The Legend of Long Jones Page 4

  “What?” Mullins was beside himself, “Are you crazy?”

  “No, but it’s been stirred in me now and I can’t shake it. It’s like that time with Gaspard Delacroix, I couldn’t stop until I knew who it was and we had him.”

  “Muc,” Mullins said, taking on a fatherly tone, “You don’t want days like the ones we had back in Dublin. Stay away from the police, from murders and more importantly murderers. It will end badly for you, I’m telling ya.”

  Muc nodded at his friend’s sage advice and let it sink in. Mullins was coming back to himself too.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Muc said then in a bargaining tone, “I’ll just find out what happened in this one case and that will be the end of it!” he roared laughing at the look of shock that came over Mullins’ face.

  AFTER A BRIEF STRUGGLE within the confines of the smithy, Muc told Mullins the full story over a drink in a small bar Mullins frequented in the evenings. The blacksmith listened to the strange tale and could make no sense of it.

  “So you think this person is huge?” he asked to clarify.

  “Must be, if what Stirling says he saw is true.”

  “Jaysus,” Mullins took a draught of his drink. “Does he have any idea who it could be? He doesn’t know any particularly tall men does he?”

  “Do you know I didn’t think to ask him that, but I will. I assume he would have volunteered that information if he had it.”

  “Maybe,” Mullins said, “But listen, if this fella is huge and can tear a throat out of a person's neck with one hand, he’s not the kind of fella you want to be messing with. I hope you’re not just looking to find this fella to fight him and prove yourself.”

  “That will always be part of it, Blacksmith, but it will never be the whole of it,” Muc smiled back.

  “Why else?” Mullins asked.

  “Do you remember Mary Sommers back home?” Muc asked.

  “Of course, Kate and her still exchange letters,” Mullins said. Mary Sommers had been attacked by a serial killer in Dublin many years ago and had remained pivotal in the cases that followed. She had been a housemate of Mullins’ now wife Kate and was now married and living in Liverpool, England. “What has she to do with this?”

  “A day before I met Stirling, his sister came to me asking for help in the case, and she reminded me of Mary Sommers asking for help.”

  “Why did she come to you?”

  “She heard about my investigatin’ in Dublin,” Muc said, and Mullins rolled his eyes, “But anyway, I turned her away. It wasn’t until I met the lad himself when the sister began to plague my thoughts. She was the deciding factor in my giving the lad a chance and going out to look at the scene.” Mullins shook his head ruefully at this last repeated fact.

  “Don’t get involved Muc,” he said lifting his drink again.

  “I’m already involved,” Muc smiled at his friend knowingly, “and now, so are you!”

  Chapter 4

  That evening when home, Mullins seethed in front of the fire as he thought about Stephanie O’Malley’s murder. Muc had known how to get inside his head, Mullins had to give him that. Despite his size and fearsome look (not to mention a propensity for violence when drunk) Mullins was soft at heart. What was more, murderers of women was something that fomented rage in his heart for a long time now, ever since the time of ‘The Dolocher’ murders in Dublin in 1788 when his own wife Kate had so nearly come to her end. She had been targeted subsequently by two other killers and had been the intense interest of the man who turned out to be behind all of that almost decade long mayhem in their home country. As soon as they had money enough, Kate and Mullins left that horrid place and all those foul memories forever.

  Kate had admonished him when he came in the door,

  “You’ve been with Muc again, haven’t you?” she smiled hitting him with a cleaning rag as he came in, “I can smell the drink on you.”

  “It was all very civil though,” Mullins play protested, his hands surrendering half in the air before he dropped one of his huge hands over her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her on the cheek.

  “Get off,” she laughed pushing him away, “The stink of that whiskey!”

  They ate dinner and had some tea afterwards before Kate tidied up. When she finished she saw her husband sitting by the fire and she knew something was bothering him deeply. He’d hidden it well since coming home, or else only now had the chance to manifest in him. Whatever it was it was sure to have to do with Lord Muc.

