A Journeyman to Grief (24 page)

“Note carefully how he reacts. If he has any information at all that might be helpful, bring him over to the station right away.”

Burley went off, sober at his first serious task. Crabtree was assigned Mrs. Cooke and Fyfer the cabbies.

The Pollards’ maid, Molly, had turned out to be so nervous, constantly on the verge of hysteria, that Murdoch had hesitated to push her. The problem was her testimony seemed to change from minute to minute. Yes, she had seen two people being admitted to Talbert’s house just before eight o’clock the previous evening, and she thought one of them was a man, rather short and dressed in a long, dark mackintosh. On the other hand, it was
raining and the person was holding an umbrella so she didn’t get a good look. The other person could have been a woman, but she had gone into the house so quickly it was hard to tell. She supposed it might have been a man in a cloak, but she wouldn’t swear an oath to it. About half an hour later, Molly had heard a loud noise, a sort of bang, but thought it was Cook dropping a pot. She hadn’t realized it was a gunshot until she heard about the murder. Murdoch had hastily ended the interview at this point and sent the girl off with Mrs. Neely.

Mrs. Stokely had confirmed that the necktie used to bind Talbert’s hands did not belong to him. She also remembered noticing that his good worsted coat, a navy blue one, was missing from the hall stand. Given that at least one of the murderers would have been splashed with blood, Murdoch assumed the coat had been stolen so the stains would be hidden.

He told her about the money scattered on Talbert’s body, but she had no explanation for it. He didn’t keep much money in the house, just enough to pay for monthly housekeeping expenses, rarely more than fifteen dollars or so. She told him where to look in the upstairs bedroom dresser, and indeed Fyfer had found about fourteen dollars in a cash box.

“Did Mr. Talbert have a will?” Murdoch asked.

“Yes,” she said. “He had no children so he left what little he had to…me.” She averted her eyes. “You might be surprised to know, Mr. Murdoch, that I was Thomas Talbert’s legal wife. We married five years ago.”

“Why did you keep it a secret?”

“Thom insisted. He thought it would be better if I was known as his housekeeper. He said people would no doubt gossip about me behind my back, but at least they would talk
to
me. If I were known as Mrs. Thomas Talbert, there were many who would not
do even that. Perhaps he was right. My granddaughter has married a man who aspires to city office, and she had made it clear she doesn’t approve of my living arrangements. To know that Thom and I were married would probably turn her away from me forever.” She twisted her thin gold wedding band. “Do you think I shall be able to keep it secret, that we were husband and wife?”

“I don’t see why not. As far as I know at this point, it has no relevance to our inquiry.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murdoch.”

Then he recalled what Broske had said about the ever-present prejudice against miscegenation. “Who else knew about your marriage?”

“Hardly anybody. Only the preacher at our church and his wife.” She wept again. “Thom was such a good companion. He deserved to die peacefully in his bed.”

She had unconsciously echoed Professor Broske’s words about Daniel Cooke.

Murdoch bicycled back to the station. He had just entered when Gardiner beckoned him over. He had a conspiratorial expression on his face and his eyes were lively with curiosity.

“We received an urgent telephone call for you. The speaker had a strange accent, possibly Irish, and he sort of whispered. Callahan could hardly make out what he was saying, but he wrote it down as best he could.”

He handed Murdoch a slip of paper.

Murdoch. I am in dire need of that book you promised me. I hope you have it and will bring it over this evening. Same time and place as before. Never mind the fire inspection.

“He wouldn’t leave his name. He said you would know who it was,” added Gardiner. He touched his forefinger to the side of his nose. “Big reader, is he?”

Murdoch nodded. “You might say that.”

“I didn’t know you were doing a fire inspection. Isn’t that Inspector Brackenreid’s job?”

“Yes, it is. Strange comment, I must say.”

“Callahan thought the voice was oddly familiar but couldn’t identify it.”

Murdoch shrugged. “There are lots of Irishmen in the city.” He headed for the stairs. “I’ll be in the inspector’s office.”

“Enjoying that, are you, Will?”

“Probably a little too much.”

