by Rhys Bowen
I moved hastily out of reach of his touch. “I must have been a cat in a former existence,” I said breezily. “Don't they say cats have nine lives?”
“You've already used up several of yours,” he said. “Be careful.”
He was looking at me tenderly again, which I found distinctly unnerving. “Don't worry. I plan to be.” I brushed a last speck from my skirt and straightened my blouse. “So what is it you were looking for?”
“I don't know, really. I just wanted to take a look for myself, to see if Paddy had left any notes on—” He broke off.
“On what?”
“On the little matter I'd asked him to check into.”
“His cases are all in that file cabinet. The police didn't bother to try to open it.”
He looked at the open cabinet, the files on the floor and then at me. “Oh, no,” he said. “You weren't getting any stupid ideas about investigating this yourself, were you?”
“I just thought I'd see if there was anything the police had overlooked and they should know about. That's all.”
He took a step closer and loomed over me. “Stay out of this, Molly. This is not child's play. Paddy was a cunning old man who knew how to take care of himself. If someone managed to kill him—”
“Wolski thinks it was a hired assassin,” I said.
Daniel nodded. “Could be.”
I looked around the room, remembering the chaos, the file cabinet on its side. “But not a revenge killing. If you were hired to kill someone in revenge, you'd stab them and go. The killer was still here, remember. He was still looking for something.”
“And you were having your own little snoop to find out what?”
“And what if I was? Someone has to use their brains around here. That pale, arrogant Wolski wasn't making much effort to get to the truth. Couldn't you get someone else assigned to the case?”
“Ah, well, that wouldn't be easy. Take an officer off a case and you're saying essentially that he's not up to the job. One day you may need that officer to cover your back. And I don't think I could drum up much enthusiasm for a full-scale investigation anyway. Everyone at Mulberry Street HQ expected to find Paddy's body floating in the Hudson one day, given the life he led.”
“But you—you must think it's worth investigating, or you wouldn't be here.”
“As I said, Paddy was doing a little business for me. If he had managed to come up with the facts I wanted— they might be around here somewhere and I'd sure like to have them.”
“What kind of facts?”
“I'm sorry, I can't tell you anything at all. More than my job's worth. It was strictly hush-hush, between Paddy and me.” He glanced around the room.
I remembered something I had forgotten until now. “The day before he was killed he told me he'd like to speak to you.”
“And you didn't pass on the message?” he demanded angrily.
“It wasn't put like that. He just mentioned, casually, as I was going out of the door,‘Oh, and if you happen to see Captain Sullivan, you might tell him I'd like a word with him.’ Something like that. Of course, he didn't know that it wasn't likely I'd be seeing you in the future. I didn't think any more of it at the time.”
“Damn,” he muttered, then cleared his throat. “Sorry for the bad language. It just slips out occasionally. So he had found something.”
“He certainly had,” I said. “He spent the evening at Delmonico's, spying on a couple in a private dining room, I think. But then, on his way home he overheard something that really rattled him. He babbled on to me, which wasn't like him. Usually he wouldn't discuss his cases with me.”
“Did he say what it was that had rattled him?”
I shook my head. “I can't even remember the words he used now. I got the impression he'd seen someone he recognized, but the person hadn't recognized him because he was in one of his disguises. And the person didn't think he could be overheard. I think he said‘he.’ That's right. He said‘Him of all people.’ He said things had taken an unexpected turn and he'd need to look into it further. He sent me away. He didn't want me around.”
“He was on to something dangerous then,” Daniel said, and nodded as if confirming his own suspicions. “He wanted you to stay away and I'm telling you the same thing now. I want you to go home now and stay there. No more thoughts of snooping, or even of cleaning up until we know what we're dealing with.”
“So you will be looking into this yourself?”
“I'm going to have my own little snoop around here, ask some discreet questions in the right places, but it's still Sergeant Wolksi's investigation, and he certainly wouldn't take kindly to any interference from a woman.”
“Sergeant Wolski couldn't detect his own nose on a foggy day. He didn't even bother to search the room properly.”
“May not have been necessary. The police have feelers in a lot of places. If it was anything to do with the gangs, one of our informants will tip us off.”
“And then what will you do?”
“Probably just let it go. No, don't look like that—we probably don't have a hope in Hades of pinning it on anyone.”
“And if it wasn't a gang killing?”
“We'll look into it. In our own way. In our own time.” He grabbed me suddenly by the shoulders. “Either way you are to stay out of it. It's police business, do you hear me?”
I shook myself free from him. “You can't tell me what to do. I work here. I have every right to come and clean up this office as soon as the police have released it as a crime scene. And they took one evening to do that. They didn't even bother to pick up the papers on the floor. They are not going to take die trouble to find his killer, Daniel.”
“And neither are you!” His voice had been getting louder and angrier. “Go home, Molly. That's an order.” He grabbed my shoulders again. “My God, I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”
“You don't care a damn about me!” I shouted back.
