by Rhys Bowen
I got up, dressed rather unsteadily, and asked Sid and Gus to come with me to police headquarters. When I arrived, I asked to speak to Captain Paxton, and we were ushered up the stairs to his office. I told him the whole story. I presented him with Dr. Birnbaum’s letter. He nodded gravely then opened his door. “Have Quigley come in here,” he said.
That was the last thing I wanted, having to meet him face-to-face. He arrived, looking surprisingly calm.
“Miss Murphy! You are recovered from your ordeal already?” he said. “What a frightful shock it must have been to you.” He turned to Captain Paxton. “This is the young lady I managed to rescue from the clutches of that madman on Coney Island last night. Last night she was hysterical and out of her mind. In fact, I feared that the shock of what she went through had deranged her permanently.”
“I assure you I am perfectly sane, Mr. Quigley,” I said. “I remember every detail of what happened last night. I have now told everything to Captain Paxton.”
“This young lady charges that you were part of these killings,” Captain Paxton said. “She charges that you plotted to have your fiancée killed.”
“My fiancée ran off with another man,” he said bitterly. “I am heartbroken, naturally, but I would not wish vengeance.”
“Your fiancée is one of those bodies you watched disinterred last Friday,” I said, “as you very well know.”
“Those bodies were decayed beyond recognition, I’m afraid,” he said. “I have no way of knowing if one of them was my dear fiancée or not.”
“The hair was not decayed beyond recognition,” I said. “I have here a letter from Dr. Birnbaum, whom you know, testifying that the hair matched the strand in a locket belonging to Letitia’s mother.”
“How awful,” he said. “Then you bring me the very worst news possible. Until now I had hope that she’d return to me.”
“You knew very well that she wouldn’t return to you!” I shouted. “You lured her to Coney Island yourself, then pretended she had never arrived in New York. You went to her home and made it appear as if she had run away.”
Quigley smiled sadly. “I’m afraid you are delusional after all. I’m so sorry.” He turned to Captain Paxton. “I suggested she would need treatment, sir. A stronger mind than hers would have snapped after what she went through. I might suggest she be examined by a doctor?”
“I’ll prove that you were involved in Letitia’s death,” I said.
“How could you possibly do that?” he asked. “If she really is one of those bodies in the morgue, then the monster who killed her is dead and can no longer testify.”
“But other people can,” Mrs. Goodwin said, coming into the room. “I’ve just returned from Coney Island. Several people remember seeing you there with your fiancée.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Quigley snapped. “Out of all those thousands of people on Coney Island, no one could possibly remember me.”
“Except for those poor souls who have nothing better to do than to observe those who stare at them,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “I have interviewed the snake woman and the bearded lady. I showed them your fiancée’s picture. They remembered that the man who followed Molly through the exhibit late last night was the same man who came in with that young girl on his arm. The bearded lady remembered particularly because the young girl was crying. ‘Don’t let’s stay here another minute,’ she was saying. ‘It’s too cruel. Making them objects of fun. It’s not right.’”
“So I might have taken her to Coney Island once during the last year or so. She did get distressed. I was sensitive to her wishes and brought her straight home. But that was some time ago.”
He looked straight at me. You can’t touch me, his expression was saying. You’ll never prove that I had anything to do with it.
“Now really, sir,” he said. “If these women have no more strange accusations to make, I should be back on the job. I don’t know why they’ve taken it into their heads to attack me in this way, when I am in mourning for my fiancée and when I was responsible for saving Miss Murphy’s life last night.”
There was silence in the room.
Then Mrs. Goodwin stepped forward until she was facing Captain Paxton. “You knew my husband,” she said. “You thought he was one of the best. And he was. And you know me. I’m not given to flights of fancy, and neither is this young woman. If she says that Detective Quigley tried to kill her, I believe her. I also believe that she has uncovered the truth about those girls. We now know how they were transported and dumped on city streets.”
“We do?” Paxton asked.
She nodded and glanced at me. “They were transported in one of our own police wagons, driven by Detective Quigley.”
“This is absolute balderdash,” Quigley said. “One accusation after another for which you have no proof and can have no proof.”
“Oh, but I do,” Mrs. Goodwin said. She placed an envelope on Captain Paxton’s desk. “At Miss Murphy’s suggestion, I searched various police vehicles. In one of them I came up with this hair. It belongs to Rosa Rosetti.”
“Rosa Rosetti? Who the hell is she?” Quigley demanded.
