Free Murphy's Law by Rhys Bowen

woman spoke again. "Why, it was that man O'Malley," she said. "The one you slapped across the face."
    I have to admit that my first reaction was one of relief. O'Malley was dead. He wouldn't be stirring up any trouble for me with the immigration inspectors. He wouldn't be waiting to make things hard for me in New York. He wouldn't be making trouble for anyone. He was gone. I knew that any good Catholic would be praying for his immortal soul at this moment, but I had never been a good Catholic. I was glad he was gone. Now I was one step closer to being home free.
    I squeezed myself and the children onto the bench beside Michael.
    "In your dormitory, was it?" I asked.
    He still looked shocked and ashen.
    "I was the first person to discover him," Michael said. "His throat ... he was wearing that red neck scarf ... bright red ... and all that blood ..." He closed his eyes and shuddered. "I wished him ill, but not like that. No human should be butchered like that. ..."
    I put my hand on his arm. "Here, drink a cup of coffee. You'll feel better."
    After about an hour of sitting, waiting, and speculating we were led through into the great hall they call the registry room. There were only enough of us to fill the front few benches and the hall echoed to the clatter of our feet. They obviously hadn't allowed any more ships to land. The big room was cold and drafty without the benefit of all those bodies. I found myself shivering and wrapped my shawl close around me.
    Bridie, completely unaware of the horrors of the night, was full of beans and wanted to run around. She squirmed and fussed on my lap until I let Seamus take her off into a corner where the other children were playing. It was then I noticed that men were guarding the doorways--they weren't dressed in the braid and peaked caps of the island guards, but in blue uniforms and tall helmets. Instantly recognizable as policemen. They stood, motionless, watching us.
    A group of men came into the room. Some of them were uniformed, too, but the administrator who addressed us yesterday was with them, deep in conversation with a young man wearing a derby and the sort of tweed jacket you might see in Ireland. I wondered if they had already detained a suspect, but then the
    young man looked up, nodded, and laughed. Clearly not a suspect, then.
    Mr. McSweeney stepped out in front of us and held up his hand for silence, although we had been sitting in close to silence since we got there. "As some of you have heard, there has been a terrible tragedy. A man has been killed. You will all be asked to make a statement to the police. Interpreters will be provided for those who don't speak English. Please remain in your seats until you are called."
    Then the young man in the tweed jacket stepped out in front of us. "We'd like to thank you all for your patience. I'm Captain Daniel Sullivan of the New York City Police. I'm running this investigation." He was brawny, well built, and looked far too young to be a captain of anything. "If any of you have anything at all that might help us solve this vicious crime, anything you know about the man who was killed, anything you saw or heard last night, then please come and tell me or one of my men. Even if you think it's something very small or unimportant, tell us. The last boat left the island at six o'clock last night, which means, as I'm sure you can figure out, that the crime was committed by someone who was among us last night and is still among us. None of you will be leaving this island until we've got this matter solved."
    Interpreters got up and presumably translated what had been said. There were moans of anguish as the foreigners understood. One by one we were directed to stations where policemen and inspectors checked off lists. I went up when it was my turn. They asked my name and a clerk checked me against a master list.
    "Traveling alone?" the policeman asked. "With my children, Seamus and Bridie. My husband will be meeting us when you let