Oh Danny Boy (19 page)

As I closed the door behind her, I noticed two notes stuck in my letter box. I recognized Daniel’s angry black script on one of them, but the other was in a small, meticulous, unfamiliar hand. Of course I tore open Daniel’s note first.

I looked at it, then carefully folded the letter back into its envelope. So the commissioner of police was planning to visit The Tombs, was he? It might just be coincidence. On the other hand, maybe my first instincts had been right after all, and he was the one who had orchestrated Daniel’s betrayal himself. What could have been easier than having
those dollar bills hidden in his own fist, ready to scatter as the letter was opened?

So I might have been wasting valuable time looking into a series of sordid murders when my investigations should have gone in quite a different direction. Daniel himself knew of no particular reason why Mr. Partridge should want him out of the way, but that didn’t mean that one didn’t exist. Had that man of moral rectitude something he wished to keep hidden? It seemed that my next task should be to look into Mr. Partridge’s life and affairs. I had no idea how I might do that, but maybe Sabella Goodwin could help me get started when I next saw her. She was in a position to nose around at police headquarters and pick up on any rumors.

Then I remembered what else would happen when I next saw her. She’d bring me news of a woman who might be able to end my current predicament. I felt hot and clammy all over, just at the thought of it. She was right about that Irish upbringing. If ever there were mortal sins, that was surely one of them.

I opened the second note, with some trepidation. Most letters these days did not seem to be bringing me good news. I saw from the neat signature that this one was from Dr. Birnbaum.

I had to smile at such a correct and perfectly executed missive and found myself wondering what he and the flamboyant Ryan could possibly have in common. Then the smile faded. Another dead end, it would appear. I had learned nothing new from his note—or had I? It struck me that the two officers in question claimed they had just taken over the case from Daniel. But I seemed to remember it was the other way around—hadn’t Daniel been assigned to the case over them? So why make this false claim to Dr. Birnbaum?

I could come up with a perfectly good answer, of course—they were ambitious, according to Mrs. Goodwin. They didn’t want to lose face by admitting how little they had achieved so far. Or Birnbaum, not being a native English speaker, might just have misunderstood. Besides, I couldn’t see Quigley and McIver scheming to have Daniel removed from this case just so that they could get all the glory for themselves. As Mrs. Goodwin had commented, it was a devilish puzzle with no guarantee of a successful outcome.

So far my bet was on John Partridge. Men who rise to positions of power often have shady secrets in their past, secrets they’d rather didn’t come out. If John Partridge had
such a secret and Daniel had inadvertently stumbled upon it, then the commissioner might feel himself threatened. But since Daniel had no idea himself what he could have done to antagonize Mr. Partridge, I wasn’t sure how I could unearth any deep, dark secrets in Partridge’s past. Still, I had to try. Who might possibly know details of Mr. Partridge’s past life and indiscretions? Nobody in my circle of friends. Then it occurred to me—newspapers! They loved to dig up dirt on political figures, didn’t they? A visit to the archives at
The Times
or the
Herald
might at least set me in the right direction. At the very least they’d have his biography on file.

I changed into my cooler and less-constricting summer muslin, then departed on the hunt again. Another hot and muggy day, with thunder threatening over New Jersey. Flies and mosquitoes hummed around me, and I wished I had been like the fashionable ladies and bought myself a hat with a veil. I decided that the
Herald
was closer and by claiming to be from the Ladies Decency League again, sent by Mrs. Astor, I had the stern-faced woman in archives promising to search out all references to John Partridge for me. She even promised them by the next day.

By the time I came out of the Herald Building, those storm clouds had grown into impressive thunderheads. The first fat drops were spattering onto the hot granite blocks of the street. I had thought of doing a thousand and one other things, including visiting some of those hotels in search of Letitia, but now, without an umbrella, I made directly for home.

I was halfway down Patchin Place when the heavens opened and in the few short steps to my front door, I was soaked to the skin. I hung my dress to dry, made myself a cup of tea, and was overcome with weariness. I lay on my bed, listening to the rumble of thunder, getting closer by the minute. I should be making plans, I told myself. Instead, in spite of the flashes and crashes outside my window, I fell deeply asleep.

I awoke to another loud rumble. It was dark as night outside and apparently the storm was still going on. Then I realized that the noise I was hearing came from my front door
and not the sky. I scrambled into my skirt and shirtwaist as my muslin was still soaking wet and ran down the stairs. Outside, the rain was still coming down heavily but under a large, black umbrella stood Sid and Gus.

“Oh, you’re home. We’re so glad,” Sid said, already stepping in through the front door and shaking out the umbrella behind her. “Did you get caught out in this awful storm? We did. Soaked to the skin, both of us. I made Gus take a bath so that she didn’t catch cold.”

“I’m fine,” Gus said. “I’m not really a delicate little flower, you know. I’m quite hardy, in spite of appearances.”

“Would you like a glass of lemonade or some tea?” I asked.

“Thank you, but we’ve just had coffee,” Gus said. “You know Sid can’t exist for long without her Turkish. We came to tell you what a fun and jolly day we’ve had.”

“Doing what?”

“Playing at sleuths.” Sid beamed, pulling out a chair at my kitchen table. “Finding out about the missing Letitia as we promised we would. Molly, now I see why the profession is so attractive to you. I felt like such a conspirator, slinking around and asking clever questions.”