Then, without warning, he pulled me to him and kissed me hungrily. I had a moment of pure delight at the feel of his mouth crushing against mine again, until I came to my senses and wrenched myself free. “Just leave me alone, Daniel Sullivan. I can take care of myself,” I shouted, dangerously close to tears now. I picked up my skirts and ran for the door.
“Molly, please, listen to me,” he called after me.
“Thank heavens I never was your wife,” I retorted. “You'd have made an awful bossy husband.”
As I ran down the steps I was conscious of him standing at the top, watching me go. I fought to appear calm. He wasn't going to see how badly he affected me.
“And make sure you lock that door behind you when you leave,” I called up to him before I strode off down the mews.
Eleven
I turned onto Fifth Avenue but I'd only gone as far as the sidewalk cafe outside the Brevoort Hotel before I stopped. I wasn't just going to go home like a good girl. I could remember most of the details of Paddy's most recent cases, but I wanted to take them all down, just in case. I decided to go back and keep watch on the mews— good experience for my professional future. When Daniel left I'd go back in. I'd be able to see which case folders he'd taken with him and which he'd left. Maybe I'd get a clue from that the way his mind was working. And as to my own safety—what safer time to be in the place than right after a policeman?
I went back cautiously and passed the alleyway, crossing into Washington Square itself. I positioned myself in the shadow of the great marble arch where I could see the entrance to the mews. I waited and waited. It was hot, and what seemed like an eternity was, on hearing a neighboring clock chime, only half an hour. Maybe I wasn't going to be any good at this job after all. I couldn't see myself standing for three days like a statue, as Paddy had done in Gramercy Park. My mother said I was born impatient, along with all my other faults.
My attention began to wander. I watched some little girls turning a jump rope and chanting as they took turns to run in and out.
“She made a drip drop. Dripping in the sea. Please turn the rope for me…” It was almost the same as the nonsense rhyme we had chanted at home and I listened, entranced. Luckily I remembered my mission in time and looked back to see Daniel striding out along the north side of the square, then crossing University Place. He didn't seem to be carrying anything. I waited until he was out of sight then headed back to Paddy's. For a moment it all seemed like a great lark, until I remembered that Paddy was dead and that the man I had been spying on was the one I had loved and lost.
Daniel had, indeed, locked the door behind him. I turned my key in the lock and went back inside. From what I could see, he hadn't moved anything. The folders from the file cabinet still lay on the floor. I picked them up and placed them on the table, ready to take them home with me. Then I went through the rest of the top drawer. Farther back I found several folders stamped CASE CLOSED, EVIDENCE DELIVERED, and a date, BILL SUBMITTED, and a date, but no stamp saying PAID IN FULL.
So not all of these big nobs were speedy about paying their accounts, I decided. Then something else struck me. I still worked here until somebody told me I didn't. There was no reason these people should get away without paying their bills just because Paddy was dead. P. Riley, Discreet Investigations still existed. It was up to the junior partner to collect what was owed.
I spent some time in a rather fruitless attempt at cleaning Paddy's chair, then I placed a towel on it before I sat. It didn't seem right to be sitting on his bloodstains, but there was no other chair in the place. I found clean writing paper and wrote, in my best penmanship, “It has come to our attention that our business with you was concluded three months ago and that the account is outstanding. We would appreciate payment at your earliest convenience.” I signed it “M. Murphy, junior partner, P. Riley Investigations.”
I completed seven of these and put them ready for mailing when I left. I felt rather pleased with myself. If any of this money came in, I could keep this business running and, if Paddy's death was not broadcast to the world, nobody would be any the wiser.
As I was rearranging the files I had taken out of the cabinet, I had a second, even bigger, pleasant surprise. Something was lying on the bottom of the drawer, under the files. It was a slim leather pouch, rather like a pencil case. I took it out, opened it and stared in amazement. I had never seen so much money in my life. There were some silver dollars, but a great wad of bank notes, too. I had no way of knowing if there was a hundred dollars in the roll, or a thousand. The first thought that came into my head was that I should turn it over to the police instantly. That lasted for approximately a second. The New York Police Department didn't exactly have a reputation for honesty. The officer who took the money from me would thank me kindly and it would never be seen again. There was only one New York policeman I could trust, and he had forbidden me to go anywhere near Paddy's place.
I stood there, turning it over in my hand. I was trembling a little at the audacity of what I was thinking. As far as I knew, Paddy had no next of kin. If they turned up, then they could claim it, plus anything else in here that they wanted. Until then I was an employee of the firm, so I was taking it home with me, for safekeeping. I stuffed it into my purse and locked the file cabinet behind me.
I stopped on the way home for the fitting of my costume, then I decided to give myself a modest advance on wages and get Seamus some nourishing treats—grapes and peaches, eggs and a small bottle of brandy to go with them. I was looking forward to his face when he saw them, but I came up the stairs to find chaos. Nuala's three boys had come to visit and the place was like a monkey house.
“I was missing them something terrible,” she said, when I suggested that Seamus needed peace and quiet. “They came over to cheer up their kin, and boys will be boys, won't they?”
“They can be boys down in the street,” I said. “Go on, out you go, the lot of you.” I reached into my purse. “Here, go and treat yourselves to a soda.”
