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

It was wonderful to be in a place with clean sheets, a bathroom with hot water, and a mirror to fix my hair, even though there were texts all over the walls to remind me that vanity was a sin. I straightened my attire, washed out some smalls, and felt almost human by the time I went out again. I tried several more establishments, looking for work, but with no success. Reluctantly I decided to go to the fish market in the morning.

On the way to see Mr. Levy I came up with a crazy idea. I would ask him if he needed an assistant. I was quick. I learned fast and I liked him. I could also learn how to take pictures and maybe I could set up my own photography business some day. It was dark and cold and starting to rain by the time I walked back to Hester Street. The distance I had walked in the past few days must be equal to the whole of Ireland, from south to north.

There was no light shining through the blinds of Mr. Levy's establishment, but the door was slightly ajar. I reasoned he was probably working in a back room somewhere, developing those pictures he had taken today. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

"Mr. Levy? Are you here? It's Molly Murphy, come about the picture you took?"

There was a strong chemical smell about the place. I had only taken a couple of steps when my foot struck something. I bent to pick it up. It was a heavy square metal object and it took me a moment to realize it was a camera.

Something was wrong. Mr. Levy wouldn't leave his precious camera on the floor to be trodden on. I opened the door wide, to let in as much light as possible from the gas lamp outside. It shone on a place in utter disarray. Papers were strewn everywhere. Bottles lay smashed with their contents all over everything. And there was a dark shape sticking out from behind the counter. I stepped gingerly over the broken glass and debris and saw what it was. It was a man's leg.

"Mr. Levy!" I bent down to him. "Are you all right?"

As soon as I tried to move him I knew that he wasn't. Where I expected to feel the fabric of his coat, my hands touched something sticky. I recoiled in horror.

At that moment I heard footsteps and someone came in through the front door. I cowered behind the counter, holding in breath. I didn't know whether to call out for help or stay hidden. A torch was turned on and its beam strafed the signs of chaos before settling on me. The owner of the torch came closer.

"What has been going on here?" asked Daniel Sullivan's voice.

Eighteen

"Daniel--Captain Sullivan," I called. "Thank heavens it's you. How did you know?"

"I was checking out the list of photographers you left for me," he said. "What's happened?"

"Over here, behind the counter. It's Mr. Levy."

Glass crunched under his feet as he came toward me. His flashlight was blinding me and I put up my hand to shield my eyes.

He knelt down beside me.

"He's dead, I think," I said. "I can't move him and ..."

He was shining the flashlight on the hand I was holding over my face. As I lowered it I saw that it was covered in what had to be blood.

"Are you all right?" he asked sharply. "Me? Yes, I'm fine. I just got here. The door was open and he didn't answer."

Daniel got to his feet again. "In here Briggs, O'Hallaran," he snapped.

"Briggs, you get to HQ as quick as you can. Tell Sergeant O'ationeil there's been what looks like foul play and have him bring a backup team here. You, O'Hallaran, see if you can get us some light going, then keep the crowd away."

I got to my feet, too, feeling cold and shaky. I was about to hug my arms to myself when I remembered the blood on my hands. There was a hiss and a pop and the gas bracket on the wall glowed, throwing grotesque shadows over the chaos and illuminating the body enough for me to see the eyes open in horrified surprise and the big dark stain covering the front of his jacket.

"You're sure it's too late? He's already dead, is he?"

Daniel was looking at me, hard. "He's dead, all right. Whoever did it made damned sure of that."

"Poor man," I said. "He was so nice."

He had taken out a notebook. "So do you mind telling me exactly what you were doing here, alone with the body, in the dark?"

"I met him this afternoon. He invited me to his studio. He said he'd be back as soon as it got dark." The words were spilling out in a torrent. "The door wasn't shut properly but there was no light on. I thought he might be in the back somewhere, working on his pictures. I called out and then I kicked something." I stepped gingerly across the debris and pointed to it. "It was his camera. Then I knew that something had to be wrong. His camera was his livelihood. He'd never leave it on the floor."

"Why didn't you light the gas?"

"I couldn't find it. I--," I stammered. "I'm not used to these new-fangled inventions yet. We only have oil lamps and candles at home."

"So you went forward in the dark?"

"I opened the front door as wide as it would go so that some light came in. That's when I saw that the place was ransacked. And then I saw a leg sticking out. I came around the counter and I found him."

"You kept going into the room in the dark, even after you saw the man's leg?" He sounded incredulous. "Either you are very brave or very stupid, Mrs. O'Connor. I can't decide which. Did it not occur to you that you might have walked in on the killer and he might still be here, hiding in the