Under the Dragon's Tail (18 page)

“Yes, I have. I was a witness in the Jimmy Mashuter case.”

“I don’t recall…”

“He stole some gloves. It was wintertime and he had frostbite in four fingers. He was a child of the streets, no parents worthy of the name. You sent him to the penitentiary for three years.”

Pedlow flapped his hand in Murdoch’s direction. “I detect criticism in your voice, Mr. Murdoch, but in all
my years on the bench I have been steadfastly of the opinion that firm measures in the beginning will save the criminal and society itself later transgressions.”

“The boy was placed among hardened criminals, sir. He hanged himself shortly after he arrived at the prison.”

Pedlow shrugged. “Obviously of a weak character. Wouldn’t have amounted to much.” He reached over and patted his wife’s hand. “Now don’t think too harshly of me, Mrs. Pedlow. These are the difficult decisions I face every day. You have no idea how burdensome they feel sometimes.”

Murdoch stood up abruptly. “Thank you for your time.”

Pedlow snapped his fingers at the butler, who had been watching the proceedings with frank curiosity.

“Burns, see Mr. Murdoch out if you please.”

As he stood up, Murdoch addressed Henry Pedlow. “We’ve met before, I believe, sir.”

“Where?” asked his uncle.

Henry contrived to appear embarrassed. “In truth it was at a tavern, was it not, Mr. Murdoch?”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“It didn’t seem necessary, Uncle.”

“What tavern?”

“I don’t recall. I sometimes enjoy rubbing shoulders with the working classes. Gives me a perspective on life, as it were.”

Walter considered him, clearly not conned. However, he chose not to pursue the matter. Murdoch saw the
decision and knew it was not made from affection or concern for Henry. He wouldn’t invite the possibility of shit being revealed in front of the detective. Murdoch felt a decidedly unchristian desire for the entire Pedlow family to be humbled. He was actually contemplating ways and means when he realized Pedlow was talking to him.

“I’m sure the malefactor will appear in front of me before long, eh, Murdoch? We’ll throw the book at him.”

“Perhaps the circumstances will dictate that, sir. And we don’t know for sure. The malefactor might be a woman. And that changes everything, doesn’t it?”

Surprisingly Pedlow didn’t take offence.

“Not in my court it doesn’t. Doesn’t matter to me what’s under their clothes. Pegs or holes makes no difference.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
he bathroom at the Yeoman Club was luxuriously appointed. The water closet was of mahogany and porcelain, the faucets solid brass, the towels of satin damask. Annie, mother naked, was washing herself out with a rubber douche. Fenton was most particular about using French letters, but tonight he’d been too full, too lazy to use one. In fact, Annie had manoeuvred this state of affairs, pretending an urgency of desire she did not at all feel. She had her scheme well planned and it needed to be plausible. In two or three weeks she would approach him with anxious sighs, a tear unbidden. Then a little later, a frightened confirmation. If necessary she was quite prepared to escalate to hysterical scenes. She knew there was no chance of Fenton marrying her.
He was a man of high aspirations. Next year he intended to run for alderman, and however cunt-struck he might be presently she doubted he could be pushed into such an unsuitable marriage. She’d read in the
News
that he had been paying court to the young daughter of one of his partners. So much the better. More reason for him to want Annie’s silence. Besides, she didn’t really want to marry. Not yet. In spite of the vulgarity of the Derby she liked the life, the attention, the feeling she had on good nights that she held them captive. Even the drunkest sot was silent when she sang “Home Sweet Home.”

She winced at the cool water. No, a handsome settlement for pain and suffering would be enough. She’d slip out of Fenton’s life, let him know discreetly that their problem had been solved and put the money away. She’d played out this script twice already with different men.

Annie finished what she was doing, put the douche back in its case, and started to get dressed. She studied herself in the mirror and frowned at her reflection. I’m getting as bad as Millie. Can’t lose my looks just yet. She pinched her cheeks to make them glow. She pulled a face at herself, a bit saucy but innocent. Promise of fun, naughty fun. A little lowering of the chin, raising of her eyes, they all liked that. When you give me your look, said Fenton, I grow erect at once.

She got sick of them sometimes. The knee tremblers, the flyers, the back scuttlers. All for what? Less than a minute’s worth of tickle and sneeze. But her savings in the Dominion Bank on King Street were growing. When
she had enough money she intended to buy her own business and then she could afford to pick and choose her own man, if she wanted one at all. She’d even look after Millie and her brat if Meredith got stubborn.

