Eighteen

Jacob, over here, quickly!”

He rushed to my side and dropped to his knees among the debris. “Oh, Gott. Oh, Gott. Oh, Gott!” he repeated over and over. “Help me, Molly. Move her carefully, she may still be alive.”

I said nothing, but the ankle I was touching was cold. She had been stuffed into a narrow area between the bin and a brick wall and it was hard to get her out. When at last we extracted her, her head lolled like a doll’s, her mouth open in a silent yell of surprise. I shuddered and looked away. Jacob put his arms around me. “Don’t look. It is too horrible,” he said. “Who could have done this terrible thing?”

I stood, twisting her bonnet nervously in my hands, then I recoiled as my hand touched something sticky. The outside of the bonnet was wet from the rain. It was the inside that was sticky. I bent to examine her head. Suddenly a bright light shone on us.

“What’s going on here?” a deep voice demanded.

“Thank God you have come, Officer.” Jacob got to his feet. “A young woman has been brutally murdered.”

“So it seems, sir.” The constable came closer, shining the light in our faces. The light was blinding and all I could see of the policeman was the silhouette of his distinctively shaped helmet. “You’d better both step away and put your hands up.”

“We didn’t kill her,” I snapped. “We’ve just found her. She was our friend. We’ve been looking for her.”

“Put your hands up, I said.” The flashlight waved up and down, its beam bouncing from the high brick walls around us. Then the flashlight focused on my hand. The policeman came closer. “What’s that on your hand?”

I looked at it. “It must be blood. We found her bonnet first, you see, and the inside is sticky.”

More feet came down the alleyway.

“Down here, Charlie,” the constable shouted. “I caught the pair of them, bending down over the corpse, they were. Get out your handcuffs.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said as the second officer approached me, handcuffs at the ready. “I have just told you. This is our friend. We have been looking for her all evening because she didn’t meet me when she was supposed to. We feared that something bad might have happened to her.”

“Oh, and why was that, miss?”

“This is Miss Nell Blankenship, from a prominent family,” Jacob said quietly. “You must have heard of her. She writes—wrote articles for the newspapers. I am Jacob Singer. I worked as her photographer.”

“Oh, yes. The lady reporter. I’ve seen her name in the papers. Charlie, run and send a message to headquarters that we’ve got a murder on our hands. And in the meantime you two stay right where you are.”

“We wouldn’t dream of abandoning her,” I said. “We want to find out who killed her as much as you do. And if you think we had anything to do with her murder, you only have to touch her. She has been dead for some time.”

The other constable departed. I was suddenly very cold and hugged my arms to me, shivering. I was very conscious of my fingers sticking together and longed to wash that hand. I still found it hard to handle death and I was overcome with feelings of guilt. If I hadn’t asked Nell to help me, she’d never have been in this part of town. She would never have uncovered a fact that cost her her life. It was too much to hope for that she had left any hint as to what that fact might have been. I tried make myself think like an investigator. I got up and started to search the area.

“Hey, where are you going?” the constable asked.

“I was looking for her purse. I don’t see it.”

“She was probably bashed over the head for her purse. If she was foolish enough to be out alone in this part of town, what can you expect?” the constable said, with the ease of small talk. I decided to remain silent and not let him know that robbery may not have been the motive and she may not have been a random victim.

“What in God’s name was she doing in this part of town anyway?” the constable went on. “She must have known it wasn’t safe for a lady.”

“Nell didn’t stop to think about things like that,” Jacob said. “When she was onto a story, she took appalling risks. She never . . . she wouldn’t . . .” His voice faltered. I reached out and touched his arm.

I was praying, for once, that the police detective who was summoned to this scene would not be Daniel. I really didn’t feel up to facing him or the tongue lashing he would obviously give me. However, the detective sergeant who arrived shortly afterward, with two more constables, was a fresh-faced young man called Macnamara. He listened politely as we told him how we had found her after finding the boys with her bonnet. When we tried to describe the boys, I realized that the description fit every street urchin on the Lower East Side. I was angry at myself for not getting their names, nor for searching them further to see if they had other items belonging to Nell in their pockets. Had they found her purse and stuffed their pockets with anything worth stealing?

