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

He produced another sheet of paper. "This message just came by telegraph from London. The names of the Plumbridge Nine. Shall I read them to you, Mrs. O'Connor? Brendan Sheehey, Thomas Larkin, Liam McCluskey--"

Then, of course, it hit me. I felt the blood rush into my face. I had heard this story before, told to me by Kathleen O'Connor as we sat beside her dying fire. "My brother Liam, only eighteen years old." Kathleen O'Connor's brother had been one of the Plumbridge Nine.

"Your maiden name was McCluskey, was it not?" Tell him now, a voice inside me was yelling. Tell him the truth. It can't be any worse than what will face you here.

"Yes, sir."

"And your family did come from the town of Plumbridge, in county Derry?"

"Yes, they did."

"And I'd be right in guessing that Liam McCluskey was your brother, then?"

Kathleen's brother, not mine! I stared down at my hands. A chillblain was beginning on one of my red and raw fingers.

"Interesting fellow, O'Malley," Captain Sullivan said. "It's obviously an assumed name, of course. Scotland Yard had never heard of him. Nobody in Dublin could place him. So who was Mr. O'Malley really? Can you supply me with his real name? Save us all a lot of work. Of course, we'll find out soon enough. That bootmaker will be tracked down, the laundry marks will be identified, and then we'll know. But it would help if you told us now, wouldn't it?"

"I really don't know, Captain. I swear I do not know Mr. O'Malley. I had no reason to kill him. Besides, you yourself said that I wouldn't have the strength to cut his throat as violently as it had been cut."

"As I told you before, Mrs. O'Connor, I don't see you as the murderer, but the accomplice and maybe the brains behind it?" I glanced up

to see him watching me closely. "Shall I tell you what I think happened that night on Ellis Island? I'm not sure if this whole thing was planned on Irish soil. Maybe you had been following O'Malley for years, seeking vengeance, waiting to strike. Maybe it was just a lucky coincidence. You boarded the Majestic and couldn't believe your eyes when you recognized your fellow passenger, now calling himself O'Malley."

"In which case, why didn't I get rid of him on board? We were allowed up on deck for an hour most days. One well-placed shove and he'd be overboard. Why wait until we got to America, to a place that was heavily guarded, with people around us everywhere?"

"Maybe he was on his guard all the time on the ship. You never had a chance to find him alone and unprotected. I think you realized it would be your last chance to kill O'Malley before he got away onto a vast continent and vanished. It was a huge risk, but you had to take it. One of you slipped into the kitchens and stole a large meat cutting knife--one is missing, by the way. Then you kept watch outside the men's dormitory while your accomplice slipped inside and with one daring stroke killed O'Malley in his sleep. Can you tell me anything to make me change my story, Mrs. O'Connor?"

"Only that it's a pack of lies," I said. I was tired of being meek and mild. If I had to go, I'd go fighting. "And who is this accomplice supposed to be, I'd like to know? The guard I saw in the men's dormitory?"

Captain Sullivan nodded to the policeman who was standing outside the door. I looked up as footsteps came down the hall and then I gasped. Michael Larkin was being escorted in between two burly policemen, his face as white as the shirt he was wearing, his innocent eyes as large as saucers. He looked at me and recoiled in horror.

"Are you going to claim that you didn't know this young man, either, Mrs. O'Connor?"

"We met on the boat," I said. "Michael was very helpful with the children."

"And you never met in your hometown? Never once saw each other in church?"

"I moved away, years ago, to live with an aunt." The words just came out. Lie upon lie.

I was surely destined for hell the way I was going.

"And you never saw this lady before you got on the boat?" He turned to Michael.

"No, sir, I never did."

"And you never worked out that your next of kin were involved in the same famous trial? You never sat on the same court benches, waiting for the verdict? Never stood outside Belfast jail, waiting for the final, terrible moment together? I find that hard to believe."

"I was not present at any of the events you speak of." I stared back, challenging him.

He leaned back in his chair and looked at me. "I'm curious. You don't sound the same. I'm no expert on Irish dialects, but you don't speak in the same way. Why is that?"

"I told you, I lived with an aunt over on the west coast when I was young."

"One of you is going to crack in the end," Sullivan said. "I wouldn't like to guess which of you, at this stage. It's not very pleasant in the Tombs, is it, Larkin? Perhaps when Mrs. O'Connor has had a taste of what it's like down there, with the prostitutes and the pickpockets and the scum of New York City--when her little children are starting to cry for their mother ..."