Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“What do you mean?”


“I mean that we’ve found out that at least one of those dead prostitutes killed by the East Side Ripper was not a prostitute at all. She was just dressed up to look like one. So maybe the others weren’t either.”

“That is incredible,” Gus said. “But Molly, what are you doing looking into the East Side Ripper murders? Please don’t tell me it is a case you are trying to tackle.”

“It may have some connection to Daniel’s false imprisonment,” I said. “I’m beginning to think it doesn’t, but I’ve been helping a woman police officer who is involved.”

“A woman police officer? Are there such beings?”

“There are and she is wonderful,” I said. “She started off as a matron, but now she is used on undercover assignments.”

Sid thumped Gus on the back. “There you are, Gus. Our next career move.”

“Hold it,” I said, laughing. “She’s very smart, but she’s not having an easy time of it. The male officers resent her and don’t trust her, and right now she’s in the hospital, having been deliberately run down by a horse and carriage.”

“So you are taking over while she’s out of commission?” Sid asked.

“Not really. Just helping out,” I said. “She made me promise that I wouldn’t go alone to the Lower East Side.”

“Thank heavens for that,” Gus said. “So do tell us—do you have any suspects in mind? Do you think it’s a pillar of the community, as Dr. Birnbaum suggested?”

“I think it’s someone who is clever and likes taking risks,” I said.

“Do you really think it’s possible it could be Harold Robertson?” Sid asked. “He’s certainly a pillar.”

“We should find out exactly where that camp is, and then we can determine if he could get to Coney Island and back with ease,” Gus said.

“But why Coney Island?” Sid asked. “If he wants to lure girls to their deaths, why not Central Park? Why not the Palisades on the other side of the Hudson? I should have thought that Coney was the last place where one could get a girl alone and be able to kill her. It’s absolutely seething with humanity at this time of year.”

“He could take her to a hotel room,” Gus suggested. “There are plenty of cheap hotels in the Brighton Beach area.”

“But what respectable girl would go to a cheap hotel room with a strange man?” I asked. “Certainly not Letitia Blackwell.”

“She’s right,” Sid agreed. “This is an enigma.”

“I suggest we eat.” Gus got up and headed for the kitchen. “You’ll join us, of course, Molly.”

Visions of Gus’s latest attempts at vegetarian cooking floated before my eyes, but I couldn’t find a polite way to refuse. “Thank you, I’d love to,” I said.

“We’re having pork chops,” Gus called back from the ice chest.

“Pork chops? I thought you had become Buddhists.”

Sid grinned. “We decided we weren’t the meditating types. After we went out sleuthing for you that day, we agreed that we are women of action, and women of action need good red meat to sustain them.”

“Ryan will be disappointed,” I said, “after he’s invested in those saffron robes.”





TWENTY-NINE




The pork chops must not have agreed with me because I had the dream again, the first time for a couple of weeks. This time it was more nebulous, with the laughter, the water, the blood, all blending together into a deep feeling of dread that had me waking, drenched in sweat. I went downstairs and saw from the clock that it was four-thirty. Hardly worth going back to sleep, even if I could.

Instead I got up, washed, dressed, and made my way over to Mrs. Goodwin’s house by first light. I wanted to make sure that I got my hands on any letters that came in the morning mail. Seventh Street was quiet and deserted. Unfortunately there was no sign of a policeman as I stood outside the Goodwin home and put my key in the door. Was I being stupid, going into a house where there had recently been a prowler, and maybe a dangerous prowler at that? But I had to have that mail. I opened the front door and stood in the hallway, waiting for my sense of danger to sound out a warning. No alarm went off in my head. I left the door ajar as I went to the back parlor and checked the desk again. Nothing had been moved since last night.

I was just closing the desk when I heard a noise. Someone was coming down the hall. I froze, looked for somewhere to hide, and found nothing. Before I could do anything more sensible than grab the letter opener, a man came into the doorway. He started when he saw me.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

I recognized him then.

“Detective McIver,” I gasped. “You gave me an awful shock.”

“Likewise,” he said. “Now do you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”