Oh Danny Boy

by Rhys Bowen

  I picked up the coffeepot. “Do you take your coffee with milk in the afternoons?”

  “Cream, please. I am still digesting what you just told me,” she said. “I had always assumed that you and Captain Sullivan had some sort of understanding, or would have had had he not been committed to my goddaughter. Did I make a mistake on that? I am most surprised. I’m usually a very good observer of human nature.”

  I poured the coffee and handed her a cup. “No, you weren’t wrong. There certainly was—a spark, shall we say—between the captain and myself. But even if I were prepared to forgive his past behavior, Captain Sullivan is in no position to marry anybody. He has been arrested and is in prison awaiting trial.”

  “In prison, you say?” The old lady’s reaction made me sure that this was indeed news to her. “On what charge?”

  “On a trumped-up charge, Miss Van Woekem. Money slipped into an envelope to make it appear that he was accepting a bribe. And this in full view of the new commissioner.”

  “Mercy me.” Miss Van Woekem put her hand to the cameo at her throat. “In jail for accepting a bribe? From what we hear half the New York police have feathered their nests very nicely in a similar manner.”

  “But Daniel says he has never accepted a bribe in his life. Someone is out to discredit him.”

  “Has he retained a good lawyer for himself? He should at least be out on bail.”

  Good lawyer. Out on bail. Those words echoed in my head. I had little knowledge of the law, but surely this was exactly what Daniel needed right now. I was surprised he hadn’t thought of it himself. “All I know is that his fellow officers have turned against him, and he doesn’t want his father to know of this because of the father’s weak heart. He has asked me to help him clear his name.”

  Miss Van Woekem stared at me over the coffee cup. “And how, exactly, do you propose to do this?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “A matter like this is beyond my sphere of experience. But I thought I’d start off by talking with your goddaughter.”

  “Arabella? Do you think that’s wise? I don’t think she’d entirely welcome a visit from you.”

  “I’m sure she wouldn’t,” I said, “but I have to know whether this business started with her.”

  “How do you mean?” Her voice was sharp.

  “Whether this might have been intended to pay back Daniel for breaking their engagement.”

  “Arabella might be a spoiled miss, but she has been brought up properly,” Miss Van Woekem said. “She would never even consider such a lowly action. I’m surprised at you, Miss Murphy.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Van Woekem,” I said. “I meant no disrespect to your family.”

  “No disrespect? Suggesting that my goddaughter might be involved in planting false evidence to get an innocent man convicted?” She drew herself up, her hand still at her throat. “I’m afraid I have no wish to continue this conversation. Such thoughts are unworthy of you, Miss Murphy.”

  I rose to my feet. “I am sorry I have upset you, Miss Van Woekem. In the circumstances, I think it may be better if I take my leave of you and go.”

  Her hand was still on her bosom. “Yes, it may be better before our friendship is irretrievably damaged. Good day to you, Miss Murphy.”

  SEVEN

  As I had suspected, I had no easy task ahead of me. In fact the words “bitten off more than I could chew” came into my mind as I stepped out onto Gramercy Park. I had been ushered out of Miss Van Woekem’s by a gloating Matilda, without having managed to glean Arabella’s address from her godmother. The old lady’s horror and indignation probably confirmed that the Norton family in general was not involved in plotting Daniel’s downfall. But that still didn’t mean that Arabella couldn’t have arranged a secret vendetta of her own. Whatever her godmother might think, Miss Norton certainly had that amount of venom in her, I was sure. Now I’d just have to head blindly for Westchester County and seek out Arabella for myself. I knew from Daniel that she lived in White Plains, but I had no idea exactly how far away it was or whether it was a big town. And I had invited guests for a dinner that was now less than three hours away. So it would just have to wait for tomorrow.

