Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“I have located a good sampling of material for you on the commissioner. What a fine man. I’m glad he is to be honored.”


She indicated that I should sit at a long, mahogany table, then produced a box of typewritten sheets, yellowed newspaper clippings, photographs, and etchings. I sat under one of the ceiling lamps and started to work my way through. Mr. Partridge, it seemed, had led an exemplary life. He had been commended for his hard work and devotion to duty by Theodore Roosevelt, when the latter had been commissioner of police himself. He had served in various other boring city departments—ways and means and public works—nothing glamorous and certainly nothing controversial. A short biography detailed his background as son of an Episcopal minister, his education at Princeton, his time as a lawyer, his marriage to a highly suitable young woman, and the birth of four daughters.

I started to flip through the pictures. There were photographs of Mr. Partridge shaking hands with Teddy Roosevelt, with the mayor, with the chief of police upon his appointment. Then I found myself looking at a photograph that made my pulse quicken. The headline stated: CITY BUSINESSMEN WELCOME IRISH CHAMPION TO NEW YORK. And several smiling men stood around a handsome racehorse. At last I had my link. Mr. Partridge was part of the syndicate that owned the winning horse that day at Brighton Race Track.

For a moment I was jubilant. I’ve got you now, John Partridge, I thought. Then I found myself rethinking things. So John Partridge was part owner of a horse that had won on that fateful day. Didn’t that just make it a lucky coincidence? The man I had spoken to at the racetrack hadn’t thought that any horse had a clear chance of winning with the favorite removed. And even if the worst had happened, even if Mr. Partridge’s syndicate had been responsible for doping the favorite, they would have made sure that they could not be directly connected to the crime. They were, after all, powerful city businessmen. Such men have underlings to do their dirty work. And even if Daniel had discovered that Partridge was part of the syndicate, was it really so damning?

I started to write these thoughts in a letter to Daniel, then thought better of it. It was quite possible that all his mail would be read by unfriendly eyes. I certainly didn’t want to make things worse for him. I’d have to approach his lawyer and see if we could arrange another visit to The Tombs. And I still hadn’t found out if someone was paying his lawyer to lose the case…. Once again I felt overwhelmed by everything that lay ahead of me. Even if I proved that Mr. Partridge was privy to horse doping, I couldn’t prove that he had planted the money on Daniel himself. It wouldn’t release Daniel from prison.

It looked as if I had no choice but to go through with tonight’s appointment after all.





TWENTY-FIVE




I arrived home by three o’clock. That left five more hours to brood. I looked out of my upstairs window across the street to Number Nine. I longed to have company, but I knew I couldn’t. Sid and Gus were so perceptive of my moods. They would ask me what was wrong, and I might well break down and tell them. Not that they would judge me, but I couldn’t do it. So I penned a note to Mr. Atkinson, the lawyer, requesting a chance to meet with Daniel as soon as possible to report on newly surfaced information that might help his case. If Atkinson was a spy for someone, then that might just cause a stir.

There was no sign of Sid or Gus all afternoon. I half hoped that Mrs. Goodwin would stop by in person. God knows I could have used a friendly face and a chat because I was definitely going through last-minute jitters about what lay ahead of me. Seven-thirty came at last and I set out. I had packed a nightgown, hairbrush, and face flannel in a bag, just as if I was going for a visit to a friend. I had also brought my checkbook with me. I had no idea how much she would want or how much I could really afford. There was still some of Paddy Riley’s money left, but it was dwindling fast with the lease on the house, at least through October, and no money coming in. I also had no idea whether I would actually have the nerve to go through with it when I reached Mrs. Butler’s house.