Except the Dying (3 page)

Suddenly an angry voice shouted.

“Oi. What you doing? Get out of here.”

A woman was at the back door watching him. She was carrying a covered chamber pot that she was presumably about to empty into the outhouse.

“Detective Murdoch. I’d like to ask you some questions.”

The courteous address wasn’t really necessary, given the sort of woman she was. Her stained yellow wrapper was carelessly fastened and her unkempt hair straggled around a face that looked none too clean. She was young but her thin face was haggard.

“What sort of questions?” she said, not moving from the doorway.

“Tell you what, it’s cold as Mercury out here. Why don’t I come inside where we both would be more comfortable. And miss, if you can scrounge me up a mug of tea, I’d be right grateful.”

“I haven’t even lit the Gurney yet,” she said, yawning widely and showing discoloured and chipped teeth. “I just got up, matter of fact.”

“Lucky you. I’ve been up so long I’m ready for bed.”

“That’s not an invite, is it, Sergeant?”

Murdoch grinned, still willing to appease the woman, but he remained out of reach in case she decided to
fling the contents of the pot in his direction. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What do you want to know?” she asked as she emptied the chamber beside the door, turning the snow yellow.

“Like I said, we’d both be more comfortable inside.”

“Suit yourself.”

She stepped back and Murdoch followed her into the gloomy hallway. Two closed doors were to the right and at the far end was a curtained archway through which came the dim glow of a candle. The air was cold and stale.

The woman deposited the chamber pot in her room.

“We’re in here,” she said and led the way through the portieres into the kitchen. Here a second woman was bending over a large black range, fanning at a meagre fire that she had started in its belly. She was trying to get it to blaze but succeeding only in wafting clouds of smoke into the room. She turned around, coughing, when they came in.

“Bleeding hell, Ettie, will you see to this shicey stove. It won’t go.” She saw Murdoch. “Who’s he?”

“Copper. Wants to ask us some questions.”

“What about?”

“Don’t know, do I? Says he wants some tea.” She went over to the stove and peered at the fire. “Sod it, Alice, I told you to wait ’til it draws to put the coal on. You’ve smothered it.”

Murdoch stepped forward. “Let me. I’m good with fires.”

“That’s a surprise. I thought frogs were good for nothing.” Alice scowled. She too was in a day wrapper, this one a dingy green flannel. It gaped open at the neck, revealing her breasts, but she made no move towards modesty. She looked older than the young woman she had called Ettie by a good ten years.

There was a pair of tongs in a bucket beside the stove and Murdoch took them and removed the big lump of coal. Then he propped up the few bits of kindling and began to blow on the smouldering paper. A couple of good puffs and a bright flame appeared. When the wood began to crackle, he fished out some smaller pieces of coal from the bucket, put them on the fire and closed the stove door.

“Give it a few minutes,” he said, dusting off his hands.

The two women had been watching him silently.

“I suppose he deserves his chatter broth after that,” said Alice. She went to the sink and pumped water into a blackened pot. “It’ll take a while. Stove isn’t hot yet.”

“You’d better sit down before you knock out the roof,” said Ettie. The ceiling was low and Murdoch was six feet tall.

“Here.” She pulled forward a wooden chair. The back slats were almost all gone and Murdoch didn’t fancy the thing collapsing underneath him.

“I’ll stand,” he said, but he unbuttoned his coat and put his hat on the chair. Then he took his notebook and fountain pen from his inner pocket. The silver-nibbed pen had been Elizabeth’s Christmas present to him before she died, and it was his pride and joy. Both women took stock.

“First off, I need to know your names.”

“Why?” asked Ettie.

“Because, miss, the body of a female person has been found in the laneway. Practically in your back garden, as you might say.”

He paused for their reaction, but there was none. No expression of any kind, except stillness. They reminded him of two cats who’d come into the yard of his lodging house last winter. Lean and tattered, with pale, wary eyes. When he’d tried to befriend the starving creatures, they had growled and spat at him and would have bitten his hand if they could.

Alice shrugged. “This weather’ll kill you, that’s for certain. Poor old dolly.”

“Who do you mean, miss?”

“The stiff mort.”

“I doubt she was a tramp, and she wasn’t old. Possibly no more than fifteen or sixteen.”

“Shame that.”