She breathed in and hooked up her corset. Her dress smelled of sweat and cigar smoke. She would have liked to have worn fresh clothes but she’d come directly from the Derby to the rendezvous with Fenton, who was presently snoring and snuffing in the bed. He’d been too drunk to remember to leave money but she had no compunction about dipping into the pocket of his trousers where he’d stuffed his bill folder. She took out two ten-dollar bills and put them into her chatelaine, snapping it closed with more anger than she realized. There was no sound outside in the hall. Everybody was asleep, the waiters gone. Tonight she was glad to be leaving so late. She felt as if her nerves were at the surface of her skin, and the contemptuous glances she usually elicited would burn.

Millie pushed the quilt off her legs. Her pregnancy made her hot all the time. She was half-asleep, uncomfortable with the heartburn she had suffered from for the last week. She heard the front door open softly and a light tread across the threshold. Quickly, she turned to face the wall, not wanting Annie to know she was awake. Her sister was often full when she came in, and she stank of cigars and another smell that Millie didn’t want to identify. Better not to be awake.

Last night, she’d denied her sister, ignoring the whispered plea.

“Millie, are you asleep? Millie?”

Annie was quite capable of shaking her roughly awake if she wanted to and this soft, plaintive whisper frightened her more than any anger could have. But she hadn’t responded and Annie had gone into the kitchen, where she had started to cry. Why was she mithering, thought Millie resentfully. She wasn’t the one with her apron up.

The floorboard creaked again. Annie was being uncommonly quiet. Probably so sozzled she couldn’t walk straight. Again a footstep. She suddenly smelled something pungent. She started to turn. “Annie, what–”

A knee was pressed against her back forcing her into the bed. One hand pushed her head into the pillow, the other jammed a cloth against her nose and mouth. There was something on the cloth, sickeningly sweet but stinging at the same time. It invaded her nose and throat, choking her. She couldn’t move from the weight pinning her down, couldn’t scream, couldn’t breathe.

Dark red clouds wrapped around her, pulling her downward, paralyzing her limbs so she could no longer struggle, only sink into a fast-moving river of unconsciousness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
n a sudden change of weather, Friday was wet and cool. Murdoch was still feeling chilled from his damp morning ride and downing two mugs of enamel-destroying tea hadn’t helped that much. The grey light, the patter of the rain on the window, the memories that had been stirred yesterday were lowering his spirits. Usually, the worn furniture in his cubicle was comfortably familiar but this morning it looked shabby and second-rate. He was glad when he heard Crabtree’s solid tread in the hall. The constable stepped into the cubicle.

“There’s a telephone call for you, sir. A Mr. Bright. Says he’s a druggist.”

Murdoch jumped up and followed him back to the
main room of the station where the telephone was situated. The young duty officer glanced at him curiously. Telephone calls were few and far between.

“Murdoch here.”

Mr. Bright wasn’t used to his new instrument yet, and he spoke at top volume.

“I did some tests on those pills you gave me…can you hear me?”

“Indeed I can, sir. In fact you can speak a little softer if you like.”

“Oh, right! The wife says I bellow into this dratted thing.” He obviously moved further away from the mouthpiece because Murdoch could now hardly make out what he was saying. “How’s that?”

“Somewhere in the middle would be perfect, sir.”

This time he got it right but began to speak in a slower than normal voice. “Nothing in there that shouldn’t be. Iron from the beef blood, some wheat for filler. They won’t hurt you any if you take them in moderation.”

“And if you don’t? Take them in moderation, I mean?”

The druggist chuckled. “They won’t kill you but they’ll bind you up something terrible. You won’t be able to pass out a pea. They’ll likely give you bad piles too.”

“I see. Thank you, Mr. Bright. I appreciate your help.”

“Not at all. Just take two tablespoons of fig syrup oil morning and night ’til you’re regular.”

Murdoch realized the druggist thought the pills belonged to him and that he was too embarrassed to admit to it.

They hung up. Crabtree was standing at the counter that divided the room. Murdoch was aware suddenly that the big man seemed to take every opportunity to remain standing. He walked over to him.

“Crabtree, a word in your ear.”

He whispered his question so none of the other constables could hear. Crabtree flushed but he nodded.

“Yes, sir. For almost two weeks.”

Murdoch asked him another question and again he nodded, shamefaced.

“Quite painful if the truth be told, sir.”

Murdoch passed on the druggist’s recommendation.

“You can get the stuff at–”

Suddenly the outer door slammed open. The young woman who burst in was dressed in startlingly garish and indecorous clothes. A couple of old men who had come to complain about each other stared open-mouthed, and the constables at the duty desk lit up with excitement. Annie Brogan was in her stage costume.

She saw Murdoch and came over to him.

