Oh Danny Boy

by Rhys Bowen

  The passage was in total darkness, lit only by the flickering glow of the flames I had created. I heard Quigley’s shout and footsteps behind me, but I raced blindly, like a mad thing. The passage turned a corner and I bumped hard into a wall, bouncing off it like an India rubber ball. Somehow I managed to keep my feet and kept running. There was a door at the end of the passage. I pushed on it. It flew open, and I was out into the night.

  I saw instantly that I was not back on the Bowery, as I had hoped, but in one of the narrow alleyways. I wasn’t sure whether to run left or right. To my left the alley seemed to be blocked by garbage cans. I turned to my right and ran for all I was worth, just as I heard someone burst out of the door behind me. I kept looking for a pathway to my right, to enable me to double back to the Bowery, to Mrs. Goodwin, and to safety. But there was none. Behind the fence to my right was the amusement park, with the ghostly shapes of merry-go-rounds and scenic railways now shut down for the night. Then the pathway went up a flight of steps. I stumbled up them, stepping on my hem and almost pitching myself onto my face. Somehow I scrambled to my feet and lurched forward as I heard feet on the stairs behind me.

  I was on the boardwalk. I could see couples strolling, but none of them close enough to be any use to me. I dashed across the boardwalk and made for the pier. If Harry the Horse was still there, he’d remember me. He might help me. But as I approached the little bar where he had been sitting, I saw that it was closed and shuttered. I glanced back. Quigley was right behind me. There was no sign of Jimmy the tree man, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t following, too.

  I had no other option but to continue onto the pier. I realized this was stupid, as soon as I’d passed through the gateway. Now I’d be well and truly trapped. Instead of running straight ahead, I ducked to one side and melted into the shadows, hoping he’d run past me and I could double back. But he stayed there, at the pier entrance, his eyes scanning the darkness. He was in no hurry now, of course. I had nowhere to go, except—to my right was another entrance, this one to the bathing pavilion, down below. It was now closed down for the night and in darkness, of course, but then I noticed what looked like an iron ladder, disappearing down the side of the pier. Maybe it was there for people to climb up after they had dived into the water. I didn’t stop to think any longer, but scrambled over the railing and started to climb down. I was close to the bottom when I heard feet scrabbling on iron above me. He was coming after me. I glanced down at black water below me, sized up how high I was above it, then let go.

  I hit the water with surprising force. It was so cold as I went under that it took my breath away. I came up gasping and was immediately buffeted by an incoming wave. I trod water and looked around me, trying to see where I might be able to swim to shore and escape. Surely the bathing area wasn’t completely enclosed, was it? The waves must be able to roll, unhindered, to the shore. I let the next wave sweep me along with it. Then I saw that there was an ironwork grille around the sides of the bathing enclosure. The water went through easily, but not I.

  Now I was trapped in here. I swam silently to the side of the pool, and maneuvered myself under the ironwork walkway, which ran all the way around the edge. I could no longer see him, but then the walkway vibrated and I realized that he must be running along it somewhere above me. All he’d have to do was look down and he’d spot me. I ducked as low as possible into the water. When the next wave came in, I let it break over me.

  I waited, holding my breath, for what seemed an age. The walkway hadn’t vibrated again. I looked around but could see no human shape in the darkness. Then I spotted the steps. They came right down into the water, for bathers to lower themselves into the waves with ease, and they seemed to go up and up, maybe right up to the pier again. If I could sneak up without his seeing me, if I could get a decent lead on him, I’d be safe. I swam over to them and grabbed the railing, until my foot touched the solid iron of a step. I hauled myself out and stood on the platform just above the water level, listening and looking. Nothing moved and any sound was drowned out by the noises coming from the Bowery. Sounds of music floated toward me, and that mechanical laughter from the fun house.

