Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I sat at the kitchen table with the letter in front of me for a good long while. Why did someone want Daniel Sullivan in jail? Had he offended someone in a mortally big way for them to want such terrible revenge? If it was only a case of a rivalry within the police department, then his demotion or dismissal would have been enough. No, this was something tinged with venomous hate; someone wanting Daniel’s complete destruction.

I should write back to him with questions about his relationship with the commissioner, who was my best bet so far. As I opened the kitchen drawer for notepaper and pen, I was conscious of how much time was being wasted waiting for the delivery of letters. I needed to see Daniel for myself, ask him all the questions I needed to ask, and eliminate suspicions from my own mind. Well, at least I had one thing I hadn’t possessed before—his lawyer’s name and address. I’d go and bully him into getting me into The Tombs. Maybe I’d even discover whether he was someone’s puppet and was dancing to their tune.

I sank my head onto my hands and sat there at the kitchen table with the sun shining in on me. It was good to feel safe for a while. “Just a few moments and then I’ll get on with what I have to do next,” I murmured to myself. My eyes closed and I fell sound asleep.

The next thing I knew, the kitchen was bathed in rosy twilight, and the clock was chiming eight. My face felt stiff and misshapen from falling asleep against the hard wood of the table. Whatever plans I might have had for the rest of the day, it was now too late. I was also ravenously hungry.

I got up and found some slices of tongue and cold potatoes in the larder. By the third mouthful my stomach rebelled. I had to settle for bread and cheese instead. It seemed that was to be my staple diet at the moment. I managed to get that down. It wouldn’t be dark for at least another half hour. Maybe I should pay a visit to Sergeant O’Hallaran when he was likely to be home. I washed my face, brushed my hair, and set out to walk to East Twelfth Street.

Now that the fierce sun had gone down, life was spilling out onto the streets. Men and women sat on their stoops, old ladies fanning themselves, young women with babies on their laps. Children played hopscotch on sidewalks. From open windows came the sounds of the city—babies crying, pianos being played, arguments, laughter. Usually I relished these great affirmations of life around me. Tonight they only reminded me sharply that I was alone. I had no family with whom to fight or laugh. I would come back to an empty house. I really missed the O’Connor children. Then, of course, I remembered what I had been keeping locked away at the back of my mind: I would soon have a family of my own. A picture swam into my mind of a chubby baby with dark curls and Daniel’s alarmingly blue eyes, its little head safe against my shoulder as I sang it to sleep with a lullaby. I had not allowed myself to imagine it before, as if not making it real would somehow make it go away. Now I felt a little jolt of excitement in the pit of my gut, and what I supposed was a rush of maternal feeling. I stood there, imagining the feel of its soft warmth against my cheek, and I had to admit that part of me wanted this baby very much.

A ball came bouncing in my direction. I sent it back with a mighty kick.

“Thanks, missus,” voices called, and the boys went on with their game. I went on my way, content to have been part of that game for just a moment.

I was still in pensive mood when I knocked on Sergeant O’Hallaran’s door. What a lot had happened since I had stood there last. I remembered arriving there over a year ago, as a fresh young immigrant, as Daniel Sullivan’s sweetheart. Or at least that was what I had thought at the time. It had taken awhile to find out that his sweetheart was someone quite different from me.

He’s brought me nothing but heartache since the moment I met him, I thought.

The door opened and Sergeant O’Hallaran himself was standing there, minus his uniform jacket but in his braces.

“Why, Miss Murphy,” he said, a big smile spreading across his face. “What a nice surprise. Come on in, do. What brings you to this neck of the woods? Come back to your old haunts, have you?”

“It’s good to see you again, Sergeant,” I said, following him into the hallway, which smelled of well-polished wood. I remembered that Mrs. O’Hallaran had been a meticulous housekeeper, if a little too nosy for my taste. “Are you keeping well? And Mrs. O’Hallaran?”

“Can’t complain.” He smiled at me. “Mrs. O’Hallaran has just popped out to visit a sick neighbor. Was it herself you were wanting to visit?”

“No, it was you I came to see. I need your help, Sergeant. I’ve come about Daniel.”