Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

Next morning I woke after a good night’s sleep. The temperature outside had fallen during the night and sweet, cool breezes wafted in through my open bedroom window. I got up and stood at the window, savoring the cool air on my body through the thin cotton of my nightgown, listening to the sweet chittering of early morning birdsong. I felt refreshed and full of energy. Maybe I had panicked for nothing yesterday, I told myself. Maybe I wasn’t in the family way after all. I hadn’t always been regular in my monthly cycles, and they did say that shock could delay things. Fighting for my life in the Hudson River would certainly count as shock, wouldn’t it?

I even felt hungry. That may have been due to the vegetarian dinner I had been served last night. To tell the truth, I had found it hard to swallow the strange concoction of nuts and greens that Gus had prepared, and I had ended up hiding most of it under a lettuce leaf on my plate. I went downstairs and ate a hearty breakfast, after which I found that my brain was less muddled than yesterday and I was able to think clearly. So I got out my pad and started jotting down notes. What did Paddy always say when attacking a new case? Start with the obvious, that’s what he said. Go right to the source, don’t skirt around it. That meant I should start with the person who’d put Daniel in jail—with the commissioner of police himself, Mr. John Partridge.

And just how was I going to get an appointment to see him? On what pretext? I couldn’t imagine that he’d welcome me as myself. If I appeared to plead on Daniel’s behalf, I might even harm his case. God forbid, he might even suspect I was some kind of gangster’s moll. No, this would take some thought and some subterfuge. I got up and paced around the room. A lady reporter come to interview him about his new appointment? Not at all a guaranteed entry. He might well despise them as a breed. A cause—I needed a cause. The commissioner had apparently arrested Daniel because he wanted to wipe out corruption in the Police Department. Very well, I’d be a member of the Ladies Decency League, come to congratulate him on his efforts. It was a risky undertaking. I had no idea if there really was a Ladies Decency League and whether Mr. John Patridge was already well acquainted with them. If he’d thrown the book at Daniel for accepting a bribe, he might well have me arrested for approaching him under false pretences.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” I said, more bravely than I felt.

I put on my one respectable business suit. It was too warm for the current weather but it looked efficient. Then I pulled my hair back severely from my face and hid it under a straw boater. The result was not flattering but had the desired effect.

“Better get it over with,” I said to the severe young woman in the looking glass and headed out of the door without looking back. I wasn’t sure where the commissioner of police was to be found, but I was certain most of the bigwigs had offices in City Hall. He’d either be there or at police headquarters on Mulberry Street. Either way, the folks there would be able to tell me where I could find him.

When I reached the post office on Broadway, I paid the ten cents at the public phone booth and had the operator put in a call to Daniel’s number. It rang and rang.

“There is no answer, caller,” the operator said, and the line went dead. I hadn’t really expected one. I couldn’t picture Jack picking up Daniel’s telephone, even if he had returned during the night. He’d probably think it too risky to reveal his presence. I was tempted to check in person, but I couldn’t spend my entire life going up and down Sixth Avenue on the off chance that he’d come back. He did have my address. He could come looking for me. And I was conscious that time was of the essence. Every day that Daniel remained in jail might put his life in jeopardy.

As I went up the marble steps to that imposing building with its gleaming marble fa?ade and Greek columns, my nerve almost failed me. Molly Murphy, until recently an Irish peasant, was about to worm information out of one of the most powerful men in the city. Men didn’t rise to the top in New York City without a certain degree of ruthlessness. If he was as straight and honorable as he claimed to be, then he wouldn’t take kindly to my extracting information under false pretences. And if he was the usual sort of New York politician, he wouldn’t want me poking into his crooked schemes.

“You have no choice,” I told myself firmly and forced one foot in front of the other. There was a young man sitting at a reception desk. He eyed me flirtatiously. I gave him my Queen Victoria stare and told him I was on a most important errand from the Ladies Decency League. His manner changed right away and soon I was heading up a flight of steps to the second floor.

Mr. Partridge had a female secretary who looked even more dowdy and severe than I did. I couldn’t possibly speak to the commissioner without an appointment, she said.

“Oh, but I know he’d want to meet with a representative of his staunchest supporters,” I said. “The Ladies Decency League is backed by the most influential women in the city. Why only last week Mrs. Astor held a meeting at her mansion on Fifth Avenue.” I shut up at that point before I let this ridiculous blarney go too far. But it seemed to have worked because the woman rose to her feet. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said. “He may just have a minute before his meeting with the mayor.”