Vices of My Blood (25 page)

Chapter Forty-Three

M
URDOCH TOOK OUT
his magnifying glass and began to examine the letter Miss Dignam had brought him. The writing was scrawled as if in haste and there were two or three blots on the copy. Unless Reverend Howard was habitually in a hurry, the letter seemed to indicate urgency. Murdoch knew that many people made fair copies of their letters once they’d composed them. He’d done that himself with important letters. Was there another copy of this letter that was complete? According to Doris, she hadn’t mailed anything that morning and Sarah Dignam had said this was on Howard’s desk. The only copy then and obviously interrupted. Murdoch studied the letters again. There was a dot after the last word, not a full stop, this was higher up. Murdoch took out a piece of paper from his desk drawer and started to write.

My name is William Murdoch
.

Then he paused as if to think about his next word and his pen remained in the air. He wrote the words again but this time pretended to hear something outside. Sure enough, he found he had rested his pen on the paper, leaving a small dot. Thin evidence maybe but likely indicating Howard had been interrupted rather than stopped on his own volition. What was the information,
just now received
, that caused him such distress and that he dearly wished he didn’t know.
A heavy heart
. Suggested sorrow, disappointment.
I dearly wish I was not privy to the information
implied a confidence bestowed.
I must impart to you
was quite formal and suggested he was addressing some kind of authority. Did it concern the applications for charity? Had he been told somebody was cheating? That was not unlikely, but the language was too severe surely for what was such a common human failing. What people had said about Howard didn’t seem to reflect a dour man of no compassion, quite the opposite. Given what Olivia had just told him, Murdoch had a strong suspicion he knew what Howard had learned.

Murdoch tried to put himself in the pastor’s skin. His wife said that their luncheon together had been completely normal. He had not seemed distressed or preoccupied and as far as she knew he had no appointments. Assuming that was the case and Howard was not a master of deception, something had occurred to upset him after he arrived at his office. There was no post delivery so it couldn’t have been a letter. His book open on the chair suggested he had been interrupted but, at that point, peacefully. What if somebody came to see him who confided in him some news that distressed him in the extreme? Howard had then begun his letter, which he never finished. He had been killed as he sat at his desk writing it. There were two possibilities. First, he had a visitor who gave him distressing news but who then left. Howard started to write his letter and was interrupted a second time by somebody he either knew or certainly didn’t fear. That person stabbed him, reasons unknown. Perhaps connected to the letter, perhaps not. The second possibility was that the first visitor and his killer were one and the same. They either left and came back or were still in the room when Howard started to write his letter. What if the pastor had threatened to betray the secret revealed to him and his assailant silenced him forever. On the other hand, the disturbing information of course was not necessarily the reason for the murder. The two events could be coincidental and Howard could have been killed by a tramp, probably Traveller, as everybody wanted to believe.

Murdoch was about to get up and put the letter in the filing cabinet when he heard rapid footsteps coming down the hall toward his cubicle. He didn’t need the bellow of Brackenreid’s “Murdoch!” to guess who was coming to see him. He braced himself. The inspector never visited Murdoch’s tiny office unless he was so irate he couldn’t wait to send for Murdoch to come upstairs.

Brackenreid thrust aside the reed strips that served as a door to the cubicle. Murdoch took one look at his flushed face and knew the inspector was suffering from the painful aftermath of overindulgence, a situation that was becoming more and more frequent of late. A rant was about to be delivered.

“Murdoch, you were supposed to report to me first thing this morning regarding the Howard case. Why haven’t I heard from you?”

“The case isn’t closed yet, sir.”

“I understand you’ve arrested a tramp who had Howard’s watch in his possession. What more do you want?”

“I haven’t arrested him as yet. I’m keeping him here for further questioning. He swears he found the watch and at the moment I don’t believe we have sufficient evidence to charge him. There are some puzzling aspects of the case that I would like to be sure of before I do so.”

“Puzzling aspects? Puzzling aspects? It’s you who are the puzzle, Murdoch. A tramp was seen going into the church on Tuesday afternoon –”

“Beg pardon, sir. He was seen crossing the Gardens, not entering the church.”

“Nonsense. It’s obvious that’s where he was heading. He went in, found Howard in his office, and demanded money. The pastor refused him and in a fit of fury he stabbed him and kicked him to death. He then stole the poor man’s watch and boots. He has been found with the watch in his possession. What the hell is puzzling about that, Murdoch?”

