The Edge of Dreams (6 page)

“So you think it might be someone with a grudge against you?”

“It’s a possibility,” he said. “And what better way to get back at me than killing you.”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head again. “That’s rubbish, Daniel. He could not have known which train I would take. In fact, I was going to board the Sixth Avenue train that came right before it. Only…” I broke off.

“Only what?” Daniel asked sharply, reading my expression.

“A man came running past and bumped into me, knocking me backward. By the time I had righted myself the doors had closed.”

“Did you happen to see what this man looked like?”

“No, it was all a blur. The platform was horribly crowded. I had Liam in my arms. I was most concerned about holding onto him and not falling. But it was a young man, I think. Slim—at least not portly. Wearing some kind of dark suit, dark hat.” I paused, frowning. “That’s all. As I said, it was all a blur.”

Daniel sighed.

“But how could he…” I began.

“He made you miss the Sixth Avenue train, Molly. Knowing that a Ninth Avenue was following it.”

“But he didn’t know I’d take the Ninth Avenue train. I might well have waited for the next Sixth Avenue—after all, that station was much more convenient for me. That is what I was planning to do actually, until I decided to stop at the French bakery and bring Sid and Gus their favorite croissants. And if he was on the platform, having bumped into me, he could hardly be in the signal box, changing the points, could he?”

“It does all sound rather far-fetched, I agree. And maybe I’m reading too much into this, because it was my wife and child in danger. But the man is an opportunist, Molly. He has taken tremendous risks before, and we know he didn’t succeed in killing the person he wanted to kill today.”

“If at first you don’t succeed,” I said. “The rest of that phrase is ‘try, try again.’ That’s not very encouraging, is it?”

“You stay put right here. I’ll have a man stationed to keep an eye on you, and you are supposed to be resting and recuperating anyway. The murderer won’t know where you are now.”

“I still can’t believe this, Daniel. If someone wanted to kill me, he could have hidden in the bushes when I was up in Westchester County and shot or stabbed me when I went out for a walk. He could have strangled me in the apartment when you were out.”

“True,” Daniel nodded. “And I may just be clutching at straws, Molly. There may have been someone else on that train—someone who took that very train to work every day—whom he wanted to dispose of. It’s just that I’ve been a policeman long enough that I don’t like coincidences. And this was a pretty big coincidence.”

“If it is someone with a grudge against you—why try to kill me and not you?”

“Maybe he wants to punish me. And what could be worse punishment than killing my wife and son?”

I was finding this conversation more and more disturbing, but I tried to sound detached and professional as I continued, “And the other people he has killed so far? Is it possible they have any connection to you? Have their murders been to punish you?”

He shook his head. “No connection to me at all. No connection to each other, as far as we can tell. At least none of the family members whom we have questioned has ever heard of the other victims.”

“Maybe you should give me the details,” I said. “If I’m to lie here and recuperate, I’ll have time to ponder. Perhaps I’d come up with some kind of connection you’d overlooked.”

“Oh, no, Molly,” he began. “You know how I feel about involving you in my cases.”

“You’re not involving me. You’re just adding the perspective of a woman—a woman detective, and though I say so myself, a darned good one.”

He looked at me long and hard. “Very well,” he said. “You should rest tonight, but I’ll come and see you tomorrow and have one of the clerks write out a list of the various murders for you. That way you can take notes.”

“Speaking of notes,” I said. “What do you know about the notes that he sent? Any telltale features?”

“None at all. They were typewritten by an ordinary Remington typewriter on the sort of onionskin paper you’d find in any office.”

“No damaged keys on the typewriting machine?”

“Nothing unusual.”

“Have your men asked who might have purchased a typewriting machine recently? I shouldn’t imagine too many people buy such things.”

“It’s fairly easy to get your hands on a typewriter these days,” Daniel said. “Our murderer could work in an office or bank.”

“How about fingerprints on the paper?”