  In the meantime I had gleaned one piece of information from Miss Van Woekem that should be shared with Daniel right away. I made my way along Twentieth Street to Broadway and hopped on a returning trolley. It was full and I had to stand, holding onto one of the brass poles. I grasped it firmly, with both hands, knowing what was about to happen in a couple of blocks. Sure enough, as we came toward Union Square, instead of slowing for the sharp curve, we picked up speed. The passengers, including myself, were flung to one side as the trolley negotiated the bend. Hats were knocked off, children screamed. There was also an angry shout from the street as a pedestrian had to leap for his life. I peered out to see the men seated in Brubaker’s Biergarten chuckling as usual at this spectacle. It was said they actually took bets on possible fatalities.

  After Union Square the trolley continued at a more sedate pace until I alighted outside City Hall and walked down the block to The Tombs. This time gaining entry wasn’t so simple. In the company of Constable Byrne, I hadn’t noticed the uniformed guards who stood outside the building. Now they stepped out to bar my way as I approached the front door.

  “Where do you think you’re going, miss?” one asked.

  “I need to see Captain Sullivan, who is one of your prisoners at the moment.”

  “Visitors allowed once a month,” the guard growled in a most unfriendly tone, “and today ain’t the day.”

  “I just need to speak to him for a few minutes, like I did earlier today.”

  “This ain’t the Waldorf Hotel.” The man scowled at me. “Like I told you, it ain’t visiting day. Now beat it. Go on.”

  “If I could just speak to the sergeant in charge, I’m sure—” I started, but the guard came toward me, looking menacing. “Beat it, I said.”

  “You don’t scare me,” I retorted, although in truth he did look rather alarming. “I’m an upright citizen, and I’m not doing anything against the law.”

  “You’ll hop it if you know what’s good for you, missy,” the other, kindlier guard said. “There’s no way you’re going to get in through those doors. Why don’t you write your sweetheart a message? Prisoners are allowed to receive mail.”

  “Very well,” I said. I crossed the road to City Hall Park and sat on a bench. Then I took out the small gold pencil and notepad I always carried. It had been intended as a dance card for highborn ladies to fill in the evening’s contenders. I had bought it for sixty-five cents at a pawnshop and very useful it had become when I needed to take field notes.

  “Dear Daniel,” I wrote in tiny letters because the cards were small. “They won’t let me see you again. Have you hired a good lawyer? If so, why aren’t you out on bail? I have met You Know Who and sent him to the right places. More tomorrow. M.”

  I addressed it to Capt. Daniel Sullivan, currently being held in The Tombs. But when I tried to hand it to one of the guards, I got the same hostile response.

  “What do you think we are, your lackeys or a damned messenger service? You’ll send your message through the U.S mail like everyone else.”

  “You two are about as friendly as a couple of gargoyles,” I said.

  “If you made it worth our while, we might consider it,” the unpleasant one said, giving me a knowing look.

  The irony didn’t escape me. Every other employee of the New York justice system was apparently open to bribes. The one who wasn’t now sat in a jail cell. Which made another idea flash through my mind: Was this some kind of payback because Daniel had witnessed another officer taking bribes, maybe had reported him? Another avenue to pursue.

  Anyway, I wasn’t about to grease the palm of either of these two individuals.

  “Don’t worry yourselves,” I said primly. “I’m sure the postal service will do a splendid job of delivering my message.” And I turned my back
on them.

  So I had no alternative but to purchase an envelope and a stamp, mail the note, and return home in a frustrated mood. The heat may have had something to do with it. Until I came to New York I had never imagined that a city could feel so unpleasant in the summer. The air was as heavy and oppressive as a hot, wet blanket. Sweat ran down into my eyes, and I felt that I didn’t even have the energy to put one foot in front of the other and make it home.

  When at last I did get home, I poured myself another long glass of lemonade before I had the strength to attack that chicken. In truth I was in no mood for a dinner party. My mind was in a turmoil, and the heat had left me feeling like a wet rag. But I wasn’t about to deny my friends their meal. By seven the table was laid; the chicken cooked, chilled, and dismembered, lying on a platter surrounded by lettuce and spring onions. I had even gone the whole hog and purchased a tomato, all splendidly wrapped in foil. I gathered that no smart salad should be without one these days. At the last minute I whipped up mayonnaise. Only just in time. The bell rang and my guests arrived. I had set the table for two guests, but a third figure stood in the shadows at the doorway.

