Death of Riley (12 page)

I completed seven of these and put them ready for mailing when I left. I felt rather pleased with myself. If any of this money came in, I could keep this business running and, if Paddy's death was not broadcast to the world, nobody would be any the wiser.

As I was rearranging the files I had taken out of the cabinet, I had a second, even bigger, pleasant surprise. Something was lying on the bottom of the drawer, under the files. It was a slim leather pouch, rather like a pencil case. I took it out, opened it and stared in amazement. I had never seen so much money in my life. There were some silver dollars, but a great wad of bank notes, too. I had no way of knowing if there was a hundred dollars in the roll, or a thousand. The first thought that came into my head was that I should turn it over to the police instantly. That lasted for approximately a second. The New York Police Department didn't exactly have a reputation for honesty. The officer who took the money from me would thank me kindly and it would never be seen again. There was only one New York policeman I could trust, and he had forbidden me to go anywhere near Paddy's place.

I stood there, turning it over in my hand. I was trembling a little at the audacity of what I was thinking. As far as I knew, Paddy had no next of kin. If they turned up, then they could claim it, plus anything else in here that they wanted. Until then I was an employee of the firm, so I was taking it home with me, for safekeeping. I stuffed it into my purse and locked the file cabinet behind me.

I stopped on the way home for the fitting of my costume, then I decided to give myself a modest advance on wages and get Seamus some nourishing treats—grapes and peaches, eggs and a small bottle of brandy to go with them. I was looking forward to his face when he saw them, but I came up the stairs to find chaos. Nuala's three boys had come to visit and the place was like a monkey house.

“I was missing them something terrible,” she said, when I suggested that Seamus needed peace and quiet. “They came over to cheer up their kin, and boys will be boys, won't they?”

“They can be boys down in the street,” I said. “Go on, out you go, the lot of you.” I reached into my purse. “Here, go and treat yourselves to a soda.”

They snatched the coins from me and were gone. Nuala eyed me suspiciously. “I got a raise at work. They're pleased with me,” I said, before she could make any remarks about my fancy man. I sent her to get more milk and bread so that Seamus could get his rest. He looked washed-out and weary, but perked up when I offered him the grapes and heated a little milk with some egg and brandy in it.

“You're a good woman, Molly,” he said. “If only my Kathleen were here. I miss her so badly. While I've been lying here, I'm thinking all the time of going home. I mean, what would happen to these children if I died out here?”

“You're not going to die,” I said. “You'll be as right as rain soon.”

“Maybe this time, but it's a dangerous job I'm in and I know it. Four men dead, they say, in that cave-in. Who knows how many in the next? And no compensation for their families either. They weren't even about to pay for the doctor until some young fellow insisted. He's been trying to form a union. Hadn't had much luck until now, just like me back in Ireland. Most men are scared in case they lose their jobs. If I get back on my feet again, maybe I'll help him. I know a thing or two about unions.”

“You're a born troublemaker,” I said, laughing.

“Oh, and you're not yourself?” A weary smile crossed his face. “I had a letter from Kathleen,” he whispered. “She's not doing too badly. Not any worse, anyway. Says she feels fine when she's out in the fresh air. Who knows, maybe she'll beat it yet.”

“Maybe she will.” I patted his hand, trying to look as if I believed a person might recover from consumption. “Now why don't you fall asleep in a hurry, so that I can keep the heathen hordes out of your room?”

He chuckled as he sank back onto his pillow.

When I was safely in my own room I took out the money pouch and looked at it again. I didn't dare count that money. I got out my needle and thread and made a crude pocket out of my oldest petticoat, then pinned it to my waistband, where it could hang, under my skirts. It was safe enough there for the time being.

When I went to bed, I put it under my pillow. But during the night I got an acute attack of conscience. That strict Catholic upbringing, those straps on the backside for lying or cheating, those embarrassing encounters with the priest in the confessional started playing on my mind. It wasn't my money. Not that I had any intention of keeping it, nor of helping myself to anything more than my wages, but I shouldn't have brought it home with me. What if there was a next of kin Paddy had never mentioned—a frail, crippled daughter who could have used that money for the operation to make her walk, or even a bright but poverty-stricken nephew who wanted to become a doctor but was working as a servant?