  “What’s up?” Kate asked settling into the chair beside him, half on his lap and half not. Mullins looked at her and decided she may as well know the truth.

  “Muc was telling me about that girl who was killed by the Collect Pond,” he said.

  “What does he know about it?”

  “He seems sure the boyfriend, the one the police are looking for, didn’t have anything to do with it and now Muc is looking into it on his behalf.”

  “Muc knows where he is?”

  “Muc’s the one hiding him,” Mullins answered, “At least now he is.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this,” Kate said, folding her arms like some decision had been made.

  “I didn’t either when he first started talking but he made me think differently on it.”

  “How?”

  “There’s a sister involved too, the boyfriend’s. She came to Muc looking for his help. She doesn’t know Muc has him hidden now. She made me think of you and Mary,” Mullins said. Kate had no argument against this. If it hadn’t been for Mullins’ sense of duty to her she would have been killed long ago. She couldn’t well deny someone else that same protection if he was willing to offer it. “Also,” Mullins went on, “I know first-hand what it’s like to be the wrong man and how dangerous that can be.” This was a sore subject between Mullins and his wife, one that had seen them separate for almost a year when she did something immoral to save him from the gallows when he was arrested for crimes he didn’t commit. Kate felt shame burn her face as he spoke.

  “I don’t want you to be in danger, or trouble,” she whispered to him pressing her face against his large bicep.

  “Neither do I,” he said, “But I don’t want to see a young fellow die for something he didn’t do either.” Though she was terrified at what he was saying, Kate was also very proud of her husband. She knew already, of course, what kind of man he was, but not many others around New York did. He’d laid low (apart from his fighting) since they arrived but now she supposed, people would come to know of him when this young man was proven innocent. She just hoped no one else had to get hurt along the way.

  LORD MUC WASN’T OVERLY surprised to see Alice Stirling at his gate when he got home. She was shivering and her skin was as white as the snow laying all about. She saw him approach and made an effort not to look so pathetic.

  “Come on into the house,” he said passing by without stopping, “Kay will make you something to warm you up.” Tobias looked up from the sheds as Muc lifted the bolt on the gate and then went back to his work without comment.

  “I’m not moving from this spot until you promise you’re going to help me!” Alice said steadfastly. Muc was amused and a little impressed by her gumption. He could crush her in one hand and yet here she was standing up to him.

  “We’ll talk inside,” he said not turning to her and continued on into the house. Alice stood there a moment longer looking through the still open gate, before rushing in after him. Tobias smiled, shook his head and then walked over and closed the gate. He glanced up and down the road before going back to his station.

  “Mr Muc?” Alice called out inside the house. Muc laughed from the kitchen and she followed this noise.

  “It’s Lord Muc or just Muc,” he said when she came into the room. Kay was over the stove, as ever, and she dished up a bowl of something steaming and put it on the table. “Sit down and eat that,” Muc said nodding in thanks to Kay as she passed him. “You look like ice.”

  “
Are you going to help me or not?” Alice asked from the doorway; her face bearing a mask of grim determination.

  “My, my, you’re a stubborn little miss aren’t you?” Muc smiled at her. “I’m already helping you,” he added after a moment. He nodded to the bowl again. Alice stood a moment more and then went to the table and sat down.

  “How are you already helping me?” she asked before taking up the spoon.

  “I’ve looked into it, and I’ve gone to where the murder took place.”

  “And what did you find out?”

  “I don’t believe your brother did it.”

  “I know he didn’t do it,” her voice sounded like a challenge to him. Muc regarded her a moment and then asked,

  “What do you know of the woman who was killed?”

  “Sadly nothing,” she said, “I knew of her existence and her first name through David, but I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

  “Because they had to do everything in secret?”

