Except the Dying (8 page)

Before the doctor could respond there was another tap and Crabtree thrust his head through the reed curtain.

“’Scuse me, sir, but there’s a gentleman out in the hall. A Mr. Shepcote. He won’t wait.”

Murdoch looked at Rhodes. “Could this be your dinner guest?”

At that moment the man himself appeared. He wasn’t as tall as the constable but he was as wide, and a heavy raccoon coat made him wider. “Rhodes?”

He had a booming voice, and Murdoch didn’t miss the almost involuntary flinching that occurred in Dr. Rhodes. Or the look of utter distaste that crossed his face. However, he got to his feet.

“Shepcote, I’m in here.”

Crabtree backed away, squeezing past the newcomer, and Shepcote pushed through the curtain into the little cubicle. He ignored Murdoch and addressed Rhodes.

“Must be true, then? It
is
your maid that’s been found. Harriet said it was her. What in Hades happened to the girl?”

Murdoch intervened. “Mr. Shepcote, I’m Detective Murdoch, the investigator on the case.”

The alderman had a red wind-whipped face, thick blond sidewhiskers and prominent blue eyes. He considered Murdoch for a moment, then thrust out his hand.

“’Pologies for bursting in like this. But it was a shock,
seeing as how it was Saturday when I saw the girl alive. I thought I’d better do my duty and get over here. What in Hades happened?” he asked again.

Murdoch turned to Rhodes. “Would you mind waiting for me outside, Doctor? I’d like to talk to Mr. Shepcote in private for a moment.”

“Outside? In the h-h-hall?”

Rhodes was reacting as if Murdoch had suggested he go sit in the privy.

“Did you come by carriage? There, if you prefer.”

Rhodes left and Shepcote took the chair, undoing his heavy coat. Murdoch knew who he was. He owned the
Signal
, a popular morning newspaper, and he’d used it as a vehicle to get himself elected to the city council, splashing the front page for a month with his portrait and highly flattering endorsements from local businessmen. As far as Murdoch was concerned the man was welcome to the job.

Shepcote was watching him with his head turned to a slight angle, as if one eye was sharper than the other.

“What’s the story? What happened to that poor girl?”

Murdoch avoided a direct answer. “I understand you dined with Dr. Rhodes on Saturday. Is that where you saw Therese Laporte?”

“That’s it. She’s their maid, or was, I should say.”

“How did she seem?”

“I can’t say I paid much notice. She took my hat and coat and I went into the drawing room.”

“Did she appear distressed? Ill? Disturbed in any way?”

Shepcote gave a snort. “Strange question, isn’t it? Like I said, I didn’t pay her any attention. I was there to visit Rhodes and his wife, not to hobnob with the servants.”

Murdoch kept his head down as he made notes. “I can take that as a no, then, can I, sir?”

“You can.”

“I understand you gave Dr. Rhodes a ride in your carriage at the end of the evening. You left him off at his office.”

“That’s it.”

“What time was that, sir?”

“I’ve no idea. Must have been before ten.”

“Where did you go then?”

Shepcote’s face went even redder. “Look here! I came here as a good citizen because I thought I knew some poor dead girl. Why the hell are you questioning me like I was a candidate for St. Vincent’s?”

Murdoch would have dearly liked to tell him to sod off but that was too dangerous a thing to do with an alderman.

“Because I’m investigating a serious incident. At the least we’re dealing with manslaughter, at the worst, murder.”

That shut his nab. Murdoch pulled over the postmortem report and read it aloud again.

Shepcote tugged a large bird’s-eye handkerchief out of his inner pocket and wiped at his face. “Good God! Shows you can never tell with wenches. One in the basket! She didn’t seem like a willing tit.”

“We can’t make assumptions, can we, sir? Connections could have been forced on her.”

“Wouldn’t she have said something? Told her mistress?”

“Not necessarily. She’d be afraid to lose her position.”

The alderman stared at him for a moment in his lopsided way, then shook his head violently. “Terrible thing, terrible. But see here, Sergeant, you can count on my help. I’ll make it front-page news.”

And it’ll sell you more papers
, thought Murdoch.