  “Molly, dear, how good of you.” Gus came in, arms open to give me a kiss on the cheek. “What a treat. Sid was only saying this morning that she felt too lazy to cook and we’d have to have bread and cheese, and then your lovely invitation arrived.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Sid said, before I could comment on the third figure, “but Ryan dropped in unexpectedly a few minutes ago. He seemed so dejected that we had to bring him with us. There will be enough for one extra, won’t there?”

  And that Irish rogue of a playwright, Ryan O’Hare, stood staring at me hopefully. What could I say? Of course there would be enough.

  “He’s going through a terrible time, Molly,” Sid said, not letting Ryan speak for himself. “Some despicable person has stolen his idea for a new play and is producing it at Daley Theater this fall. Can you imagine the gall?”

  Ryan entered, looking the picture of dejection, although I remembered that he was an actor as well as a playwright. “I feel wounded to the heart, cut to the quick, and all other metaphors that apply.” In deference to the heat he was wearing a white cotton peasant shirt, open at the neck, with wide frills at the wrists, and baggy pantaloons. For Ryan this was no more unconventional than usual, but the resemblance to Lord Byron was startling.

  “How did he get his hands on your idea, Ryan?” I asked, as the latter deposited himself in my one and only armchair without being invited. “Was it someone you had confided in?” From what I knew of Ryan, he did a lot of confiding.

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “I hardly know the man. And what I do know of him, I don’t like. He has no taste in clothes. He wears tweed, my dear. Never trust a man who wears tweed.” He paused and made a dramatic gesture. “He stole it, the blackguard. Or someone stole it and gave it to him.” He looked up with sudden interest and waved a finger at me. “You’re a detective, Molly. You can find out for me how Ben Archer got his hands on my play. And when we have proof, I’ll sue.”

  “I don’t think I can do that, Ryan,” I said. For one thing, I had no time at present; for another, Ryan would not be able to pay me for my services; and for a third, I half suspected that Ryan may well have divulged his idea while in his cups. He was known to talk awful rubbish when drunk.

  “You won’t do it for me, Molly? I am devastated, cut to the quick.”

  “You’re doing an awful lot of cutting to the quick tonight,” I said, not able to stifle my smile. “I’d like to help, Ryan, I really would; but I’ve a big case I’m working on right now, and I’ve no time. In addition to that I don’t think this is something you’d ever be able to prove. Ideas are swapped, shared, and borrowed all the time, aren’t they?”

  “It’s true, Ryan,” Sid said. She had perched herself on one of the kitchen chairs. “It’s not yours until you’ve applied for copyright, surely.”

  “I still want to know,” he said sullenly. “I won’t rest until I know who betrayed me. There is no way in Hades that a buffoon like Ben Archer could have come up with anything as witty and sophisticated as my play. In fact, there are few in the civilized world who can match my wit and wisdom.”

  I glanced across at Sid and shared a smile. Modesty was never Ryan’s strong point.

  “Have you engaged a lawyer, Ryan?” Sid asked. “I should have thought that was the obvious thing to do.”

  Ryan spread his hands in a dramatically hopeless gesture. “Alas, one needs funds to retain a lawyer. At this moment I am not exactly flush.”

  “Can’t you do anything to help him, Molly?” Gus asked. “You are an investigator, after all. And what is this big case you’re working on? You haven’t mentioned it to us. In fact, only this morning you were talking of becoming a schoolmarm in Nebraska.”

  “Molly, a schoolmarm in Nebraska? Never!” Ryan said. “I won’t allow you to leave civilization for life in the wilderness. You can’t dislike our company that much, surely.”

  “I adore your company, as you very well know,” I said. “There seemed to be too many other complications here in New York. Now I fear my complications have only increased. Daniel Sullivan is in jail.”

  I hadn’t meant to tell them. It just slipped out.

