Free Murder on St. Nicholas Avenue by Victoria Thompson

for the city, the structure had almost immediately begun to sink into the marshy ground and crack. Repairs had kept the place functioning for over sixty years, although no one had been able to eliminate the creeping mold and the stench from the seeping groundwater. The city had finally decided to tear the place down and rebuild it. For a year now, they’d been doing just that while leaving the prisoners inside as the work went on around them.
    Maeve identified herself as Una O’Neill’s cousin, and after making her way carefully around scaffolding and construction debris, she finally arrived at the women’s section of the prison, where a female guard admitted her after checking the contents of her basket for anything untoward.
    â€œSomebody already brought her clothes,” the guard said.
    â€œI know, but this is her favorite dress. She wanted it special.”
    The guard made a rude noise. “Special for what?”
    Maeve shrugged. “Where is she?” she asked, suddenly realizing she didn’t have any idea what Una looked like. How would she explain her failure to recognize her own cousin?
    â€œIn her cell. She never comes out.” To Maeve’s relief, she pointed to one of the cubicles that lined the large central gathering area. All the cell doors stood open at this time of day, so most of the inmates were sitting at tables or gathered in groups to sew or knit or just gossip.
    The buzz of conversation noticeably silenced as Maeve crossed the room and entered Una O’Neill’s cell. Most of thewomen jailed here would be prostitutes or thieves, so an accused murderess would be something of a celebrity. Her visitors would certainly be objects of great interest to the other inmates.
    Maeve paused in the doorway of the tiny cell. The Tombs had no proper windows anywhere, and the narrow, foot-long slit in the outside wall in each cell admitted little light and less air. Gaslights burned in the gathering area, but their feeble glow barely reached here. After a moment, Maeve could make out the figure lying on the bunk, curled into itself as if for protection.
    â€œUna? Are you awake?”
    Maeve had to step closer to see that her eyes were open. She met Maeve’s gaze fearfully.
    â€œUna, my name is Maeve. I’m here to help you. I brought you some things.” She held up the basket. “I have some cake. Would you like some?”
    â€œShe don’t eat nothing,” someone said.
    Maeve looked back to see a woman standing just outside the cell. She wore a flashy dress cut just a little too low in front, and her hair was a shade of red not found in nature, with black roots starting to show. “Who are you?”
    The woman raised her chin defiantly. “Her friend.”
    â€œAnd I’m her cousin,” Maeve said. She glanced meaningfully around the cell. “I think her mother brought some of her clothes over yesterday. I wonder where they could be?” She looked back at the red-haired woman, giving her the look her grandfather had made her practice in the mirror until she got it just right. “If they’ve been stolen, it’ll go hard on that person.”
    The woman’s chin dropped instantly. “I been keeping her stuff for her so nobody else would take it.”
    â€œYou can bring it back, then. Right now,” Maeve added when the woman didn’t move.
    The woman’s mouth twisted with fury, but she scurried off.
    Maeve turned to Una, who stared back with wide-eyed amazement. “You need to sit up.”
    Without bothering to get consent, Maeve set down her basket and lifted Una to a sitting position, swinging her feet down to the floor so she sat on the side of the bunk.
    â€œHave you eaten anything today?” Maeve asked.
    Una continued to stare at her, and for a moment, Maeve was afraid she wouldn’t reply, but at last she shook her head.
    â€œI brought you some cake.” Maeve pulled the bundle from