The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries Book 14)

by Rhys Bowen

  “We’ll see you around four then, shall we?” Sid asked. “If this wretched chicken liver pâté cools properly by then. It’s too liquid at the moment. I know I shouldn’t have put so much brandy in it.”

  “Is that for Liam’s birthday party?” I asked. “He is only one, Sid.”

  “We have to eat too, don’t we? I’ve some lovely smoked salmon and some petit fours from the French bakery.”

  I hesitated. “Uh, maybe you’d better leave those at home,” I said. “I don’t want to be ungrateful or anything, but my mother-in-law has been baking cakes all morning, and she’d see it as a slight if you came with store-bought cakes.”

  “Point taken,” Sid said. “Never mind. We’re supposed to be going to an art exhibition this evening, to honor a friend of Ryan’s. We’ll take them along to that. Starving artists will wolf them down in a trice.”

  I went home and helped prepare the dining table with a lace cloth Sid and Gus had loaned me, then made some ham and cucumber sandwiches. The table was laden with food by the time I dressed Liam in his new sailor suit and brought him into the parlor. There was no sign of Daniel, but Sid and Gus arrived promptly on the stroke of four, Sid carrying a tray covered in a white cloth and Gus with her arms full of brightly wrapped packages.

  “Here we are. Our contributions to the feast,” Sid said. She stood the bottle of champagne, wrapped in a cloth, on the table, then tried to find space for several exotic-looking dishes. “Pâté. Smoked salmon sandwiches. And some small Moroccan lamb kebabs with a yogurt sauce.”

  I could see my mother-in-law’s face. Pâté and Moroccan lamb were outside her sphere of experience. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said. “As you can see, we’ve plenty to eat for this many people.”

  “No trouble at all,” Sid said with a smile. “We love to cook and experiment with different foods. It just happens that we’re in a Moroccan phase right now, isn’t that right, Gus.”

  “We’ve quite taken to it,” Gus said. “We’re actually thinking of taking a trip and renting camels and crossing the Sahara.”

  “Mercy me.” Mrs. Sullivan patted her chest as if to quieten her heart.

  “Other women have done it, so why not us?” Sid said. “Our mantra is living life to the full.”

  I’m not sure where this conversation would have led if Daniel had not burst in through the front door at that moment. “Where’s my birthday boy?” he demanded, and he swung Liam up into the air, making him squeal with delight.

  The party had officially started. Daniel was persuaded to open the champagne, and we toasted Liam’s birthday. Then we sat and ate. Even my mother-in-law had to admit that Sid’s chicken liver pâté was delicious and the smoked salmon sandwiches were perfect. Sid and Gus in turn praised Mrs. Sullivan’s scones. Then she went into the kitchen and returned with the birthday cake in a festive paper wrapper, with one lit candle on top. We showed Liam how to blow it out, which he enjoyed so much he wanted to do it again. Then I cut the cake and we all got a slice. Liam was allowed for once to tear his apart with his hands. It was a light sponge with butter cream and jam in the middle, and the adults enjoyed it equally. After we were stuffed with food, we wiped the worst of the jam and crumbs from Liam and sat him on the rug to open Sid and Gus’s presents.

  The first one was a drum. Sid showed him how to bang with the drumsticks, and he took to it so much that he had to be persuaded to put it down and open the second one. This was a wind-up monkey that turned cartwheels. Liam was mystified and rather scared as it came toward him. He headed rapidly for me and stood, holding onto my skirt. But the third gift was also a big success—a big ball with stripes of different colors on it. Liam immediately picked it up and wanted to run off with it.

  “You’ve been far too generous,” Daniel said to Sid and Gus. “I feel guilty that we’ve had no time to buy a present for our son yet, but you have more than made up for it.”

  “He’s our only nephew,” Sid said. “We had a splendid time at FAO Schwarz choosing the toys, didn’t we, Gus.”

  “We did. We were laughing so loudly that we got black looks from the store assistants,” Gus said. “I’m glad to see they are a big success.”