“None. Which is interesting in itself, isn’t it? He’s meticulous. Not making any errors. Of course there were several on the envelopes, but one would expect that—sorters at the post officer, delivery men, even the constable manning the front desk.”

“So they were mailed? Not hand-delivered?”

“Only today’s was hand-delivered.”

“And nobody remembers what the person who delivered it looked like?”

“It was a small boy. That’s all they could tell me. One of the street urchins given a coin to run an errand. He handed it to a woman coming into police headquarters to make a complaint and ran off. She couldn’t remember what he looked like. We’ve little chance of finding the right one again.”

“So your man was close by—close enough to engage the services of a street urchin.”

Daniel sighed. “Who knows? He may have been following my every move.”

“Then he may know you are here right now.”

“Hardly likely. I took a cab from City Hall. We went at a hell of a lick too, and I could swear there was no one following us.”

“So what about the postmark on the letters? Were they all mailed from the same place?”

“The first few were mailed from Grand Central Terminal,” he said. “There is a mail drop in the main station area. As you can imagine thousands of people pass it all the time. But we set a man to keep watch there day and night and the next note was posted at the main post office.”

“He’s one step ahead of you all the time,” I said.

“It certainly seems that way.”

“When did these notes start coming, Daniel?”

“The first one came in May, right after you’d sailed for Europe. Right before the first murder.”

“And what did it say?”

“It said ‘When I was alive I was unjustly accused of a crime I didn’t commit. Now I am dead I can exact retribution with impunity.’”

“Holy Mother of God!” I exclaimed. “We’re dealing with a ghost.”

I stared at Daniel not knowing what to say.

“Now you see why this is complicated.” Daniel said. “I can’t help feeling that someone is having a good laugh at our expense. Obviously I don’t believe in ghosts and I certainly don’t think that they can mail letters from Grand Central Depot. Or use typewriting machines, for that matter.”

“So it has to be a living person claiming to be someone else, someone who has died,” I said slowly, considering each word as it came out. “Maybe someone who feels a relative or friend was punished unjustly and wants revenge on his behalf?”

“That’s possible, I suppose,” Daniel said.

I was warming to this idea. “And he feels you were responsible for the wrongful conviction and death of this person. That should be easy enough to trace, Daniel. You need to come up with a list of people who were executed based on your investigation and evidence. There can’t be that many.”

“I’ve been in the police department for fifteen years, Molly. I’ve been involved in quite a few murder investigations.”

“But not hundreds, surely. How many murder trials are there each year, for the love of Mike? And how many result in a death sentence?”

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose it’s not an overwhelming number. But it may not necessarily have been a murder trial followed by an execution. It may have been as simple as someone dying as a result of a disease he caught while in prison, or being murdered by another inmate. Or even someone who died of shock or grief after a trial. How could I ever check on those?”

“You could start with what I suggested,” I said, quite animated by the challenge now and forgetting the twinges in my side. “A list of all your murder trials, especially the ones that resulted in a death sentence. That gives us somewhere to start. I’m surprised you haven’t done that before.”

A spasm of annoyance crossed Daniel’s face and I realized I shouldn’t have said this. Daniel liked to think of himself as the superior detective, with me as the lucky amateur.

“To be fair, Molly,” he said, “it was only today, after this last note, that I began to take seriously the notion that these killings could have anything to do with me in particular, rather than the police in general. I still don’t know that to be true.”

I was about to say that I had been the one who suggested that he might be the link between the crimes, but this time I wisely kept quiet. Men are easily upset over such matters, I’ve noted.

“We do know a couple of things about him, don’t we?” I went on.

“And those are?” He still sounded testy.

“We know that he’s an educated person. He knows how to use a typewriting machine and he uses words like ‘retribution’ and ‘impunity.’ That is not the vocabulary of a man in the street.”

“And the other thing?”

“He is right here in New York City. On the spot, ready to hand a note to a street urchin. That’s something I could do for you when I’m a little better—”

“What?” He was looking at me warily.