Murdoch bit his lip. It was certainly plausible, countered only by his own misgivings and a feeling he had about Jack Trevelyan. Really, he should show Brackenreid the letter.

“Sir, give me another day and I promise I will hand you a full report.”

“Give me an arrest, Murdoch, that’s what I want and we can both rest easy.”

Suddenly, Brackenreid’s attention was caught by the poster on the wall announcing last summer’s police games. Murdoch had put it up there because he placed second in the fiercely competitive bicycle race. Whether it was the memory of his detective’s success over their rival stations or whether the inspector’s ire had been sufficiently vented, Murdoch didn’t know, but Brackenreid actually softened.

“You have until tomorrow morning, Murdoch.”

Then he looked up as if he was about to salute the portrait of Her Majesty Queen Victoria and left, the reed strips swaying and clacking in his wake.

Murdoch took a deep breath. He had a lot to do. Walking was out of the question and in spite of a sleety rain that stung his face, he retrieved his bicycle and pedalled over to Carlton Street.

Drummond was standing at his doorway looking out onto the deserted street.

“Don’t tell me you ate all that oatmeal already?” he greeted Murdoch.

“No, I’m here for a different reason.” Murdoch leaned his wheel against the curb and came over to the shopkeeper.

“I’d like to have a serious word, Mr. Drummond. Can we go inside?”

Drummond looked as if he might refuse but changed his mind and reluctantly stepped back and led the way into the shop, which was even more barren than before.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice belligerent.

Murdoch felt like answering that he’d like to give him a good shaking, but he kept his voice as polite as he could manage.

“When I was here last time, I realized you have a very good view of the church from your store.”

“What of it? It’s free, ain’t it?”

“I get the feeling you spend a lot of time observing the comings and goings along the street.”

“What if I do? Is that against the law?”

Murdoch bit his lip. A quick slap across the man’s head wasn’t going to help matters and Drummond was much older than he was, after all. “I believe that Reverend Howard had a visitor shortly before he was murdered, and I wonder if you, yourself, saw anybody enter the side door that afternoon about one-thirty or so?”

“What if I did?”

“It’s not against the law, Mr. Drummond, but shall we say the law would be served if you do have information you haven’t yet given me.”

“She wouldna have been the murderer, you can be sure of that.”

“Who is the ‘she’ you are referring to?”

Drummond knew he’d slipped and he actually appeared nervous. He rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment, then swirled around, started to fiddle with the few potatoes, moving them around in the bin. He didn’t say anything for several moments and Murdoch began to wonder if he should charge the old pizzle with obstructing the course of justice and take him to the station. Drummond must have read his mind because he said, “I did happen to glance out on the street just as a woman was going by. I saw her enter the church.”

Murdoch took out his notebook. “What time was this and what did she look like?”

“It was quarter past one. The church bell had just chimed. As for what she looked like, I didn’t pay much heed. She weren’t that posh. Maybe a black or dark brown coat.”

“Did you notice this woman come out?”

“I did. She was in there about half an hour. She walked back the same way she’d come and turned down on Sherbourne Street.”

“And you didn’t see anybody after that?”

“Not a soul. The tramp would have entered the church from the front. I didn’t know anything had happened until I heard all the commotion. The constable set off the alarm bell and you can hear that blasted thing for miles.”

“Why didn’t you come forward as a witness at the inquest, Mr. Drummond?”

“It slipped my mind. It wasn’t important.”

“That was for me to decide.”

Drummond grimaced. “Women were always calling on him. Oh the ladies loved our pastor, they did. As if a handsome set of whiskers has anything to do with the Lord. This one was all dressed up in her Sunday best. Her hat was a joke with purple feathers five feet high at least.”

Murdoch frowned. “Was she a young woman?”

“Not her. Mutton dressed as lamb, she was, with her fancy fur collar and that ridiculous hat.”

“She was wearing a fur collar?”

“That’s right. It looked like a dead squirrel had fallen on her shoulders.”

“And you’re sure she’d turned down onto Sherbourne Street?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I?” He raised his grizzled eyebrows in a ferocious leer. “Mebbe our good pastor had given her one of his uplifting chats because she was walking much faster on the way back.” He shoved one of the potatoes against the bin wall as if it were a bowling ball.

