by Rhys Bowen
I took the armchair offered.
“No wine for me, thank you,” I said, as Ryan picked up the bottle, shrugged, and poured himself a glass. “I’ll not detain you for more than a moment. You have probably also heard that these girls might not have been prostitutes at all, but ordinary, respectable young women dressed up to give the appearance of that kind of person.”
“Extraordinary,” he said. “Our killer has gone to a lot of trouble. And why, I ask myself? If he wanted to abduct young women and kill them, why not do so and hide their bodies? Bury them under the floorboards, drop them into a lake, dig graves for them in a forest. The chances of their ever being found would have been slight. So why advertise them and go through all this pretence?”
“Maybe because prostitutes don’t matter?” I suggested. “If the murdered girls are thought to be ladies of the night, then nobody will care too much who is killing them. Perhaps this is what the killer thinks.”
“Didn’t I tell you she was a bright girl, Fritz?” Ryan asked. “The flower of Irish womanhood.”
I decided he had already attacked that wine bottle before my arrival. He was at that expansive stage of drunkenness we Irish go through. Morbidity would come next.
Dr. Birnbaum stroked his blond beard reflectively. “Possible. Although there is something here that I can’t quite grasp. Something is not true to type, or at least to any type that I have come across. A brutish man who violates a girl and then kills her so violently and yet displays all the characteristics of a mind cunning enough to have baffled the police until now. He’s reckless enough to take extreme risks, yet well behaved in his daily life so that he is not suspected. It is almost as if we’re dealing with two people. This kind of split personality is most fascinating to me. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“And I can’t wait to catch him,” I said. “It makes me sick to think of those poor girls, imagining they were about to meet an admirer, only to be lured to their deaths.”
“An admirer, what is this?” he demanded.
I told him everything Mrs. Goodwin and I had found so far.
“Going to meet a boy?” He looked perplexed. “I find it hard to believe that we are dealing with a boy here. A young man kills in the heat of passion. He would then be likely to panic and try to hide the body at all costs. These deaths are coldly calculated and the whole execution of the plot carried through to perfection. No, I do not think we are dealing with a boy.”
“Then how were the girls lured to their deaths? At least two of them took risks to meet with a young man. He must have been attractive and exciting enough for them to risk their parents’ wrath.”
Dr. Birnbaum shook his head. “I can’t answer that. But what did you want me to do for you?”
“I wondered if you would be able to match up hair samples for me? I have obtained a strand of hair from one of the dead girls. I hope to obtain hair from the girl’s home, from a locket or a hairbrush, and I wondered if you would have the means to examine it under a microscope.”
“I always travel with a microscope,” he said. “It is not the biggest or best model, however. I could give you a preliminary answer, but to make a detailed analysis, we would have to go to a good laboratory. I am sure the police must have this facility. Why not take the hair to them?”
“I intend to,” I said, “but I would like to confirm my suspicions first.”
“Very well,” he said. “Did you bring the hair sample with you?”
“No, it’s still at my house. Now I know that you will do this for me, I’ll try to obtain a hair from the girl’s home. I’ll do that in the morning.”
“In the meantime, I have no wish to rush you or to appear discourteous,” Birnbaum said, “but we expect the arrival of some friends from Freiburg University any minute and we go to dine with them tonight.”
I got up. “I’ll be on my way, then,” I said. “And I thank you for your help.”
Ryan remained sprawled in the chair, eyeing his wine-glass, as Dr. Birnbaum ushered me out.
I was exceedingly weary as I came out onto University Place, but I made a supreme effort and dragged myself across to Broadway to catch the trolley car north to Gramercy Park, where I hoped to find Arabella Norton. I wasn’t looking forward to sharing my suspicion with her, but it had to be done. The sooner we arrived at the truth, the better.
As I stood outside Miss Van Woekem’s house on that lovely square, the first thing I heard was the sound of voices and laughter. Then I saw movement behind the lace curtains and realized some sort of large function was taking place. Hardly the right time to disturb Arabella. So it was a case of the trolley back home again, a quiet supper, and an early night. I slept peacefully and was disturbed by no strange dreams.
In the morning I repeated the trip to Miss Van Woekem’s. Knowing a little of the behavior of girls from Arabella’s background, I suspected that breakfast for her would never be before nine at the earliest. So I timed my arrival for ten, hoping to fit in between breakfast and leaving for the first shopping expedition of the day or fitting at the dressmaker. I was in luck. I requested to speak to Miss Norton, presented my card—although the maid knew full well who I was—and was shown into the drawing room. Arabella was sitting at her aunt’s desk writing letters. She jumped up when she saw me.
“Miss Murphy. You have news for me?”
“I may, Miss Norton,” I replied, “although I fear it will not be the news you want to hear.”
“Bad news? The worst?”
“I may be wrong. Let us hope so.”
She motioned to the sofa. “Please forgive my lack of manners. Do sit down. May I call the maid to bring you some coffee?”
I had to admit that ladies of Arabella’s class were exceedingly well trained in manners. I declined her offer, knowing that she was dying to hear the news.
