Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I swallowed hard so that I didn’t cry in front of her. “But I don’t seem to be getting anywhere. This case we’re working on—what on earth can it have to do with wanting Daniel in jail? The sort of depraved man who is doing these terrible things—how would he have known about Daniel’s meeting with the Eastmans? How would he have steered the commissioner to the right spot at the right moment?”


“You’d be surprised what depraved men look like by daylight,” she said. “He could be anybody, someone you know; someone I know. But I agree. If Captain Sullivan is telling the truth, then it would have to be someone with inside knowledge of the workings of the Police Department.”

“Someone who might be jealous of Daniel, who might want his position?” I asked. “What about Quigley and McIver? They took over the case from him. And you said they are both ambitious young men.”

“Yes, but removing Captain Sullivan wouldn’t really enhance their own chances of promotion that much. I can think of several men who could be made captain before them.”

“And if removing Daniel from this case would give them a chance at glory? Saving the world from the East Side Ripper?”

She shook her head again. “Hardly the case I’d have chosen. Not at all sure that we’ll ever catch the killer. Of course things look a little more hopeful now that we know this girl was only dressed up to look like a prostitute and may be missed from her home. But Quigley and McIver didn’t know that until now. Besides, I’ve worked with them enough to know they’re both straight. Quigley comes from an old family and abides by those rules. Old family honor and all that. McIver—well, he’s more devious, but I’d trust him.” She considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I’d trust him well enough.”

“Which leaves me back at square one,” I said. “I’ve no idea what to do next.”

“Drink your tea and take a rest,” she said. “I have to go, but I’ll get that advertisement put into the papers and let’s see if anyone comes forward to report a missing girl. And in the meantime…” She was halfway to my front door when she turned and looked hard at me for a long moment before saying, “You don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to, you know.”

“What do you mean?” I asked cautiously.

“Exactly what I say. There are ways…to end it…if that’s what you’d want.”

“But isn’t that very risky?”

“Of course it’s always a risk, but no greater risk than trying to survive on your own in this world with a child.”

She came over to where I was sitting at the kitchen table and bent her head close to mine. “Look, I know a woman,” she said in a low voice. “I’ve sent other girls to her before. She knows what she’s doing. She’ll want paying, but I’ll have a word with her. I’ve done her favors before now—got her out of a couple of arrest warrants.”

“You know a woman,” I echoed, parrot fashion. “But I couldn’t.”

“It’s that blasted Catholicism drummed into your head, I suppose. Don’t tell me the Catholic Church is going to support your child for you?”

“It’s not that,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m already damned as far as the Catholic Church is concerned. It’s just that I can’t afford to be idle and recuperating right now. I’ve so much work to do.”

“I told you. This woman knows what she’s doing. You’ll be back on your feet in no time at all, and feeling a lot better than you have been today, I’ll guarantee. Think about it. I’ll try to speak to her and let you know tomorrow if we can work out something between us.”

“Thank you,” I stammered. I rose to my feet. “I—I’m very glad I met you.”

“And I you.”

“I think we were meant to be in on this together,” I said. “If we find out who framed Daniel, then maybe we’ll also find out who brought about your husband’s death.”

“Maybe.” She gave a sad smile. Then she brightened up, waved, and was out of my front door.





TWENTY-THREE




As I closed the door behind her, I noticed two notes stuck in my letter box. I recognized Daniel’s angry black script on one of them, but the other was in a small, meticulous, unfamiliar hand. Of course I tore open Daniel’s note first.

You ask whether anybody has been to see me in jail? Apart from that damned fool lawyer and yourself, the answer is no. The days and nights seem interminable. I understand from the guard who brings me my food that my date in court might be soon. But one small mercy—the food has improved, and they are emptying the buckets in our cells more frequently as rumor has it that the commissioner of police will be inspecting this week. You can bet he can’t wait to see me in this condition.

I know you are doing everything you can. I just pray for a miracle. I think of you every waking moment.

Daniel