Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I leaned closer. “Look, Sister,” I said in a low voice, “this is a police matter of great importance. You know that Mrs. Goodwin is a member of the New York police force, don’t you? And you’ve heard of the East Side Ripper?”


“I should say so,” the nun answered. “That poor girl was brought in here only a few days ago.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Well, Mrs. Goodwin was working on that very case when she was run down. I was helping her, although I’m not officially with the police. I have some letters with me that Mrs. Goodwin must see as soon as possible. So if you don’t let me see her, you’ll just be hindering us in solving this case, and the Ripper will claim more victims. Is that what you want?”

She looked surprised. I remember the nuns in school looking the same way when I sauced them back. Then she nodded. “Very well,” she said. “You can go up, but it’s up to Sister Mercy whether she lets you see her patient or not.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And don’t worry. I want the best for Mrs. Goodwin as much as you do. I’ll not put her in any harm.”

With that I went up the stairs and along the hall to Mercy Ward. There was no constable outside this morning, but I pushed the door open to see Sister Mercy herself sitting at the patient’s bedside like a watchdog. She sprang up instantly.

“I don’t know how you sneaked up here, but there’s no point in it,” she said. “The poor dear is unconscious again.”

I looked down at Mrs. Goodwin’s white, tranquil face on the pillow.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I can’t tell you that. She was doing so well yesterday evening, talking about getting up and trying to walk, she was. And then suddenly we couldn’t rouse her. We called the doctor, and he was mystified too.”

“Is it possible she was drugged?” I asked.

“By whom?” she demanded. “You can see how strict we are about letting in visitors. And the medicines are all kept in a locked cabinet in the orderly room.”

“What about the morphine she was given for her pain? Was any of that left lying around?”

“Lying around?” she demanded. “We are very strict about the keys to the drug cabinet.”

“But the doctor who examined her couldn’t come up with an explanation for her sudden relapse into unconsciousness?”

“Head wounds are funny things sometimes,” she said, echoing McIver’s sentiments.

I continued to observe the patient. Her breathing was steady and regular. There wasn’t anything I could do until she woke up.

“I’ll come back later,” I said. “Hopefully she’ll have regained consciousness by then. If she wakes, tell her that Molly has some news for her. And in the meantime…” I paused, giving her what I hoped was a meaningful glance, “you’ll keep a good eye on her, won’t you?”

“She won’t be out of my sight,” Sister Mercy said, and I realized that she might have had the same sort of suspicions as myself. I felt better knowing I was leaving Mrs. Goodwin in good hands. I certainly had plenty to occupy me until she awoke, not the least of which was my duty to Daniel. I needed to warn him about Mr. Partridge’s visit and to let him know what I had found. I also just needed to see him again, to make sure he was all right.





THIRTY




I came out of the hospital and boarded the Sixth Avenue El down to the end of the line at Rector Street, then walked back up Broadway a couple of short blocks to where J. P. Atkinson, attorney at law, had his offices. I was determined to force that insipid man to take me to see Daniel, or else. By the time I had climbed those stairs to the fifth floor, I was feeling horribly dizzy and had to lean against the peeling paint of the stairwell before I collected myself sufficiently to go in. I knocked, entered, and found, to my disappointment, that he wasn’t there. The woman secretary looked annoyed at being disturbed, and I got the feeling she might have been taking forty winks.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I really couldn’t say. May I take a message?”

“Do you know where he’s gone? I’d really like to speak to him today.”

“I think he had an appointment with a client at the jail,” she said.

“The Tombs?”

“No, the Plaza Hotel—what do you think?”

“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful,” I said, only half sarcastically. “I’ll see if I can track him down there.”

I came down the stairs and swung aboard a trolley that was going up Broadway. It was only after I had done this that I reminded myself that I probably shouldn’t be behaving in this way, given my current condition. Then I promptly forgot and hopped off again, while the thing was still moving, at City Hall.