by Rhys Bowen
“I’ll find a place of our own, if you’ll say you’ll come and stay with us.”
I remembered how easily Finbar had succumbed to temptation. And it appeared that all men had the same weakness. I wasn’t going to give Seamus any ideas, that was for sure, however much I cared about those children. “That wouldn’t be right. Me an unmarried woman and you a married man. I’ve a reputation to consider.”
He nodded. “You’re right. It was wrong of me to ask you.”
“But get your own place as quickly as possible,” I said. “It’s not healthy for the children in that flea pit.” He was looking dejected. I reached out and touched his arm. “Look, I’ll stop by and help you with them as much as I can—once I’ve found myself a job and a place to stay. Tell Bridie I haven’t forgotten her, will you?”
“You’ve not found a place to stay yet? Where did you spend last night?”
“In the police shelter,” I said. “I’ve no money until I find work.” It just spilled out. I bit my tongue but it was too late.
Seamus fished into his overall pocket. “No money? Here—let me see what I have.”
“I can’t take money from you. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“But I want to help. You helped us. You took care of my children. Here.” He held out a handful of coins. “There must be a couple of dollars here. Take it.”
“I’m not taking charity.”
“It’s not charity. You earned it. Go on. Take it.”
He grabbed my hand and thrust the coins into it, closing my cold fingers around them. “And let me know when you find a place to stay, so that we can keep in touch. The children will miss you. Bridie cried herself to sleep last night when you didn’t come home.”
“I’ll keep in touch,” I said. “I promise.”
He looked around. “I better go. If I don’t get a meat pie down me in the next ten minutes, I’ll have to work all afternoon with no food. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, Seamus.”
He hurried off and I stood clutching that handful of coins. I went and sat on the steps of city hall, under the watchful eye of two policemen, and counted them: almost two dollars. The first thing I did was to go to the nearest eating house and squander five cents on a bowl of soup and a roll. The proprietress was a large, jolly-looking woman so I asked her advice about finding a room. She looked horrified.
“A young woman on your own? You’re surely not thinking of renting a room? Mercy me.”
“Why not?”
“On your own with no man to take care of you? If you’ll take my advice, my dear, you’ll get yourself settled somewhere respectable. I hear there’s a very nice hostel for young women down close to Battery Park. It’s run by the ladies of the Bible Society and they don’t stand any nonsense.”
I wasn’t sure whether the ladies of the Bible Society would welcome a Catholic like myself and was even less sure that I wanted to be in a place where they didn’t stand any nonsense, but it would do for now. I retrieved my bundle and started to walk down Broadway. It was all hustle and bustle and any other time I would have enjoyed watching the fine carriages and the trams going up and down. But now my feet hurt and I just wanted to get settled somewhere where I could relax for a while.
There was something happening across the street. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk and there were several fancy carriages and automobiles lined up outside a building I now saw was a pretty little church, tucked in between the massive squares of brick and stone. Being curious by nature, I went over to look. A wedding party had just come out and was standing on the steps. The bride was wearing the most stunning white hat, trimmed with egret plumes and a cunning little veil. The groom was handsome in military uniform. The rest of the party was composed of two adorable little bridesmaids in white fur capes, elegant ladies, draped in furs and distinguished-looking gentlemen in top hats, with impressive gold chains dangling from their waistcoats.
I stood daydreaming for a moment, putting myself in the place of that bride. Strangely enough, the groom bore a remarkable resemblance to Daniel Sullivan.
“I heard someone say, “It’s an honor, Mrs. Vanderbilt,” and someone else call out, “Hold still, please, if you would, ladies and gentlemen.” There was a flash and the smell of sulphur. Then I noticed the photographer. I ran up to him. “Mr. Levy?”
He didn’t look up. “Just a minute, my dear. Stand back, please.” There was a click and a flash. The air filled with acrid smoke. As it cleared, he looked up, smiling with satisfaction. “That will be a very good shot. Got the whole group of them together. I’ve no doubt the Weekly Illustrated will pay good money for that one. Now, what was it you wanted?”
“You were taking photographs on Ellis Island the other day.”
His eyes twinkled. “I know you. You had the adorable little girl who wouldn’t smile for the mayor.” He had a slightly foreign accent, but his English sounded cultured. He looked cultured, too—dark suit, high white collar, polished shoes. I guessed that this was a man who had been somebody back in his own country.
“Right. That was me. You have a good memory.”
“Listen, my dear. In my line of work you have to have a memory like a filing cabinet. So what can I do for you? Wait, don’t tell me. I know. You’d like one of the photos I took as a souvenir. Am I right?”
“I’d love to see it,” I said. “I can’t afford to buy photographs at the moment. But I wondered if you also took a group shot of the mayor’s party?”
“Yes, I did. And he hasn’t paid me for it yet, either.”
“Do you think I could see that one, too? It’s possible that a distant cousin of mine is now working for the mayor. I’m sure I recognized him.” I winced as the lie came out. Lying was becoming so easy for me. If I was hit by one of those electric trams before I got to confession, it would be straight to hell, for sure.
“Come to my studio, by all means. I should be back there by the time it gets dark. Do you know where to find me?”
