A Journeyman to Grief (8 page)

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll look over what Fyfer has written, then I’m going to have a chat with Green’s helper, Mr. Talbert.”

Crabtree left. Murdoch pushed the little treasure trove to one side, took out his pipe and tobacco, lit up, and unfolded Fyfer’s report.

CHAPTER
TEN

THURSDAY, APRIL
16, 1896

R
eport of Constable Second Class Frank Fyfer.

Mr. Daniel Cooke, deceased, employed six cab drivers. Four of them were present when constable first class George Crabtree and I arrived at the livery stable, 76 Mutual Street, city of Toronto. They were Robert Littlejohn, Joseph Wallace, Albert Carney, and Robert Robson; Thomas Muckle is down with pneumonia and has not been working for a month; Paul Musgrave was expected in later this morning. I interviewed each man separately, but as I was asking the same question of each I thought it would be simpler and add clarification if I listed first the question then the answer each man made. The comparisons might prove fruitful. I have written down in their own words what they said.

“Get on with it, Frank,” Murdoch muttered out loud and drew in another puff of tobacco.

1. When did you last see Mr. Cooke?

Robert Littlejohn:
When I returned the carriage at three o’clock yesterday.

Joseph Wallace:
Twice. First when I took out the carriage at eleven o’clock and second when I brought it back at one o’clock. The bloody horse had cast a shoe, so I didn’t get much business. I considered going out on another shift, but it’s hardly worth it when we have to be all done by eight o’clock on Wednesdays.

Albert Carney:
I saw him when I took out Mercer at nine o’clock and again when I brought her back at two o’clock.

Robert Robson:
I checked out at ten minutes past three and he signed the sheet. When I returned at seven o’clock he was not present to initial my sign-off but that was not so unusual so I left not thinking anything of it. Wednesday is an early closing day.

2. How did he seem?

Littlejohn:
I didn’t notice. Businesslike, I suppose. He said I owed him money, which I didn’t, but we cleared it up.

Wallace:
He seemed like usual. We didn’t say much. I’m not one for chatting with the boss like some are. I signed in and he initialled. He might have asked me if I’d had a good run, but I don’t really remember. He was only fishing anyways. Always worried in case we’re cheating him and not reporting the fares.

(Note from F.F.: Joseph Wallace showed himself to be a chronic complainer with a sour attitude toward life.)

Carney:
I can’t say as I noticed anything different. He’s not the cheeriest of fellows, God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but it is the truth.

Robson:
He wasn’t no different from usual.

3. Do you know if Mr. Cooke had any disagreements with anybody that might have led to his death?

Littlejohn:
I don’t know. I just do my job. I’ve only worked here three months.

Wallace:
If anybody had disagreements with Mr. Cooke, I’d say it was his tradesmen. He never paid his bills on time. He couldn’t do that to us because we pay him our commission on fares and we pay for rental, but he was on top of every nickel. Get a tear in the upholstery and he’d expect you to pay for the repair. On the other hand, you never know what’s going on in people’s minds, do you? It might be a good idea to have a chin with Paul Musgrave. I’m not accusing him, mind, but I doubt he’s grieving too much at the boss’s demise, given the wife is now available.

(Note from F.F.: Here Wallace actually gave me a sly wink. I did, of course, ask him what he was referring to, but he clammed up completely. Said he meant nothing by it. Musgrave is a bachelor, that’s all, and aren’t all bachelors in need of wives? He refused to say any more and said to ask the man in question who as I said wasn’t present.)

Carney:
Well, he had tradesmen coming to the door two or three times a week for the past month. They was all pretty hot under the collars cos they said as they hadn’t been paid. God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead.

(Note from F.F.: I thought it necessary to ask him at this point if he knew the names of the tradesmen and he said there were two he knew: Walter Hammill, the feed merchant, and Timothy Mishaw, a carpenter.)

Robson.
He had a barney with his wife a few days ago, if that’s what you mean. I saw them in the office. Real
fierce it was, but she’s not a woman I’d like to cross. I felt more sorry for him than her.