“Thank you, Mr. Shepcote. If Dr. Rhodes confirms the identification at the morgue, I can go right over and get a description of the clothes she was wearing. It’ll help us to trace her movements. Perhaps I could bring that information to the paper later today?”

“Of course.”

Murdoch flipped the sheet of paper in his notebook. “And where did you go after you let off Dr. Rhodes?”

“What? Oh, yes. I went over to my club.”

“Which one is that, sir?”

“The Yeoman Club on River Street. I stayed there ’til midnight or so, then went home. I suppose you’d like
my address? One hundred and twenty Berkeley Street.”

“Did you drive the carriage yourself?”

“I did not. Them days have long gone. I’ve got a man, George Canning. You can ask him, if you doubt my word.”

“It’s not a matter of doubt, sir.”

There was the sound of footsteps out in the hall and again Constable Crabtree loomed outside the curtain. “Dr. Rhodes wants to know if you’ll be much longer. The horse is getting cold.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Shepcote stood up to leave.

“Just one more question, sir,” said Murdoch. “Do you have any opinion as to who might have had connections with the girl?”

“Hardly.”

“You’re a shrewd man, Mr. Shepcote. Did you notice anything at all? Anyone eyeing the girl? Any little glances, a brush of the hand, that sort of thing?”

“You’re sounding like a novel, sir. Our encounter must have lasted a minute. Didn’t see her after that. But if you’re looking for a culprit, you should go talk to the Rhodeses’ stableboy. He’s a home boy and we all know they have the morals of dogs.” His voice grew louder and with a certain ring as if he were addressing eager members of the Mechanics Institute. “As a matter of fact, I’m bringing a bill to the council as soon as I can. We’ve got to limit our intake of immigrants. These
children they send us are the offspring of degenerates and criminals. It’s in their blood. You only have to take one gander at that boy and you can tell. Shifty-eyed as they come!”

“I understand the boy’s only thirteen.”

“So what? I’ve known boys like him and younger who’ve sired naturals like rutting dogs.”

“I’ll speak to him, sir. Thank you for coming.”

“Yes, of course. Terrible business it is for certain. But I’ll wager a month’s salary that boy’s the culprit.”

And I’ll wager we’ll see that in your paper tomorrow morning
, thought Murdoch.
And a lot of people will be only too ready to believe you.

He was also struck by the fact that neither Rhodes nor Shepcote had commented on the presence of opium in the girl’s body.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY II

O
WEN
R
HODES FINISHED FASTENING
the skate blade to Harriet’s boot.

“There you go. Ready?”

He pulled her arm through his and they glided off onto the ice. The rink was a cleared patch of the frozen river Don. Later it would get crowded, young men and women meeting after working hours to skate in the torchlight, but now in the morning the other skaters were mostly boys playing truant from school. A ragged bunch nearby had one pair of skate blades among them, and a fierce quarrel erupted as they tried to determine whose turn it was next. Some other boys were sliding on pieces of cardboard and shouting with delight.

Owen and Harriet skated past them.

“Your cold seems better,” said Owen.

“It is. Sometimes I think it’s better to ignore colds, don’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

In fact, when he had come to call on her late this morning, Harriet had been feeling wretched, but she wouldn’t dream of forgoing the chance to be with him and had quickly agreed to spend a couple of hours skating on the river.

“You’re an excellent skater, Harriet.”

“Oh, I’m not. You lead so well.” The exercise had whipped colour into her cheeks and her eyes glowed with pleasure. Owen felt a rush of affection for her. He squeezed her arm.

“Shall we waltz?”

“I’m a bit shaky still on the turns.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a master.”

It was true. His hold on her was firm and confident and his strokes effortless. She gazed up at him. Even though the closeness of his body made her almost breathless, she liked it. He made an easy half-turn and smiled at her.

“There, well done … Harriet, dear, I have a small favour to ask you. You must say at once if you can’t do it because it might mean telling a little fib.”

“Yes?”

She was thrilled that he wanted something from her. That she had something to offer.

“I’ve mentioned my friends Sprague and McDonough
to you before. They are fine chappies. The best. And, well, you see, we’ve all developed quite the passion for billiards. A fellow needs some pleasure once in a while, don’t you think? Whoops!”

She almost stumbled but he pulled her around easily into a glide.