“The last of the girls to be killed by that poor, depraved creature, while you stood by and did nothing to stop him,” I said. “An ordinary working girl who left behind parents and three sisters, and who went to Coney Island on her day off to have some fun.”
“The police lab has been able to confirm that the hair found in the police wagon matched Rosa Rosetti’s,” Mrs. Goodwin said. “She was, beyond a doubt, transported in that wagon. A blood spot was found nearby and I believe they also have ways of identifying blood types these days.”
“What do you say to that, Quigley?” Captain Paxton exclaimed. “Byrne, Connelly!”
Two constables came running.
“You’re fools, the lot of you.” Quigley spat out the words. “Meddling, interfering women. Try and prove it in court, I dare you. No jury will take you seriously.”
He let himself be led out of the room.
THIRTY-NINE
It wasn’t exactly the celebration we had hoped for that evening. Quigley was under arrest, for the time being anyway. After leaving police headquarters, I had gone straight to City Hall to face Police Commissioner Partridge and tried to convince him that Daniel should be released. I didn’t have high hopes that Quigley would confess to planting the evidence that implicated Daniel, but I put the case before the commissioner.
“May I ask you one thing?” I said. “Whose idea was it that you tour the Lower East Side streets that day?”
The commissioner frowned then nodded. “You’re right. It was young Quigley. He wanted to show me exactly where the East Side Ripper had struck.”
“So he was with you when you came upon Captain Sullivan?”
“No, he’d left us just before that, but he knew which route we’d be taking.”
“So now do you believe that he planted the evidence on Captain Sullivan?”
He sighed. “Unless he confesses or we find the gang member who handed over the letter, I have to believe what I saw with my own eyes. If we can get Monk Eastman to testify that Sullivan had no ties to his gang, then I suppose the jury will believe him. But I can’t see Eastman being willing to go to court for anyone.”
“So you’re still going to let it go to trial?” I asked. “Even after I’ve told you everything Quigley has done?”
“I have no alternative. I have to follow the course of the law. It is my job.”
“And is it also your job to dope racehorses?” I demanded without thinking. It just came blurting out.
“Dope racehorses? My dear young woman, what are you talking about?”
“That day at Brighton Race Track,” I said, “the favorite dropped down dead. The horse that won belonged to your syndicate. So I’m wondering if your eagerness to keep Daniel in jail has anything to do with the fact that he was investigating that doping.”
“How utterly ridiculous,” he sai
d. “It’s true I do have a share in a racehorse, but I don’t even follow the sport myself. It was merely an investment, as it was for all my partners.”
“On the other hand,” I said, “the papers will believe that you knew something about it if I tell them. The ordinary people had lots of money riding on that favorite. They won’t think very kindly of you and your fellow syndicate members—especially you, with your campaign to clean up the city.”
His face went red. “Are you threatening me, young lady?”
“I’m just showing you how easy it is to cast suspicion on an innocent person,” I said. “How easy it is to convict someone on circumstance and hearsay.”
“You should have been a lawyer,” he muttered.
“Maybe I will be someday.” I couldn’t resist a smile. “Does that mean you’ll reconsider Captain Sullivan’s release?”
“I’ll reconsider it,” he said.
“Now?”
“Don’t push your luck, young lady,” he said.
That was the best I was going to get for now.
As soon as I left City Hall, I turned in the direction of the Hudson. I had another sad task to fulfill. The great white shape of the Cunard liner, Ivernia, towered over the West Side docks. I asked if Mrs. and Miss Norton had already boarded and was escorted up the gangplank to their cabin. I found the cabin in a state of disarray. The maid was looking flustered, trying to cram several hatboxes on top of a tiny closet. Arabella jumped up as soon as she saw me. “Miss Murphy, how lovely of you to come and see us off.” She took my arm and led me along the passageway.
“You have news for me?” she asked quietly, when we were out of earshot.
“I do, but I’m afraid it’s not the news you were hoping for.” I looked up at those innocent blue eyes. “The worst, in fact.” Then I told her the truth, trying to spare her the most sordid details. “I’m sorry to be sending you on your holiday with such grim tidings,” I finished, “but I thought you’d rather know.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to maintain her composure. “Carter Quigley. I can’t quite believe it. And all this time he was acting the distraught suitor.”
“Oh, it’s true right enough,” I said. “He tried to kill me, too.”
“How terrible. But you escaped unharmed?”
“More or less,” I said, and left it at that.