“Did you find out anything?” I asked, my heart sinking a little at the thought of Sid and Gus acting the part of sleuths.

“Nothing really important, I regret,” Sid said. “We found out that when Miss Blackwell comes to town with her mother, she always stays at the Brevoort, just a stone’s throw from us.”

“The Brevoort,” I echoed. A nice-enough hotel, but not on the level of the Plaza or the Astoria, where I am sure Arabella would have stayed. That presumably meant that Letitia was not as rich as Arabella’s family. Which, in turn, meant that no young man would be trying to get his hands on her fortune.

“But we couldn’t find any hotel where Miss Blackwell registered alone recently,” Gus said. “Of course, she might have used an assumed name, but we did describe her from the photograph.”

“We thought that maybe Mrs. Blackwell stayed at the Brevoort because it is within easy reach of the settlement house and the Lower East Side,” Sid said. “One can walk the distance with sturdy shoes on. They speak very highly of Mrs. Blackwell there, by the way. One of their most devoted patrons and workers.”

“And what about Letitia?” I asked.

“She comes quite regularly with her mother,” Sid said, “and once or twice with her fiancé. The comment was that they made a lovely couple and seemed quite enraptured with each other.”

“The settlement workers were expecting her to come and help them the day she disappeared,” Gus said. “They were planning an outing for the children to Coney Island the next day. Miss Blackwell was supposed to be one of the chaperons, and there was to be a final planning meeting that day. They were annoyed when she didn’t arrive.”

An outing to Coney Island? Until this moment I hadn’t seen any connection between Letitia and the murdered girls, but at the mention of the name, I felt my skin prickle. Letitia had been scheduled to go to Coney Island—but not until the next day. Letitia hadn’t actually gone there. Everything seemed to revolve around that place—and yet how could the murder of a prostitute, a prizefight, a doped horse, and a children’s outing be linked? It had to be one of those strange coincidences that haunt us in our lives—or maybe it was my Irish temperament seeing portents where there were none.

“What is it, Molly?” Gus asked.

“Nothing. It just startled me that an outing to Coney Island was planned. Everything I do seems to be somehow linked to that place. And yet I can see no connections.”

“It’s a big, bustling place,” Sid said. “New Yorkers practically live there during the summer months, so it’s no wonder you hear it mentioned so often.”

Of course she was right, and I was overreacting again. After all, what possible connection could there be between the patrician Letitia and some murdered prostitutes? Then the chilling thought came to me—one of the girls had not
been a prostitute, had she? Letitia’s Coney Island connection did need to be investigated after all.

“So tell me, at the settlement house, was there any hint of a young man who might have been interested in Letitia?”

“As a matter of fact there was,” Sid said. She was still looking very pleased with herself. “He’s a divinity student who volunteers there from time to time. I was told that he seemed quite smitten with Miss Blackwell and awfully anxious to help her.”

“And was she smitten with him?”

“That wasn’t mentioned. In fact, her devotion to her fiancé was stressed.”

“Has he been seen there since that day?”

“Apparently he has gone home to his family for the summer. They live in Newport, Rhode Island.”

“You have his name?”

“We do,” Sid said. “You see what wonderfully efficient sleuths we are.”

“And since my family has numerous acquaintances in Newport, it should be easy enough to find his address,” Gus added. “You’ll just have to make us partners in your firm, Molly.”

“In fact, we’re all ready to go out to Newport and interrogate the suspect,” Sid said.

“Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” I said hastily, imagining the stir it would cause if Sid and Gus started interrogating.

“You’ve done marvelously,” I added. “And you’ve saved me precious time when I have not a moment to spare.”

“So you’re no closer to rescuing Daniel?”

I sighed. “I wish I could say yes, but that’s just not so. I have leads, I have theories, but nothing that’s a clear indication of the path I should follow.”

“What about the murdered prostitutes?” Sid asked. “Did Dr. Birnbaum actually take you along with him to the morgue?”

“The officers in charge wouldn’t let him,” I said. I had been going to tell them of my adventure with Sabella Good
win when Gus said firmly, “And quite right, too. What good could possibly come from going to a place like that?”

“And it can have no bearing on Daniel’s case, Molly,” Sid added.

“I’m inclined to agree with you,” I said. “My latest theory is that the commissioner of police himself is the one I should be investigating. He is the only one who could have arranged with ease to come upon Daniel at exactly the incriminating moment. And he plans to visit The Tombs this week. Arabella suggested the guilty party would want to gloat over his victim.”

“Do you have any idea what Daniel might have done to upset the police commissioner? I’d have thought they should be on the same side,” Gus said.

“Daniel himself has no idea,” I said. “I’m going to the
Herald
tomorrow to look through old newspaper articles. Maybe some sordid aspect of Mr. Partridge’s past will come to light.” I sank my head into my arms. “I wish Paddy Riley hadn’t been killed. I could have learned so much from him. I’m a hopeless detective, you know. I just stumble upon things, more by luck than by skill.”

“I know this case means a lot to you, Molly, but Sid and I feel you’ve been overdoing it lately,” Gus said with concern. “You’re not looking well. Why can’t you rest for a couple of days? You’ll feel so much better.”