The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries Book 14)

by Rhys Bowen

  “Since the beginning of August,” Sid said.

  Gus looked at my face. “What is it, Molly? You’ve thought of something?”

  “No, nothing really,” I muttered. “Nothing important.” Because of course I couldn’t tell them that this fire and Mabel’s parents’ deaths might have been caused by the same man Daniel was after.

  But how then did it explain Mabel’s miraculous escape unscathed, not down the stairs, but out through the fire escape? Was I just wishing her to be innocent because of her sweet and innocent appearance?

  I returned home, and we were in the middle of having tea at four o’clock when the front door was thrown open violently, sending a gust of wind down the hall.

  “Mercy me, who can that be?” Mother Sullivan asked, half rising from her chair.

  “Only me,” Daniel called back. He came into the kitchen, looked around the table, and nodded with satisfaction. “I see I’ve timed my arrival perfectly. Mother’s made one of her seed cakes.”

  “Sit down, boy, and I’ll find you a cup,” she said, going to the shelf before I could do or say anything.

  “I won’t say no,” he replied. “As usual I had no time for lunch, and I’ve just come from the morgue. I walked all the way to get that smell out of my nostrils.”

  “It never really goes away, does it?” I said. “I didn’t think I’d be able to stand it the first time.”

  “Children—we’re at the table,” Mrs. Sullivan exclaimed, as she banged Daniel’s cup and saucer down firmly onto the table. “Your conversation would turn the stomachs of half of New York. I’m just glad you don’t move among the Four Hundred, or you’d be banned from their company for life with such talk.”

  Daniel chuckled. “My wife was not made for drawing room chatter,” he said. He cut himself a large slice of cake and took a bite, nodding with satisfaction.

  “What are you doing home so early?” I asked. “Don’t tell me they’ve given you an afternoon off?”

  “They haven’t. I came straight from the morgue because I thought you and your friends would want to know.”

  “If the talk’s to be about morgues and dead bodies, could you please carry it on in another room?” Mother Sullivan said. “I wish to enjoy my tea.”

  “I don’t want to hear about dead bodies either,” Bridie said. “I’ll have nightmares.”

  Daniel got up. “Very well. Come along, Molly. Into the study.”

  I followed him and he closed the door behind us. “Very interesting autopsy,” he said.

  “Of the Hamilton girl’s parents?”

  He nodded. “I wangled myself an invitation, since the pathologist is an old friend of mine. Yeats declined to attend. I think he felt it would offend his delicate nature.” He grinned.

  “And you found something?”

  “It’s not conclusive yet. It will need further testing, but my pathologist friend worked in South America as a young doctor. He thinks the muscle tissue shows evidence of curare having been administered.”

  “Curare?” The word meant nothing to me.

  “It’s a poison made from vines in South America. The natives tip their arrows with it and fire it at animals they are hunting. It doesn’t kill the animal, but it paralyzes it so that they can dispatch it at their leisure.”

  “How horrible. How would anyone get his hands on curare, unless he too had been to South America?”

  “I understand that there is some interest in it now among the medical community. Experiments are being done to see if it can be used as a possible anesthetic,” he said.

  I stood still, staring past him into the backyard, where the wind was swirling fallen leaves, trying to make sense of this. “So the doctor thinks that someone injected Mabel’s parents with curare, and then set fire to their bedroom?”

  “It would seem that way.”

  “But that means…” I paused, letting the full horror of this sink in, “that they could have been awake but paralyzed as they were burned to death. That’s monstrous, Daniel.” I put my hand up to my mouth, breathing deeply before I could say the next words. “And it’s all too possible that Mabel witnessed this. No wonder it has driven her to the brink of madness—to watch one’s parents burned, and to know you can do nothing to help them.”

  “It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?” he said, looking at me with tender concern.

  “Now you have to believe what I suggested—that the man who set the fire is the same one you are seeking,” I said. “To kill in this manner. This man is a fiend and must be stopped.”