“A curious fact, that has been worrying me,” I said. “The boys had Miss Blankenship’s bonnet, and yet the inside of the bonnet is sticky with blood. Doesn’t that indicate it was on her head when she was struck?”

The young officer looked at me with interest. “I wouldn’t expect a young lady to think of things like that.”

“This is no ordinary young lady,” Jacob said. “Miss Murphy is a private investigator.”

I was flattered that he had leaped to defend me, but I rather wished he hadn’t mentioned it. Macnamara stared at me even harder. “Then maybe she can tell me why a well-dressed lady came to be found alone, in this part of the city. Was this some kind of investigation she was carrying out?”

“I rather fear that it was,” I said. “Although I have no idea what brought her to this alleyway.”

“As for that,” Macnamara said, “she may well have been grabbed on the street in full view of anyone who happened to be passing. The types that frequent this area wouldn’t think twice about grabbing her and dragging her into the alleyway—knowing that most folk would pretend they hadn’t seen anything and pass by on the other side. So if her purse is missing, then we have to conclude that robbery was the motive.”

“Which doesn’t make sense,” I said. “She is still wearing gloves and I think I can see the shape of a ring under the leather. Why not take her jewelry too?”

“Someone was coming and they had to beat it in a hurry,” Sergeant Macnamara suggested. “They clubbed her from behind. Her hat came off when they turned her over and they left the hat lying there when they stuffed her into that hiding place.”

“Rather careless, wouldn’t you say?” I asked. “If the boys hadn’t picked up her hat, we’d never have found her.”

Sergeant Macnamara shook his head. “Like I said, they were in a hurry to beat it. Maybe she had a nice fat wallet in her purse and that was enough for them.”

Another constable arrived to tell him that a morgue wagon was ready to transport the body. “I’ll need you to come to police headquarters on Mulberry Street to make statements,” Macnamara said. He didn’t offer us a ride in the morgue wagon, for which I was glad. “Constable Daly will show you the way.”

The original constable escorted us to the end of the alley and then motioned for us to go with him along Canal. As we came to the first cross street I glanced up and noticed that it was Chrystie. Somewhere along that street was the Eastmans headquarters in a building that must have backed onto that very alleyway. I might suggest that line of inquiry when we made our statement.

It was a long weary trudge back along Canal to the police headquarters. We gave them our names and addresses and dictated our statements to a uniformed sergeant. Then we were told to wait. Someone brought us cups of tea which were most welcome. We sat in a small, windowless room, on hard, straight-backed chairs, and waited. Jacob looked around him. “I have been in rooms like this before,” he said. “They would always keep you waiting. There would be screams from other rooms. Sometimes I still have nightmares.”

I wanted to take his hand, but it still seemed too forward. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I dragged you into this. I can’t tell you how badly I feel at this moment.”

“It is I who feels guilty,” he said angrily. “How could I have let her go alone to a place like that? I should have protected her better.”

“You were not her bodyguard, Jacob. And from what I saw she would not have listened to you. She led her own life.”

He nodded. “But it doesn’t ease the guilt,” he said.

“I know. Nothing eases the guilt at the moment. I feel terrible myself. It was I who sent her there.”

He reached out and took my hand. I was glad it was the other hand, not the one sticky with dried blood. His hand was as cold as mine. We sat there, clutching each other for support.

“At least they don’t suspect us anymore,” I said. “For a while I was scared that—”

I broke off as the door was flung open and a disheveled, wild-eyed Daniel came bursting in. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in several days. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and he wore no tie. “I hope you are finally satisfied,” he shouted. “What have I been telling you all along, and you don’t listen. Did you drag her into one of your crazy schemes?”

Jacob rose to his feet. “I don’t think that’s any way to address this young lady,” he said quietly. “She has done nothing wrong.”

“Done nothing wrong? She insists on poking her nose into things better left alone,” Daniel said. “And who are you?”