(Note from F.F.: I pressed Robson on this matter as to what the quarrel was all about, but he couldn’t enlighten me. Said he didn’t hear anything because they were in the office, but he could see them. He does also admit to being a little deaf. When I pinned him down as to the exact time of this supposed row, he said it occurred Friday last, April 10, when he returned in the evening at nine o’clock. No one else was in the barn except the stable hand, Green.)

4. Would you say that you yourself got along with Mr. Cooke?

Littlejohn:
He was my boss, I didn’t need to like him. I can work anywhere. His cut isn’t no different from the others. One dollar per shift for the carriage and 5 per cent commission on fares.

Wallace:
Why are you asking me? Don’t think you can throw suspicion on me, young man. I had no quarrel with Daniel Cooke, and you can’t twist my words to make it seem that way.

(Note from F.F.: It took a while to calm Mr. Wallace’s fears.)

Carney:
I get along with everybody, ask my wife.

Robson:
We got along all right. He’s not a man I’d invite over for dinner, mind you.

5.
We know that Mr. Cooke died somewhere between eight o’clock and nine o’clock. Can you give me an account of your whereabouts at that time and the names of a person or persons who will verify that.

Littlejohn:
I don’t know where I was. I went for a walk on Queen Street, nowhere near the stables. I got home about ten o’clock.

(Note from F.F.: This was a most unsatisfactory answer, and the man was obviously uncomfortable. I threatened to charge him with obstructing justice if he didn’t tell the truth, and after much beating about the bush, he admitted he had been visiting a house of ill repute on Queen Street. I did get the address from him and the name of the woman he was visiting. This can easily be verified if she is willing to testify, which may not be the case. Mr. Littlejohn lives at home with his elderly mother and was distraught at the thought of her knowing what he was up to.)

Wallace:
I can’t believe you’re asking me all these questions. Much more and I will hire a solicitor. I was at home all evening sitting in front of my own hearth, minding my own business. My wife can vouch for that and so can my brother and sister-in-law, who live with us.

Carney:
I was at the Mechanics Institute with my wife. We were listening to a visiting preacher from America. Very good he was too. Most uplifting.

Robson:
I know what you’re getting at. I was one of the last to leave the stables along with Musgrave, but I went straight home. My wife was waiting for me and so were my two sons and three daughters. They are all old enough to know and tell the truth, and we are all good Christians.

(Note from F.F.: As Mr. Robson was indeed the last one to sign out except for Mr. Musgrave, I asked him if he had noticed any strangers in the area who might be considered suspicious.)

Robson:
No. Didn’t see anybody. It was raining when I turned in, and I just tucked my head in and went straight home. I’ve just got shut of a cold and I didn’t want to get pneumonia like Muckle.

(Note from F.F.: Given the peculiar character of the assault on Mr. Cooke and what Constable Crabtree discovered in his box, I thought it might be prudent to ask the men specifically about the stable hand, Elijah Green.)

6. How did Mr. Cooke get along with Elijah Green?

Littlejohn:
How should I know? Elijah did a good job, but you don’t really see him much.

Wallace:
Another ridiculous question. I never saw them together. All I know is that I’ve been here for going on ten years and Green was here when I came so he must be doing all right.

Carney:
I don’t know the answer to that. Why? Are you saying the darkie killed him?

Robson:
Elijah is a fine fellow, as far as I’m concerned. He takes good care of the horses. Cooke was lucky to have him.

7. Do any of you have a key to the stables or the office?

All answered no.

(Note from F.F.: My assessment after interviewing these men is that Daniel Cooke was not particularly liked but neither was he hated. I think it is well worth our while to follow up on the reported quarrel between Mr. Cooke and his wife and also the tradesmen who wanted their money. Deprivation can make men desperate, as we know. In terms of alibis for the time of death, I can pursue that, but my feeling was that these men were telling the truth. I will also interview Paul Musgrave if you want me to.)

End of report.

Signed
, Francis Fyfer.

