Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“Oh no,” I lied. “I love a good boxing match. I used to watch them all the time with my brothers in Ireland.”


“There you are, Marge,” Bert said. “You heard her. But I’m warning the both of you—if I take you with me, don’t go changing your minds and come begging me to take you home in the middle of the fight because I’m not budging until it’s over, even if it goes on all night.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

“Right, then I’ll expect you back here by six tomorrow evening. The fight starts at eight-thirty and I’m allowing plenty of time for the crowds.”

“Thank you kindly, Bert,” Mrs. Goodwin said.

“Why don’t they stay with us tonight, rather than going all that way back to the city?” Marge Goodwin said. “It’s a while since we’ve had Bella to talk to. I’ll make us a good Italian spaghetti tonight.”

“Very kind of you,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “We accept, don’t we, Molly?”

I could hardly refuse. “Very kind,” I echoed.

Later when we were up in their guest room, I accosted her. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? By rights you should still be in your sickbed. Even riding in that auto today was painful for you, I could see it.”

“You learn to be tough in the police force,” she said. “And who knows when we’d ever get a chance like this again? We’ll have Bert to escort us, and, as he said, half the New York police will be on hand, if we should get into trouble.”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” I said. “I understood that one of the reasons for Daniel’s arrest was that he was setting up an illegal prizefight. Now you tell me that most of his fellow officers will be attending it?”

“Officially it’s against the law, if you wanted an excuse to arrest somebody,” she said. “But nobody’s going to stop that fight tomorrow night. I can guarantee you that. Too much money riding on it.”

“So the betting is a big part of it, is it?”

“Oh yes, indeed. There will be plenty of men who go, not to watch the fight particularly, but to wager large amounts of money. And heaven help their favorite boxer if he doesn’t win. He’ll have to make a hasty getaway.”

I thought of Gentleman Jack and wondered how many times he’d had to make that hasty getaway. There was a lot for him riding on this fight, too. Tomorrow would be an important day for all of us.





THIRTY-SIX




We passed a pleasant enough Sunday morning. Bert and Marge went to church, but Bella declined for herself and me, saying she didn’t feel up to sitting on a hard bench for a long sermon. I thought this was a poor excuse for one who was about to sit through a twenty-something-round boxing match, but it was accepted with good grace.

“Now let’s get down to strategy,” she said when we had the house to ourselves. “What is it we hope to accomplish on Coney Island?”

“For one thing we want to talk to the pimp of the first prostitute whose body was found under the boardwalk,” I said, “and maybe some of her fellow workers. One of them might be able to give a description of the man with whom she was last seen.”

“And apart from that?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “If two young girls were given notes by a strange boy, then maybe I’d better make myself available and unaccompanied. You or Bert can keep a safe distance behind me and watch.”

“You’re making yourself the bait?”

“If you put it that way. But I’ll be quite safe, because I’ll be aware, and you’ll be watching.”

“Coney Island is a big place,” she said. “It’s a long shot.”

“It might pay off,” I said. “If it doesn’t, we present our findings to Captain Paxton.”

She nodded. “And he’ll solve the case and get all the glory and I’ll go back to being assigned to the women’s dormitory, and picking up fleas into the bargain.”



It was early evening and the world was bathed in rosy twilight when Bert wheeled out the automobile. True to Marge’s prediction, he had polished it until it gleamed. He cranked it up and we were off.

“Is the fight going to be at the Athletic Club as usual?” Bella asked.

“Out at Norton’s Point, you mean?” Bert shook his head. “They can’t hold it there. That would be the obvious place, and it would be shut down before it started.”

“But I thought you said half the police force would be there?” I asked.

“Unofficially. But officially they’re duty bound to shut it down. So it has to be at a secret location.”

“And you know where that is?”

“I just happen to know where that is,” he said with a smile.

The streets of Brooklyn were congested with Sunday evening activity as families enjoyed an hour or two of leisure on the stoop. We were reduced to crawling past children’s games and ice cream barrows. We couldn’t have been more than halfway there when there was a shudder, a pop, and we came to a halt.

“Danged, blasted thing,” Bert muttered. “What can that be now?”