The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

“You could start with what I suggested,” I said, quite animated by the challenge now and forgetting the twinges in my side. “A list of all your murder trials, especially the ones that resulted in a death sentence. That gives us somewhere to start. I’m surprised you haven’t done that before.”


A spasm of annoyance crossed Daniel’s face and I realized I shouldn’t have said this. Daniel liked to think of himself as the superior detective, with me as the lucky amateur.

“To be fair, Molly,” he said, “it was only today, after this last note, that I began to take seriously the notion that these killings could have anything to do with me in particular, rather than the police in general. I still don’t know that to be true.”

I was about to say that I had been the one who suggested that he might be the link between the crimes, but this time I wisely kept quiet. Men are easily upset over such matters, I’ve noted.

“We do know a couple of things about him, don’t we?” I went on.

“And those are?” He still sounded testy.

“We know that he’s an educated person. He knows how to use a typewriting machine and he uses words like ‘retribution’ and ‘impunity.’ That is not the vocabulary of a man in the street.”

“And the other thing?”

“He is right here in New York City. On the spot, ready to hand a note to a street urchin. That’s something I could do for you when I’m a little better—”

“What?” He was looking at me warily.

“I could question some of the street children in the area around Mulberry Street. They’d never talk to the police but they might see me as less of a threat. And the man may have paid the boy well—something he’d have boasted about to his friends.”

Daniel shook his head firmly. “Molly—what have we just been talking about? It’s quite possible that the train wreck today was caused because someone wanted to kill you.” He held up his hand. “I know it’s far-fetched. It could well be that our killer is deranged and delusional and gets a thrill from claiming responsibility for such a dramatic accident, but really had nothing to do with it. Nevertheless, we have to take his words seriously and consider the fact that you may be in danger. So the last thing I’d want you to do is to blunder into the middle of the spider’s web.”

“I could disguise myself,” I said. “I’ve done it before—I’ve even dressed as a street urchin myself.”

He laughed now. “I don’t expect you fooled anybody for more than a second,” he said.

“I’ll have you know that some boy was ready to fight me for taking over his patch as a crossing sweeper,” I said.

Daniel snorted. “Molly, listen to me. I am sharing some details of this case with you because you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and you seem to bring a fresh perspective—and because it appears you might be personally involved. But I am not allowing you to go looking for trouble. You are to stay put and heal from your injuries. And that is an order.”

“An order?” I sat up straight now. “You think you can order me around, Daniel Sullivan?”

I was staring him straight in the eye.

“You’re wanting to do field investigation on my case, and I give the orders to my team of officers,” he said. “And as your husband, I’ll do anything within my power to keep you safe.” He reached out and stroked my hair, which was hanging loose over my shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you, Molly. I nearly lost you and Liam earlier this year. I want to be able to get on with my work, knowing that you are both out of harm’s way. Don’t you understand that?”

His hand caressing my hair had a disturbing effect. All the fight evaporated from me. “I do understand, Daniel, and you’re right. It would be like offering myself as bait, and I can’t do that.” At least not yet, I added silently.

“Did I mention recently that you have lovely hair?” he said, looking at me with a sparkle of desire in his eyes. “You’re a very attractive woman.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Daniel. I’ve ribs that are all strapped up and hurt me to breathe.”

“And a minute ago you were suggesting running all over town talking to street urchins,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ll save the thought for later, when we’re back in our own home.” He stood up. “I should be going. I haven’t had a thing to eat since God knows when.”

“I’m sure Sid and Gus could find you something.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m not in a mood for small talk and politeness. I’d rather pick up a pint and a sausage in a bar.” He bent to kiss me. “Stay put and stay safe, my love. Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll stop by in the morning with the details I promised you on the various notes and murder victims, and you can ponder them at leisure.”