Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“All right. Not a fellow officer then. What about a criminal? Has any big-time criminal gone to the dock recently shouting, ‘I’ll get you yet, Daniel Sullivan’?”


“Frequently.” Daniel managed a grin. “But there’s just one thing against that. No criminal with any brains would mess with the Eastmans. He wouldn’t be on their territory to start with. And I don’t see how he’d get hold of an envelope that came from Monk’s hands to Bugsy’s.”

“This is hopeless, Daniel,” I said. “Every turn leads to a brick wall. You must have offended or scared somebody. Sergeant O’Hallaran suggested it might have something to do with a case you were working on. He said you were too good and perhaps somebody wanted an investigation that dragged on forever and ever.”

Daniel shook his head. “That doesn’t hold water either, because the officers who were working under me on the cases are both first-rate men. They have just as great a chance of solving things swiftly as I would have had.”

“So what were you working on?”

“Nothing too thrilling. There was a case of horse doping out at the Brighton Race Track. The favorite dropped dead in the middle of a race. I was just looking into that when I was called to take over the East Side Ripper investigation. No doubt you’ve read about that in the papers? Somebody bashing in prostitutes’ heads and dumping them on East Side streets. Prostitutes get themselves killed all the time, of course. Normally not much is done about the occasional dead prostitute; it’s considered a hazard of the occupation. But when the numbers started piling up, the new commissioner said we should put a top man onto it.”

“The commissioner chose you for the job?”

“I gathered that he was content that I should take over.”

“And from whom did you take over?”

“Quigley and McIver were handling it. I think I mentioned them to you. Both good men. The top brass decided the widening scope of the case needed a senior officer in charge. If they weren’t too thrilled about having me breathing down their necks, then they didn’t show it. Mind you, I’d not have been too happy if I’d had one of the top brass foisted on me when I was doing a perfectly good job.”

“And what had you found out so far?”

“Not much,” he said. “There were four young women, each of them battered beyond recognition. We tried asking around to see if any pimps would admit to losing a girl, but none has so far. Well, I take that back. A prostitute was found murdered in a similar way a month or so ago. Her body was dumped under the boardwalk by the Coney Island pier. She was badly mutilated, but her pimp reported her missing.”

“And you think this was the same killer?”

“The modus operandi was definitely similar.”

“But the others were all found on Lower East Side streets, and she was found at Coney Island.”

“Correct.”

“Maybe the killer killed his first victim out by the ocean and then found he had a taste for killing prostitutes but didn’t want the long journey each time.”

“So then he’d be an East Side resident?” Daniel asked.

“He could reside anywhere in New York City, couldn’t he? He could be from any walk of life. So you’re not on his track yet. He didn’t leave any clues at all?”

“Only that he is a man who enjoys risks—the bodies have turned up on well-traveled streets, and yet nobody has seen them actually put there. If they came from nearby brothels, he’d have had to somehow carry the body down the stairs and run the risk of bumping into people at every turn.”

“But none of these brothels have reported girls missing, you say?”

“Not when I was arrested. Of course other officers might have made progress since.”

“And what about the horse doping? Were you getting close to solving that one?”

“I was inclined to believe it was a rival jockey with a grudge, but again I was only starting the investigation when I was detained against my will.”

“So in neither case were you getting close to solving these crimes.”

He shook his head. “In the horse-doping case, I was just completing initial investigations. In the East Side Ripper case, I had literally just been ordered to take over.”

“So somebody couldn’t be afraid you were too closely on his tail.”

“No. And besides, if the horse-doping case does turn out to be a disgruntled jockey, he’d hardly have the clout to doctor a letter from a leading gang member and then arrange for a police commissioner to walk a prescribed route at the right time.”

“It need not have been the jockey,” I said. “Maybe he was suggested to you as a scapegoat.”

“It’s possible, of course.”

“I could continue this investigation for you, couldn’t I? I wouldn’t be putting myself in danger going out to a racetrack.”

“I suppose you could. If you think it would actually do any good.”

“And where is the Brighton Race Track?”

“It’s one of the Coney Island tracks.”

“Coney Island again,” I said. “And weren’t you trying to set up your prizefight out there?”