  All at once my body was doubled up with cramps, I bent over, gasping for air. As I looked down at my shoes I saw that they were stained black. Then I realized that the liquid running down my legs was not water, it was blood. Another wave of cramps came, and I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying out. How could I escape if I couldn’t even move? At first I thought I must have injured myself in the fall into the water. It took a moment before I realized what was really happening to me and another moment before I knew that this had happened before. It was the scene of my nightmare.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Suddenly a bright light shone down into the water. “Hey you, what are you doing down there?” a voice demanded.

  The light had picked out the figure of Detective Quigley, standing on the upper level of walkway.

  “I’m a police officer,” he shouted back. “I witnessed a young girl fall into the water. I think she must have tried to commit suicide. But I don’t see her anymore. Go and get help right away.”

  “Right you are, sir,” the voice shouted back, and there were yells for help. I came slowly up the steps. He was going to let me go. Help was on its way. Almost instantly feet came running along the iron companionways.

  “Here she is, down here,” someone shouted, and I was grabbed and carried up the steps. The pain had now become overwhelming. I tried to fight it, but it felt as if my whole body was encased in a ring of fire.

  “Don’t worry, miss, we’ll get you to a hospital right away,” a kind voice was saying. I opened my eyes to see a constable looking down at me.

  “I’ve got my police wagon parked nearby. Let’s get her to that.” I heard Quigley’s voice. “I’ll take her straight to the hospital.”

  “No. Not with him,” I tried to shout. “Fetch Mrs. Goodwin. Captain Paxton, at the fight.”

  They were carrying me relentlessly, across the boardwalk, down the steps toward Surf Avenue.

  “Not with him.” I managed to get the words out this time. “He’ll kill me.”

  “She’s hysterical, poor girl,” Quigley’s calm voice said. “It’s all right, miss. I’m a police officer.”

  From the Bowery came a loud roar and a crowd swept toward us, laughing and shouting.

  “Three cheers for Gentleman Jack, he’s the best!” men were chanting.

  “Knockout in sixteen rounds,” someone volunteered. “He’s out stone-cold.”

  And then, miraculously, I heard a man’s voice shout, “Quigley, what’s going on here?”

  I managed to half-open my eyes. It was Captain Paxton.

  “We’ve just rescued this girl, sir,” Quigley answered. “She fell off the pier. I’ve got a vehicle waiting on Surf Avenue, and I’m taking her to the hospital.”

  “Good man,” Paxton said, and went to move on with the crowd.

  I made a supreme effort to take in enough air to speak. “He’s the one!” I shouted. “The East Side Ripper. He’s just as guilty. Stop him.”

  “She’s right, sir,” Quigley shouted over me and over the noise on the street. “I have found the East Side Ripper. At the freak show. Calls himself the human tree. This young woman would have become his next victim if I hadn’t intervened. We must get men over there right away. When we left he was trying to burn down the place. And shoot to kill. He’s dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get him. You take this young lady to the hospital,” Paxton said and started to move away again.

  “This way, boys,” Quigley said to the two men who were carrying me. “Only just over here.”

  The crowd surged around us, laughing, jubilant, chanting Jack’s name.

  “Help me,” I cried, but they were all intent on celebration and making too much noise for my feeble voice to be heard. Ahead of us I could see the tall, square shape of a black police wagon.


  “In here, boys.” Quigley opened the back doors.

  “No, please,” I begged. “He’s going to kill me.” They were holding my arms and my legs. I struggled but couldn’t move. The pain was so bad that everything was turning blurry.

  “He’s taking you to the hospital, miss. You’ll be taken good care of, don’t worry.” The constable patted my arm as they lifted me aboard. “Methodist Hospital’s the closest,” he added. “Do you know the way? I’ll come with you, if you like.”

  “No, you’ll be needed here,” Quigley said. “This crowd could turn ugly at any moment.”

  They deposited me on a wooden seat. I bent over again as a wave of nausea came over me.

  “She’s in a bad way,” I heard the constable say, “maybe one of us ought to stay with her.”

