We crossed the street and went down a flight of steps next to the jail entrance. There was an unwholesome smell of stale breath and unwashed bodies and the murmur of voices.
"Another one for ya, me darlin'," the policeman called and a large woman in a nurse's uniform and apron motioned for me to follow her. Well, it wasn't much better than a jail cell. There was a row of iron bunk beds, rather like the dormitory at Ellis Island, and a rough blanket on each. Heaven knows who had slept on it before me and what lurked in that mattress, but it was better than freezing. I lay down on the bed indicated by the fierce looking matron. The blanket did little to ward off the cold; I tried wrapping my shawl around me.
I jumped as I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman who looked as if she had been one of the witches in Shakespeare's Macbeth was grinning at me--wild, unkempt hair, several missing teeth. "Here," she growled in a hoarse voice and thrust an old newspaper at me. "Go on," she insisted as I shrank away. "Take it. I've got enough. Wrap it around you under the blanket. It'll help keep the cold away."
"Oh ..., thank you," I stammered.
"And if you've anything worth stealing in that bundle, I'd use it as a pillow if I were you," she muttered. "There's too many is light-fingered around here. They'd rob their old blind grandmother for two cents."
I nodded my thanks, made a pillow of my belongings, and wrapped my feet and legs in the newspaper. Then I fell into a grateful sleep.
We were awakened by the matron at first light. There was a big pot of porridge on the table and mugs of hot coffee. I ate and drank as much
as I could, then got ready to go out into the city. I decided to take the newspapers with me. I didn't know if they might come in useful again. As I straightened them out a headline caught my eye: MAYOR PAYS VISIT TO NEWLY
BUILT ELLIS ISLAND. PARTY OF
DIGNITARIES GET ISLAND TOUR.
NEWLY ARRIVED IMMIGRANTS GET
SURPRISE CONCERT. "His Honor, Mr.
Van Wyck, mayor of New York, accompanied by aldermen and dignitaries of the city, made his first official visit to the newly opened Ellis Island facility. ..."
I sat on my bunk, staring at the article. How could I have been so shortsighted? The immigrants and officials were not the only people on Ellis Island while I was there. The mayor's party had been there, too. Of course, they had paid an afternoon visit and then departed, so I had not thought to include them before. But what if one of them had spotted O'Malley sitting on a bench down below? What if one of them had something to hide and knew that O'Malley was a dangerous man who must not be allowed to enter New York City? I felt excitement surge through me. The paper was the New York Herald and the article had a byline. Reported by your correspondent, Jamie McPherson.
I got directions to the newspaper office and set off with a new spring in my step. I felt sure I was onto something that would finally make Daniel Sullivan sit up and take notice. Something that might free Michael. I asked the matron if I could leave my bundle with her for an hour or so and she reluctantly agreed. The many blocks of Broadway seemed to flash by without effort. I got to Herald Square without incident and had to wait around until the newspaper staff arrived for the day shift. I had to convince the young man at the front desk that I was there on police business before I was sent up the stairs to a big room full of clattering typewriting machines. Jamie McPherson was a young Scot with an accent so broad I wondered how he ever managed to ask questions that New Yorkers could understand.
"Ach yes, I was there with the mayor and his party," he said. "What did you want to know?"
"The names of that party," I said.
"I didnae bother with them all, but I've
got the most important ones written down here somewhere." He fished in a desk drawer for a notebook. "Let me see. Ah--here we are. Beside the mayor, there were two aldermen, McCormack and Dailey, and they had several Tammany men with them, too--you could get all the names from Tammany Hall if you wanted." He looked up, puzzled. "What was this about again?"
I couldn't let him know the truth. He was a newspaperman, after all, and this would be headline news. "I can't tell you at the moment," I said, "but if it works out the way I think it will, it could be big news and I promise I'll give you the scoop."
"Sounds suitably mysterious," he said with a grin. "You could get the names of the complete party from the mayor's office, I'm sure. I'd say it was a good representation of who's who in the city. Or a who's who at Tammany Hall, which amounts to the same thing."
"Thank you." I wasn't sure what to ask next. He was a young reporter who obviously thought that covering the mayor's visit was a boring assignment. I wished I could come up with a tidbit of information that would pique his interest, but lack of food and sleep had dulled my wits, and the terrible clatter of those typewriting machines made it impossible to think, anyway. How they managed to write stories in that room, I'll never know.
"So how did they get to the island?" I asked. "Did they come on a ferry?"
Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)
Rhys Bowen's books
- Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)
- Bless the Bride (Molly Murphy, #10)
- City of Darkness and Light (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #13)
- Death of Riley (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #2)
- For the Love of Mike (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #3)
- Hush Now, Don't You Cry (Molly Murphy, #11)
- In a Gilded Cage (Molly Murphy, #8)
- In Dublin's Fair City (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #6)
- In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)