“I went there earlier today. I’ll come back around five, then, shall I?”
He reached out, took my hand, made as if to bring it to his lips, then thought better and patted it. “I shall look forward to it, my dear.”
I found the women’s hostel soon after. It was in an austere brownstone building positioned on a corner to catch the wind from the harbor in two directions. The lady in reception looked me up and down for a good minute before deciding that they might have a bed for me. “You don’t have employment yet?” she demanded.
“I only arrived this week. It’s impossible to look for a job before I have a place to stay,” I said. “I stayed a couple of nights with friends but it was too crowded and I had nowhere to wash properly.”
She nodded as if this was the right answer. “Very well. We charge a dollar a week, which includes your breakfast and evening meal. You are expected to be present for our communal evening meal at six o’clock sharp. You are expected to attend morning prayers before breakfast—six thirty sharp, with break-fast at seven. You are not permitted to loaf around the hostel during the day. You are expected to be out looking for work. The hostel is locked for the night at nine o’clock. No gentlemen callers are allowed. Is this all clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I nodded in what I considered a suitably humble way.
“Very well. I’ll have you shown to your room. I hope you’ll be happy with us, Miss Murphy.”
It was wonderful to be in a place with clean sheets, a bath-room with hot water, and a mirror to fix my hair, even though there were texts all over the walls to remind me that vanity was a sin. I straightened my attire, washed out some smalls, and felt almost human by the time I went out again. I tried several more establishments, looking for work, but with no success. Reluctantly I decided to go to the fish market in the morning.
On the way to see Mr. Levy I came up with a crazy idea. I would ask him if he needed an assistant. I was quick. I learned fast and I liked him. I could also learn how to
take pictures and maybe I could set up my own photography business some day. It was dark and cold and starting to rain by the time I walked back to Hester Street. The distance I had walked in the past few days must be equal to the whole of Ireland, from south to north.
There was no light shining through the blinds of Mr. Levy’s establishment, but the door was slightly ajar. I reasoned he was probably working in a back room somewhere, developing those pictures he had taken today. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“Mr. Levy? Are you here? It’s Molly Murphy, come about the picture you took?”
There was a strong chemical smell about the place. I had only taken a couple of steps when my foot struck something. I bent to pick it up. It was a heavy square metal object and it took me a moment to realize it was a camera.
Something was wrong. Mr. Levy wouldn’t leave his precious camera on the floor to be trodden on. I opened the door wide, to let in as much light as possible from the gas lamp outside. It shone on a place in utter disarray. Papers were strewn everywhere. Bottles lay smashed with their contents all over everything. And there was a dark shape sticking out from behind the counter. I stepped gingerly over the broken glass and debris and saw what it was. It was a man’s leg.
“Mr. Levy!” I bent down to him. “Are you all right?”
As soon as I tried to move him I knew that he wasn’t. Where I expected to feel the fabric of his coat, my hands touched something sticky. I recoiled in horror.
At that moment I heard footsteps and someone came in through the front door. I cowered behind the counter, holding in breath. I didn’t know whether to call out for help or stay hidden. A torch was turned on and its beam strafed the signs of chaos before settling on me. The owner of the torch came closer.
“What has been going on here?” asked Daniel Sullivan’s voice.
Eighteen
Daniel—Captain Sullivan,” I called. “Thank heavens it’s you. How did you know?”
“I was checking out the list of photographers you left for me,” he said. “What’s happened?”
“Over here, behind the counter. It’s Mr. Levy.”
Glass crunched under his feet as he came toward me. His flashlight was blinding me and I put up my hand to shield my eyes.
He knelt down beside me.
“He’s dead, I think,” I said. “I can’t move him and . . .”
He was shining the flashlight on the hand I was holding over my face. As I lowered it I saw that it was covered in what had to be blood.
“Are you all right?” he asked sharply.
“Me? Yes, I’m fine. I just got here. The door was open and he didn’t answer.”
Daniel got to his feet again. “In here Briggs, O’Hallaran,” he snapped. “Briggs, you get to HQ as quick as you can. Tell Sergeant O’Neil there’s been what looks like foul play and have him bring a backup team here. You, O’Hallaran, see if you can get us some light going, then keep the crowd away.”
I got to my feet, too, feeling cold and shaky. I was about to hug my arms to myself when I remembered the blood on my hands. There was a hiss and a pop and the gas bracket on the wall glowed, throwing grotesque shadows over the chaos and illuminating the body enough for me to see the eyes open in horrified surprise and the big dark stain covering the front of his jacket.
“You’re sure it’s too late? He’s already dead, is he?”
Daniel was looking at me, hard. “He’s dead, all right. Whoever did it made damned sure of that.”
“Poor man,” I said. “He was so nice.”
He had taken out a notebook. “So do you mind telling me exactly what you were doing here, alone with the body, in the dark?”
“I met him this afternoon. He invited me to his studio. He said he’d be back as soon as it got dark.” The words were spilling out in a torrent. “The door wasn’t shut properly but there was no light on. I thought he might be in the back somewhere, working on his pictures. I called out and then I kicked something.” I stepped gingerly across the debris and pointed to it. “It was his camera. Then I knew that something had to be wrong. His camera was his livelihood. He’d never leave it on the floor.”