Next morning I went straight to Mulberry Street to police headquarters and asked to see Sergeant Wolski. He didn't look particularly pleased to see me.

“What is it, Miss Murphy? I'm busy.”

“I was wondering if you'd traced Paddy Riley's next of kin yet? I'm cleaning up the place today, and just in case I come across any little trinkets the family might like to have…”

Did I see those pale eyes flicker at the mention of trinkets? “If you happen to come across something you think might be valuable, Miss Murphy, you can bring it to me. I'll make sure it's passed along to the appropriate person—should one come forth.”

“So you've not located any kin as yet?”

“Unless he left behind family in Ireland when he came here.”

“He came from England,” I said. “From London. Didn't you pick up the accent? He might have been born in Ireland but he was raised a Cockney.”

“Ah. So that accounts for it. I always wondered about him.”

“And he was left an orphan at a young age.”

“It seems that he told you his entire life history,” Wolski said. “He didn't perhaps confide in you who might have wanted him dead?”

“When it came to business, he shut up like a clam,” I said. “I have no idea who wanted him dead. I'd rather hoped you might have found that out by now.”

“We're asking around,” he said. “If it was one of the gangs, they'll probably let us know eventually.” The eyes turned to me again. It was rather like being stared at by a snake. “I wouldn't have thought Paddy was the kind of man who owned‘trinkets.’ What sort of thing were you thinking of?”

“He had a pocket watch,” I said. “You probably found it. And he had that little camera. I can't seem to find that anywhere.”

“Really?”

“I wondered if the police had taken it to get the film developed as evidence. It could be important, I'd imagine.”

“We found no camera.”

I couldn't tell from his face whether he was lying or whether the murderer had walked off with the camera. I tried to remember if he had anything in his hand when he leaped out of the window. One hand had been employed to hit me, of course. Had he bulging pockets in his jacket, or a bag over his back? My fleeting impression was of slim and lithe. No bulges. But of course I couldn't be sure. I was seeing stars at the time.

“Thank you for your time.” I bobbed a small bow. “I won't be troubling you again, unless I come up with something important.”

Did he look disappointed as I made my exit—as if he could somehow sense those dollars hiding under my skirt?

So it looked as if I was going to be custodian of the fortune after all. I didn't want the worry of carrying it around all the time, so I popped into the public convenience in Washington Square Park, removed the money from my skirt, then went up the steps of the first grandlooking bank I encountered, past the uniformed doormen, across the marble floor. It was like walking into Buckingham Palace. I was conscious of stares, and realized that I was the only woman in the place.

The clerk behind the grille was a snooty young man with slicked-down hair and a perfect mustache. “You want to open an account with us?” A most supercilious smile. “I hardly think—”

“What's the matter, isn't my money good enough for you?” I produced the wad of notes. “Because if not, let me know. There are plenty of other banks in this city that would just love to have me as a customer.”

I noticed the clerk's Adam's apple going up and down nervously. “Forgive me, madam. Your appearance is deceiving. I thought that—”

“I'm a woman of commerce,” I said, glad that I would soon be dressing the part, if my costume was ready today, as promised. “It's the business money that I'll be banking here.”

“What kind of business, may I ask?” The Adam's apple danced again.

What did he think I was—a woman of the streets? “A respectable business,” I replied. “And a flourishing business.”

He looked curious but said no more as he counted the notes. “I make it eight hundred and fifty dollars,” he said. “Does that agree with your count?”

I nodded, too stunned to answer. Almost a thousand dollars. In Ireland that was the wealth of dreams and fantasies. Of course, it wasn't mine, but it was certainly enough to kill for. Who knew it was there? Had anyone seen Paddy hiding it away? Was it possible that he had mentioned it to anyone? Paddy, who didn't give away a single useful detail to me, his assistant? But then I realized I knew little of what he did outside of work. From the way he ate his dinner in the office, I concluded that work was pretty much his life. But what if he drank with his cronies afterward, and became loose-lipped in his cups? That was something I should check into.

