by Rhys Bowen
“They’re over here in the wastebasket, sir,” the other policeman said. “At least there are several pieces of broken glass in it.”
“A very tidy murderer,” Inspector Harris said. “I wonder why.”
“I think he wanted this room to appear normal for as long as possible,” I suggested, “to give himself a chance to get well away from the crime scene. Had my steward looked inside, he would have thought I was asleep in bed, and my body wouldn’t have been found until morning.”
“Right.” Inspector Harris nodded.
“And if there's broken glass, it's just possible that the murderer cut himself. You could look for cuts on the hand when you do your investigations of the passengers.”
Inspector Harris cocked his head to one side again. It must have been an unconscious gesture on his part. “You’ve obviously succeeded in the New World by living on your wits, Miss Murphy. I’m beginning to have second thoughts about this whole business. Now if you were some kind of confidence trickster, and you persuaded Miss Sheehan not to travel for some reason—”
“Hold on a minute,” I interrupted. “If I was as canny as you suggest, then I’d never have put myself in harm's way with the possibility of being killed, would I?”
He shrugged. “Plenty of explanations for that—you work as a team with a male criminal. Crooks fall out all the time. He thought he was killing you in the darkness of the room. Or Rose got the wind up about your little scheme as you approached the Irish coast. She threatened to spill the beans. You had to silence her.”
“As for that,” I said, “I was at the ball all evening. Plenty of witnesses could verify dancing with me and even watching me return to my cabin.”
“Actually nobody could do so.” He smirked. “What any witness would have seen was a powdered wig and a mask and a costume. I asked you myself if anyone recognized you, and you said that nobody did. You have no alibi as far as I can see, Miss Murphy.”
“But that's ridiculous,” I said, my voice rising now. It was hard to tell whether he really suspected me or was merely going through various possible motives in his mind.
He clarified this by saying, quite sharply, “Is there anything more you’d like to tell me? The real reason that you switched cabins with Miss Sheehan? The real reason that you wound up in first-class?”
“It's exactly as I told you. I came onboard. Miss Sheehan sent for me and made this request. She offered me money, and I am not so well-heeled that I could turn it down. Besides, it seemed a bit of a lark, living like a grandee for a while.”
“And you say you’d only met Miss Sheehan once before at a party, I believe, but she singled you out right away to play this part.”
“Supposedly I looked enough like her to be able to get away with the deception. She put one of her wigs on me and made up my face, and there definitely was a likeness.”
“I see,” he said again, then paused and sucked through his teeth. “Now, if you’d just let Jones take your fingerprints, Miss Murphy.”
“My fingerprints?” I tried not to sound startled. Surely he didn’t suspect me? “Of course,” I said breezily, “my fingerprints will be all over the cabin anyway.”
“Naturally.” He nodded. “We need to rule them out.”
I sat in what I hoped was nonchalant indifference while one of the constables pressed each of my fingers onto a felt ink pad and then onto a sheet of paper. “Look, inspector,” I said. “If you want to get to the truth in this matter, then you should be sending a telegraph to Miss Sheehan herself. She can verify my story, and maybe she’ll even give you more insights.”
“It's already been done, Miss Murphy,” he said. “We should hear back from her later today, if we can locate her, that is.” “If you can locate her?”
“We’ve only your word that she was ever on this ship.” He was looking at me innocently enough, but I got the feeling that I was still a very definite suspect in his eyes.
“Of course she was on this ship,” I said angrily. “Somebody booked this cabin in Miss Sheehan's name, and it certainly wasn’t me. I might have done well in New York, but not well enough to travel first class. She’ll tell you the truth, you’ll see.”
“Let's just hope that she does,” he said.
Time to put my own skills to work, I decided.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” I said carefully, “if Rose and the intruder struggled, thrashing around enough to break that water jug, then isn’t it possible that he’ll have picked up one or more of her hairs on his clothing. Red hairs should be easy to spot, shouldn’t they?”