  “I’m not so sure about the drum,” Daniel said, as Liam returned to it and started beating on it loudly. “That may be put away for special occasions.”

  “Like when his father is at work,” Sid said.

  We laughed until I said, “Which he is, most of the time these days.”

  “You’re still investigating the same case, Captain Sullivan, are you?” Gus asked innocently.

  “I am. And it’s proving to be very difficult.” He held up a hand to forbid any further discussion. “But let’s not spoil my son’s birthday and talk about gloomy matters.” He got up. “Come on, boy. Let’s go into the hall and see how well you can kick the ball to your father.”

  After Sid and Gus were gone, we sat at the kitchen table, sipping at a last glass of champagne.

  “Well, that was a good day, wasn’t it?” I said.

  “It was,” Daniel agreed. “The tyke loved his gifts, didn’t he?”

  “And his cake.” I laughed. “He had more on his face than went into his mouth.”

  Daniel reached over and took my hand. “Let’s hope there are now more good days to come, Molly.”

  Almost on cue, there was a knock at the front door. “Sid and Gus probably found another present for Liam,” I said, smiling as I went to answer it. Instead, a skinny young constable stood there, red-faced and panting as if he had been running.

  “Is Captain Sullivan here?” he asked.

  “Yes, he is, but…” I began.

  “Tell him we got another note,” the constable said.

  Daniel was into the hallway in an instant. “Another note? When?”

  “Delivered not five minutes ago, sir. I ran all the way like you told me to.” The constable handed over an envelope to Daniel, who opened it and read it, scowling. Then he looked up. “And do we have any idea who delivered it? Was someone posted outside headquarters on the watch?”

  “Yes, sir. It was a young kid, about eight years old. He was asked who gave the note to him, and he said it was a bigger boy, who’d told him that he’d give him a dime if he went to police headquarters and back in less than five minutes.”

  “A bigger boy, huh?” Daniel was still frowning. “He thinks ahead, doesn’t he, this one? There could be a whole chain of boys, making it impossible to trace.” He folded the note again. “Very well, Dobson. Wait a second and I’ll come with you.”

  He turned back to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, my dear. I have to go.”

  “Another note?” I asked. “What did it say?”

  He shot me a warning look. Policemen aren’t supposed to discuss threatening notes with their wives. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said. “Don’t wait up for me. I’m glad we managed to have Liam’s celebration before this.” He gave me a wry smile. “So much for good days, huh?”

  Nineteen

  In spite of Daniel’s instruction not to wait up for him, I undressed but lay in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the noises of the city night and worrying. What did the note say? Was it a specific threat to somebody? To Daniel himself? If Daniel was the one element that linked all the killings, then maybe he was now in danger—and if this was the last murder and the killer wanted to go out in a big way, then would Daniel be somehow involved in his horrible scheme? I sat up, seeing the streetlamps making small pools of light in the darkened alleyway. I knew what being a policeman’s wife would involve when I married him, but it had never hit home more strongly than this year … when our whole lives started to unravel.

  I heard a clock on a distant church strike eleven, and almost immediately I heard brisk footsteps coming up Patchin Place toward me. I watched Daniel’s head of unruly black curls as he walked up to our front door, then the sound of his closing it quietly behind him. I got up and tipt
oed downstairs. He looked up.

  “What are you doing awake?”

  “I couldn’t sleep, worrying about you.”

  “I’m all right,” he said. “It’s the people I’m supposed to protect that I worry about. What use am I if I can’t do my job properly.”

  “You do do your job properly, my love,” I said, going over to wrap my arms around his waist. “Nobody works harder than you do.”

  “I haven’t managed to stop the murders or find the killer, have I?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that one. “Has there been a report of another murder?” I asked cautiously.

  He shook his head. “Not yet,” he said.

  “So what did the note say, or can’t you tell me?”