“Why didn’t you light the gas?”
“I couldn’t find it. I—,” I stammered. “I’m not used to these new-fangled inventions yet. We only have oil lamps and candles at home.”
“So you went forward in the dark?”
“I opened the front door as wide as it would go so that some light came in. That’s when I saw that the place was ransacked. And then I saw a leg sticking out. I came around the counter and I found him.”
“You kept going into the room in the dark, even after you saw the man’s leg?” He sounded incredulous. “Either you are very brave or very stupid, Mrs. O’Connor. I can’t decide which. Did it not occur to you that you might have walked in on the killer and he might still be here, hiding in the shadows?”
“I’m stupid, I suppose. It never crossed my mind. I only wanted to get to Mr. Levy and see if I could help. I thought for a moment he might have been taken ill and knocked things onto the floor when he fell.”
Daniel Sullivan was staring hard at me. “It’s amazing how people manage to get murdered whenever you’re around and yet you have nothing to do with it.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, anger now competing with fear. “You don’t mean to tell me you think I might have had something to do with this poor man’s death?”
“I wish I had an instrument to see into your head,” he said. “I don’t want to think that you’re lying to me, but you have to admit it doesn’t look good for you. I catch you here with the man’s blood all over you, in the dark.”
“I’ve just told you what I was doing here,” I said. “And why on earth would I have wanted him dead? He was the one person I wanted to see, the one man who could possibly have freed Michael. He said he had a group shot of the mayor’s party. He was going to show it to me.”
“And how exactly did you think this group shot would help you?”
“It might have showed me the real killer, of course,” I retorted.
“The real killer?”
“Supposing someone in the mayor’s party saw O’Malley and knew that he must not be allowed to come ashore. That person took a huge risk, did not ride back with the others, borrowed a guard’s jacket and cap, sneaked in, and killed him during the night. And if nothing else proves it, then this surely does.” I pointed down at Mr. Levy’s body. “Somebody must have found out we were onto this. He hadn’t thought about photographs before. Now he had to make sure that Mr. Levy’s photographs were wrecked before I got here.”
Daniel was still looking hard at me. “In which case you could be in a lot of danger yourself. You’re looking at the actions of a very violent person, Mrs. O’Connor. Do you actually enjoy courting death? What can I say to make you realize that you have to stay out of police business?”
“I’m trying to help Michael,” I said. “I’m trying to make you see the truth that you’re too pigheaded to see for yourself.”
“And in the process you’ve just wrecked a perfectly good crime scene with your blundering. You’ve probably trampled and contaminated any evidence in this room.”
“No more than you have!” I said. “You did your own share of blundering. I heard you.”
He looked at me for a long moment, then shook his head. “What am I going to do with you? You realize, of course, that I’m going to have to take you down to headquarters to get a statement. What can your family think about you being out playing detective all the time—it’s not wholesome for a married woman.”
I was just realizing something. If I didn’t turn up for communal supper and prayers at the Bible hostel, I’d be thrown out come morning. And I certainly didn’t want to waste more precious time looking for a place to stay. So I did what every self-respecting woman does in such situations—I fainted.
Looking back on it, I don’t think the faint was all put on. The delayed shock a
nd lack of good food suddenly overtook me. I think I really did lose consciousness. The next thing I knew I was sitting up on a chair with my head between my knees and a strong hand on the back of my neck. My first reaction was that the killer had got me, and I struggled to sit up.
“Just relax, Mrs. O’Connor. You’ll be fine.” The voice was Daniel Sullivan’s. Which meant that the warm hand on my neck must also belong to him. He raised me to a sitting position. “All right now?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
“You had a nasty shock.” He was looking at me with the same tenderness I glimpsed that time in the police station hallway. “Look, you can’t go on acting like this. I forbid you to do any more investigating without telling me first. Is that clear? If I have to have you locked up for your own good, I will. Now I’m going to have one of my men take you home and give your husband a good talking to. He should know that his wife is out wandering round a strange new city at all hours, taking terrible risks. Maybe he’s the one who can get you to start acting sensibly and make you stay home with the little ones, where you belong.”
Now it was all going to come out. Nuala would spill the beans if nobody else did. They already had my address. I tried to come up with another glib lie, but none would come. To tell the truth, all I felt like doing was going somewhere warm and safe and curling into a little ball.
“All right,” I said. “I’ve had enough of danger, believe me. And I haven’t gone looking for it, whatever you may think. It’s just sort of followed me. I’ll go home and stay quiet. You have enough to go on now, anyway—find out who was in the mayor’s party. Find out who didn’t return with them. Match the finger-prints to something in this room.”
“You’re telling me my job again,” he said, but he was grinning. “Although I rather fear that we’re too late. Any useful evidence has been destroyed. If there was a group shot, the killer has done away with it.”
More policeman had arrived on the scene. A crowd had assembled outside the door and there were angry murmurs. “I saw her the other day,” I heard one of them saying to the arriving police. “She was hanging around the market on Hester Street.”