I waited patiently while the clerk took down the details. I gave him the office address. “P. Riley Associates,” I said, changing the firm's name to suit the occasion. “I am Miss Murphy, junior partner.” My, but I was rising quickly through the ranks! I could see this made an impression on the clerk. He wrote everything down in a neat flowing script and eventually handed me a receipt with a bow. “The very best fortune in your business, whatever it may be.” He gave me an oily smile. I nodded graciously to the uniformed doorman as I swept past him.

I was feeling so pleased with myself that it called for a celebration. So I went into a little French bakery on Bleecker Street for a cup of coffee and a kind of flaky pastry they called a croissant. I was just discovering that the world is full of delicious new things and I aimed to try them all. As I pulled out the money to pay, I noticed Paddy's black notebook, still lying in the bottom of my bag. I should have handed it over to the police, of course. Maybe someone clever at Mulberry Street could have worked out what language it was written in; but then again, maybe Sergeant Wolski would have tossed it into the nearest wastebasket. I took a long sip of milky coffee and flicked through it idly. Why didn't I recognize it? I had a grounding in French and Latin. I'd even been exposed to a little German. This resembled none of those languages. I turned to the last page. Paddy's sharp black doodles decorated the left side of the page, along with some hurried writing.

At the top of the page the writing was still even, as if the writer had taken time. “Was LK htiw EL ta SLED.”

Even here he was using initials. I shook my head and put it back in frustration. I'd have to pay a visit to the languages department at the university and see if a professor there could decipher this gibberish. But in the meantime I had other leads to follow. I turned to the back of the notebook and used a blank page for my own notes. What I should do was try to work backward. Paddy had gone to Delmonico's on the night before he died. Then he had stopped off somewhere on his way home. I wrote down the order in the little black book: Del's, trace his route home, visit his apartment. Maybe he'd left some clue there. It would be interesting to see if the police had bothered to search it.

I was impatient to get going, but I couldn't do a thing until my costume was ready. I'd already noted the reception I got at the bank. While I looked like a factory girl, I'd be treated as one. J had another cup of coffee and copied down the names from Paddy's last cases. Kitty Le Grange—I knew where she lived, next door to Miss Van Woekem. Lord Edgemont—he should be easy enough to trace. His wife Lady Clarissa in England was the client, so it would have been in her interest to keep Paddy alive until he had come up with evidence for her.

Next case involved a couple named MacDonald. Wife Elizabeth wanting evidence against husband Angus. I wasn't so sure how I'd find out about them. I wasn't even sure how I'd approach the likes of Lord Edgemont and Kitty Le Grange. I could hardly demand an audience and then cross-examine them about killing my employer, could I? For one thing, if any of them had ordered the killing and they thought I was nosing around, then I'd be next. I'd already had more than my share of luck, blundering around in an investigation. I couldn't expect to repeat that luck indefinitely. So this would take careful thought and planning. I finished my coffee, paid the bill and went for a walk.

I always find that walking in the fresh air clears the brain. The problem was finding any fresh air. New York in August stank. Even on posh streets like Fifth Avenue the smell of drains, plus the piles of horse manure in the street, created a subtle odor which was not conducive to a clear head. I could have taken the trolley or the Sixth Avenue El up to Central Park, but I wasn't anxious to go back there. Too many memories of happy times with Daniel. Instead I walked west to the Hudson and followed West Street along the docks. A big ocean liner was coming in and myriad little craft had come out to greet her. Tugboats tooted their horns and flags were flying.

“The new German ship. She's just beaten the Atlantic Record,” I heard someone saying. “Now the English will have to build a faster boat to get it back.”

Was it only a few months ago that I had come across the Atlantic in such a ship? Already it seemed a lifetime away. I felt that I belonged to this big, vibrant city, and my past life in Ireland was like a dream. I breathed in the brisk, salty wind off the Atlantic and felt a pang of longing for my home. Only one brief pang, though. Now back to the case in hand, I told myself severely. How was I going to find out more about these people and how was I going to approach them?