In Like Flynn (29 page)

“Oh,” I hadn't considered this. 'You could lend me money. You could advance me the rest of my fee.”

“All aboard!” Another whistle was blown. The station attendant had the greenflagin his hand.

I hesitated, then at the last moment I jumped up onto the train. “If you're not coming with me, I'll go to the police in Albany and get them to advance me money, based on your good name,” I shouted.

Daniel sighed and swung himself aboard as the train started to move. “What an annoying woman you are, Molly Murphy. Now you've got me going with you on a wild goose chase and you've still got bits of weed in your hair and you look like the madwoman of the Hudson.”

“Thank you for your compliments, kind sir.” I gave him a haughty stare and he burst out laughing. “Molly, what am I going to do with you?”

“You've asked me that before and I still can't answer it for you,” I said.

He sat down opposite me. “I suppose I can't ignore your fe-male intuition or your Irish second sight, can I? You've been right before.”

“I appreciate this, Daniel,” I said. “You won't be sorry, I'm sure.”

He smiled back. “What the heck. It beats having to play croquet,” he said andreachedinto his inside pocket. “But here’s my comb. The least we can do is to get half the vegetation of the river out of your hair.”

With that he set to work yanking the comb through my matted tresses. Again I was unnerved by his closeness and he must have felt the same because he suddenly handed me the comb. “I expect you can do this better than I can,” he said. “I'm bound to hurt you.”

I didn't answer that one.

Thirty-three

W
e should make a plan of campaign for when we get to Albany,” I said, and promptly fell asleep. The next thing I remember was Daniel shaking me and telling me that we were about to arrive. I had slept all of two hours. The remaining dampness in my garments had dried, leaving me redo-lent with the rather unpleasant smell of riverwater.

Two hours good sleep had worked wonders and I found myself starving hungry and ready for anything. I forced Daniel to stop at the station buffet for a ham sandwich and a glass of sarsaparilla be-fore we got down to business. I had expected Albany to be another little sleepyriversidetown and was amazed to find it a big, bustling city with tree-lined boulevards and an impressive capitol building.

Our first stop was the police headquarters, where Daniel was obviously well known and well received. We learned that Morell now had no family living in the area, no family at all in the States except for a sister in Ohio. But we came away with the address of the carriage builder where Morell had learned about automobiles and worked until he became Senator Flynn’s chauffeur. We took a cab there right away and from that grumpy, taciturn individual we learned where Albert Morell had boarded.

Bertie’s landlady had clearly fallen under his spell. “He was a dear boy, if a bit of a rogue, if you get my meaning,” she said, “But why are you asking now? He’s been dead a long while, God rest his soul.”

But she clearly loved a good gossip and mentioned that Bertie had been sweet on a girl who worked, of all places, in a hat shop. He had once bought her a locket and had it inscribed with her name: Johanna. “I don't know why that fell through,” she said.

“He was married, you know,” Daniel said.

“Married? I never knew that about him.” She put her hand to her ample bosom. “Well, mercy me. Who'd have thought it?”

Obviously the charming Mr. Morell had kept his secrets well. She could give us no more details. We noticed the lace curtain of the parlor window tweak back as we departed.

Daniel muttered about foolish women and wild-goose chases as our cab clattered around the millinery establishments of Albany. It was close to five o'clock when we entered a little shop beside a park. The shop itself was cool and dark and smelled of perfume. Madame was a distinguished-looking Frenchwoman with hair pulled back into a severe bun, a beaky nose and lorgnettes.

“Johanna Foreman?” she asked. “Oui. She once worked here, but she is now gone, many years.”

“She left you to go where?”

To get married, mademoiselle. She left me to marry a great brute of a farmer. Amos Clegg, he was called. She was a delicate little thing and I did not think she would make a good farmer’s wife, but beggars can't be choosers.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked. “She was an attractive girl, I understand. She could presumably have chosen from a selection of beaux.”

She leaned closer to me. “She was unwise, mademoiselle. She got herself into trouble and the man who trifled with her affections could not marry her. So this Clegg person was willing to overlook the circumstances and she went off to live on afarmin the middle of nowhere.”

“In the middle of nowhere? Far from here?”

She shrugged in that remarkably Gallic way. “Me, I do not con-cern myself with the geography of tlW New York countryside.“

“So she hasn't been back to visit then?”

“On one occasion, but it is again several years ago now. I'm afraid I can be of no more help to you.”

