Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I stared at her in admiration. I had stumbled blindly through most of the cases I had investigated, coming to the right conclusion more through luck than skill. Here I was watching a trained, skilled detective at work. It reminded me how much of an amateur I was. But of course I wasn’t going to let her know that.

“I’ve done some undercover work for the police myself,” I said.

“Really?” She sounded skeptical.

“I was the one who went to the Flynn mansion and found out the truth about Senator Flynn’s kidnapped son.”

“Is that so? Who sent you?”

“Captain Sullivan.”

Her face became stony again. “Ah yes, Captain Sullivan. You’ll probably have heard. He’s no longer with the police. He left in disgrace.”

“Because somebody plotted his disgrace,” I said, angrily. “He’s innocent of the charges against him. He has never accepted a bribe, nor worked in the pay of a gang. Never.”

“I wish I could believe that,” she said.

“It’s all lies! Someone has been spreading false rumors. Circumstantial evidence.”

“Not all circumstantial,” she said, and her voice was now ice cold. “My husband was one of the officers sent to raid a meeting between two rival gangs that was going to get ugly. But someone had tipped the gangs off. They were waiting for our men. My husband was beaten up and later died of his wounds.”

Without thinking I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so terribly sorry,” I said, “but it wasn’t Daniel who tipped off the gang, I swear that. He swears it, and I believe him. I’m doing everything I can to prove his innocence.”

“You’re a relative, are you?” she asked.

“Just a friend.”

She nodded with the understanding that always exists between us women and rose to her feet. She was a big woman, maybe five foot six or seven. Tall, angular, bony. Certainly not what you’d ever call a beauty. “Well, Miss—?”

“Murphy,” I said, giving my real name for once. “Molly Murphy.”

“Well, Miss Murphy,” she went on, “I don’t know how you think that poking around at the scene of a sordid crime can help prove Captain Sullivan’s innocence.”

“Because there has to be a reason somebody wanted him disgraced and arrested. The details of his arrest were so well plotted. Money was slipped into an envelope delivered by a gang member, and the police commissioner just happened to arrive on the scene at exactly the right moment to witness this handing over of a bribe.”

“It sounds almost too well plotted to be true to me,” she said. “Did it ever occur to you that he may just be guilty? Men aren’t always straight with us women. He may not have wanted to diminish himself in your eyes.”

“Oh, I know all about Daniel Sullivan’s failings. But he’s never out-and-out lied to me, and I believe him this time. He’d never want to send me on a wild-goose chase if he didn’t believe I could come to the truth. What would be the point in it?”

She looked at me, long and hard, then she nodded. “And you think that this series of crimes is somehow linked to Captain Sullivan?”

I shook my head. “Not really, but I’m leaving no stone unturned. Someone has a motive for wanting him off the force and out of the way. He can’t think what that motive might be, but someone must have a grudge against him, or somebody must have been worried he was coming too close to solving a case. At the time of his arrest he was lead officer in a horse-doping scandal out at Coney Island, and he had just been put in charge of this case. Hence my interest.” I paused, looked at her, then put my hand up to my mouth as I realized it might have gotten me into trouble yet again. I’ve never known when to shut up. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. You’ll probably go straight back to police headquarters, report what I’ve told you, and thus make somebody aware that I’m snooping around.”

“Not me, my dear,” she said. “Contrary to popular belief, we women can hold our tongues when necessary, and one thing we can do very well is stick together. I shouldn’t like you. I shouldn’t trust what you say. But I do.” She held out her hand. “The name’s Goodwin, Sabella Goodwin.”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Goodwin,” I said. “You don’t know how pleased I am to meet you. And if there’s anything I can do to help you, I’d be only too happy to assist.”

“Get away with you. I’ve been around enough Irish blarney in my life,” she said, but she was smiling.





NINETEEN




I’d better let you get back to your work,” I said, noticing that a group of children had gathered to watch us. “If we’re not careful they’ll spoil any clues you might have picked up. May I ask what you put in a bag?”

“A cigar butt,” she said. “It may just be coincidental, but then it might have been discarded at the same time as the body. Cigar butts don’t usually last long on these streets. Those last shreds of tobacco are too precious to waste. The urchins would have pounced on it. And that’s about all I’ve got to go on.” She sighed. “Too bad they rushed her to the morgue this time. I hope the detectives managed to have photographs taken.”

“They rushed her to the hospital, not the morgue,” I said.