Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“Shouldn’t be allowed in a respectable city,” her companion agreed. “Good riddance I say. I hope he gets the lot of ’em.”


I shuddered as I hurried past. So yet another prostitute had been murdered. Four of them this summer, enough that the press now spoke of an East Side Ripper, following in the footsteps of London’s notorious mass murderer. Because the victims were prostitutes, there had been little public interest until the most recent murders. Many people agreed with those women I had overheard—immoral behavior like that was just asking for retribution.

It was so easy to dismiss crimes like this as happening in another world. Nothing to do with me, thank God. That was the general attitude. And yet I had spent a night in a jail cell with some of those women. They had been kind to me, and all I felt for them was pity. Those sad young girls with innocent faces hidden under rouge and lipstick could have been me when I first arrived, penniless, in New York.

I had just reached Broadway and joined the throng of pedestrians that seemed to populate that street at all hours when I had a sudden feeling that I was being followed. I glanced around but saw nobody I recognized. I quickened my pace but the feeling didn’t go away. I suppose you could say I was born with the Irish sixth sense. Well, it had stood me in good stead before, and I wasn’t about to ignore it now. Those headlines about the East Side Ripper flashed through my mind. Ridiculous, I told myself. Those murders were all done at night, the bodies all dumped on one of the streets known for their houses of ill repute. I was clearly not that kind of woman. It was broad daylight, and I was on Broadway. I was quite safe.

Even so, when I saw a chance to dodge between two streetcars and a dray carrying beer barrels, I took it and continued on the other side of the street. The feeling was stronger than ever. I stepped under the awning of a greengrocer’s shop and stood surveying the crowd. Nobody I recognized. Nobody who looked like an East Side Ripper either. Just ordinary housewives about their morning shopping before the day’s heat became too intense, businessmen on their way to appointments, children on their way to play. I noticed a young police constable, his familiar helmet bobbing above the crowd, and felt reassured. I could always appeal for help if I really needed to. So I set off again. When I came to Wannamaker’s, the dry goods store on Broadway, I paused, pretending to examine the hats in the window while in reality surveying the crowd that passed behind me.

At that moment a hand grabbed my shoulder. I looked around frantically for the policeman, then found that I was staring up into his face, and it was his hand that held me.

“Holy Mother of God,” I exclaimed. “You scared the daylights out of me, Officer. What do you think you are doing? Do I look like a pickpocket to you?”

His angular boyish face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I believe I know who you are. Miss Murphy, is it not? I was sent to find you by Captain Sullivan.”

“By Captain Sullivan?” I blurted out as the crowd parted around us. “Of all the nerve. He daren’t face me himself so he sends one of his underlings to do it now, does he?”

“I’m sorry, miss,” he repeated again. “But it’s important. Captain Sullivan really needs to speak to you, and you haven’t answered his letters.”

“Of course I haven’t answered his letters, and I don’t intend to speak to him either. That should be quite obvious by now. He and I have nothing more to say to each other.”

“So you won’t come with me to speak to him?”

I shook my head. “Absolutely not. You can tell Captain Sullivan that our acquaintanceship is at an end and I have no wish to speak to him again. And if he continues to annoy me, I’ll complain about him to his superiors. Is that clear enough for you?”

The young constable’s embarrassment grew. “Then I have no alternative, miss. I’m only obeying orders, mark you, but I’m placing you under arrest.” With that he clapped a handcuff onto one wrist before I knew what was happening to me.

I stared down at the wrist in horror and indignation. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! How dare you! Release me this minute or I’ll make the biggest fuss you can imagine.”

“I’m really sorry, Miss Murphy, but I’ve been told to bring you to Captain Sullivan and bring you I will, even if I have to carry you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

“I’d like to see you try,” I said. “Now let me out of this contraption at once.”

A crowd was gathering around us.

“Do you need any help, Officer?” A distinguished-looking man stepped forward. “Should I summon assistance for you?”

“I think I can handle her, thank you,” the constable said, “but she’s a feisty one, I’ll grant you that. A string of outstanding warrants for her arrest as long as your arm.”