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

"Stop it," Michael shouted. "She had nothing to do with it. I swear she had nothing to do with it at all."

"And I'm sure Michael had nothing to do with it, either," I said. "He's not a violent type. He's a kind, gentle person. And where was the blood on his clothing, if he'd just slit a man's throat?"

The alarming eyes fastened on me. "But there was blood on his clothing, Mrs. O'Connor. There were spatters of blood on his jacket and his handkerchief was soaked in blood." He swiveled his chair to look at Michael. "I've got the right man, trust me. What better motive than vengeance for the death of a father? Isn't that what all the great tragedies are about? I'll take it to court and I'll make it stick. My only dilemma is you, Mrs. O'Connor. were you in on this or not?"

"I told you, she wasn't," Michael shouted. "Now let her go." Sullivan got to his feet. "The man says to let you go," he said. "You're a woman with small children, so I'm

going to give you the benefit of the doubt, for now. But I've got more evidence coming in from Britain all the time. And I'll be watching you. So don't think you're off the hook, Mrs. O'Connor. You're not."

I got to my feet, too. "You're making a big mistake, Captain Sullivan. When you find out O'Malley's true name, and his background, then you'll know that neither of us had any reason to kill him."

"I hope, for your sakes, that will be true, Mrs. O'Connor."

"And in the meantime you've got a violent killer running around loose in New York City and you're doing nothing to find him."

As I swept down the hall with all the dignity I could muster, Michael reached out to grab my arm. "Kathleen, you will help me, won't you? You're the only person who believes in me. You're all I've got."

"I'll help you, Michael. I promise." "You're the only one who can save us both. If they ship us back to Ireland, we'll hang."

The policemen pushed him past me and down another stairway. His voice echoed up the tiled stairwell long after he had vanished from my sight. I stumbled down the front stairs and out onto the street. I had just promised a man that I would do the impossible.

Thirteen

I came out into the late afternoon hubbub that was New York. People everywhere, all of them in a hurry, all wrapped and bundled like mummies against the snow that was still falling. I struck out in what I thought was the direction of the East River.

What have you done? I asked myself. How could I have volunteered to take responsibility for a man's life? How could I possibly prove he was innocent? The answer came immediately: by finding the one who is guilty. I would have to produce someone who had a better reason for wanting O'Malley dead--and I had no idea how I could do that. The English police might be able to find the details on O'Malley's background, but I never could. I'd just have to start with what I knew.

And what did I know? I knew that someone on

Ellis Island killed O'Malley and that person was someone who spent the night on the island and had no method of leaving until the government boat early next morning. So that meant it was either an employee on night shift or a fellow immigrant.

The only fact that I knew for sure was that a guard had appeared from the men's dormitory and the only guard who resembled him claimed he had not been on duty that night. Surely that was an important point. Either the man was lying, or someone had been impersonating a guard to gain access to the men's dormitory. Maybe the guards on duty hung up their jackets and caps during the long night shift and it wasn't too hard to borrow one for a while.

So the first thing to look into would be the guard Boyle's alibi. Did he really leave the island on the last boat of the evening? Was he at home that night? I'd go down to the docks first thing tomorrow and question the boatman myself.

I felt charged with energy and excitement. I would do this, and when I had found the truth, I would take great delight in turning the facts over to that self-satisfied Daniel Sullivan!