Murdoch sat behind the desk and pushed on the button that opened the cigar dispenser. He selected a cigar and lit it. The inspector’s message had come at an awkward moment, but he didn’t feel he could ignore it. He was hoping to convene all the constables working on the Talbert case at about five o’clock, and Dr. Ogden said she would be ready to do the post-mortem examination at six. He decided he’d better go to the Ollapod Club now and see if he could get to talk to Brackenreid earlier than planned. He wondered why there was such urgency.

Keeping in mind Brackenreid’s warning that he would not be allowed admittance to the institute under any circumstances, Murdoch parked his bicycle at the corner of the street and walked casually back to the main gates. Here he bent down and pretended to tie his shoelace so he had a chance to look into the grounds through the railings. Several men were strolling in the direction of the main building, and he remembered that this was close to the time when the residents received their injection. At first sight, he couldn’t see Brackenreid. He fussed a bit more with his shoe
but noticed that one of the attendants was glancing over his shoulder in his direction, so he stood up and moved on. Frankly, he had no idea how he was going to get inside. Then he had a stroke of luck. A tall, spindly man came trotting across the road, heading for the gates. Murdoch hurried back and got to him just in time.

“Hold on, good sir, I’d like a word with you. Do you work here?”

The fellow shook his head. “I do, but I can’t talk to you right now, I’m already late.”

Murdoch grabbed hold of the gate so he couldn’t open it. “That’s too bad, but you’ll have to be even later. I’m a police officer and I am here on a serious matter.”

That stopped him for the moment. “What sort of serious matter?”

“We’ve had complaints that the institute is being run in ways that break the law.”

The man stared at him in disbelief. “Such as?”

“I’m not at liberty to say at the moment, but I need to gain entry to the building and in such a way that nobody will know who I am.”

“You can’t. No visitors allowed.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a visitor exactly. I’m an investigating officer. What is your name, by the way?”

Murdoch took out his notebook to make it all the more official-looking.

“Robert Tennyson. But see here, I’ve got nothing to do with anything illegal. I just do my job best I can and do what the doctor tells me.”

“I believe you, Mr. Tennyson, but that doesn’t mean to say the magistrate will. I might have to take you to the court right now and testify.”

Murdoch could see that all the residents were inside now. Tennyson also saw that and he looked very nervous.

“Lord help us, they’ve gone in. They lock the door and I’ll get the bird if I don’t get in there. I have to assist with the injections.”

“Do you, indeed?” Murdoch took out his wallet, hoping he had some money in it. He had a five-dollar bill, his last until next week. “I am authorized to recompense citizens at special times for their inconvenience. Here’s five dollars and I promise that, if I have to, I will put in a good word with the magistrate on your behalf.”

Tennyson stared at him, then back through the gates into the now-empty lawn. Murdoch waved the bank note under the man’s nose. The scent of free money could be very persuasive. The attendant took it.

“All right. I think I can manage something. Go around to the back. I’ll meet you at the gate in about ten minutes.”

“Done.”

Murdoch stepped back and Tennyson shoved open the gate and ran to the door, just getting in before it slammed shut.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO

T
ennyson stashed Murdoch’s clothes in a locker in the attendant’s common room. He had outfitted Murdoch in a black short jacket and beige linen trousers. They were intended for a shorter man, but Murdoch hoped nobody would notice.

“Tell them you’re replacing Davis for the day,” said Tennyson. “They won’t question it. We get temporary help quite often. You can do the check in. I’ll put the list in front of you. Tick off the residents’ names when they call them out and when the attendant gives you the signal, send them for their injection.”

“That sounds easy enough.”

“Come on, then.”

Murdoch followed him down the hall and into the lounge. There were about twenty or so men standing in a curving line that was aimed at a cloth screen at the back of the room. They were chatting with one another and nobody paid him any attention. Murdoch took a quick look around and saw Inspector Brackenreid near the front of the queue. Their eyes met and Brackenreid, cool
as an old pro, turned his surprise into a fit of coughing that elicited a concerned few pats on the back from one of his fellow residents. The inspector obviously hadn’t yet been able to comply with the rules and he was still in his dressing gown and night shirt. His watchdog, Cherry, was nowhere to be seen, and Murdoch hoped he was off the leash for the time being.