  “Yes.” She looked a little impressed herself that he knew this but then a new thought seized her. “Have you spoken to my brother?” Muc nodded and took a spoonful of porridge. “Where is he?” Alive pressed him.

  “That I don’t know,” he said, “I told him to keep hiding until I found out what really happened.” He measured her response to this and saw in her slumped shoulders that she was unaware of her brother’s location. That was best for now.

  “How was he when you saw him? “Alice asked, a tremble of fear in her voice no doubt fearing the answer.

  “He was hungry and tired, but he’s been rested now, fed and clothed in warm coverings. He’ll be much better off now.”

  “He was here?”

  “Yes, for a few hours. And it was after you’d been here talking to me.”

  “I can’t have missed him by much,” she said mostly to herself.

  “Tell me of the girl’s parents,” Muc said, “Well the father mostly?” Alice looked up at him, “I know you didn’t know them either, but what impression did David give of them?” David hadn’t mentioned them when Muc spoke to him save saying they did not approve of the relationship. It clearly hadn’t passed the boys mind that perhaps an enraged father had been the killer.

  “He only said the parents didn’t approve because they wanted Stephanie to marry into money, or at least to someone with the prospect of money to come.”

  “Which they didn’t think was David?” Alice shook head as though saying yes would make her in agreement with them.

  “Did the father ever threaten David?”

  “Not that he ever spoke of, “Alice said, “I suppose it could have happened.” Muc nodded. This would be the first theory he would be looking into.

  “Do you know where her parents live?”

  “No, David never said.”

  “That’s alright, I’ll find them easy enough. Now eat that before it gets cold.”

  IN THE STILL OF NIGHT a light but frequent tapping roused Jeremiah Roan from his sleep. He sat up in bed and looked about for the source of the noise but could find no cause. He listened more intently, thinking perhaps some rodent had made its way into his room and was in need of killing.

  The noise came again. It was the window shutters, or more accurately something hitting off them from the outside. He got out of bed and felt the freezing cold of the dusty floor on his feet before searching out his slippers. His breath was a thick mist in the room as he made his way to the window. Being on the second floor he felt confident in opening the shutters to admonish or scare away whatever was the source of the noise. He was most surprised to see a tall man shrouded in black standing in the street below.

  The man’s head was tilted up but Jeremiah found it hard to make out a face within the hoods he wore. All of a sudden fear gripped Jeremiah and he stammered,

  “Who’s down there?” and then trying with more confidence in his voice, “What business have you throwing stones at my window in the dead of night?” The hooded figure didn’t answer but stood regarding the man leaning out the window. Jeremiah didn’t know what to make of this. He wanted the man to move on but he didn’t have the courage to say so.

  “What do you...” Jeremiah never got to finish his sentence. At that moment, as incredulous as it seemed he felt the man’s hand grip hard on his throat. How was he able to reach from the ground!!!! Jeremiah grasped at the wrist and it was as hard as anything he’d ever felt in his life. He did his best to pull and push at the limb but it was to no avail. The pain shrieked through his neck as it closed like stone on his throat crushing his windpipe. Jeremiah could make no sound and as a last gasp effort to stay alive he tried to pull himself back inside the window frame but it was to no avail. There was a crisp snap in the night air and then a splattering noise as blood spewed forth into the blue night, covering the man below and the ground around him. Jeremiah’s dead body slumped out the window, throatless, and dangled head down towards the cobbles. The hooded figure walked away slowly, leaving a trail of blood in his wake as far as the corner.

  LORD MUC’S INTENT THE next morning was to go and observe Mr James O’Malley, father of the murdered Stephanie. He wanted to get a feel for the man and try to gauge him before speaking to him. The funeral of his daughter had not yet taken place as the body was only due for release to the family this morning from the police mortuary. James O’Malley would be at his rawest today no doubt and that could tell Muc everything he wanted to know. That was the plan until word of this new murder, again a throat ripped from the body, came on the morning grapevine. Muc made the home of Jeremiah Roan his new first port of call.

