Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I stared out across the green lawn, trying to stay calm and detached and not let the image of what I had just seen creep back into my mind.

“I went back over the notes from the past autopsies and it would appear that there had been recent sexual activity in each case. Which might have meant the predator was successful in his attempt on those occasions.” He looked up at me. “And you say the missing girls were of Italian and Swedish background?”

I nodded.

“One of the young ladies I have just examined had the most lovely fair hair,” he said. “She could be your Swedish girl.”

“Lovely fair hair?” I asked.

“Oh yes. Luxuriant hair, almost white blond. I got quite a shock when we opened the coffin. It was covering her, draped over her shoulders like a cloak.”

I found I was trembling. “And is it possible to identify someone by their hair?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “If the family has kept some hair in a locket, we can examine and compare the hairs under a microscope and make a good match.”

“Would it be possible for me to take some strands of that hair for comparison?” I asked.

He looked at me oddly. “Why would you be doing this?” he asked. “Isn’t this a job for the police? They were all here today, you know. They’ve already taken hair samples as well as Bertillon measurements.”

“Mrs. Goodwin plans to turn everything over to her superiors as soon as she’s completed her part in the investigation,” I said, “but there are a few things she wants to complete first.”

“Then why isn’t she here herself? Don’t tell me she couldn’t take it, when you were the one who fainted?”

“She met with an accident,” I said. “She was run down by a horse and carriage.”

“Dear me,” he said. “That’s unfortunate. But she survived all right?”

“Fortunately yes. But she’s still confined to her bed, so I’m trying to do what I can to help her.”

The doctor shook his head. “I could release a strand of hair to Mrs. Goodwin, because she’s official, but you’re not. You could find yourself accused of hampering an official police investigation, you know.”

“I don’t mean to hamper anything, just to speed things along,” I said. “The official detectives on the team are not about to listen to a pair of women, even if we are on the right track. And I’m only asking for a couple of snippings of hair.”

He laughed then. “Well, I suppose we can do that much for you. Wait here. You won’t want to come inside again, I’m sure.”

I waited and he returned with an envelope, which he handed me solemnly. “There,” he said. “I will be keeping hair samples from the other girls on file, should Mrs. Goodwin need those at a later date.”

I thanked him and made a grateful retreat, clutching my precious hair sample.

As soon as I returned home, I paid a visit to Sid and Gus to see if they had Dr. Birnbaum’s address. Surely he would have a microscope and be able to compare hair samples for me. I was suitably vague about why I needed to speak to him. I really didn’t want to reveal the thoughts going through my head until they proved definite one way or the other. But I had a clear picture in my head—two girls at Miss Marchbank’s academy, sitting side by side. One of them pale and delicate looking, but with the most beautiful fair hair cascading over her shoulders.





THIRTY-THREE




It turned out that Dr. Birnbaum was lodging at the Hotel Lafayette, on University Place, the very same place where Ryan O’Hare himself had rooms. Well, that explained how they had met! I was glad it was a short walk as I had been up since before dawn and had already put in a full day’s work. My feet flagged on the hot sidewalks, and I looked longingly at the fountain in Washington Square, from which came delighted squeals of small boys splashing merrily. The sound of their voices brought back a whole string of happier memories—Bridie and Shamey had played in that same fountain until they were detected by me and brought home in disgrace. Now I wondered when I would see them again.

Lost in thought, I almost walked right past the Hotel Lafayette, until I glanced up and saw the striped awning over its dining room window, giving it a gay continental appearance. The clerk inside confirmed that Dr. Birnbaum was indeed staying there, and could probably be found in his room at the moment. I was deemed respectable-looking enough to go up as they didn’t seem to have a room-to-room telephone system. The doctor’s room was on the top floor of three, overlooking University Place. I heard the sound of laughter as I tapped on the door. It was opened by none other than Ryan, dressed, for him, in ordinary city attire—white tailored shirt, light trousers, no frills, no Buddhist robes.