“I need to talk to you. In private.” Her previously flirtatious manner had quite vanished and she seemed oblivious of the leering men.

“Of course. This way, please.” He paused. Annie looked quite exhausted. “Can I get you a cup of tea?” he added.

A strange expression crossed her face and Murdoch didn’t realize at first that she had forced back tears.

“Thank you. That’s kind. I could do with one.”

“I’ll bring it in, sir,” said Crabtree.

Murdoch ushered Annie through the passageway to his cubicle.

“You’ll have to not mind my clothes. I haven’t had a chance to change since I did my show.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’ve been with my sister at the general hospital for the last eight hours.” She bit her lip. “I thought I’d lost her.”

They were interrupted by Crabtree with a mug of tea. She took it and managed a vestige of her old smile. She gulped some down.

“Ouch! It’s hot.” But she drank some more, greedily. Murdoch waited. She drained back the tea, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She’d rubbed away most of the colouring from her eyelids and she seemed more vulnerable, younger even.

“I’ll get to the point. Last night, about one o’clock, somebody came into my house and drugged my sister, Mildred–”

“Drugged?”

“Chloroform. I didn’t get home until almost two.” She glanced away from him. “I was dining with a friend of mine. I keep late hours. Anyway when I came in, there was Millie half on the bed and half on the floor.” She paused, struggling for self-control. “She was so white and still, I thought she was dead. Thanks be to God, she’s not. I managed to get her sitting up and she started to come around.”

In fact, Annie had stuck her fingers down Millie’s throat until she vomited all over both of them.

“What happened?”

“She doesn’t know. All she remembers is hearing somebody come into the room–thought it was me and didn’t want to admit she was awake, nocky bint. Then this stinking cloth was over her face. It was chloroform for sure. She still reeked of it.”

“Any idea who did it?”

“Could I have another cuppa char, Mr. Murdoch? I’m parched.”

“I’ll get you one in a minute.” He knew she was stalling and he didn’t want to lose her. “Is your sister all right now?”

Annie looked away again. “Yes. Millie wasn’t forced or anything like that. She’ll live.”

“So who was it?” he repeated. “What did they want?”

“Who I don’t know. Why is probably to take something of mine.”

“What?”

She retreated, sipped the last of her tea, then came back to her resolve.

“A book. An album–this is the truth now and I don’t care if it gets me into trouble. It was me your man saw going into Dolly’s house the night she was stiffened–and I didn’t do it so get that out of your mind.”

“It wasn’t in.”

“Yes, well. You were right, I went there to get something for Millie. I knew Dolly from before, and she would give you stuff like that. For a price of course. A high price.”

“And did she?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, trying to step on the stones and not in the quicksand. She intended to tell Murdoch only what suited her. “I bought what I came for, but she took out this autograph album. It was pretty, blue leather and gold letters. When her back was turned I nicked it.”

“And somebody came to your house, almost killed your sister, and stole this book and nothing else?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why would they go to the trouble of chloroforming a woman for an album, however gold the letters? You can go to a fancy goods store on King Street and buy a dozen. You can order them from Sears catalogue. This is a bit extreme wouldn’t you say?”

She shrugged. “People are mad as mice sometimes. I can’t explain what’s in the klep’s mind.”

“Annie, come on. This is horse plop, as you call it.”

Annie began to play with a thread on her skirt. In another situation she would have turned it into something coy but now she just looked like a child trying to find a way out of trouble.

“Miss Brogan! Annie! Look at me! I’m real sorry for what happened to your sister, but I can’t do anything about it unless you stop giving me the runaround. Besides, I happen to know what was special about that album.”

“You do, do you?”

“Dolly Shaw told her neighbour that it was her record book. She called it a record of the sins of the world.”

Annie scowled. “Did she now?”

“What was in it really?”

“I suppose you could call it that, I wouldn’t. There’s lots of girls get caught. And they’re the ones who pay, not the gassers.” Her voice was bitter. “Dolly Shaw never asked questions. She was a good midwife, mind you, but it was discretion you paid the muck for. And it’s true. She did write everything in her sodding album. Names and dates. I saw her.”

“When was that?”

“Doesn’t matter. A long time ago.”

“Did Dolly try to put the squeeze on you? Some dosh in exchange for silence?”

“You have to be pulling it. I’m already a Jezebel in the eyes of the world. Who’d care if there were more dilberries to be seen on my arse?”

“You are mentioned, though?”

“I didn’t say so.”

“Why’d you steal the book, then?”

“I had my reasons, but they don’t concern you.”

“They might.”

“I wasn’t planning to put the touch on the poor tits who fell into her clutches, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I wasn’t.”