“I think billiards is a fine sport.”

“So do I. Anyway, what I wanted to ask you is this. After I left you on Saturday night I dropped in at Hugh’s house and we got into a few rounds. He gave me no quarter, nor I him. Before I knew it the clock was striking twelve. And like Cinderella I knew I had better be getting home … If anyone were to ask, could you bring yourself to say that you and I were together, chatting?”

Harriet looked bewildered. “Who would ask?”

“To tell you the truth, Mother entirely disapproves. She’s afraid I’ll be distracted from my studies, that sort of thing … Shall we have a breather?” He manoeuvred her towards a bench. “Would you do that for me, Harriet? Say I didn’t leave your house until midnight?”

“That would be very late, wouldn’t it?”

“We were in the parlour the entire time.”

She sat down on the bench, and a boy appeared at once at her elbow. His clothes were dirty and too big for him and he was shaking with cold. He had a bundle of newspapers under his arm.

“Latest news, miss. One cent.”

“No, no, she doesn’t want one. Shoo.”

“Exciting stories today … The
Gascoyne’s
come in to New York all safe –”

“No.”

“A lady’s been found dead as a doornail. Nobody knows who she is. There’s a big reward for news …”

“The young lady doesn’t want to hear any of that sordid nonsense. Go away.”

The newsboy kept his eyes fixed on Harriet.

“If I don’t sell nothin’ I won’t eat nothin’, kind missus.”

“What a story. You look well-fed to me,” jeered Owen.

That wasn’t true. The boy’s face was thin and pasty. Not even the wind could bring colour to his cheeks.

“Please, mister …” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I heard as the girl was naked as a jaybird –”

“Get out of here. We don’t want to hear about it.” Owen handed the boy a five-cent piece. “No, keep the newspaper. Sell it to somebody else.”

The boy grinned in delight. “Thanks, mister.” He trotted off to where the boys were skating, dropped his bag of papers and started to beg for a skate.

Harriet looked at Owen. “I wonder what that was about, the dead girl, I mean?”

“Some sensationalism, as usual. Those boys are clever little beggars when they want to pump up a story.”

He sat down close beside her on the bench and took her hand in his. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have
asked what I did just now. It’s too –”

“No, it’s not at all. I quite understand. Father can be quite severe when he wants to. What you’re asking is such a small fib. It doesn’t matter at all.” She lowered her head and he could see the blush flood her neck and cheeks. “Besides, we were together in my thoughts.”

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on her cold cheek.

“And mine. Bless you. The subject mightn’t come up but if it does, don’t forget, Mother can winkle the truth out of an oyster if she sets her mind to it.”

She smiled. “I can actually be quite good at dissembling … I simply become very vague.”

She wrinkled her forehead and pursed her lips to show him and he burst out laughing. “That answer deserves a bag of chestnuts. Don’t move.”

On the other bank a man had set up his brazier and was calling his wares. “’Taties, chestnuts, get them hot.”

Harriet watched Owen as he skated off. He was wearing dark brown knickerbockers, a brown ribbed sailor’s jersey and a matching cap, and she thought he was easily the best-dressed and handsomest man on the rink. And by far the most accomplished skater. Of course she could tell a small lie for him. There was no question.

At four o’clock, Murdoch and Constable Crabtree were seated in Brackenreid’s office. The inspector claimed to
have dragged himself in from his sickbed to attend to the matter at hand. True, his hands shook and there was a yellowish cast to his eyes, but Murdoch doubted his motives were so noble. He sensed the inspector was torn between ambition and nervousness about a case that touched so closely on a well-to-do family like the Rhodeses. Not unlike Murdoch himself.

Thomas Brackenreid’s father had emigrated from County Cork during the potato famine of ′51 and by luck and ruthlessness carved himself a living as a dry goods merchant. Young Thomas had known hardship from an early age and was determined to hoist himself up the social ladder, not much caring what heads he used as struts. He joined the police force as a young man and rose steadily up the ranks. Late in life he married the indulged daughter of a local lawyer, and gleeful gossip around the station claimed she led him a merry dance. Before his demons overtook him, he had been a shrewd, hard-working man with a certain meticulousness about detail that served him well. Now, those qualities were more and more obscured.