Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

"That's right, sir." I was determined to keep my answers as short as possible. If he was Irish-born, or even if he mixed in Irish circles, he'd spot instantly that my accent was not from county Derry.

"You say in your statement to my officer that you didn't know Mr. O'Malley, that you had never met him, even though you both came from the same small town of Plumbridge. Is that correct?"

"I have no idea where Mr. O'Malley came from. I had never met him before."

He looked up and there was a glint in his eyes. I noticed his eyes for the first time. He was what we call Black Irish--supposedly descended from those Spanish sailors who were able to swim ashore from the wreck of the Armada in Queen Elizabeth's time. He had unruly black curls that he had attempted, unsuccessfully, to slick down with a center part, a roguish cleft in his chin, and eyes that were an alarming blue. A very attractive man. I stared for a second before I remembered where I was, who I was supposed to be, and what was happening to me. Then I looked down at my hands

again.

"Mrs. O'Connor," the policeman went on, "it has been reported to me by several of your fellow passengers on the Majestic that you were seen striking Mr. O'Malley. Do you make a practice of going around striking men you don't know?"

"He made an indecent proposal to me," I muttered, still looking down at my hands. "He was trying to take advantage of a woman traveling without her husband."

"Was he now?"

I glanced up. For a fraction of a second I had seen what seemed to be amusement flash across his face. "So you hit him. Do you normally react so violently, Mrs. O'Connor?"

"I slapped his face," I said. "A woman is allowed to defend her honor when she has no man to protect her, isn't she?" I only realized as I was saying it that I seemed to be making a practice of defending my honor with violence recently. The two cases would tie together very nicely in police eyes.

I looked down again.

"And did Mr. O'Malley take the hint?" Captain Sullivan continued. "Did he bother you again?"

"No, sir. He took the hint."

"So you never had contact with him again?" "No."

There was a long pause. I just kept staring at my hands. A clock ticked loudly on the wall above us. I could hear the lapping of waves outside the window.

"Now here's another interesting thing, Mrs. O'Connor," Sullivan continued. "Your name came up in another context."

I tried to keep breathing evenly so that he wouldn't notice my rising panic.

"You were seen leaving your dormitory in the middle of the night. You were also seen, by two separate witnesses, running away from the men's dormitory, looking scared."

I looked up now, staring at him defiantly. "Did the two witnesses happen to mention that I had a child in my arms?" I demanded. "The little one had been sleepwalking. I caught her just before she went into the men's dormitory. Do you think I'd have brought her along for company if I'd gone in there to kill a man?"

Again the flash of interest before the frown returned.

"And I understand that the poor man had his throat cut from ear to ear," I went on. "I don't know where I'd be finding such a knife. I've witnessed the cutting of a pig's throat before now. There's a lot of blood. I don't think I'd have managed it without getting blood on my dress. So take a good look at me. I haven't had access to any change of clothing. Do you see any blood?"

I stood up and turned around. He was watching me with that same half-concealed amusement. "Sit down, Mrs. O'Connor," he said. "Nobody is suggesting that you killed Mr. O'Malley. For one thing I don't think you'd have had the strength. He was a big man. Whoever did it was taking an enormous risk. The first cut had to sever the windpipe so that he couldn't cry out. That would take a very sharp knife and a lot of muscle power--as well as experience in killing."

"And you've not found anyone with blood on his clothing yet?" I asked. "That would seem the most obvious thing to look for. None of us can get downstairs to our baggage."

"Are you telling me how to do my job, Mrs. O'Connor?" He asked it without malice, and smiled. He had rather a wicked smile.

"Sorry, sir. I just want to get out of this place and see my husband again."

"Oh yes, of course you do." Did his face fall? "But we have to get to the bottom of this while we have the opportunity. It's not often we detectives have the chance to tie up a case so easily--the suspects all in one place with no way to leave. And such a daring, outrageous crime. Somebody must have seen something. It's just a question of waiting until somebody talks." He leaned back in his chair and examined me carefully. "I don't know why, but I get the feeling that there's more you could tell us. You're holding back on something, Mrs. O'Connor. Wouldn't you like to get this murder solved so you could leave the island and go home?"

"Of course I would, but there's nothing I can tell you. I didn't know O'Malley. And you, yourself said I wouldn't possess the strength to kill him."

"But you could have been an accomplice. You could have brought your child along as an excuse and kept watch