“You didn’t like Reverend Howard, did you?”

Drummond’s glance slid away and he shrugged. “I could deny it, but there’s dozens who’d tell you otherwise. Besides, I don’t hold with slyness and namby-pamby characters masquerading as good Christian souls.”

“Is that how you saw Howard? A phony?”

“I told you already we didn’t agree on the direction our church should take. To my mind, he came in under false pretences, then as soon as he was here, he started to show his true colours.” Drummond touched his forefinger to the side of his nose and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “He had certain leanings, if you know what I mean. You mark my words he would have had us all worshipping graven images like the papists do.”

Murdoch closed his notebook with a snap. “Thank you, Mr. Drummond. I will be calling on you again, seeing that you deliberately withheld important information.”

“You kenna prove it was deliberate. People forget, you know.”

Murdoch headed out of the door to his bicycle, Drummond trotting after him.

“Who was she? I didn’t know it was important. What are you going to do? Detective, answer me!”

Chapter Forty-Four

M
URDOCH WAS STILL FUMING
when he arrived at the lodging house on Sherbourne Street. Constable second class Whiteside scrambled to his feet, literally caught napping as Murdoch entered.

“Good morning, sir.”

“I want to check something in the upstairs room, constable. You can stay where you are.”

The poor lad looked disappointed and Murdoch sympathized. It must be excruciatingly boring to spend your shift sitting outside a door in an empty house.

The Tugwells’ room was unlocked and he went inside. The window sash was still up and the room was cold and damp. He went straight to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. There wasn’t much inside. A pair of boy’s trousers, a shabby brown coat, and two dark-coloured dresses, a jacket of tatty navy wool that he had seen Josie wearing. On the upper rack were two hats, one was the gaudy red plush that Josie was wearing when he first met her, the other a black felt with long purple feathers, which she had worn to the inquest. Murdoch guessed this hat might be considered the family’s Sunday best. Josie wears it to an inquest, Esther to call on the pastor. On the second rack of the wardrobe, curled like a little moribund animal, was a fur neckpiece.

Murdoch looked around the cramped room where the entire Tugwell family had lived. Wooden crates served as cupboards for their few possessions and the bedcovers were bleached sacking. Already the place was gathering dust, but he had the feeling that normally Esther kept it as clean as she could. There was a washstand by the window and two chipped mugs had been set to drain dry on one of the crates. He went to the fireplace. The coal shuttle was almost empty. On the mantelpiece in pride of place was a photograph, a family portrait taken when the family had known better days. Mr. Tugwell sat on a chair, a child on his knee whose face was slightly blurred as if he hadn’t been able to sit still long enough for the photographer to snap the picture. Behind was a pretty, young Josie and Esther, fuller of face, smiling at a hopeful future. Murdoch determined he’d try to find some relatives at least who would honour these few possessions and dispose of them rather than letting the rag-and-bone man come and pick them over.

He said a prayer for the poor souls who had died here, then hurried downstairs to the constable.

“Unlock the door, if you please. Come in with me and bring that candle.”

The hall where the constable had been sitting was gloomy and he’d lit the wall sconce.

Once inside, Murdoch went directly over to the hearth. “Constable, I’m having a hard time bending down. Will you take a careful look at the floor right about here? Is there anything you see? Use the candle, it’s dark in here.”

Whiteside crouched down close to the floor and wiped his fingers on the threadbare carpet.

“Just bits of plaster, sir.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Looks as if they came from up there.”

Murdoch strained to look up. All of the ceiling was cracked and chipped but here, just to the right of the chimney, there was a fairly large piece of plaster broken off. The lathes of the floor in the room above were visible. No wonder the carbonic monoxide gas had infiltrated the Tugwell room.

That had been the point.

When he walked into the station, Seymour beckoned to him. “Our tramp friend is insisting he talk to you. He refused to say a word to me, but I’m thinking he’s ready to make a confession.”

“I don’t know about that, Charlie. I’ve made a discovery. You know we kept saying, Who would want to kill old man Hicks? Well I’m sure now he was just unfortunate. The intended victims were the Tugwells. The murderer was diabolical. He knew that by creating carbon monoxide in Hicks’s chimney, the gas would drift up to the next floor. He must have given Hicks prussic acid to make him unconscious so he could block the chimney and stuff the windows. Then he used a broom handle to aggravate a missing patch of plaster in the ceiling and left the rest to fate.”