They snatched the coins from me and were gone. Nuala eyed me suspiciously. “I got a raise at work. They're pleased with me,” I said, before she could make any remarks about my fancy man. I sent her to get more milk and bread so that Seamus could get his rest. He looked washed-out and weary, but perked up when I offered him the grapes and heated a little milk with some egg and brandy in it.
“You're a good woman, Molly,” he said. “If only my Kathleen were here. I miss her so badly. While I've been lying here, I'm thinking all the time of going home. I mean, what would happen to these children if I died out here?”
“You're not going to die,” I said. “You'll be as right as rain soon.”
“Maybe this time, but it's a dangerous job I'm in and I know it. Four men dead, they say, in that cave-in. Who knows how many in the next? And no compensation for their families either. They weren't even about to pay for the doctor until some young fellow insisted. He's been trying to form a union. Hadn't had much luck until now, just like me back in Ireland. Most men are scared in case they lose their jobs. If I get back on my feet again, maybe I'll help him. I know a thing or two about unions.”
“You're a born troublemaker,” I said, laughing.
“Oh, and you're not yourself?” A weary smile crossed his face. “I had a letter from Kathleen,” he whispered. “She's not doing too badly. Not any worse, anyway. Says she feels fine when she's out in the fresh air. Who knows, maybe she'll beat it yet.”
“Maybe she will.” I patted his hand, trying to look as if I believed a person might recover from consumption. “Now why don't you fall asleep in a hurry, so that I can keep the heathen hordes out of your room?”
He chuckled as he sank back onto his pillow.
When I was safely in my own room I took out the money pouch and looked at it again. I didn't dare count that money. I got out my needle and thread and made a crude pocket out of my oldest petticoat, then pinned it to my waistband, where it could hang, under my skirts. It was safe enough there for the time being.
When I went to bed, I put it under my pillow. But during the night I got an acute attack of conscience. That strict Catholic upbringing, those straps on the backside for lying or cheating, those embarrassing encounters with the priest in the confessional started playing on my mind. It wasn't my money. Not that I had any intention of keeping it, nor of helping myself to anything more than my wages, but I shouldn't have brought it home with me. What if there was a next of kin Paddy had never mentioned—a frail, crippled daughter who could have used that money for the operation to make her walk, or even a bright but poverty-stricken nephew who wanted to become a doctor but was working as a servant?
Next morning I went straight to Mulberry Street to police headquarters and asked to see Sergeant Wolski. He didn't look particularly pleased to see me.
“What is it, Miss Murphy? I'm busy.”
“I was wondering if you'd traced Paddy Riley's next of kin yet? I'm cleaning up the place today, and just in case I come across any little trinkets the family might like to have…”
Did I see those pale eyes flicker at the mention of trinkets? “If you happen to come across something you think might be valuable, Miss Murphy, you can bring it to me. I'll make sure it's passed along to the appropriate person—should one come forth.”
“So you've not located any kin as yet?”
“Unless he left behind family in Ireland when he came here.”
“He came from England,” I said. “From London. Didn't you pick up the accent? He might have been born in Ireland but he was raised a Cockney.”
“Ah. So that accounts for it. I always wondered about him.”
“And he was left an orphan at a young age.”
“It seems that he told you his entire life history,” Wolski said. “He didn't perhaps confide in you who might have wanted him dead?”
“When it came to business, he shut up like a clam,” I said. “I have no idea who wanted him dead. I'd rather hoped you might have found that out by now.”
“We'r
e asking around,” he said. “If it was one of the gangs, they'll probably let us know eventually.” The eyes turned to me again. It was rather like being stared at by a snake. “I wouldn't have thought Paddy was the kind of man who owned‘trinkets.’ What sort of thing were you thinking of?”
“He had a pocket watch,” I said. “You probably found it. And he had that little camera. I can't seem to find that anywhere.”
“Really?”
“I wondered if the police had taken it to get the film developed as evidence. It could be important, I'd imagine.”
“We found no camera.”
I couldn't tell from his face whether he was lying or whether the murderer had walked off with the camera. I tried to remember if he had anything in his hand when he leaped out of the window. One hand had been employed to hit me, of course. Had he bulging pockets in his jacket, or a bag over his back? My fleeting impression was of slim and lithe. No bulges. But of course I couldn't be sure. I was seeing stars at the time.
“Thank you for your time.” I bobbed a small bow. “I won't be troubling you again, unless I come up with something important.”
Did he look disappointed as I made my exit—as if he could somehow sense those dollars hiding under my skirt?
So it looked as if I was going to be custodian of the fortune after all. I didn't want the worry of carrying it around all the time, so I popped into the public convenience in Washington Square Park, removed the money from my skirt, then went up the steps of the first grandlooking bank I encountered, past the uniformed doormen, across the marble floor. It was like walking into Buckingham Palace. I was conscious of stares, and realized that I was the only woman in the place.
The clerk behind the grille was a snooty young man with slicked-down hair and a perfect mustache. “You want to open an account with us?” A most supercilious smile. “I hardly think—”