His eyes narrowed as he stared at me. “How did you say you made your fortune in America?” he asked.
I had to smile. “Actually, I run a private detective agency, but I’ve certainly not made a fortune.”
“Good God,” he muttered, then apologized profusely, of course. Somehow men think that swearing in front of a woman is a mortal sin— often the same men who think nothing of ordering a woman around, demanding to be waited on by a woman, or even giving her a good hiding. Not for the first time in my life I considered what a strange world we live in.
“And how would your detective agency go about solving this particular crime?” the inspector asked.
“Oh, I don’t take on cases of this magnitude,” I said hastily. “I stick to strictly domestic matters.” I decided to keep quiet about certain of my cases of a nondomestic nature. “But I do think the red hair might give you a good start.”
“You propose to round up all the men on this ship and examine their clothing?”
“It's not my place to tell you how to carry out your investigation,” I said.
He was still staring at me. “And may I ask what the nature of your real assignment to Ireland is? I presume it's not just a family visit.”
“It's exactly as I told you previously. An old friend asked me to locate his sister for him. He has lost touch with her and wishes to be reunited. Very simple really.”
“And the name of this friend?”
I saw the well-chewed pencil poised above his notebook. “Tommy Burke, the theater producer.”
“Heavens above,” he said, “You move in pretty exalted circles.”
I decided not to contradict him. Things might progress more smoothly for me if he thought I had exalted friends.
There was a tap at the door and a very harried-looking first officer came in.
“Sorry to disturb you, Inspector, but we’re being besieged by angry passengers demanding to know when they can go ashore. We’ve told them that they are being held up for medical reasons, but we can’t hold them indefinitely. Also, the captain is worried about falling too far behind schedule. What do I tell them, sir?”
Inspector Harris got to his feet. “We had better continue this discussion ashore later, Miss Murphy.” He turned to the first officer. “Do you have the passengers assembled in their respective lounges as I asked you? Good. In which case I’ll need passenger lists, and I’ll have my boys do a quick search of those cabins occupied by men.”
“You need a list of cabins occupied by single men?” the first officer asked.
“Married men have been known to stray occasionally,” the inspector said dryly. He turned to me. “You’d better accompany me to the maid's quarters. Maybe you’ll be able to identify anything belonging to Miss Sheehan or anything that shouldn’t have been there.”
“Shouldn’t have been there?”
“It wouldn’t have been the first time a maid filched stuff from her employer.”
“Oh, I’m sure Rose was most loyal,” I said, glancing back at the bed. The body had been covered again in a sheet now. I tiptoed past as the inspector escorted me out of the cabin.
We made our way down several flights of stairs, each steeper and more Spartan than the previous one, and were shown to a cabin even less inviting than my own. Great pipes ran across the ceiling. It was smelly and airless. It had obviously been shared by four girls, with two top bunks and two b
ottom. At a request from the inspector, someone was dispatched to bring back the three other girls.
Someone must have broken the news to them, or they’d picked it up on the grapevine, because they shuffled in looking terrified—all young Irish maids like Rose. They pointed to her bunk and to the drawer containing her belongings but they were too terrified to answer questions in more than a whisper. No, Rose had no gentlemen callers on board, as far as they knew. No man ever came to the cabin. No, Rose never disclosed that the woman she was serving was not really her mistress. She did mention something once about “wouldn’t they all be surprised?” and she told some juicy stories about Miss Sheehan's men, but that was it. When asked to name these men, however, they shook their heads blankly. They’d hardly had much time for talk and had spent their days waiting on their own mistresses, up in first class.
Inspector Harris turned back the covers on Rose's bunk, then opened her drawer. I felt a new wave of pity when I saw those few possessions—well-darned stockings,- gray-looking underclothing; a clean, well-starched blouse,- a single lace handkerchief,- her missal with a ribbon bookmarker in it. Her second uniform was hanging in thewardrobe. Not much to show for a life. And certainly no sign of Miss Sheehan's jewel case. Then, among the bags piled on top of the wardrobe, I saw something I recognized. My own valise.