“You’ve read of the string of murders they call the East Side Ripper attacks?”
“Yes, but they are all—ladies of low morals.” She flushed at the mention of them.
“Not all,” I said. “Some of them have proved to be ordinary working girls, whom the killer has dressed and painted to look like”—I spared her sensibilities—“such ladies.”
“But surely this can have nothing to do with Letitia? She wouldn’t have been anywhere frequented by—such girls. By her clothing and her manner she would never have been mistaken for a common girl.”
“I would agree with you, except for one thing, Miss Norton. One of the bodies possessed the most impressive head of pale blond hair. Now I do realize that one of the girls reported missing by her family is from Swedish descent and may also have such magnificent hair, but I thought the coincidence too striking to ignore.”
“But how—where could Letitia ever have been mingling with common people?”
“As to that, you said yourself that she helps her mother at a settlement house. The strange thing is that all these girls had something in common. They had all just been to Coney Island.”
Arabella gave a relieved laugh then. “There you are, then. Letitia would never have been to such a low-down place. We talked of it once and both agreed that it could hold no attraction for us.”
“But she was due to go there the day she disappeared. She was to plan an outing for the settlement house children the next day.”
“But she never arrived in the city. Her fiancé waited for her for hours.”
“What if she had taken an earlier train? What if she had somehow missed her fiancé at the station and gone to Coney Island that day to meet her doom.”
“Don’t.” She put a hand to her mouth. “What you suggest is too horrible. You say you’ve seen the body? Did it—did it look at all like her?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I said. I was about to mention the face, but stopped myself quickly. “And in truth I didn’t see the body. I was too much of a coward. But the body had been buried in the ground for some time. Her hair is the only way we have of identifying her.”
�
��You can identify her by her hair?”
“If we can find one of Letitia’s hairs at her home, a doctor will try to match the two samples under a microscope.”
“Amazing,” she said. “I am sure Letitia’s family will be able to find any number of her hairs. A locket, maybe, or the hats she wore, or even a comb she left behind. I’ll telephone them today and have the hairs sent down by train. With any luck we’ll know, for sure, before I depart for Europe on Monday.”
“It would be unfortunate for you, if you had to leave with such terrible news hanging over you,” I said.
“But better than not knowing.”
I nodded.
“And what news on Daniel?” she asked. “You are still working on his behalf? Is he out of that horrible jail yet?”
“I’m afraid not. I have made some progress, but I don’t think it’s going to get us anywhere.”
“You’ve found the person who was out to discredit Daniel?”
“I think I have, but it’s no use,” I said. “It’s the police commissioner himself, the one on whose evidence they will convict Daniel.”
“What reason does he have to hate Daniel so?”
“He may be involved in a horse-doping scandal that Daniel was investigating.”
“But surely such a minor scandal wouldn’t make anyone go to such lengths,” she said.
“He prides himself on his moral rectitude. Perhaps he couldn’t bear that any hint of scandal should tarnish his reputation.”
“Then why not just have Daniel removed from the case and put another officer in his place—one who wasn’t so competent?”
She had a good point there.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I really don’t know. All I know is that time passes, and I can see no way of securing Daniel’s release.”
“But why is he in prison if he hasn’t even been tried yet?” Arabella asked. “I don’t know much about these things, but couldn’t he just pay them bail and they’d let him go?”
“That’s the problem,” I said. “Because he has been accused of having ties to a gang, his assets have been frozen. He doesn’t want to ask friends or family because he doesn’t want word to get to his father, who is quite ill.”
“Daniel does have his noble side then, after all,” she said, “but in this case it’s rather silly of him, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think he’d ever forgive himself if his father had a heart attack because of him. It wasn’t too bad when there was hope of setting him free in the near future, but the longer this drags on, the more it seems that…” To my horror tears started trickling down my cheeks. I turned away but not quickly enough.
Arabella came over to me and put her hand awkwardly on my shoulder. “My dear Miss Murphy, please do not distress yourself. I’m sure everything will be all right. The truth will come out. They won’t let an innocent man languish in jail.”
“But they will,” I said. “Who will believe me? Who will believe Daniel against the word of a powerful man like the commissioner of police?”
At that moment the door opened and Miss Van Woekem came in.
“Molly Murphy!” she exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?” She took one look at my tear-stained cheeks as I quickly tried to wipe away the tears with a handkerchief. “Although I hardly think it was wise to come here with my goddaughter in residence, knowing your sentiments about each other. I hope you two haven’t been at each other’s throats.”
“Oh, but Godmother, that’s all in the past,” Arabella exclaimed. “Miss Murphy and I are now the dearest of friends. She came because she had news for me in a quest of mine.”
“And Miss Norton was comforting me when I became distressed.”
Miss Van Woekem looked from Arabella to me. “Wonders will never cease,” she said. “And what is this quest of yours, child?”
“It’s—” Arabella looked at me for inspiration.
“Miss Norton wanted me to locate a friend of hers. I appear to have done so.” I nodded to Arabella. “I really should be going. There is much I need to accomplish, as I’m sure you do, too. Please excuse me if I rush away, Miss Van Woekem.” I bowed to her and made for the front door.
