“Severe bruising can take several weeks to heal, as would the tearing.”
“Consistent with the timeline of her disappearance three weeks ago?”
“Yes. There’s . . . there’s something dreadful in that.” Julia looked away. “A swift act, terrible and brutal, is bad enough. But three weeks of torment . . .”
O’Malley looked at the religious medal in his hand. “Where was the poor lass all that time?”
* * *
In the afternoon, Tennant and O’Malley met Mrs. Murphy at her shop on Silver Street in Soho. The grocer’s widow still ran the business and lived comfortably in rooms above the shop. She ushered Tennant and O’Malley into a sitting room filled with evidence of her Catholic faith: a crucifix on the wall, a statue of Mary flanked by a pair of candles, and rosary beads in a dish by her rocking chair.
“Franny’s parents left Ireland in the forties and rented my basement flat,” Mrs. Murphy said. “Fleeing the hunger, only to be caught by cholera in ’54. That last terrible day, they’d left Franny with me to run errands on Broad Street and stopped at the pump for water. By nightfall, they were dead.”
O’Malley said, “No harm came to you and the lass?”
“Thank the Lord, I draw my water from the Warwick Street pump. It’s nearer the shop. Poor little Franny . . . only eight with no family left.”
“You offered her a home,” Tennant said.
Mrs. Murphy’s eyes were bright with tears. “God didn’t bless me with children, but the Good Lord sent me Franny instead.”
“You were a mother to her,” O’Malley said. “’Tis sorry I am for your loss.”
“She always called me Mrs. Murphy, but I felt like her mam.”
“The sergeant who interviewed you three weeks ago . . .” Tennant watched her eyes narrow. “His notes don’t tell us much.”
Her expression hardened. “Franny was a good girl for all that fella hinted otherwise. And him . . .” She waved around the room. “Sneering at my statues the way some Protestants do. I’m begging your pardon, Inspector, but I didn’t like the man.”
“We’re not sneering, Mrs. Murphy,” O’Malley said. “Doesn’t my sister have that same Virgin Mary in her bedroom?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his beads. “Blessed by His Holiness, they were.” He kissed the cross and put them away. “Now, what can you tell us that the other fella didn’t bother to ask?”
“I didn’t see her the morning she left. I was busy in the shop. But the night before, Franny said she might be late because a new girl at the store had invited her home for supper. That other sergeant didn’t believe me. I could see what he was thinking. He thought she’d run off with some man.”
“I believe she worked as a dressmaker’s assistant at Harvey Nicols and Company,” Tennant said. “Is that right?”
“Three years, now.”
“Did she mention the name of the new girl who invited her?”
Mrs. Murphy shook her head. “I was so glad of the invitation. Franny’s closest friend married and moved to Canada a year ago, and she missed her.”
“She had no other near acquaintances?” Tennant said.
“She walked to Mass with the Callahan girls. Sweet things they are, but I doubt they’ll tell you much. Franny hadn’t much in common with them.”
“Just the same, we’d like their names and addresses.”
“Franny was a lovely lass,” O’Malley said. “She must have had admirers.”
“Oh, she had plenty of them. ‘I’m in no hurry,’ she’d say to me. Taking her time to look about.”
“Are you recalling anything out of the ordinary?” O’Malley said. “Something that has you wondering?”
She frowned, considering. “She was working extra hours at Harvey Nicols, on and off.”
“Starting when?” Tennant asked.
“Last summer. It was strange not to have her sitting across from me in the evening, and I worried. But she was grateful for the extra money, and they sent her home in a cab.”