  “I suppose I must agree that the fiendish nature of these murders might possibly indicate the same man. But I still come back to the absence of a note.”

  “Perhaps he did send a note, and it got lost in the mail,” I suggested. “Perhaps he went to post the note at the main post office and noticed your men, watching, and lost his nerve.”

  “Then why not have it delivered by hand, as the last two have been?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But one thing makes me very happy. It now doesn’t seem likely that Mabel killed or drugged her parents and set their room on fire. There is no way that a young girl could get her hands on this curare or know how to administer it.”

  “Then let’s hope the evidence is conclusive,” Daniel said. “For your sake as well as hers.”

  I sank onto the nearest chair as if the burden of all this knowledge was suddenly too much for me. “What happens to Mabel now?” I asked. “Would it be right to try and bring her memory back? Or would the memory of that scene be too much to bear?”

  “I’m not an alienist,” he said. “We’d need to get a professional opinion. But if it would help identify a killer, then I’m afraid it would have to be done, whatever the consequences to her sanity might be.”

  “Poor child,” I said. “I can’t decide whether it would be better to know the truth or to continue to be haunted by these nightmares.”

  “In the end it’s always better to know,” Daniel said. “But we’ll do nothing in a hurry, I promise you that.”

  “There is another thing that we can be thankful for,” I said. “It means that this crime is now part of your investigation, doesn’t it? You’ll take over and Lieutenant Yeats will no longer be able to torment Mabel.”

  “I expect he’ll still be involved,” Daniel said, “but now working under me.”

  “Which means he can’t do anything without your permission. No dragging Mabel off to the Tombs, or even threatening it.”

  He nodded, holding out his hand to pull me to my feet. “All the same, he comes with powerful friends in the right places, Molly. I’m highly aware of that. The commissioner may be glad that he now has someone to report on my failings.”

  “You’ll solve the case and they’ll all be impressed,” I said, slipping my arm through his. “This may be the one link that we needed to start to make sense of this.”

  “As always I admire your optimism,” he said, “but it does give me more people to question, and a renewed drive to stop this man. If he is capable of such heartless evil, then he can’t be allowed to kill again.”

  We went back to the kitchen then and enjoyed the rest of our tea without a single mention of unsuitable subjects. I felt unreasonably happy and energized—happy that Mabel did not have a hidden dark side, and energized that I had been able to fill in one piece of the puzzle. Although, we hadn’t proven the connection yet, and how a staid middle-class couple could be linked to the simple woman and the student was still a complete enigma.

  “You must interview the Hamiltons’ former servants, Daniel,” I said, as he prepared to return to work. “Find out if the Hamiltons had any enemies or secrets. Servants always know everything. I did have Sid and Gus ask Mrs. Minnie Hamilton, Mabel’s current guardian, if she could think of anyone who might have wished them harm, but she couldn’t. She said that Bertie was an affable, harmless sort of fellow, devoted to his family, without any vices that she knew of.”

&nb
sp; When Daniel had gone, I took out a map of New York and stuck pins in the sites where the murders had occurred. But I saw no pattern to them at all. They weren’t equal distance apart, they didn’t share the circumference of a circle around a given point. Nothing. Completely random. I got up and paced the room. I could no longer keep out of this. Now that I suspected what the same monster had done to Mabel’s parents, and how Mabel was suffering because of it, I had to do whatever I could to help find him. My trip to Brooklyn had revealed no new clues, as far as I could tell. No links to the other deaths. But I should still go forward with my plan to visit the next of kin of the other victims. Perhaps one of them would reveal something that gave us the link we needed. As to my own aches and pains, I’d grin and bear them.

  It seemed as if I had an immediate affirmation of my decision, because right after I had made it, we had another visitor. It was Dr. Werner, standing on my doorstep in his immaculate black suit and tall black hat, monocle in his eye. “Mrs. Sullivan.” A nod and click of the heels punctuated this. “I am passing through the area so I come to deliver the mixture I had promised. It should help ease the headaches and help you sleep.”