“I’ll make that telephone call today and attempt to supply you with what you need,” Arabella called after me.
“I must say the Irish are an emotional race. Now what was all that about?” I heard Miss Van Woekem saying as I closed the door behind me.
THIRTY-FOUR
I went to visit Mrs. Goodwin on my return, stopping off to buy a bunch of grapes at a greengrocer’s. Her neighbor let me in. She was clearly enjoying herself, having established herself as queen of the household, bossing around the nurse and Mrs. Goodwin.
“I’ve made her a junket,” she said, ready to give me my instructions, too, “and I’ve some calf’s-foot jelly cooling and a poultice all ready for her ribs.”
“I keep telling her a poultice isn’t going to help with a cracked bone, but she won’t listen to me,” the nurse said.
The two women glared at each other. I stepped between them.
“Thank you so much. What a lucky lady Mrs. Goodwin is to have such a kind neighbor as yourself,” I said. “Why don’t you go home and have a rest. You must be worn-out.”
“Well, I have been on my feet all day,” the neighbor conceded and left.
“Odious woman,” the nurse muttered. “Comes in here, bossing me around as if I was the hired help. And bossing the poor invalid, too.”
“How is she?” I asked.
“Go upstairs and see for yourself,” she said.
I climbed the stairs and found the supposed invalid sitting in a chair beside her bed.
“Well, this is good news,” I said. “I’ve brought you some grapes.”
She smiled. “It was a case of get well or have to suffer those two women going at it hammer and tongs,” she said. “Getting well seemed the safer option.”
“Are you sure you’re not rushing things?”
“Well, my side feels as if a mule kicked it, and my head aches when I try to stand up, but other than that I’m right as rain,” she said. “And I can’t abide wasting time lying in bed. Now, tell me everything. I was worried when you didn’t return yesterday evening.”
“I wanted to set things in motion as quickly as I could,” I said, and recounted my visits to the morgue and Dr. Birnbaum. “But I don’t want to give Letitia Blackwell’s family grief for nothing, so I’d really like to have the hair samples examined before we hand this information over to that police captain.”
“And I’d really like to interview the families involved before the police get at them,” Sabella Goodwin said.
“I don’t see how I can do that for you,” I said. “You told me yourself that I would get in terrible trouble if I went prying without proper authority, and you won’t be well enough for a while yet.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
“How can you think that you’d be able to take trams and trains and be jostled by crowds?” I said. “You’d be risking even greater damage to yourself.”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “It just happens that my late husband’s brother runs a small garage and repair shop in Brooklyn. And he happens to own an automobile of sorts. I’ve never seen it actually run, but it would be better than trying to fight the crowds or hoping a cab will turn up.”
“But even an automobile won’t spare your sore ribs,” I said. “I really think you should put your own health first at this moment.”
“I am putting myself first,” she said. “If we can present all the facts to Captain Paxton, one step ahead of those arrogant young men, then my superiors will have to take me seriously. It won’t hurt your reputation as a detective either.” She held up her hand as I went to speak again. “And frankly I’d rather put up with a bit of bone shaking in an automobile than listening to those two women all day. I thought we might take a trip out to Brooklyn tomorrow and see if Bert can spare the time to r
un us around. Are you up for it?”
She gave me a determined, defiant stare. “I’m up for it whenever you are,” I said.
“Good. Then that’s settled.”
So it seemed to be. I must say I was anxious to speak to the girls’ families and see if they could give us any hints to the identification of the young man who might have lured two girls to their deaths. Of course maybe I was jumping to conclusions here. Maybe each girl was grabbed or lured away by the Ripper before they ever got to their assignation—snatched up into a passing carriage, maybe. In which case we had little hope of tracking him down, unless history repeated itself and this time there were witnesses.
Arabella Norton was swift to act and by that evening a parcel had been delivered to my door. It contained a silver locket that encased a strand of golden hair. I delivered it to Dr. Birnbaum and entreated him to go to work on it as soon as possible.
It felt as if we were poised on the brink of finding out one way or the other. However, if my suspicions were confirmed, it would bring no relief but only heartbreak. It was not an en-viable task that lay ahead of me and I lay in bed wondering why I felt compelled to see it through. I wasn’t a police matron, hoping to make my mark as a detective. And I’d be no nearer to releasing Daniel. Yet I knew that Mrs. Goodwin was counting on me. She needed me more than ever in her current condition. Of my own current condition I chose not to think.
Early on Saturday morning I arrived at Mrs. Goodwin’s house and found a cab waiting for us.
“I decided I would be foolish to risk my ribs on the tram over the Brooklyn Bridge,” she said.
“But a cab, isn’t that an awful expense?” I blurted out.
“I shall present the bill to my superiors at the same time as I give them the benefits of my investigation,” she said, looking a trifle smug. “When they see what we have accomplished, I don’t think they will dare turn me down. And it’s not as if I have access to police vehicles like my male colleagues.”