Our next dash was to the county courthouse where Daniel had to do some fast talking to get us inside as they were about to close. But once in the department of records we unearthed a helpful clerk and within half an hour we knew that Amos Qegg’s farm was outside a place called Rhinebeck, back along the train route to New York City.

We grabbed another quick bite to eat as we waited for the down train. “We'll have time to go there tonight, won't we?” I asked. “At this time of year it shouldn't become dark until almost nine, which gives us at least two more hours of daylight.”

Daniel shrugged. “Anything to get this over with and get you out of my hair.”

I tossed back my head. “Fine, if you want to get me out of your hair,” I said. “After today I won't be bothering you any further.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” he said, went to ruffle my hair and thought better of it. “And how is the earnest Jewish photographer bearing his separation from you? Have you received ten letters a day, full of yearning?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I've told Mr. Singer that I need time to consider what is best for my future,” I said. “I thought I'd have time to mull things over on this assignment, but I hadn't banked on people getting killed and me being poisoned.”

“One never does,” Daniel said, making me laugh.

It was just under an hour by train back to Rhinebeck, one of those pleasant, sleepy towns on the banks of the Hudson. We at-tempted to secure a cab at the station, upon being told that the only hack was out on a job, we were able to rent a horse and buggy from the local livery stables. Then we set out through rolling country-side, along leafy lanes, up hill and down dale. It felt about as remote as my part of Ireland and it was hard to believe that it was within a train ride of bustling New York City. Moments after we set out, the first raindrops spattered onto the buggy. The promised thunder could be heard rumbling in the distance and the sky became heavy.

“Our timing couldn't be better,” Daniel said dryly. “It looks like youll have the chance of getting yourself soaked twice in one day.”

“You could have found us a wagon with a hood,” I answered. “Still, there is a carriage rug under the seat and they said it wasn't too far, didn't they?” I leaned down to reach for the rug and draped it around us.

Daniel didn't answer but sat looking miserable as raindrops landed on his straw boater. Luckily the brunt of the storm was still to the south of us. We could hear distant rumbles of thunder but we experienced no worse than a few raindrops. After stopping to ask for directions several times, we finally found ourselves bumping up a farm track while black and white cows scattered and a horse neighed a warning.

It was a small gray stone farm house, set stark and unadorned in the middle of the fields. There was a red bam to one side and a field of com growing tall to the other. As we pulled up outside the front door, it opened and a woman’s anxiousfacepeeked out. She looked from Daniel to me and I saw aflashof recognition register.

“Are you the former Johanna Foreman?” Daniel asked her.

“Yes. What do you want?” She was hugging her arms to herself as if she was cold, even though the air steamed with the heat of the day. She looked thin and undernourished, but maybe that was just because of her hollow cheeks and pallor.

“Just to ask you some questions, if you don't mind.” Daniel jumped down and assisted me.

“You'd better come in, I suppose.” She led us through into a small/dark kitchen. Theremainsof a recent meal still littered the scrubbed pine table.

“Do you have any idea why we might have come?” Daniel asked.

“I don't know who you are.”

“I'm Captain Sullivan, New York Police. This is Miss Murphy, who’s been assisting me.”

Johanna’s eyes darted nervously to the door and back.

“You used to know Albert Morell,” Daniel said.

“Albert who?”

“Morell. From Albany.”

She shook her head. “Never heard of him.”

“But you go to putflowerson his grave every week,” I said. “I saw you.”

“What do you want with me?” She sounded close to hysterics. “Why can't you let the dead rest in peace? Albert is gone. He paid, didn't he?”

“I realize he’s gone, Mrs. Clegg,” I said. “We're hereforanother reason. I think you can guess it, can't you?”

Again she shook her head. “I've no idea.”

“You have a son?” I asked.

I saw her eyes momentarily widen, then she nodded. “Yes. I have a son.”

“Can we meet him?”

“What for?”

“Is there any reason why we shouldn't?” Daniel asked.

“None at all. Billy!” she shouted. “Come down here at once.”

There was a clatter of boots on bare wooden stairs and a sturdy lad came into the kitchen. I recognized him too. Last time I had seen him, he'd been climbing on gravestones.

“What do you want, Ma?” he asked, eyeing us suspiciously.

“My boy, Billy,” she said. “Anything else you want with me?”