Annie stared at him, trying to read his expression, then she said, “All right. What else do you want to know?”

“Who knew the album was in your possession?”

“I don’t know. My sister saw it but that’s all.”

“Was Dolly aware you’d nicked it?”

Annie laughed. “She wasn’t dead yet. She had to know, seeing she was clutching it to her bosom when we had our dustup. I snatched it out from her.”

“This is the truth now? You had a quarrel?”

“That’s it.”

“What about?”

“It’s not relevant.”

Murdoch let that go, trying to play the line gently.

“Somebody must have come soon after you left. Dolly might have told them you had the book.”

“Hey, do I hear right? What you just said could be construed as a belief in my innocence.”

“That’s my assumption at the moment.”

She grinned again. “When you come to the Derby and said she was dead, I thought I was the one as killed her. She fell down, you see, when I grabbed the book. She was drunk to her top knot. I could hear her moaning when I left so I was pretty certain she was still quick, but you gave me a heart-stopper for a minute. It was a great relief to me that the old sod was suffocated, God forgive me.”

“Did she hit her head on the fender when she fell?”

“No. She sort of staggered backwards and sat on her behind against her desk. She wasn’t near the hearth at all.”

“How long were you in the house, would you say?”

“Not long. Must have been with her for half an hour at the most.”

“Which way did you go when you left?”

“Straight down River Street. I picked up a cabbie on Queen Street. You can get his docket. Old guy, name of Aloysius. Horse was a dapple.”

“What were you and Mrs. Shaw arguing about?”

“Nothing in particular. Dolly was very nasty when she had a skin on.”

“How much did you pay for the abortifacient?”

She grimaced. “As it turned out, I didn’t pay anything. We had the barney and I grabbed the album and ran, taking my money with me. She’d given me the herbs already. Wasn’t stealing; she owed me.”

“Miss Brogan, I found a copy of a letter in her desk that was asking for money. It wasn’t addressed. Will you swear to me Dolly Shaw didn’t send you that letter?”

“I swear. Besides, she wasn’t so thick as to think she’d get much dosh from me.”

Murdoch believed her but he wasn’t going to let her off so easily just yet. He regarded her sombrely.

“It is obviously to your benefit if we find her murderer soon. Somebody is willing to take extraordinary risks to get the information in that book.”

“Well, they’ve got what they want now.”

“But this person must believe you have that knowledge as well. They might want to erase it. Make sure it dies with you.”

“You’d better find them then.”

“Come clean and give me a chance to.”

Annie sat silently for what seemed like a long time. She glanced around at the cracked walls, the dingy chair,
and filing cabinet. She waved away a persistent fly. Murdoch sat as patiently as he could. Finally, she said, “I want you to find who attacked Millie. She didn’t deserve it…the chloroform caused her to miscarry.”

Murdoch pulled out his handkerchief and gave it to her.

“It’s funny,” Annie continued. “You wish and pray that the thing inside you won’t live, but when it doesn’t, you feel very bad.”

She blew her nose indelicately and rubbed at the tears. Looking very sad, she said, “If I tell you my own wicked story, are you certain it will be of help?”

“It might.”

“Here goes then.” She raised her hand in a mock toast. “When I was young and foolish.” She smiled slightly. “We all do something foolish when we’re young, don’t we, Mr. Murdoch?”

“Certainly.” He didn’t consider her exactly old now but he didn’t say anything.

“I had a lover. A wonderful, handsome prince. My Othello. I was only seventeen, and like Desdemona I loved him for the tales he told. He promised to marry me, the usual malarkey to get what he wanted. I got one in the oven pretty fast, and lo, my adoring lover wasn’t quite so adoring. He’d neglected to mention a wife and family pining for him somewhere in America. He gave me enough money to get by, sent me off to Dolly’s, and slipped away into the night. I went to lie in at her house in Markham, and on February the fourth, in the early
hours of the morning, I was delivered of a baby boy.” She stopped and tipped her empty cup, trying to find sustenance in it. “I was just starting on the stage and I couldn’t raise a nipper on my own, so Dolly arranged for the baby to go to a farmer’s family in the village. I only saw him once, never even held him in my arms. Dolly wouldn’t let me.” Unconsciously, she placed her hand at her bosom. “I had to promise I would make payments every month, two dollars for the child’s maintenance. My baby wasn’t easy to place, you see. Dolly said nobody would take him unless I agreed to pay regularly. Coming up with the muck was hard but I did it. Sent her money faithfully. For eight years. When I went to see her for Millie, I asked how the boy was doing. I’d been thinking for a long time that I’d like to visit him. Incognito of course–I didn’t want to disturb his life, which I hoped was a happy one.”