“My God, but same question, why kill them?”

“I believe Mrs. Tugwell went to visit Howard shortly before he died. I think she may have told him something incriminating about somebody, God knows who, or exactly what, at this point but I’m starting to guess. The
what
part anyway. Josie Tugwell was on the game. Perhaps her mother told the pastor about Josie’s customers.” He took Howard’s letter out of his pocket. “Miss Dignam took this from the pastor’s desk, but for her own convoluted reasons that I’ll tell you about later, she didn’t admit to it until this morning when she brought it to me. It’s not addressed to anybody and it’s not finished, but listen to this: ‘It is with heavy heart that I write this letter. I wish I was not privy to the information I have just now received which I must impart to you.’ What does that sound like to you, Charlie?”

“If, as you say, Esther Tugwell came to confide in him, she wasn’t talking about some piece of gutter slime who dipped his wick when he could, but somebody respectable, somebody known.”

“Exactly. And I’m wondering if that same pillar of society came to the office while Howard was writing his letter. There could have been a big confrontation and the selfsame respectable cove killed him.”

Seymour whistled through his teeth. “My goodness. This is a new turn of events. So you don’t suspect our man, Trevelyan, at the moment?”

“I’m ruling out nothing. Let’s see what he has to say, shall we? I’ll pay him a visit.” He headed for the cells at the rear of the station. “Keep an ear out will you, Charlie? If I yell, come quick.”

Murdoch slipped aside the peep-hole cover in the cell door. Traveller was lying on his back on the hard, narrow bed, his eyes closed. Murdoch unlocked the door and went in. The tramp was alert instantly and he rolled over and propped himself on his elbow.

“Mr. Murdoch, ye’re a busy man. I asked to talk to you an hour ago.”

“Forgive me for not coming running, I was investigating the case.”

“And what did you find then? The mayor committed the crime? Or maybe it was Reverend Power wanting to get rid of the non-believer?”

Murdoch was in no mood for jokes and he felt irritated. “What did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Trevelyan?”

“Oh, it’s Mr. Trevelyan, is it? I thought we’d progressed to Christian names at least. I was going to call you Willie and you can certainly call me Jack if you like. Or even Traveller, which I prefer.”

He was grinning in a good-humoured way and Murdoch shrugged. There were two beds in the cell and he perched on the opposite one.

“Do you have some baccy?” Trevelyan asked him. “I’d fain give my soul to the devil for a pipe of good black Durham.”

“Here.” Murdoch fished out his own pipe and tobacco pouch and handed it to him. He waited until the tramp had lit up and taken a deep, grateful pull. The tiny cell was filled with pungent smoke.

“There’s some people coming to see me in about half an hour, Traveller, so I’d be glad if you’d get a move on.”

Traveller eyed him shrewdly and beamed his gap-toothed smile. “I’m getting more and more the sense that you ain’t got me on your hanging list. Am I right?”

“I’m not sure you ever were, but I do know you’re holding out on me. You’re not telling me what really happened in the church on Tuesday.”

“What makes you think I was in the church? I recall telling you I was catching a kip in the greenhouse.”

“Let’s just say you left something behind.” In answer to Traveller’s raised eyebrow, he added. “A smell. There was a powerful smell of sulphur in the church. Fumigation every night and the clothes stink. I know mine were terrible.”

Traveller laughed. “Folks think we tramps smell like that because we ain’t washed, but that ain’t it. I’ve had a bath three days in a row and been fumigated three days in a row.” He sniffed at his sleeve. “They reek. If hell smells this bad I’m going to live a very good life and make sure I don’t end up there.”

“Start with telling the truth then. That should give you some marks in God’s balance book.”

