Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“A lot will depend on the amount of blood. If the victim was already dead then the heart would have stopped pumping. Even several cruel blows to the face would not produce much blood. If she were still alive, I am afraid to say that the face would be a bloody mess.”


“Oh dear,” Gus put her hand to her mouth, “perhaps I am not as strong as I thought I was. I find this most disturbing. I think I shall go and water the flowers in the garden.”

“We will talk of it no further, Gus dearest,” Ryan said. “Let us instead discuss my new play, which Fritz is helping me to write.”

“You’re writing another new play, Ryan?” I asked.

“Yes, and I’m telling nobody about it except my most trusted friends. I’m not risking another idea being stolen. This one will be a black comedy with lots of gothic elements—hands coming out of mirrors, trapdoors opening to swallow victims—all the stuff that the audience loves. And the central character is an evil doctor, thanks to dear Fritz here, who has told me of one of his case histories.”

“A real case history? Do tell us, Dr. Birnbaum,” Sid said.

“Yes. It was my first encounter with a reallive mass murderer,” he said, staring at us in that intense way of his. “A doctor. A pillar of the community. First, he poisoned his shrewish wife and got away with it. The next time he married for money and dispatched her as well. Then he enjoyed the power of being able to kill at will. He started using his medical knowledge to finish off his patients. He would appear at the bedside and act the concerned and loving doctor who had done all he could. Families would thank him for his trouble and give him lavish gifts.”

“And how was he finally caught?”

“Too cocky. And rather annoyed that nobody suspected him. He took greater and greater risks until finally he was caught red-handed administering a lethal dose of morphine.”

“Fascinating,” Gus said.

“Isn’t it, just.” Ryan beamed at us. “And I will duplicate the evil doctor on stage, with a few touches of my own added in. Maybe I will even play the character myself. I’ve always secretly fantasized about being truly evil.”

“You will never cease to surprise us, Ryan.” Sid glanced at Gus and me with a smile.

“I sincerely hope not. The moment I cease to surprise I shall become ordinary and boring like the rest of the world. When that happens there will be nothing for it but to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge and end it all.”

“The dramatic dramatist,” Dr. Birnbaum said, with a wink at me.

“And our little conversation is giving me more ideas as we speak.” Ryan dismissed his observation. “I was thinking perhaps my evil doctor will lure young women to his boudoir with the intention of killing them. Prostitutes are more exciting than patients, don’t you agree? Far more mobile, in any case.”

“That’s not nice, Ryan,” I found myself blurting out. “How can you possibly want to write about this when it’s really happening in this city? Those girls might be on the lowest rung of the ladder, but they were somebody’s daughter and sister and once they had hopes and dreams beyond their present station.”

“There speaks the voice of passion,” Birnbaum said, applauding. “Well said, Miss Murphy.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a crusader, Molly,” Sid said.

“I suppose I feel strongly because I could have ended up as one of those girls. When I first arrived here I had nowhere to go and no chance for employment. If I had fallen in with the wrong people, rather than the bible-toting ladies from the hostel, who knows what might have happened to me?”

“Knowing you, you’d have given the pimp a black eye, and he would have found you more trouble than you were worth,” Ryan commented, making us all laugh and breaking the spell of gloom. “I’ve just come up with a marvelous idea, children. No, don’t look at me like that. No more suggestions of black comedy. Why don’t we take a picnic to Central Park this evening? The march king, Mr. Sousa, is giving a free concert tonight, and you know how I adore brass bands. It brings out the military in me.”

“The military in you?” Sid burst out laughing. “When did you ever have military inclinations, Ryan?”

“When I see all those splendid red uniforms and those awfully tall chaps wearing them.”

The banter continued. For once I wasn’t anxious to join them. I’d be worrying about whether I’d be taken ill and how I would feel trapped in a great crush of people on a hot night. “I don’t think I’ll join you, if you don’t mind,” I said.

“Of course you must come. It will be no fun without you,” Ryan said.

“Yes, Molly. We insist.” Sid wagged a finger at me. “You’re not allowed to even think of working on a Saturday evening.”

“I’m not feeling too well,” I ventured.

“Then good music and good company are just what you need to revive you,” Ryan said. “Think how heavenly it will be, stretched out under the stars, sipping champagne and eating oysters.”