I'm not going anywhere with you.” The man broke away, shoved at the constable and started to run off. Instantly the constable blew his whistle. Two other policemen appeared from the direction of Washington Square. There was a scuffle and the man was grabbed and held fast.

“What’s he done, Harry?”