“That's mine,” I called, pointing at it, and it was brought down. “I wondered what could have happened to it when it had vanished from my cabin.”
“You see what I was saying about filching things?” Inspector Harris smirked again.
“I don’t think Rose would have any interest in my few possessions, not when Miss Sheehan had so many lovely things.” “Then what was the bag doing in here?”
I shook my head. “That I can’t tell you. Possibly Miss Sheehan had instructed her to remove it from my cabin and keep it hidden. I’ve no idea why.”
The inspector had moved the other pieces of luggage aside and brought down my bag. When I opened it, all of my possessions were there intact and on top of them was a note addressed to me. I opened it, conscious of Inspector Harris's eyes on me.
“ ‘Dear Miss Murphy. Thank you for carrying out your assignment so splendidly. Owing to an emergency, I am not able to collect my luggage immediately. Would you please have Rose pack up my things and keep them with your own luggage until you receive instructions from me.’“
It was signed Oona Sheehan.
I handed the letter to the inspector. “Now at least you can verify what I’ve told you. Miss Sheehan planned this. I didn’t push her off the ship or dispose of her in any other way. Neither did I harm Rose.”
He examined the note, nodded, then handed it back to me.
“Perhaps I’d better go and pack up her things, now that Rose can’t do it for her,” I said. “Will it be all right to do that, do you think? She has so much clothing that it will be a mammoth task and if I’m not quick, the ship will have left for Liverpool.”
“The ship's not going anywhere until I’m done with it,” the inspector said bluntly. “and I’ll need to keep that cabin the way it is until my photographer arrives and my lads have finished.”
“But some of my things are up there,” I said. “Am I not permitted to take them with me?”
“Not until I’m done, and since all her possessions are to be shipped under your name, you’ll just have to wait and get them all at the same time, I’m afraid. You’ll not be going far, anyway. You’ll be needed for the inquest.”
“I wasn’t planning to go far,” I said. “My search for the missing woman will begin not far from Cork. I’ll probably take a room in that city.”
“That will do admirably,” he said. “I’m sure the inquest will be held at the Coroner's Court there. You’ll let us know where to find you as soon as you’ve taken lodgings.” He glanced up with that half smirk on his face, which I had once found friendly and now found annoying. “Luckily it's not easy to run away when you’re on an island and the ports are being watched.”
“I have no intention of running away,” I said haughtily. “I have no reason to.”
As he spoke, he continued to poke around the rest of the cabin, but in the end he shook his head. “Nothing more in here,” he said. “Right. Let's go upstairs again.” He picked up my valise. “You girls stay put until you’ve given your statements to my sergeant.”
“And our mistresses will be wanting us to finish their packing. We’ll get in awful trouble,” one of them wailed. “We had nothing to do with poor Rose's death, I swear it, sir, on my mother's grave.”
“Of course you didn’t.” He sounded almost kindly. “Go on with you then. Just make sure we’ve got your names and addresses.”
They gave him grateful smiles and fled. As we made our way back to the first-class deck we were greeted by another plainclothes’ officer. “I don’t know how we’re supposed to search the cabins, sir,” he said. “A good number of passengers are disembarking here and all their luggage is already packed up and stacked to go ashore.”
The inspector sighed. “Of course it would be. So much for that. Oh well, let's get on with that medical inspection. I’ll need you with me, Miss Murphy and let's have those cabin stewards as well. What were their names?”
“Henry and Frederick,” I said.
“Henry and Frederick. Got that, Connelly? Where's that blasted first officer? I want to know where we’ll be setting up shop.”
I followed him reluctantly. The shock of the last night, the lack ofsleep, and the knowledge that I might be confronting a killer made me feel positively sick. I touched the inspector's arm.
“Do I have to be there? I really don’t feel too well.”