They stared at him but he didn’t say anything.

“What’s it to do with us?” Ettie said finally.

“That’s for you to tell.” He paused. “We don’t know
who the girl is as yet. I’m making enquiries.”

He wanted to see if either of them would offer information that they shouldn’t have or try to mislead him in any way. Ettie spoke again.

“What kind of girl was she, then? A working girl, for instance, or a young lady?”

Alice guffawed. “Bleeding hell, Ettie. Young lady? What would a lady be doing in the lane?”

Ettie shrugged. “Takes all sorts,” she said.

Murdoch knew this exchange was entirely for his benefit. He decided to play out the line a bit longer.

“We can’t tell yet. She was mother naked.”

Alice grimaced. “Couldn’t have had much in her idea pot if she was stark in this weather.”

She was overtaken by another fit of coughing, and she grabbed a cup from the table and spat into it. Dispassionately, she studied the sputum she had deposited.

“Just phlegm.”

“What’s your last name, Alice?” Murdoch asked.

“I’m Alice Black.” She pointed at her partner. “She’s Ettie Weston.”

“Bernadette Weston,” the other woman corrected her. “They just call me Ettie.”

“Just come over did you?” he asked Alice.

She shrugged but the other woman laughed. “She’s been here since she was a nipper but you’d never know it.”

“And you?”

“I’m homegrown.”

“Do you both live here?”

“Yes. We’ve got a snug down there.” She pointed down the hall.

“You get use of the kitchen?”

Alice snorted. “Use! That’s a joke, that is. We supply the rest of this shicey household, if you ask me. We have to fetch the coal scuttle into our room at night, else it’d be empty as a cripple’s stomach by morning. Don’t notice Mr. bloody Quinn bringing in a bit of coal, do you? But he’s quick enough to come in here and warm his chilblains when we’ve got it up, isn’t he?”

“Come on, Alice, he helps us out in other ways.”

“You maybe, not me.”

“Who is this Mr. Quinn?” Murdoch interceded.

“One of the other dudders that lives here. He’s got the room next to us.”

“Who else?”

Ettie answered. “There’s two brothers upstairs. Say they’re lumberjacks. Don’t know what they’re doing here if that’s the case. Aren’t going to cut down many trees in this neighbourhood, are they? And they’re both lumpers. Bang around like horses up there.”

She looked as if she was going to continue with a diatribe against the absent brothers but Murdoch stopped her.

“What’s your occupation?”

Ettie grinned at him. In spite of her bad teeth she
had an attractive face when she smiled. Youth still lingered there.

“I’m a glover. Alice the same.”

“Where do you work?”

“Here. We work from home, don’t we, Alice? We mend and clean.”

“That’s right. We specialize in men’s articles. Of the best pigskin.” She met his eyes impudently. “We fit them.”

Murdoch knew that sexual protectors were made from fine pigskin, but he didn’t take the bait. They were toying with him and the slightest sign of annoyance or embarrassment on his part would be seen as a victory they would chortle over for weeks to come.

“Who employs you?”

“Mr. Webster, the tailor. He’s over on Queen Street.”

“We’re always in demand,” added Alice. “The shops are using machines these days but we find most gentlemen still like the work done by hand, don’t we, Ettie?” She laughed. “It’s hard work, Sergeant. At the end of the day we’re spent many times over.”

“Alice, don’t be vulgar. What’ll the sergeant think?”

“I’m thinking I’ve had enough of you two. This is a serious matter I’m investigating.”

In spite of his resolve, he’d got irritated.

Alice was still laughing. It became a coughing fit that shook her scrawny body so painfully Murdoch winced.

“Bad cough you’ve got there, Alice. Have you seen a doctor?”

She thumped herself on the chest. Her face had turned almost blue with the effort to get breath. “It’s just a cold. Winter does it to you.”

Murdoch went back to his notebook.

“Do either of you know anything about this young girl, then?” He went through the description again. “Fullish figure but short. Bit shorter than you, Ettie.”

“Don’t know her, do we, Alice?”

“No.”

“Did you hear anything last night? Any cries? Shouts?”

They both shook their heads emphatically. “You were home all night?”

“Yes,” said Alice. “Tucked up in bed, good as gold.”

“No, Alice!” the younger girl spoke sharply. “He means earlier. You were at the hotel ’til almost ten.” She stared her companion down.

