In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

Tried to steal a lady’s purse in the grocer’s shop,” my constable said, “only this young lady was onto his tricks. She’s a sharp one if you like.”


“Allright, get him back to the station,” one of them said, looking at me appreciatively. “And you'd better come along too, miss, to report to our sergeant.”

I didn't like to admit that I was loathe to go anywhere near the Jefferson Market Police Station, as I had once spent a night there, having been mistaken for a woman of a very different profession. I trotted along beside them, feeling pleased with myself. I was getting rather good at this investigation business, wasn't I? More ob-servant than the average person, with sharper senses and quicker reactions. It was about time the police realized how useful I was. It was a pity that I couldn't tell Daniel Sullivan of my expertise.

“You guys is wasting your time,” the pickpocket said, reverting to a more common way of speech. “Ain't no way you'll make this stick.” And he glanced back at me as if giving me a warning. I met his gaze and gave him my famous Queen Victoria stare, still feeling rather proud of myself.

We crossed the square and made for the market complex on the far side of Sixth Avenue. Squashed fruit and straw littered die side-walk and a barrow was pushed past us piled high with cabbages. In the afternoon beat the smells of rotting produce and manure were overpowering. The triangular complex housed a fire department and the police station beyond it. We were about to go in to the latter when the door opened and a couple of men came out, so deep in conversation that they didn't notice us until they almost collided with us.

They were not wearing uniforms, but they reacted instantly to our little procession.

“What have you got here then, Harris?” one of them asked. “Caught the fellow stealing a lady’s purse,” my constable said. I noticed the half-amused look on the plainclothes officer’s face as he observed the prisoner, heldfirmlybetween the other policemen. “Been a bad boy again, Nobby?” he asked.

“Go boil your head,” the man said easily enough. “No way youse guys will pin anything on me. It’s only her word against mine.”

Then they noticed me for thefirsttime. I tried to remain calm and composed, even though I had been very aware of one of them from the moment he stepped through the door. It was Daniel Sullivan, my ex-beau. Captain Daniel Sullivan, of the New York Police. 1 saw his eyes widen as he recognized me.

“The young lady spotted this gentleman helping himself to another lady’s purse,” my constable explained. “And she was smart enough tofigureout where he'd stashed it.”

“Was she now?” I could feel Daniel still looking at me, although I didn't meet his gaze. “Allright. Take him inside and book him, boys. I'm sure he knows the way as well as you do.”

When I went to follow them inside, Daniel grabbed my arm. “Are you so cocky about your skills as a detective that you've decided to take over the duties of the New York Police?” he asked in a voice that wasn't altogether friendly.

I looked up at him. “I was in a store. I witnessed a pickpocket at work. Luckily I used my wits and was able to get him arrested.”

“Not so luckily for you,” Daniel said. “Do you know who the man is?”

I shrugged.

“He’s one of the Hudson Dusters, Molly. You do know who they are, don't you?”

I did know, only too well. There were three gangs that ruled lower Manhattan and the Hudson Dusters was one of them. I had experienced an encounter with arivalgang a few months previously and had no desire to repeat it.

“I don't need to remind you what they're like, do I, Molly?” Daniel went on. “And this character, Nobby Clark, is known to carry a grudge. He took a pot shot at one of our men who arrested him once before, you know.”

He continued to stare at me while I digested this. “I don't want you to testify if it comes to trial, is that clear? I want you to make yourself scarce before he is released. He doesn't know your name, does he?”

I shook my head.

His grip on my arm tightened. “Molly, when will you learn not to get yourself mixed up in police work?”

“Holy Mother of God, would you let go of me,” I exclaimed, shaking myself free of him. “I was only doing what any decent person would have done. If it had been my purse, I'd have wanted someone to alert me.”

He sighed. “I suppose so. And with most pickpockets that would have beenfine. Trust you tofindthe wrong one. Come on. Ill escort you home. Well leave Nobby to cool his heels in a cell for a while and then release him.”

“Release him? But he stole.”

“Your word against his, as he said. The gangs employ good lawyers. They'd get him off and he'd come looking for you. Don't worry. Well catch him when it matters.”