  “Daniel the Deceiver in jail?” Gus asked. “What on earth has he done? Or has Miss Norton had him rounded up for not paying enough attention to her?”

  Which shows that we women all had the same suspicious minds. Their thoughts had also gone immediately to Arabella.

  “It’s a trumped-up charge,” I said. “He was caught accepting what looked like a bribe from a gang member, but he says he never accepts bribes. Someone is out to have him ruined.”

  Sid’s face became grave. “And you are making it your mission to rescue him? Oh no, Molly. No, no, no. Please tell me this is not the big case you’ve just mentioned. You are not thinking of helping him?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to.”

  “I don’t understand you, Molly,” Sid said. “One minute you tell us that he is the most odious man on earth and you never want to see him again, then you go running to his side the moment he summons you. That is how I expect the weaker members of our sex to behave, but not you.”

  I flushed. “I can’t turn my back on him when he needs my help, Sid.”

  “I should have thought a spell in jail would be good for him. Give him time to mull over his failings.” Sid crossed her legs with finality.

  “People die in The Tombs.” I was conscious of raising my voice. “The conditions are awful in there, and I’m not going to let him die.”

  “And what about you, Molly?” Gus asked in her calm, sweet voice. “Surely Daniel Sullivan wouldn’t expect you to put your own safety at risk? Gangs, bribes, false evidence—it all sounds highly dangerous and quite beyond your sphere of experience. Your common sense must tell you that you can’t get yourself mixed up in this kind of thing.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t be personally involved in that side of it. Daniel has a friend who is going to talk to the gang tonight. By tomorrow I should know more.”

  Gus reached across and took my hand. “Promise me you won’t do anything foolish,” she said. “Apart from everything else, there is a maniac at work on the Lower East Side, killing young women and dumping their bodies in the street, in case you’ve forgotten. There was another one in The Times today.”

  “Prostitutes, Gus, dear,” Ryan said, waving a frilled wrist. “Nobody could ever mistake our Molly for one of those.”

  “If she’s snooping in the wrong place at the wrong time they could,” Gus said, fixing me with a firm stare. “Leave it to his lawyers and his friends in the police force, Molly.”

  “But he has no friends in the police force, that’s the trouble,” I said. “They’ve all deserted him. There’s no one except for a half-addled prizefighter and me.” Then, to my horror, I did what I had never done in public. I starte
d to cry. This whole day had been too much for me.

  Of course after that they were instantly kind and sweet, fussing over me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, hastily collecting myself. “I don’t know what came over me. Let’s have Ryan pour the wine and sit down to dinner, shall we? I’m sure I’m worrying over nothing and everything will sort itself out just fine.”

  Unfortunately I didn’t believe my own words.

  EIGHT

  At least I didn’t dream the nightmare again that night, but I awoke with a terrible headache. I suspected it must have been the wine I’d served the night before, or maybe it was the prospect of having to face Arabella today. Then I remembered my pathetic performance of the evening before and was mortified. To have sat there in front of my friends, blubbering like the weak females I despised. What on earth was the matter with me? Daniel Sullivan, that was the answer. I was perfectly fine when he wasn’t in my life. The moment I got myself mixed up with him again, I became an emotional wreck. Well, no more. I’d go first to hear Gentleman Jack’s report on the Eastmans, then I’d pay a call on Arabella Norton. After that I’d make sure that Daniel had a competent lawyer and leave the rest in his hands.

  Having taken command of my life once more, I washed, dressed, and headed for Daniel’s apartment in Chelsea. The headache still felt like a tight band around my head, but I told myself that I’d feel better the moment I found out that Gentleman Jack had contacted the Eastmans successfully and that they’d be willing to help Daniel. If Monk Eastman wasn’t willing to help, I’d no idea what I’d do next, but we’d cross that bridge when we came to it, as my mother was wont to say.

  Even at the early hour when I emerged from Patchin Place, the city was already heating up. God knows what it would be like by afternoon. On any other occasion I’d have been looking forward to a jaunt in the leafy, cool countryside. On any other occasion I wouldn’t have been meeting Arabella Norton.