Murdoch put down the paper. The first line of suspects in a murder case was always the victim’s immediate circle, which in
this case meant his employees. The cabbies would have been familiar with Cooke’s schedule and with the stable itself, which he thought was an important factor in the case unless the killer was blessed with extraordinary good luck not to be interrupted. Fyfer had saved him time by questioning the men, but Murdoch would have liked to be present. He’d learned to trust his own instincts about the unspoken revelations that people made during questioning. When he’d shared this with Amy one night, she said he was probably “air scenting” like a hound does. “As long as my nose doesn’t twitch,” was his retort, but he thought there was truth in what she said. He couldn’t pick up the trail from a written report, however thorough it was. He supposed he should trust Fyfer’s instincts too, but he almost wished the fellow wasn’t quite so eager. He was right, though. Adelaide Cooke had said she hadn’t stepped into the livery since Christmas, which obviously wasn’t the case if Mr. Robson was to be believed. He wondered what Wallace’s “sly wink” meant. Did it imply something between the ungrieving widow and the cabbie Musgrave? Given the amount of debt Cooke had incurred, Murdoch could understand irate tradesman being driven to some act of desperation. He put Fyfer’s report in the drawer and extinguished his pipe.

He frowned. He seemed to have a veritable shoal of suspects.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

M
urdoch had been sitting in Humphrey’s embalming room for at least half an hour. Daniel Cooke was lying on his back on the gurney in the centre of the room. His skin was fishbelly grey and he was already beginning to smell. The only sound that disturbed the thick silence of death was the buzzing of two or three elusive flies. They were hovering around the corpse and had so far managed to evade Murdoch’s attempts to get rid of them. The door swung open and Professor Broske and Dr. Ogden bustled in.

“I do apologize for keeping you waiting, Mr. Murdoch,” said Dr. Ogden. “Professor Broske was showing me some utterly fascinating photographs he took recently of a young patient who had broken his elbow. It fixed in place, alas, and had to be straightened. The doctor used his camera to record the young boy’s expressions throughout the entire procedure. Quite amazing.”

“That must have been painful for the boy,” said Murdoch.

“Dreadfully so,” answered Broske. “He was a brave young lad, but his face revealed everything. It was extremely distressing to witness.”

Not to mention experience, thought Murdoch.

Broske slipped on one of the holland aprons hanging on hooks by the door. Dr. Ogden did likewise.

“Miss Julia has invited me to do the examination,” he said. “I am so happy to be given this opportunity.”

Why the man had taken to calling her that, Murdoch didn’t know, but she seemed to like it and smiled prettily.

“I will be writing down the notes,” she said.

“Before we start, Dr. Ogden, I have a request. One of my constables found some objects in the stable that I’d like to have examined more closely. They’re over on the shelf wrapped in newspaper. I also found what is very likely the horsewhip that was used on Cooke. I’ve put that there also.”

“I’ll look at them afterwards. Professor Broske can corroborate my findings for me.”

“Delighted to.”

That little preamble taken care of, the professor got to work. The first part of the post-mortem he conducted in the conventional way, leaving the corpse clothed and simply dictating notes as to what he observed as he walked around the gurney.

“Daniel Cooke was well nourished, almost too much so. His height is five feet, ten and one-quarter inches. At time of death, he was dressed in a pair of plaid trousers, brown socks, and boots, no shirt or undergarment. All garments are of good quality. Mr. Murdoch, I will leave it to you to write out the report concerning his other apparel.”

While he was waiting for them to arrive, Murdoch had done just that. Nothing new had been revealed.

Broske called over to him, “Mr. Murdoch? Help me turn him over, will you?”

Together they rolled over the body. “We have already remarked on the nature of the wounds to his back, but perhaps you could note down our observations now, Miss Julia? He has been struck many times. I will endeavour to make a more precise count, but as they overlap we might not be able to be completely exact. The marks appear to be slightly deeper on his left side and more concentrated on the lower end of the torso.” Broske smiled at Murdoch. “What would you say that indicates?”

“His assailant was short. Or certainly shorter than Mr. Cooke. Even allowing for the fact that he had been hoisted up, the strikes of the whip didn’t reach up any farther than his shoulder blades. And the assailant was right-handed.”