  I grasped at his sleeve. “Yes, don’t leave me now, please.”

  “What’s going on here?” a voice demanded and through the haze Sabella Goodwin appeared. “Officer Quigley, where is Miss Murphy? I’ve been worried sick. There’s a fire on the Bowery. Half the freak show has gone up.”

  “I’m here!” I shouted with all my strength. “I’m here. Help me.”

  “I’m taking her to the hospital. She’s been hurt,” Quigley said.

  “Then I’ll ride along, too.” She started to climb up.

  “No!” I shouted. I didn’t imagine he’d have much trouble disposing of the two of us. “Get Bert.”

  “Oh, yes, the automobile. Very sensible,” she said. “You’re in a bad way, my dear. My brother-in-law has an automobile, Officer Quigley. He can take us there so much faster.” Then I heard her yelling, “Bert—over here. We’ve an emergency.” And hands were lifting me down from the back of that wagon.

  After that I was only dimly aware of things going on around me. I heard Mrs. Goodwin barking out instructions, and I was carried to Bert’s automobile. Then I was being taken through hospital corridors, and a doctor examined me in a way that hurt even more. I think I swore at him and lashed out with my foot. But sometime during the night I lost the baby. I’m not sure whether I felt sad or relieved. After what I had been through, I was too numb to feel anything.

  In the morning Mrs. Goodwin came in to see me.

  “You had a pretty rough night,” she said. “I’m sorry that I lost you. Quigley told me you were in danger and sent me to find Captain Paxton while he went after you. I let him go because he was younger and quicker. Thank God he got to you in time before that monster—is it true it was someone in the freak show? He was the killer?”

  I tried to sit up. “Wait a minute,” I said. “You said thank God he found me? Quigley? He was the one who was trying to kill me.”

  “Quigley? No, my dear. He was the one who rescued you from the clutches of that freak.”

  “Is that what he’s telling everyone?”

  “Of course. He’s taken our men to the den where that depraved creature took the girls to be killed. Some of their clothes were still there.”

  “And what does the tree man have to say? Hasn’t he accused Quigley? Hasn’t he told the truth?”

  “He’s dead,” she said. “There was a fire in the building. Presumably he set it himself when he knew the police were closing in on him. He didn’t get out in time.”

  The horrifying reality of this shocked me into silence.

  “And Quigley is the hero?” It came out as a whisper.

  “So what are you trying to tell me?” she asked.

  “Quigley was the driving force behind all this. It’s true that the tree man killed the girls, but Quigley found him out. He let that monster continue with his killing spree on condition that he kill Quigley’s fiancée.”

  “Are you sure of this?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s horrible. His fiancée was one of those girls?”

  “Letitia Blackwell. The missing girl I’d been looking for.”

  “Why did he want her killed?”

  “An easy way out of the engagement without embarrassment to him. And it was Quigley’s idea to dress them up as prostitutes and to get rid of the bodies, and I know how he did it, too—he used a police wagon, like the one he was driving last night. Everybody is used to seeing police wagons patrolling those streets, aren’t they? If they remembered seeing a police wagon, they wouldn’t remember whether it was there before or after the body was found.”

  “Cunning,” she said. “I always knew he had brains, but…”

  “There’s more,” I went on. “He was the one who got Daniel into his current predicament. Quigley was leading the investigation, remember? Then Daniel was put in charge over him, and he saw Daniel go out to Coney Island. He didn’t realize it was about another case altogther. He thought Daniel was a threat that had to be removed.”

  “He confessed all this to you?”

  “Some of it I pieced together myself,” I said.

  “Then he can’t risk keeping you alive.” Mrs. Goodwin put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness, now I see what he was hinting at last night as we drove you away.”

  “What was he saying?” My mouth was so dry the words would hardly come out.

  “He claimed that your mind had gone. Your ordeal with the monster had made you insane.”