  He reached into his pocket. “I have it here. We’ve had it checked for fingerprints, but of course there are none. He is always meticulous.” He opened the note and spread it on the kitchen table. I leaned over to read. It said, Have you forgotten about me? Did you think I’d go quietly back to my grave? Saving the best for last. Going out with a bang.

  “‘Going out with a bang,’” I said. “That sounds as if he’s planning an explosion.”

  “It does. And the part about going quietly to his grave. What does he mean by it?”

  “You said he could be acting on behalf of somebody else. Somebody dead. Seeking vengeance for them. But maybe he’s pretending to be someone else—someone who died.”

  “What do you mean?” Daniel looked at me suspiciously.

  I shrugged, realizing as I formed the thought that it sounded silly. “Maybe he sees himself as a masked avenger, a character from a storybook, righting wrongs.”

  “Righting wrongs?” Daniel asked angrily. “What can a sweet mentally defective woman have done wrong? Or an elderly judge’s wife? You might say they led blameless lives. And how did he know them?” He looked up at me, frowning. “Who is he, Molly? What kind of man?”

  When I didn’t answer he went on, “Sometimes I think that I believe him, that he is some kind of supernatural being. We still haven’t come up with any rational explanation for that train crash. Engineer and signalman are both sticking to their stories. Each swears by the disk he saw on the front of the train. It doesn’t make sense.”

  I weighed whether I should share with him my own little plan to visit Nuala and use her boys to find out which urchin delivered the messages, but I sensed that he wasn’t in the mood to accept help from anybody, especially not his wife. I looked at him tenderly. “Come to bed now,” I said. “Nothing will be solved at this time of night, and you need a proper night’s sleep.”

  “You’re right. I need all the strength I can get. I’ll have to report to the commissioner again tomorrow. He’s losing patience with me.”

  “Things will look brighter in the morning,” I said. “Maybe it will be the day for a wonderful breakthrough. Finally, the one thing will materialize that makes it all fall into place.”

  “Hmmph,” he said grumpily, but he allowed me to lead him up the stairs.

  * * *

  Daniel went to work at first light. In spite of the ever-present ache in my ribs, I decided I would risk taking Bridie to see her relatives. It was a case of doing all I could to help Daniel at the moment, and getting a description of the killer might be the one small breakthrough he needed.

  I was prepared for the look of disapproval I received when I told my mother-in-law that I’d be taking Bridie to see her relations. It was only right that she should pay a visit, seeing that she was in the city, I said.

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?” she asked, eyeing me with a worried frown. “They live on the Lower East Side, don’t they? All those people jostling you around can’t be good for you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve decided that my ribs ache whether I’m sitting at home or out doing something, so I’d rather keep myself busy.”

  “Well, take a hansom cab then,” she said. “It’s too far to walk and you’ll not want to risk a crowded trolley.”

  I laughed, realizing how little she knew of the city. “You’d not get a cab down most of those streets,” I said. “All those pushcarts make it impossible. Besides, I think I prefer not to be jolted around over the cobbles. I’ll walk across to Ninth Street and we’ll take the Third Avenue El. There’s a stop right there at Fulton Street where Nuala works.”

  “The elevated?” Her face grew wary. “My dear, are you sure you want to face that again so soon?”

  “Don’t worry. There are no curves on this track,” I said, sounding more carefree than I felt. I wished she hadn’t brought that up. I wished she hadn’t reminded me that Daniel suspected I was the intended target of the crash. In which case someone could be watching me and plotting when to strike again. It made staying home and not getting involved in Daniel’s business seem like such a safe alternative. But I had pushed myself into things I didn’t want to do before. And I wanted to catch this man as much as Daniel did.

  “Bring me your hairbrush and let’s do your hair, Bridie,” I said. “You need to look respectable when we meet your relatives.”

  Bridie had been holding Liam and handed him to me when he started to cry. I, in turn, handed him to Daniel’s mother. “Would you mind looking after him for a little while?” I said. “I really don’t want to bring him with me to that part of the city. Too much disease always going around there.”