  Despite the bitter cold, a large crowd had gathered in the street. Muc saw Sergeant Malwey talking to one of his officers near the building. Other officers were holding the crowd back in a large semi-circle away from the building. Up above, the body of Jeremiah Roan- the most famous man in New York today- lay slumped out his bedroom window on the first floor. Blood ran down the building facade in a large ugly stain and getting closer Muc could see the mess of gore on the ground as well. He noted there was a drier patch in the middle- this is where the killer had stood. He must have been covered in blood as he got away.

  Muc looked down at the ground near him and approximated the distance the man would have been standing from the building and then faced the wall himself. The window in front of him on the same floor where Jeremiah lay was well out of Muc’s reach from here, and should have been out of the reach of any man he’d ever seen. Getting Stephanie O’ Malley in the tree was a much easier reach than this one.

  Muc was puzzled but he wasn’t afforded the time to think on this. Eyes were burning into him and he looked around, thinking it was going to be the young man from the bar. It wasn’t. Instead the suspicious eyes of Sergeant Malwey met his own. Muc could see Malwey measure him up against the building and he didn’t like the insinuation. He scowled at the sergeant and then moved through the crowd to be able to see the ground where the killer had stood better.

  Crowds of people gathering and moving around the streets had all but destroyed the scene. It was clear where the bulk of the blood and anything else that came out of Roan’s body had fallen and where the killer had stood, but any chance of getting footprints was long gone. There was a trail of rose coloured snow leading away towards the far corner and Muc could only assume this a bloody trail left by the killer at the time. How far did the stain of his crime follow him when the ground was fresh? That was something it was unlikely Muc would ever know.

  He decided to follow the trail all the same. There was unlikely to be anything said here that he couldn’t pick up on later on. He’d seen the body, seen the position of the killer and it matched in his mind with what had happened to Stephanie O’Malley and gave credence to David’s tale. It also put a dent in Muc’s suspicion of James O’Malley- unless some animosity could be found between him and Jeremiah Roan.

  The slushy trail of blood was clear enough to the corner and even gave a hint of the dir
ection the killer might have gone from there. However, it did seem to stop dead just at the point. Muc continued in the direction the blood seemed to indicate and studied the ground carefully as he walked. After going twenty yards up this new street he hadn't found anything. He retraced his steps and found nothing on the way back to the corner either.

  He then decided to cross the road and continue on the next block. The street was a mess of wheel tracks and mud turned up beneath the snow, impossible to make out anything, but on the pathway on the far side he came up trumps. Two small slushes of rose red. Blood was here. He walked on a little more and found another one. This is where he’d gone. Muc followed and though the dots became father and farther apart he made it two more street corners before he lost the track. Going back to the corner closest to where he found the last drop, Muc looked down the length of the street to where he could see the crowd still gathered outside the victims building.

  On his way back to the first corner Muc looked around for some door or window that might hold people who worked through the night, someone who may have seen the killer even if they didn’t know it. Nothing looked too likely, this wasn’t a part of town known for its night time delights.

  At the corner, Lord Muc stopped and looked down at the slush once more. There was a definite turn there that didn’t look as though general traffic over the snow had caused. The man had meant to turn here, or at least started to, Muc thought. He looked in the direction the killer would have gone had he taken this route.

  “What changed your mind?” he said to himself. Was something still open, or was there perhaps someone coming? He walked along this street again looking about for anything that might give him a clue. None of the businesses were of the night variety and there were no bars or taverns along it either. Muc stopped in the middle of the road and looked all around him. What would make a man fearless enough to kill as he did, and covering himself in blood, change direction at the last moment? Surely it couldn't have been one man stumbling home after a night of drinking. That man would be dead too, surely. Even a police officer didn’t feel right to Muc, for why wouldn't that man be dead as well? Nothing came to mind that would make sense to him. Perhaps a group of men was the answer? Something to look into?