  “And he’ll have me locked away, and nobody will believe me.” I tried to digest these words and saw how easily they could come to fruition. “We’ll have to stop him before it’s too late.”

  She nodded, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “We must come up with our own proof of his guilt before he has time to act,” she said.

  “The first thing we must do is get me out of here,” I said. “I don’t want to be a sitting duck where he can find me—and already helpless in a hospital bed.”

  “Are you well enough to be moved?” she asked. “I thought you were badly injured last night. You lost a lot of blood.”

  “I wasn’t injured. I miscarried the baby,” I said. “I suppose that jumping off the pier and into the ocean wasn’t the wisest thing to do. But I had no choice. He was after me. They were both after me….”

  She put a hand on my shoulder. “In many ways it’s for the best right now, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right. For the best,” I said, and burst into tears.

  Mrs. Goodwin was wonderful. With her naturally bossy personality and her police badge she had me out of there and taken home in Bert’s automobile.

  “Is there anyone who could stay with you?” she asked. “I have things that I should be doing, but I want to make sure you are protected.”

  Before I could answer, the door across the street opened and Sid and Gus came rushing out.

  “Molly, we were sick with worry,” Sid exclaimed. “What happened? Where were you?”

  “She’s been in the hospital,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “She got hurt trying to apprehend a desperate man.”

  “Molly, I do wish you’d take a sensible job and leave this sort of activity to the police,” Gus said, helping me from the car. “You look white as a sheet. You’re coming to us, and we’re putting you to bed and no arguments.”

  I wasn’t about to argue for once.

  “Are you all right now?” Sid asked, steering me in through their front door.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m all right now.”

  “I’m so relieved you’ll be looking after her,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “She’s still in danger. It’s important nobody knows where she is.”

  My friends looked from me to Sabella.

  “This is my friend Mrs. Sabella Goodwin,” I said. “She’s a lady policeman.”

  They laughed at the description.

  “And right now I have more work to do,” Sabella said. “Take good care of her. Don’t let her go with anyone.”

  “We’ll guard her with our lives,” Gus said. “Oh dear, Sid. We really should have bought that dog we saw in Macy’s window the other day.”

  “It was a Pekinese, Gus.” Sid started to laugh. “As a guard dog I fear it would be s
adly lacking.”

  Mrs. Goodwin was about to go when something occurred to me. “Did Dr. Birnbaum come by while I was away?”

  “Yes, he did,” Sid said. “He pushed something through your letter box. We were curious.”

  I handed her my key and soon she was back with the letter.

  My dear Miss Murphy.

  I have conducted the most rigorous inspection of the two hair samples, and I think I would be prepared to stand up in court and testify under oath that they came from the same head.

  I beamed at them. “We’ve got him. We can prove that one of the bodies is Letitia.”

  “We’ll need more than that,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “This just proves that Letitia was killed, not that Quigley had any part in her killing. He can act the bereaved sweetheart. We need to put him at the scene. We need to link him to the transportation of the girls.”

  “You’re with the police,” I said. “Can’t you search the various police wagons? There must be some evidence left behind—a blood spot, another hair we could match.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said. “In the meantime you rest.”

  It wasn’t easy to rest, knowing what I knew. I saw how easily Carter Quigley could convince the authorities that I was out of my mind and have me removed to an insane asylum where I could no longer present a risk to him. A man who could orchestrate his own fiancée’s killing, who could knowingly allow innocent girls to be killed so brutally, had to be stopped at any cost; and it annoyed me to be trapped in bed, powerless to do anything. But then I rationalized that it would not be safe for me to be out at large on the streets, where Carter Quigley could find me.

  I expected him to show up at any moment, but I suppose he, too, must have been weighing his options. Perhaps he wasn’t going to risk having me committed to an asylum, I decided. Perhaps his plan was to have me killed in a nasty accident, like the one that almost claimed Mrs. Goodwin. I realized that if I didn’t act first, I’d never feel safe again.