“Jacob Singer. A friend of Miss Murphy.”

I saw Daniel’s eyebrow go up. “Is that so?”

“Miss Murphy came to me when she was concerned that Miss Blankenship had not shown up at the appointed time for their meeting.”

“And just what was Miss Blankenship doing in an alleyway behind Canal Street at night?” Daniel spat out the words.

“I have no idea,” I said, staring him straight in the eye. “The only matter in which she was giving me help was finding out details about that missing couple. The couple you were helping me to trace. Katherine and Michael Kelly.”

“Michael Kelly?” he said, still glaring angrily. “The man who met an unpleasant end after getting himself mixed up with the Eastmans? You sent her to investigate that?”

“No, I didn’t. I wanted to find out where Katherine had worked.” I was yelling too, now. “I had discovered that she worked in the garment industry. Nell knew all about sweatshops. She offered to find out for me. And she did find the name of the company Katherine worked for. It was Mostel’s on Canal Street—which explains what she was doing in the area to start with. Why she stayed around after dark I cannot tell you. She scribbled a note to me to say that she had learned something interesting and was going to follow up on it. That’s all I can tell you.”

Daniel’s bluster had subsided. “And she paid for the interesting fact with her life. Is any piece of knowledge worth the life of a human being?”

“Of course not. And I would not have wished her to take any kind of risk,” I said. “I had no idea—”

“That’s just it, Molly. You have no idea. If you were a cat, you’d have already used up eight of your nine lives. Maybe this will teach you a lesson you won’t forget in a hurry. If ever you get another harebrained scheme in your head, think of Miss Blankenship lying there with her head bashed in.”

“I really think Miss Murphy has been through enough for one night,” Jacob said coldly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take her home now.”

Daniel looked at him, long and hard, then nodded. “Well, I know where to find you if I have more questions,” he said. “But I don’t think we have a hope in Hades of finding out who killed her.”

“You have your informants among the gangs, don’t you?” I asked. “You could find out if one of the Eastmans killed her.”

Daniel nodded. “I could probably glean that fact after a while, but they’d never tell me what she discovered or who was paying them, so it would be a lost cause. There would be no point in making an arrest or trying to bring anyone to trial. Believe me, I’ve tried it often enough.” He stared hard at me again. “It could have nothing to do with the Eastmans. It could have been as simple as snatching her purse or wanting her shoes. Life is cheap in the Lower East Side, as you have just discovered. As Katherine and Michael discovered too. They are dead, Molly. A lost cause. Your friend lost her life for nothing.” He went to say something else, then tossed his head abruptly in the direction of the door. “Go on, then. You can go.”

“Thank you,” I said as I rose to my feet. As I stood up the room swung around. I teetered and swayed. Daniel and Jacob steadied me at the same moment. “I’m fine, honestly,” I said quickly. “I haven’t really eaten since midday, and then the shock.”

“I’ll give you the money for a cab,” Daniel said.

“That’s not necessary. I have money,” Jacob answered. “I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

“Then please go and secure a cab for Miss Murphy. I’ll bring her out momentarily,” Daniel said.

As soon as Jacob had left the room Daniel spun around to me, his eyes dark and angry. “And who, pray, is that gentleman?”

“A good friend, Daniel.”

“He didn’t think he was just a good friend. I saw him looking at you.”

“Maybe more someday, then.”

“He is not of your race or religion, Molly. Don’t you see that this can lead nowhere?”

“Maybe I am becoming an expert at relationships that lead nowhere,” I said. “And I didn’t think that you and Miss Norton shared the same religion. Maybe it’s not a stumbling block when money and power are involved.”

He winced as if I’d slapped him across the face, which, I must confess, I had wanted to do—actually longed to do now.

“This is stupid, Molly,” he said. “You don’t love him. You can’t love him.”

“I’ll go and see if Jacob has found me a cab, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Molly—” He reached out his hand to me.

“Good-bye, Daniel,” I said, then spun on my heels and fled.