“It was most kind of you to take the time to tell me before I sailed. It would have been on my mind all the time. At least now I know. And, of course, I owe you your fee for finding out the truth so quickly.” She fumbled with her purse strings. “Will a check be all right?”
I put my hand over hers. “Miss Norton, I can’t take money from you. It wouldn’t feel right.” Even as I said it, I heard a voice inside my head telling me I was a fool. But I think I already knew that.
“But I asked you to complete a commission for me and you did,” she said. “It was a business transaction.”
“Then wait until you return,” I said. “Who knows, by then you may be a countess or even a princess.”
She looked at me for a second in astonishment then she burst out laughing. “I may indeed,” she said. “And you may even be Mrs. Daniel Sullivan.”
“It’s possible,” I said. “If he is found innocent at his trial. Mr. Partridge is not willing to release him from jail even though he knows the truth now.”
She frowned. “Then I’ll telephone my father,” she said. “He might be able to do something. He’s a very influential man, you know.”
A porter’s trolley, loaded with trunks and hatboxes, came toward us, forcing us to step outside onto the deck, where a stiff breeze was blowing. “I should go and leave you to your unpacking.”
“I’d rather be out here,” she said. “Mama is becoming quite upset by the tiny amount of wardrobe space we seem to have.” She took my hand and shook it. “Thank you again, Miss Murphy, for all you have done. I wish you only the very best.”
“And I you, Miss Norton.”
“Arabella,” she said. “And your name is Molly, is it not? A good Irish name. It suits you.”
“Have a good time in Europe, Arabella,” I said.
She nodded. I turned away.
“You know, I think I always sensed that she was gone,” she called after me. “Does that sound strange?”
I looked back at her. “It’s your sixth sense. You’ve probably some Irish in you after all.” I smiled as I walked away.
That evening, as I dined with Sid and Gus, there was a forceful knocking on the front door. We froze, looking anxiously at each other, until Sid got to her feet and opened it with some trepidation. I heard her say, “Well, would you believe it. Look who’s here.”
And Daniel himself stepped into the room. He looked terrible—unkempt, stringy hair, pasty face, and clothes that were now too big for his skinny frame.
I had risen to my feet, but was rooted to the spot. I wanted to go to him, to hug him, but I couldn’t make my feet obey me. “Daniel,” I said, “the commissioner let you out already?”
“The commissioner?” he said. “I’ve not heard a peep from the commissioner. No, it was Gentleman Jack who came and posted bail for me. I’m free on bail until my trial.”
“But there won’t be a trial, I promise you,” I said. “They’ve arrested Quigley. He was the one who did all this, who plotted your ruin, who covered up the killing of those young girls.”
“Quigley? Are you sure? Why?”
“It’s a long story,” I said. I was finding it hard to talk, overcome with emotion as I stared at him, and yet somehow unable to move my feet to go to him.
“Yes, Daniel. Take a seat and all will be revealed,” Sid said. “I’ll pour you a glass of wine or would you prefer brandy?”
He glanced back at the door. “I’ve got Gentleman Jack in the cab. He’s taking me home. But I just wanted to stop and see Molly first. And to thank her for what she tried to do for me.”
“Ask your friend to come in, too,” Sid said. “The more the merrier.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Go and get him. There’s plenty of food for everyone.”
He smiled then. “All right.” He started for the front door, then turned and looked back at me. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?”
“Of course I am,” I said. “It’s just that after so long, after all this, it’s just so sudden. I can’t really…” And I started to cry. As someone who had prided herself on never crying in public, I had certainly done a lot of it lately. This had to stop. Maybe it would now.
Instantly he was beside me, wrapping his arms around me. “Molly, my love,” he whispered. “Don’t cry, dearest. Everything’s going to be all right.”
I rested my head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his lips against my hair. Maybe everything was going to be all right after all.
HISTORICAL NOTE
This story is fiction. However, two real New Yorkers make appearances in this book. John Partridge was the new police commissioner in 1902. His part ownership of a racehorse is fiction.
Sabella Goodwin was one of the first women hired in 1896 to be police matrons, supervising women after their arrest. She was married to a policeman. When he was killed in the line of duty, she was given undercover assignments for the Police Department. She proved to be so successful at these that she was promoted to full detective by 1910.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
OH DANNY BOY
Copyright © 2006 by Rhys Bowen.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2005054290
ISBN: 978-0-3
12-99701-4
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