  “You’re very kind, Doctor,” I said. “Thank you. What do I owe you?”

  He held up a hand. “Consider it a gift from me. I am glad to help. Take it right before bedtime, as it will make you sleepy.”

  I took the bottle from him. “My friends are also grateful that you saw Mabel Hamilton,” I said. “It now seems that she witnessed something so shocking that she had blocked it from her conscious mind.” I wasn’t sure how much of this Daniel would want me to reveal, and his findings had also not yet been confirmed.

  “This young lady must be treated with the utmost delicacy,” Dr. Werner said slowly, deliberately. “Her memory must not be forced, do you understand? She must be given time to heal.”

  “Perhaps you would be good enough to write a note to that effect, that her aunt can show to the police. The young officer in charge of the case has been threatening to lock her up to make her remember.”

  “But that is unthinkable. Barbaric,” he said. “It must not be allowed. The child can only heal in peace and serenity. Away from this place. I recommend a fine clinic in Switzerland. I could personally supervise her treatment there. But her family, they do not like to send her away. I fear for her, Mrs. Sullivan. And I will be happy to report my findings and recommendations to your ignorant police.” Then he clicked his heels again in that very Germanic way. “I have taken enough of your time. I bid you adieu.” And he strode off.

  I went inside and put the bottle carefully on the mantel in my bedroom, out of the reach of small hands. Now that I had it, I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to take it. If it made me too sleepy, would I hear Liam if he woke and cried in the middle of the night? I decided to take only a fraction of the dose tonight and see what effect it had.

  Twenty-five

  I was conscious of dreaming, but this time they were pleasant dreams. I was floating in a sea of colors, and I was warm and I could fly. I came to slowly, like a diver coming to the surface from deep water, as I felt myself being shaken.

  “Molly, are you all right?” Daniel’s voice was demanding from far away.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked, forcing my eyes open.

  “No, but it’s past eight o’clock. You never sleep this late, and Liam had been crying for you. My mother is feeding him breakfast. She told me to let you sleep, but I wasn’t sure…”

  “I took a little of the medicine Dr. Werner prescribed for my headaches,” I said. “I had lovely dreams. Perhaps I needed to catch up on a good sleep.”

  “Perhaps you did.” He patted my shoulder. “I must be off now.”

  I sat up, feeling the world sway uneasily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t make your breakfast.”

  “It’s all right. My mother made me oatmeal, eggs, and ham so I’m well fortified. I’ll see you later, then.”

  I still felt strange and disconnected as I washed and came downstairs. Did I want a medicine that put me so soundly to sleep, albeit to pleasant dreams instead of nightmares? I decided I’d rather have the headaches. I slapped cold water on my face and told myself to buck up, as I had big plans for today. Mother Sullivan looked concerned and disapproving when I told her I had things to do and asked if she could watch Liam for me.

  “Off gallivanting again? You’ve been told to rest, my girl.”

  “I know, but there are things I’ve been putting off that really must be done.”

  “Then let me take care of them for you,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid you can’t. There are some people I have to visit.”

  “Part of Daniel’s work again?” she said. “Has he actually asked for your help, or will he see it as interference?”

  “It’s just a few small details I might be able to find for him,” I said. “He really has so much on his plate at the moment.”

  “If you think you’re up to it, and he’ll appreciate your—” she had been about to say “interference,” I’m sure, but she swallowed back the word and said “help” instead. And she turned her back on me.

  To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was up to it, but I gave Liam a big kiss, hugged Bridie, and smiled in a confident manner as I went to find my hat and set off. My plan was to visit Simon Grossman’s family. And if I still had energy after that, I’d go to see the judge.

  I had just reached the end of Patchin Place and was about to hurl myself into the busy stream of pedestrians around the Jefferson Market when someone called my name, and I saw a boy forcing his way through the crowd, running toward me. It was Thomas, Nuala’s son.