“Don’t worry,” Inspector Harris said, sensing my discomfort. “I’ll be putting you and the stewards out of sight, behind a curtain or something. I want you to observe but not be seen. You let me know when you see anyone with whom you had any kind of contact during the voyage, anyone you noticed hanging around you, and we’ll have his luggage brought to us.”
We were led to the foyer and Henry, Frederick, and I were seated behind a screen of potted palms. Inspector Harris sat with the ship's doctor at a table.
“Right, send the first ones in,” the inspector called.
The first passengers were brought through.
“How long is this going to take?” a distinguished-looking man in a frock coat demanded. “I’m expected to preside over a meeting later today.”
“You’ll be free to go after the doctor has given you a quick examination, sir. We don’t want any of our passengers spreading disease now, do we?” the first officer said calmly.
“Spreading disease? Look at me, man. I’m fit as a fiddle. Stuff and nonsense. Well, go on then. Get on with it.”
The doctor examined his hands, throat, and eyes, then pronounced him fit to go. “Come, Martha,” the man instructed, and a meek little woman scurried after him.
A positive stream of passengers followed. Women with children, elderly couples were whisked through with the wave of a hand. Henry or Frederick singled out men whom they recognized as having attempted an audience with Miss Sheehan. As the inspector had predicted, some of them were indeed married and had their wives in tow. They were not pleased at being detained.
Mr. Fitzpatrick came past. He gave his address as Yonkers, near New York City, visiting Ireland on business. He had not attended the ball last night. He didn’t go in for such things and had spent the evening in the bar with a couple of other fellows discussing racing prospects.
I peeped around the potted plant as I heard Miss Sheehan's name mentioned.
“The actress, you mean?” I heard Mr. Fitzpatrick ask. “I believe I did observe her out on deck once. She wasn’t looking at all well, I thought. Has she been stricken with this sickness we’ve been hearing about? I have to tell you that I feel absolutely fine myself and see no reason to be detained any longer. I’m interested in a filly racing this afternoon, y’-know.”
; I watched a police sergeant taking down details, and Mr. Fitzpatrick left. I tried to go through my conversation with him again in my mind. It had been a casual encounter, nothing threatening, but why say that he had observed me on deck once and not mentioned that he had spoken with me? I wondered whether there was any significance in this and decided that rumors must fly around enclosed communities like ocean liners. Perhaps he had gotten word of Rose's death and wanted to make sure he was not detained in any way.
I looked up with interest as Artie Fortwrangler came onto the scene. He smiled easily and gave his address as New York City and Newport, Rhode Island. He stated that his father was Arthur Fortwrangler III, and that he was destined for the family business when he’d completed his studies at Yale. Yes, he’d been at the ball, in a spiffing costume as Mephistopheles—quite sinister, you know. He answered the medical questions the doctor put to him without hesitation. He was feeling just fine and dandy,- no contact, as far as he could remember, with anyone who was sick, apart from Miss Sheehan, who had a sore throat. He admitted to an infatuation with Miss Sheehan, in fact, he claimed to have seen every single performance of As You Like It, in which she played Viola—even though he loathed Shakespeare. He also admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that he had taken this ship knowing that Oona Shee-han was to be a traveling companion and hoping to strike up a closer acquaintanceship with her. “They always say romance blossoms on the high seas, don’t they?” He grinned hopefully.
He looked puzzled when he was asked to wait in a nearby lounge, but went willingly enough. I heard the inspector sending for his bags and also giving instructions to requisition the Mephistopheles costume. As I watched him go, with his long, boyish stride, I couldn’t imaginehim killing anybody. He’d probably be the type who fainted at the sight of blood.
More people filed past. Teddy turned out to be the Honorable Edward Mulhane, and Bertie was Albert Everingham-Smythe—both harmless-looking young men who expressed extreme disappointment at not being able to meet Oona Sheehan. And then I stiffened. An older man had come into the room, dressed in shabbier fashion than those who had preceded him. Tweed jacket, impressive side whiskers. I realized with a start that he was the man I had observed watching me on deck.