Traveller drew in some smoke and blew it out slowly. “All right. I was in the church that afternoon. It was a cold day and I’ve sometimes slipped in there for a little kip before finding my bed for the night. It was empty at that hour and I goes upstairs to the balcony and stretch out on one of the pews. I’ve dropped off nice when the next thing is I’m wide awake because I can hear coves shouting downstairs. They must have been loud because they was in the back where the offices are.” He puffed on the pipe again and Murdoch shifted impatiently. “Just rein in a bit, Willie, I’ll say it in my own good time. It’s not often I have such rapt attention from a frog. I know what you were going to ask me, but no, I couldn’t make out what they were saying. All I can tell you is that one in particular is real mad about something. He’s shouting more than the other. It don’t go on too long, hardly enough to say how do you do, how are you, and how’s your mother’s health. Then they shuts up and a few ticks later, I hear a door slam shut so I gathers one of them had left by the back way. All nice and quiet now and I tucks myself back into my wooden bed. I ain’t interested in other folks’ barneys. I drops off properly this time, but wouldn’t you know I’m woke again cos I hear somebody come pitter-patting down the aisle. I takes a peek and I sees this lady. She kneels down in front of that rail they’ve got in the front of the church. Oh no, Jack, don’t tell me we’re in for a prayer meeting, I says to myself. I know how it’ll be if I get found.” He sniffed. “I’m leery of the type of Christian ladies who fancy themselves good Samaritans but who want you to keep your place and that ain’t asleep in the balcony of the church. Anyways, she doesn’t stay long on her knees but trots off through the door at the back of the church. I’m a sitting there wondering if this ain’t a good time to leave when the next thing I know, the woman is shrieking her head off. She don’t come back into the church, but I can hear her outside, crying like she’s seen the devil himself. I thinks it might be wise to do some investigating myself so I slips down the staircase that leads to the back of the church where the offices are. Well, I can smell the blood right away and I know something bad has happened and I’d better not linger. The door to one of the offices is open and I can see a man lying on his back. He has a knife sticking out of the side of his neck and his face is all smashed in on one side.” Traveller paused to take a particularly long pull on the pipe. He blew out slowly. “Needless to say, the poor cove is no longer one of the living –”

“How long do you think he had been dead?”

“Well I didn’t touch him, but I got the sense it wasn’t long. The wounds were still oozing.” The tramp glanced over at Murdoch. “Would you say I am being of assistance to the police in this case and that will balance out any little sins I might have committed?”

“Yes, yes. Get on with it, for God’s sake.”

“Well, you know now how important a good pair of boots is to a tramp. I see the poor dead fellow is wearing a pair that are a sight better than mine. He obviously don’t need them any more, so I get them off fast as I can and then let myself out by the side door. There weren’t anybody around, thank goodness, so I go straight over to the Gardens so I could change the boots.”

“Did you also take the man’s watch?”

Traveller shook his head. “I didn’t see no watch. I told you the gospel truth when I said I found that one in the entrance to the greenhouse.” Again he took a pull of the pipe. “I’m thinking it might have been laid there as a trap. The chain weren’t broke for one thing. I should have known better but there you go, we’re all human, aren’t we? It was a handsome piece and I couldn’t resist it.”

Traveller had a good point about the watch, Murdoch thought.

“Did you see a biscuit tin in the church?”

“A tin? Oh, you’re right. I forgot. It was laying right beside the body. I seen it under the lady’s arm when she was a praying. She must have dropped it when she came on him dead like that. I did pick it up. No sense in wasting good food. I ate the cake and left the tin under a bush in the greenhouse if she’s looking for it.”

“Was it a man who was arguing with the pastor?”

“Of course it was. There wouldn’t be shouting like that if one of them was a lady, would there?”

“Would you recognize the voice if you were to hear it again?”

“Nope. Like I said, I couldn’t even make out words, just that they was having a big barney. That much was clear.”

Murdoch tapped his fingers on the bed. “You tell a good story, Traveller, but then you’ve had lots of practice. How do I know it’s true? It could just have easily been you who went into the pastor’s office, asking for money. He was distracted by something and wouldn’t talk to you. You became enraged and struck him with the letter opener, then kicked him in the side of the head. This version fits the facts just as well.”

Traveller laughed out loud, genuinely amused. “Look, Willie, if I had lost my temper and done in every man who ever turned me down, I’d have been hung more times than fifty cats have lives.” He gazed at Murdoch through the haze of smoke between them. “Speaking of overhearing, I heard you and your inspector having a barney earlier. He’s hell bent on sending me to the gallows. I’m charged and convicted with him. I thought about it and decided I’d better tell you the truth so as to give you a chance to find the real culprit.”

It was Murdoch’s turn to laugh. “And here I thought you had repented of your sins and wanted to help me.”

Traveller waved his pipe. “That too.”