  “Miss Molly,” he called and came to a halt beside me, panting as if he’d run a long way. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “I’m glad too, Thomas. Have you found out anything for me?”

  “I have,” he said. “The kids who sweep the crossings on the Bowery not far from Mulberry said that a skinny little runt had been boasting that some guy gave him a whole dollar to deliver a letter. So I found the kid and he took a bit of persuading…” he gave me a gap-toothed grin, “but I told him he’d be in trouble from my brother, who’s a Junior Eastman, if he didn’t talk. So he looked scared then, and said it was a young guy, skinny, tall, and dressed like he could be a student. He said he didn’t believe the guy was the sort who’d part with a whole dollar and he thought the bill might be fake, but then the guy gave him four quarters.”

  “Did he say how he spoke? Where he might have come from?”

  “He said he spoke real refined. That’s why he thought he was a student, ’cos it ain’t too far from the university where the guy met him.”

  “A student,” I said. “I see. Anything else you can tell me about him?”

  “He said the guy had good boots. He was shabby looking, but his boots were good. And he seemed nervous and wanting to be away from there.”

  I reached into my purse and took out a dollar bill. “This one is real, I promise you, Thomas,” I said. “You did good work. Thank you.”

  “Anytime, Miss Molly,” he said. “If you want any errands run, just ask me.”

  I couldn’t think of anything else he might do for me, but I promised I’d call on him if I was in need. I watched him swagger off with a whole dollar in his pocket. Then I continued on my way to Washington Square. Was it significant that the person who had paid the urchin to deliver a note had looked like a student? Perhaps there was a connection to the university after all. Then I had a thought that pricked my balloon of optimism. The man Daniel was seeking was clever and cocky. The student had probably only been one in a chain of delivery boys. The writer of the note had probably paid the student to deliver it. The student had gotten cold feet as he approached police headquarters and decided to pay a street child to do his dirty work instead. I was no nearer to the truth.

  I stood looking across Washington Square, where students stood in clusters or headed to class, books tuck
ed earnestly under their arms, and my gaze fell onto Fritz’s café. The person who paid a street boy to deliver the note to police headquarters had been young, and skinny, and looked like a student. A student—responsible for such diverse crimes? It didn’t make sense. I toyed with what I had suggested before, that some kind of secret society, a modern-day Hellfire Club, was responsible for the killings. Somehow I couldn’t make myself believe it. Then I decided on a more plausible explanation. Students are always hard up. Some, like Simon Grossman, have run up gambling debts they can’t tell their parents about. Maybe there was a puppet master responsible for these crimes, paying a student, or students, to do his bidding. And Simon, essentially honorable, had refused and threatened to go to the police, and had been silenced with cyanide.

  I looked up as spatters of rain fell onto me. I realized I should have brought a brolly with me, but I wasn’t going to waste time going home now. I was energized by the thought of having something positive to tell Daniel. And I’d also mention my earlier visit to Fritz’s café, where it was hinted that Simon had run afoul of Italians with his gambling debts.

  So I ignored the threat of rain and was passing the fire station when I heard someone calling me. It was Abe, one of the firemen.

  “You were the lady who asked me about the fire on Eleventh Street,” he said. “You asked if there was anything strange or unusual. Well, I thought about it, and I remembered something. The little girl had something in her hand when I saw her carried away.”

  “What sort of something?” I asked.

  “Paper,” he said. “A piece of paper.”

  “And what happened to it?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know. The whole roof fell in just about then and I had no time to think.”

  My heart beat faster. Was it possible there had been a note after all, clutched in the sleeping girl’s hand? I thanked him, and instead of going to the El station I walked up Sixth Avenue to Eleventh Street. The skeleton of Mabel’s burned house was a sorry sight. Two blackened box trees outside what had once been front steps leading to a front door. The rest was little more than a pile of rubble. I tried to pick my way around, but realized this was too much for me. I couldn’t risk falling again in my present condition. But I would tell Daniel when I saw him that there might, indeed, have been a note.