Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I climbed the stairs and made my way past one ward after another until I came to the end. I saw immediately which room Mrs. Goodwin was in. A young constable stood outside the door. I repeated the message from Sergeant O’Hallaran and added that I was her sister for emphasis. I wasn’t going to risk being turned away this time.

“She has someone with her right now,” he said, “but I suppose it’s all right for you to go in if you’re her sister.”

He opened the door for me. It was a big ward, but the area close to the door had been curtained off with screens so that Mrs. Goodwin was in a private tent. As I came in a man was standing by the bed, leaning over the patient. He straightened up as he heard me approaching and turned around. It was Detective Quigley.

“What are you doing in here? They were told no visitors.” He frowned as he tried to place me and couldn’t right away.

“I’m a particular friend of Mrs. Goodwin’s,” I said, not daring to use the sister lie with him, “and Sergeant O’Hallaran said he was sure it would be all right and might do her good to see me.”

“Very well.” He was not looking pleased. “Although as you can see, she’s still unconscious. I’ve been with her most of the morning, hoping she’d regain consciousness and be able to tell us something. When you came in, she groaned in her sleep, and I thought she was trying to mutter a word.”

“It’s really tragic,” I said. “I admire her greatly.”

I moved past him until I was standing beside the bed. Sabella Goodwin lay, pale and white as the sheets around her. There was a bandage around her head and ugly bruises along one side of her face. It was hard to tell if she was alive or dead.

I perched on the edge of her bed and took her hand. “Sabella—Mrs. Goodwin? It’s Molly. Molly Murphy, your partner in crime. I need you to get well quickly.” I said it brightly although her hand felt cold and limp, as if she was already dead.

“Just a minute,” Quigley said sharply. “I remember now. Last time I saw you was with that German doctor. He introduced you as fraulein something. You’re not German. What’s the big idea?”

I tried to do some pretty fast thinking, wondering how much he should be told, seeing that we were essentially on the same team. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I attached myself to Dr. Birnbaum that morning against his will, because I was—interested in this particular case. My friend Mrs. Goodwin told me about it, and I was trying to do what I could to help.”

“Why?” He eyed me coldly. “Mere curiosity?”

Should I tell him the truth about Daniel? After all, Daniel had been his mentor until recently. I decided against it, not knowing what unfriendly ears were waiting back at police headquarters, or even whether Quigley himself was secretly glad that Daniel was out of the way.

I decided on another lie. “I’m—something of a student of psychology myself. I was trying to give Mrs. Goodwin some insights that might help her with the case. I had discussed it with Dr. Birnbaum.”

“Mrs. Goodwin’s assignment was limited to patrolling the streets and keeping an eye open for suspicious activity,” he said. “She is not a detective. Neither are you. Whatever she has been doing has already almost cost her her life. And who knows if your bumbling amateurism has already hindered the investigation? I suggest you both stay out of our way and leave the work to trained professionals.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that but was spared by the arrival of a sister.

“What’s going on in here?” she demanded. “I thought I heard raised voices. My orders were that this patient was to be kept absolutely quiet. No visitors at all. I’m not sure who you are, but be off with you.”

“I am the police officer in charge of the case Mrs. Goodwin was working on,” Quigley said frostily. “It is important that I speak with her as soon as she wakes.”

“She’s not likely to wake for some time,” the sister said. “She was in a lot of pain last night and is heavily sedated with morphine.”

“Was she badly injured?” I asked.

“And who might you be?”

“A close friend,” I said. I couldn’t go back to the sister lie with Quigley standing there. “One who was supposed to meet her last night and came upon her too late.”

“Well, she’s not out of the woods yet,” the sister said, looking more kindly at me than she had at Quigley, “but she’s been extremely lucky. Apart from the head wound, which was fortunately only superficial, she’s got a couple of cracked ribs, some horrible bruising, but it seems she managed to avoid the horse’s hooves, which would surely have been fatal. With any luck she’ll be up and walking in a few days, praise the good Lord.”

“Oh, that is good news,” I said.

“But only if she gets her rest. Now out, both of you.”

“You’ll let me know when she regains consciousness?” Quigley asked. “It is very important to the case we’re working on.”

“I’ll let you know when she’s well enough to talk,” the sister said. She attempted to drive us out before her as if we were a flock of ducks.