Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

“Don’t worry. Old Tom will be here,” he said, in an almost kindly fashion.

I picked my way along the rickety jetty and passed what must have been a caretaker’s shack, looming out of the mist. I was expecting to see headstones, crosses, something to tell me that I was in a cemetery, but it wasn’t until my foot hit against something hard that I spotted the small metal number plate and realized I was already walking on the dead. I recoiled in horror. In Ireland it was regarded as terribly bad luck to step on a grave. But they were all around me. It was scarcely possible to walk forward without stepping on them. I made my way forward, searching for a path.

Then the mist lifted a little and I saw what looked to be one large, rolling meadow before me. There were a few stunted trees, bent by the force of the wind, but apart from that, nothing. No sign of other people, anyway. I realized with annoyance that they might have already exhumed the bodies and departed. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Then I heard a strange rhythmic clanking sound. It was coming my way, getting louder and louder. I made for the nearest tree and attempted to hide behind it. A line of men came into view, walking one close behind the other. Then I saw the striped uniforms and realized that the clanking I had heard was the chains of the leg irons that bound them together. A convict chain gang.

Of course that sight really alarmed me. Was there also a prison on this island or had Old Tom made a mistake and deposited me on a prison island instead? Not a happy thought. Then I heard voices and saw figures motioning behind a far clump of trees. The chain gang headed toward them, breaking into an ungainly trot when urged on by their overseer. When they were far enough ahead and their forms blended into the mist, I followed them.

On this occasion the mist was my ally. I could get quite close to the group without being observed and found a vantage point behind some kind of prickly shrub. I could hear voices now. Commands being given.

“This is the first site. Start digging here.”

“Come on, lads. Jump to it. Grab your shovels.”

Then the sounds of spades digging into earth, spades hitting something hard, and exclamations and grunts as a coffin was lifted. I could make out the shape of it as it was laid on the grass. Then the group moved off and the process was repeated. I crept to another stunted tree and flattened myself against it. I could see the party more clearly now. The man in the dark suit and top hat was probably the coroner. There were several policemen in full dress uniform. I thought I recognized McIver standing beside an older man wearing a captain’s uniform. A couple of young constables brought up a rear guard, watching with disinterest as the convicts dug and grunted as they raised another coffin. This one must have been the most recently buried as there were sounds of coughing and retching and some of the men produced handkerchiefs to hold over their faces. McIver and the captain backed away as the coffin was dumped on the ground with a dull thud.

It suddenly struck me that they were not about to open the coffins here. They would be shipped back to the morgue and examined there. I wondered for a moment why I had gone to all this trouble, until I remembered why Mrs. Goodwin had wanted me here. It was in case the killer himself showed up to watch.

A sudden gust of cold mist wrapped around me, making me conscious that I was standing all alone behind this stunted tree, cut off from any help should a hand suddenly come around my mouth. I spun around, scanning the mist-swept island nervously. What was that dark shape? Had something moved beside that hump of rock? When a seagull skimmed overhead and screeched, my heart nearly stopped.

A third body was exhumed, then a fourth. The mist was starting to clear now, revealing a rocky shoreline and then shining blue water. It was also about to reveal my hiding place. I realized that Old Tom and I could find ourselves in trouble if we were spotted on the island. I made my way back to the jetty as quickly as possible, keeping to the places where the mist was still thick. I was out of breath as I climbed down to the rowboat and obviously disturbed Tom’s forty winks.

“Back so soon?” he asked. “See all you wanted to?”

“It was a waste of time,” I said. “The coffins are still sealed. They’ll be taking them back to the morgue before they open them. I’ll just have to find a way to take a peek there.”

“You might not like what you’ll see,” Tom said. “I’ve seen corpses in my time. The sea washes them up, you know. It’s a sight that would turn a grown man’s stomach.”

“I know,” I said, “but I have to know the truth.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I suppose the truth is better than not knowing, one way or the other.”

With that he pulled away from the dock and started to row. We were halfway back to City Island when we heard the deep chug-chug of an approaching motor and the big government launch sped past us, rocking our tiny craft with its wake.





THIRTY-TWO