One of the policemen led me up a flight of linoleum-covered stairs and along a hallway lined with glass-fronted cubicles. At least he had said please to me, which must mean I wasn't under arrest yet.
"In here." A door was opened and I was ushered inside. "Mrs. O'Connor for you, sir."
Did those alarming blue eyes light up as I went in? Or was it the delight of a spider when a fly blunders into its den?
"Ah, Mrs. O'Connor. I'm so glad we found you with no trouble. Do sit down." Daniel Sullivan was in his shirtsleeves. He wasn't wearing a tie and his collar was open. Definitely a striking man.
"Mrs. O'Connor. Remember when we spoke yesterday, I suggested how much simpler it would be if you told us everything you knew?" A very long pause. "We've been in touch with Scotland Yard and with Dublin and some interesting facts have come to light. Very interesting facts ... You weren't quite straight with us before, were you, Mrs. O'Connor?"
My heart was racing. They had discovered my true identity. Would they be obliged to ship me home to be hanged in England or would they try me here? Did they hang people in America, or hadn't I heard something about an electric chair? I had no alternative but to keep up the bluff as long as I could.
"But I did tell you everything. I told you I had never met O'Malley before we sailed from Liverpool. I told you that we had an unpleasant encounter on the boat. After we left the boat I never saw him again and that is God's truth. I'm prepared to swear to it on the Bible if you like."
I stared defiantly, right at those blue eyes. Sullivan reached for a sheaf of papers and studied them for a moment. The warrant for my arrest. It had to be.
"Several things have come to light, Mrs. O'Connor," he said. He was enjoying this. The spider closing in for the kill, then. "We went through O'Malley's baggage. Very interesting--there was nothing on his person, nothing in his trunk to identify him. No photos of loved ones, no letters, nothing personal in any way. Another mystery--you remember the boots. Good quality, London shoemaker? The clothing in his trunk was good quality, too. Some of it bore a laundry mark which we are now checking. And there was a bag containing gold sovereigns. O'Malley was not a poor man, which makes me wonder why he chose to travel steerage among the poor. Any ideas, Mrs. O'Connor?"
"None at all, sir. As I said, I didn't know him."
"Ah. Well, something else came to light in his trunk. It was hidden in the lining. A couple of newspaper articles. You can read, can't you?"
This time I had no desire to give him the same sarcastic reply. I took them when he handed them to me. The first was from the Times, London, Oct 1889. PLUMBRIDGE
NINE HANGED AT BELFAST GOAL.
"The nine young Irishmen responsible for the savage murder of land agent Henry Parkinson were hanged at six o'clock yesterday morning in the courtyard of Belfast Jail. They were found guilty at the Belfast assizes last month of willfully beating Mr. Parkinson with such force that he later died from his wounds. Mr. Parkinson was attempting to carry out his duty and evict the tenants of a cottage on the land of Major James
Astburn, squire of county Derry ..."
I could sense Daniel Sullivan looking at me. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say. I turned to the second newspaper article. It was from the Flaming Brand, Unofficial Voice of the Fenians. "Today nine patriots died, murdered by the English for trying to protect one of their own. When Major Astburn of Stratford Hall, county Derry decided to raise the rents on his property, many of his tenants were unable to pay. This was followed by a spate of evictions. Nine young men of the village of Plumbridge took it upon themselves to prevent Major Astburn's agent, a hired bully brought in from England, by the name of Henry Parkinson, from carrying out his orders. On his way to a cottage occupied for generations by the O'Meara family, Parkinson was waylaid under cover of darkness. When he attempted resistance and drew his gun on the young men, they set upon him, beat him and left him on the roadside.
"There were no witnesses to this scene, the weather being inclement and the hour late. Mr. Parkinson did not live to tell his tale and his assailants belonged to a secret society, sworn to silence. They would have remained anonymous had they not been betrayed by one of their own. A tenth man was there that night, a man who claimed to have no part in the killings. He melted away into the darkness, made his escape over the sea, and turned in the names of his friends. Whereupon they were immediately arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. They died not knowing that they had been
betrayed by one of their own."
Sullivan was looking at me inquiringly again. "Was the man O'Malley?" I asked.
"You tell me, Mrs. O'Connor."
"But I told you, I never met--"
Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)
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