The moment I had a chance to observe him closely, I saw that he could not be Brendan Flynn. Indeed, I saw only too clearly who his father was. The boy had Albert Morell’s dark Italian good looks. At the moment this registered, I heard Daniel say in annoyance, That certainly isn't Brendan Flynn.”

“Brendan Flynn?” Mrs. Clegg demanded. “You're looking for Brendan Flynn? He’s dead and buried years ago.”

“Do you have any other children, Mrs. Clegg?” Daniel asked.

She shook her head. “I had problems with this one and they said I couldn't have any more.”

I could see how awkward that would beforher husband.

“Mrs. Clegg,” I said, holding her gaze, “we need to know whether Brendan Flynn is dead or alive. If there’s any chance he’s still alive, you have to tell us.”

She seemed to deflate before our eyes and hugged her arms to herself again. “Do you think I haven't asked myself that question, day after day?”

“What happened to the Flynn baby, Mrs. Clegg?” I asked. “Didn't Albert Morell bring him to you?”

“We didn't know, did we?” Johanna Clegg whimpered again. “Bertie knew I'd do anything for him, but I never dreamed … he said it was a little girl, his cousin’s child, and his cousin had died and he was going to take the child to his sister in Ohio, only he had to work all weekend first. Would we just keep the child there overnight and he'd make sure we were well paidforour services? We had no idea—the child had long fair curls and was dressed in a bonnet and petticoats. Bertie must have thought we were very stupid, because the moment I had to change him, of course I could see it was a little boy. Then we heard the news and Amos says to me, You know who we've got here, don't you?”

She looked at us, her eyes begging us to understand. “I was all for turning the child in at the nearest police station. But Amos wouldn't let me. He said we'd be arrested for aiding and abetting. They'd think we were in on the kidnapping and just got cold feet. Whatever we did now, we'd be in for it. And Amos had a record from his earlier years. He got in a couple of fights, you see. He said he wasn't going back to jail for all the tea in China.”

I felt a sudden chill of apprehension. “So what did you do, Mrs. Clegg?”

“He did it, not me.” Her voice rose alarmingly. “I didn't want him to, but he wouldn't listen. He cut the boy’s hair and dressed him in our boy’s cast-off clothes so he wouldn't be recognized. Then he set off with the child and returned without it. I said, Did you leave the child where he'd be safely found and taken home?' And he said he wasn'triskingthat, wasn'triskingthe child being traced back to us, so he took him into Albany. He said he was planning just to dump him on a city street, but one of those orphan trains was in the station and when no one was looking, he put Brendan with all the other orphan boys.”

I heard Daniel gasp. My heart was beating so loudly I expected the others to hear it.

“What is an orphan train?” I tried to make my voice obey me.

Daniel was frowning. They gather up orphans from the cities in the East and take them tofamiliesout West. It gives them a new chance at life, so they say.”

“So Brendan could be anywhere in the country?” I stammered.

Johanna Clegg nodded. “I've prayed for forgiveness every day, but that won't bring him back, will it? Those poor people. That poor couple, not knowing their son is alive.”

“It’s too lateforhis mother,” I said. “She died this week.”

Johanna gave a great choking sob. “Oh, Lord have mercy. What did we do? I didn't want him to—I begged him, but you don't know Amos—”

Without warning the front door was thrust open and a hulk of a manfilledthe doorway. “I thought I told you no strangers on the property,” he bellowed. “Who are they? Getridof them.”

“I'm a New York City policeman,” Daniel said, “and we're here about the Flynn baby.”

They know,” Johanna Clegg whimpered to her husband.

They wouldn't have found out if you hadn't opened your big mouth, you stupid cow!” Amos Clegg raised his arm as if to strike her. Daniel stepped between them.

“That wouldn't be wise,” he said, “not unless you want to spend the night in jail.”

“You can't stop a man from hitting his own wife,” Amos Clegg said with a sneer. “It’s the law.”

“Go ahead and try if you want,” Daniel said. They faced each other—two big strapping men, eye to eye.

Amos Clegg lowered his arm, still glaring at Daniel.

“Get out of my house,” he said. “Go on. Out with you. My wife is soft in die head. She rambles. There’s no way you can ever prove that we had anything to do with the Flynn baby.”

“I think there is,” I said. I had been watching young Billy Clegg sitting in a comer, eyeing us shyly while he pretended to play with some toy soldiers. Among the soldiers was a red wooden elephant.