Oh Danny Boy (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #5)

I hit the water with surprising force. It was so cold as I went under that it took my breath away. I came up gasping and was immediately buffeted by an incoming wave. I trod water and looked around me, trying to see where I might be able to swim to shore and escape. Surely the bathing area wasn’t completely enclosed, was it? The waves must be able to roll, unhindered, to the shore. I let the next wave sweep me along with it. Then I saw that there was an ironwork grille around the sides of the bathing enclosure. The water went through easily, but not I.

Now I was trapped in here. I swam silently to the side of the pool, and maneuvered myself under the ironwork walkway, which ran all the way around the edge. I could no longer see him, but then the walkway vibrated and I realized that he must be running along it somewhere above me. All he’d have to do was look down and he’d spot me. I ducked as low as possible into the water. When the next wave came in, I let it break over me.

I waited, holding my breath, for what seemed an age. The walkway hadn’t vibrated again. I looked around but could see no human shape in the darkness. Then I spotted the steps. They came right down into the water, for bathers to lower themselves into the waves with ease, and they seemed to go up and up, maybe right up to the pier again. If I could sneak up without his seeing me, if I could get a decent lead on him, I’d be safe. I swam over to them and grabbed the railing, until my foot touched the solid iron of a step. I hauled myself out and stood on the platform just above the water level, listening and looking. Nothing moved and any sound was drowned out by the noises coming from the Bowery. Sounds of music floated toward me, and that mechanical laughter from the fun house.

All at once my body was doubled up with cramps, I bent over, gasping for air. As I looked down at my shoes I saw that they were stained black. Then I realized that the liquid running down my legs was not water, it was blood. Another wave of cramps came, and I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from crying out. How could I escape if I couldn’t even move? At first I thought I must have injured myself in the fall into the water. It took a moment before I realized what was really happening to me and another moment before I knew that this had happened before. It was the scene of my nightmare.





THIRTY-EIGHT




Suddenly a bright light shone down into the water. “Hey you, what are you doing down there?” a voice demanded.

The light had picked out the figure of Detective Quigley, standing on the upper level of walkway.

“I’m a police officer,” he shouted back. “I witnessed a young girl fall into the water. I think she must have tried to commit suicide. But I don’t see her anymore. Go and get help right away.”

“Right you are, sir,” the voice shouted back, and there were yells for help. I came slowly up the steps. He was going to let me go. Help was on its way. Almost instantly feet came running along the iron companionways.

“Here she is, down here,” someone shouted, and I was grabbed and carried up the steps. The pain had now become overwhelming. I tried to fight it, but it felt as if my whole body was encased in a ring of fire.

“Don’t worry, miss, we’ll get you to a hospital right away,” a kind voice was saying. I opened my eyes to see a constable looking down at me.

“I’ve got my police wagon parked nearby. Let’s get her to that.” I heard Quigley’s voice. “I’ll take her straight to the hospital.”

“No. Not with him,” I tried to shout. “Fetch Mrs. Goodwin. Captain Paxton, at the fight.”

They were carrying me relentlessly, across the boardwalk, down the steps toward Surf Avenue.

“Not with him.” I managed to get the words out this time. “He’ll kill me.”

“She’s hysterical, poor girl,” Quigley’s calm voice said. “It’s all right, miss. I’m a police officer.”

From the Bowery came a loud roar and a crowd swept toward us, laughing and shouting.

“Three cheers for Gentleman Jack, he’s the best!” men were chanting.

“Knockout in sixteen rounds,” someone volunteered. “He’s out stone-cold.”

And then, miraculously, I heard a man’s voice shout, “Quigley, what’s going on here?”

I managed to half-open my eyes. It was Captain Paxton.

“We’ve just rescued this girl, sir,” Quigley answered. “She fell off the pier. I’ve got a vehicle waiting on Surf Avenue, and I’m taking her to the hospital.”

“Good man,” Paxton said, and went to move on with the crowd.

I made a supreme effort to take in enough air to speak. “He’s the one!” I shouted. “The East Side Ripper. He’s just as guilty. Stop him.”

“She’s right, sir,” Quigley shouted over me and over the noise on the street. “I have found the East Side Ripper. At the freak show. Calls himself the human tree. This young woman would have become his next victim if I hadn’t intervened. We must get men over there right away. When we left he was trying to burn down the place. And shoot to kill. He’s dangerous.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll get him. You take this young lady to the hospital,” Paxton said and started to move away again.

“This way, boys,” Quigley said to the two men who were carrying me. “Only just over here.”