“I could question some of the street children in the area around Mulberry Street. They’d never talk to the police but they might see me as less of a threat. And the man may have paid the boy well—something he’d have boasted about to his friends.”

Daniel shook his head firmly. “Molly—what have we just been talking about? It’s quite possible that the train wreck today was caused because someone wanted to kill you.” He held up his hand. “I know it’s far-fetched. It could well be that our killer is deranged and delusional and gets a thrill from claiming responsibility for such a dramatic accident, but really had nothing to do with it. Nevertheless, we have to take his words seriously and consider the fact that you may be in danger. So the last thing I’d want you to do is to blunder into the middle of the spider’s web.”

“I could disguise myself,” I said. “I’ve done it before—I’ve even dressed as a street urchin myself.”

He laughed now. “I don’t expect you fooled anybody for more than a second,” he said.

“I’ll have you know that some boy was ready to fight me for taking over his patch as a crossing sweeper,” I said.

Daniel snorted. “Molly, listen to me. I am sharing some details of this case with you because you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and you seem to bring a fresh perspective—and because it appears you might be personally involved. But I am not allowing you to go looking for trouble. You are to stay put and heal from your injuries. And that is an order.”

“An order?” I sat up straight now. “You think you can order me around, Daniel Sullivan?”

I was staring him straight in the eye.

“You’re wanting to do field investigation on my case, and I give the orders to my team of officers,” he said. “And as your husband, I’ll do anything within my power to keep you safe.” He reached out and stroked my hair, which was hanging loose over my shoulders. “I don’t want to lose you, Molly. I nearly lost you and Liam earlier this year. I want to be able to get on with my work, knowing that you are both out of harm’s way. Don’t you understand that?”

His hand caressing my hair had a disturbing effect. All the fight evaporated from me. “I do understand, Daniel, and you’re right. It would be like offering myself as bait, and I can’t do that.”
At least not yet,
I added silently.

“Did I mention recently that you have lovely hair?” he said, looking at me with a sparkle of desire in his eyes. “You’re a very attractive woman.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Daniel. I’ve ribs that are all strapped up and hurt me to breathe.”

“And a minute ago you were suggesting running all over town talking to street urchins,” he said. “But don’t worry. I’ll save the thought for later, when we’re back in our own home.” He stood up. “I should be going. I haven’t had a thing to eat since God knows when.”

“I’m sure Sid and Gus could find you something.”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m not in a mood for small talk and politeness. I’d rather pick up a pint and a sausage in a bar.” He bent to kiss me. “Stay put and stay safe, my love. Don’t do anything foolish. I’ll stop by in the morning with the details I promised you on the various notes and murder victims, and you can ponder them at leisure.”

“Maybe Sid and Gus would have some brilliant thoughts,” I said. “Three heads are better than one, and they are both highly educated women.”

“Oh, no, please.” Daniel held up his hand. “I must insist that you mention none of this to your friends. This is an ongoing police investigation, Molly. I am only including you this once as I feel I owe it to you to be as informed as possible. But it cannot be discussed with anyone else, especially not with your friends. It could jeopardize our operation.”

“I hardly think that anything my friends do could damage your investigation, Daniel,” I started to say, but he cut in.

“Molly, I must have your word on this. It is not to be discussed or even mentioned. Do you promise?”

“If it’s so important to you, then I suppose so,” I said grudgingly. Daniel had never really taken to Sid and Gus, thinking them to be outlandish and frivolous, which they were in some ways. But he had never come to appreciate their kindness and generosity and their great love of life that was infectious to all those around them. I looked upon them as the sisters I had never had, and I couldn’t picture life without them.

After Daniel had gone, I realized, of course, that he was right. Sid and Gus did tend to look upon detective work as an exciting game. And if they knew that someone had tried to kill me, I wouldn’t put it past them to shadow me everywhere I went. At least I knew I was safe in their house for now, and if a deranged man in New York City had really tried to derail a train to kill me, he would think I was still in the women’s ward in Roosevelt Hospital.