  “Of course,” she said. “And you’re in no condition to carry him.” She looked down at him fondly. “Come on, my darling. You and I will see if there are any of those jam tarts left in the larder.”

  And off he went quite happily with his grandmother, without a single look back at me.

  I put on my hat and took Bridie’s hand as we stepped out into bright sunshine. It was warm for September, and I wasn’t looking forward to facing the heat and noise of the Lower East Side. But there was no going back now, even though Bridie looked about as unenthusiastic as I felt.

  “I don’t like those boys, my cousins,” she said. “They are rough, and they tease me.”

  “I don’t like them much either,” I said, giving a conspiratorial wink. “But we’ll do our duty and not stay long.”

  “Do you think Cousin Nuala might have news of my dada?” she asked.

  “I don’t know, my darling. But it’s worth seeing her, just on the off chance, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, convincing herself. “I’d do anything to know if they’re all right.”

  We climbed the steps to the Third Avenue El station. As the train came rumbling in I had a moment of anxiety. Could I really get on board without worrying that something would happen to me? I looked up and down the platform, but there were only a few housewives on their way from shopping, mothers with young children, and nobody who looked furtive or threatening. I wished I had taken more notice of the man who knocked into me, making me miss that train. It might have been a complete coincidence, but as a detective I’d learned not to believe in coincidences. The train came to a halt and I ushered Bridie on board, then hauled myself up. As we moved off, I tried to picture the man. He’d been young, I was sure. Cap or hat? What kind of jacket? I closed my eyes, but all that came back to me was a blur of running feet. Dark hair. Dark jacket. But not a businessman. A student? Yes, possibly more like a student. Which of course made sense—a student, late for his next class and not even aware that he had bumped me as he dashed for an empty compartment. However, this also made me think of Simon Grossman, and a killer who was brazen enough to drop cyanide into his coffee. Could students and their activities have something to do with this crime after all? Was someone playing a cruel joke on Daniel?

  The moment we disembarked from the El, I could tell where we were by the smell. As we walked down Fulton Street, the odor of the fish market wafted toward us until it grew overwhelming.

  “What’s that horrible smell?” Bridie demanded. “Do we have to go this way?”

  “It’s the fish market at the botto
m of Fulton Street,” I said. “And this is actually where we’re heading.”

  “I thought we were going to visit Cousin Nuala,” she said peevishly.

  “We are. I don’t know her current address, but I do know that she works at the fish market.”

  Ahead of us was the fish market, facing the piers. Not an unattractive building, with its gabled roof and cupolas to let in light, while the tower and cables of the Brooklyn Bridge soared above it, unnaturally large and out of proportion with the hovels and small ships below. I took out my handkerchief and handed it to Bridie. “Put that over your nose and mouth. I sprinkled on eau de cologne this morning.”

  We negotiated the forecourt, with its barrows of fish constantly passing to and fro and crates of fish being loaded onto wagons and drays. Then we were inside, in the gloomy darkness, with the full richness of the smell of dead fish around us. Underfoot was slippery with scales and blood. I picked up my skirt and went forward cautiously. I thought I remembered where Nuala had been working before, but when I got there I couldn’t spot her.

  “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?” A large man in a blood-spattered apron loomed up out of the gloom. Presumably the foreman, making sure nobody slacked off or received visitors.

  “I’m looking for Nuala O’Grady. I believe she works here.”

  “Used to work here,” he said. “Don’t work here no more.”

  “I see. Would you happen to know where I can find her now? Her little cousin is visiting New York and wants to see her.”

  He took in Bridie’s lace-trimmed dress and pink-and-white complexion. “Her cousin?” He sounded skeptical.

  I was growing impatient. “Yes, her father’s cousin, actually. Could you tell me where I might find her home address?”

  He shrugged. “Wouldn’t know. People move around a lot. Get kicked out of one apartment. Find another.”

  “Look, it’s very important that I find her,” I said. “Did she get a job somewhere else?”

  “Nah. She don’t work no more. Her boys take care of her. A lady of leisure, that’s what she is.” And he laughed.