“Here’s your list,” said Tennyson. “Sit at that table next to the screen. I’ll be at the back serving the tea and coffee, but I’d rather you didn’t know me.”

Murdoch took the chair and put his list confidently on the table. There was another attendant standing near the screen. He was a plump fellow, clean-shaven except for a wide, bristling moustache.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Davis’s replacement.”

“Get sharp then. We should have started already.”

He disappeared behind the screen and Murdoch looked at the first resident who was standing in front of him in the queue.

“Leiter, Frank,” said the man.

Murdoch found his name on the list and checked it off. Leiter knew what to do and he walked behind the screen, out of sight. Meanwhile, Murdoch checked in the next resident and after a few minutes the first fellow reappeared.

“It’s all yours, Hennessey,” he said. The second man went in and the procedure was repeated, although Hennessey seemed to take a little longer. Nobody questioned Murdoch’s presence at the table. He could see Tennyson at the far end of the lounge walking among the residents with a tray of refreshments. One or two of the men were in night clothes like Brackenreid, but most were dressed in suits, none of them shabby, which was to be expected. As far as Murdoch could tell, they all seemed healthy and happy and the hubbub of talk was animated.

Brackenreid was at the table and he said his name.

“Who’s doing the dirty?” he asked with a jerk of his head in the direction of the screen.

“Er, I’m not sure. He’s got…” Murdoch made a gesture indicating the attendant’s startling moustache.

“That has to be Raymond and I won’t have him,” said Brackenreid loudly. “No. I absolutely refuse. The man should have been a veterinarian, not a doctor’s assistant.”

Raymond popped his head from behind the screen. “I heard what you said, Mr. Brackenreid, and I must say, I take offence to your remark.”

“Do you, indeed, then the arrow must have hit the target,” said Brackenreid in his best bully voice that Murdoch was so familiar with. “I’m still hurting from your attack yesterday.”

Murdoch could hardly believe this performance. The inspector had missed his calling.

He pointed at Murdoch. “I’d rather have this man here give me the medicine.”

“That’s not possible,” said Raymond. “He’s only a temporary help.”

“I don’t give a damn about that.” Brackenreid glared at Murdoch. “You know what to do, don’t you?”

Murdoch nodded vigorously. “Of course.”

“Come on, then.” Brackenreid headed toward the screen. There was no stopping him and Raymond stepped aside.

“Why don’t you do the check in? I’ll just deal with this one.” Murdoch winked at the attendant and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll fix him.”

Brackenreid led the way behind the screen and Murdoch pulled it closed around him.

“Quickly, Murdoch,” he hissed. “We don’t have much time. If I don’t get out of this place today, I’m stuck here indefinitely.
My wife and my doctor are coming tonight to sign commitment papers. In my best interest, of course.”

“How is the program working, sir?”

“It’s a heap of horse plop, if you ask me. For which people pay a hell of a lot of money. Did you get that medicine analyzed?”

“Yes, I did. It contains quite a sizable amount of cocaine.”

Brackenreid guffawed jubilantly. “I thought it was something like that. Cavanaugh is getting men off drink by getting them addicted to cocaine. No wonder his patients are so loyal. Who did the analysis of the medicine?”

“Dr. Julia Ogden.”

“Excellent, she’s an acquaintance of my wife’s. She’ll believe her.”

“Is everything all right in there?” Raymond called.

“Yes, we’re almost done,” Murdoch replied.

Brackenreid indicated a dresser on which were lined rows of vials filled with golden liquid. There was a hypodermic syringe on a cloth on top of the dresser.

Then to Murdoch’s horror, Brackenreid turned his back, bent over, and lifted up his night shirt, presenting a rather plump and somewhat hairy bottom.

“Do it, man.”

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“The syringe. You’ve got to give me the needle.”

“Good Lord, is it absolutely necessary?”

“Yes. The vials are counted. And if you breathe a word of this to anybody at the station, I’ll have your liver for breakfast. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. But I do want to warn you, I am not familiar with syringes.”

“You’ve played darts, haven’t you?”

“I have but –”

“Same thing. Come on, hurry up.”