“I will be checking,” said Murdoch.

“See. Don’t confuse him.”

“Oh yeah. Sure I didn’t know what you meant, Constable. I did spend the early part of the evening at the John O’Neil with friends. But I was here with Ettie the rest of the night. Didn’t move.”

“What about you, Ettie?”

“In bed at eight, I was. Not a peep ’til just half an hour ago.”

“And nothing disturbed you?”

Ettie went to the stove and poked at the fire even though it was blazing merrily. She didn’t turn around. “No, not a thing.”

Alice giggled. “Come on now, Ettie. Don’t give him the queer.”

Ettie swivelled around, staring.

Alice continued. “Truth is, we was disturbed in the night. ’Bout two o’clock.” She eyed Murdoch expectantly.

He sighed. “Get on with it, Alice. What woke you?”

“Terrible cries.”

“Well? What was it?”

“Probably the Virgin Mary.”

She laughed again so heartily at her own feeble joke, she went into another coughing spell. This produced another gob of sputum, which she tried to deposit in the cup and succeeded only in catching the edge.

He looked at her sharply. There was no possibility she could know his religious affiliation, but she was teasing about something.

“Would you please explain what –”

At that moment a loud yowling cry resounded down the dark hall. Pitiful moans and howls. Not quite human, though, as if some animal were in pain. Alice and Bernadette grinned at each other.

“Jesus save us,” said Alice. “There it is again. Exact same cries as last night.”

“Sounds like a dog,” said Murdoch. “Must be hurt.”

He went into the hall. The racket seemed to be coming from the far room.

“Who lives down there?” he called to the women.

They came to the archway, arms around each other.

“Samuel Quinn,” said Alice.

“Does he own a dog?”

“He does. He’s a regular dog fancier.” She smiled but Murdoch didn’t miss the quick warning poke from Ettie.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

The noise stopped abruptly; then a soft plaintive howl filled the air, eerie, full of sorrow. He banged hard on the door.

“Open up. Police. Open up.”

The piteous howling suddenly changed to the everyday identifiable barking of a dog. A lighter treble joined in, the yapping complementing the loud, deep warnings of the first dog. Murdoch kicked the door.

“I’m going to break down this door if you don’t open it.”

That did the trick. As fast as it might have taken the occupant to get out of bed, the door opened a crack. A young man stood there in his nightshirt. He was holding on to the collar of a small black and tan dog. It was hard to believe so loud a sound could come from an animal that size.

“Is something wrong with the dog?” Murdoch bellowed.

Before the man could answer, the animal gave a quick twist of its head and moved backwards, leaving the man holding an empty collar. In a flash, it slipped between his legs and darted off towards the kitchen.

“Princess, stop!” the man yelled. At that moment another dog, tiny and long-haired, appeared from behind him and scampered off in pursuit, yapping excitedly.

“Ettie, catch him!” the man shouted again.

At the kitchen threshold, the bitch halted and began to jump up and down, barking at top volume. The little one was right behind and reared himself up on his hind legs in an attempt to mount her. His erection was bright scarlet. The hound turned her head and snapped at him over her shoulder as indifferently as if he were a fly. Not daunted, he gripped her more tightly, a difficult task as she was easily twice as tall as he was. Ettie, with Alice peering over her shoulder, burst out laughing. The young man in the nightshirt pushed past Murdoch and ran down the hall. Quickly, he snatched the tiny dog up in his arms, where he wriggled wildly, trying to get back to his pleasure.

“Grab Princess.”

Ettie tried to oblige but it was easier said than done; the dog was dancing round her feet, barking non-stop. She shouted to make herself heard above the din. “Does she want a bit of meat, then?”

The dog stopped barking as if a switch had been thrown and sat down abruptly, her tongue out, tail wagging. Ettie smiled lovingly, her voice as tender as if she were addressing a beloved child. “Come on, my chick, I’ll see what I can find.”

She went over to the pine cupboard next to the sink.

The dog in Quinn’s arms was still yipping shrilly but Quinn smacked him smartly on the nose and he shut up, snuffling in surprise.

“Thank God for that,” said Alice. “What a din.”

Quinn became aware of Murdoch standing behind him and smiled disarmingly. “Sorry about all the noise.”