DEATH WATCH

by Marie Rowan

  “No viewing and Pat and Joe arrested for breach of the peace.”

  “Under the circumstances, we’ll let them go when they’ve cooled off, Mr Adair. But we can’t have police officers assaulted whatever the cause. The proper person to identify the deceased is, if possible, the next of kin. It has been suggested that the lady in question might be your daughter, so her husband, as she is a married woman, is the person we’re looking for. As he cannot be located at the moment, we’re here to ask if you or your wife would be willing to take his place?” Comforting pats were placed on Mrs Adair’s shoulders, working jackets donned, and they were ready to leave.

  “What’s all this then, boys?” boomed a voice suddenly and everyone backed once more into the kitchen.

  “Where the hell have you been, Dolan?” yelled Charlie Adair. Dolan’s expletives and character assassination attempts turned the air blue. Mrs Adair burst into tears as her husband’s reply reverberated throughout the flat and Ned Adair socked Dolan on the jaw. Silence reigned as Dolan dropped like a ton of bricks.

  Jacobstein quietly produced his notebook.

  “Assault, did you say, Mr Dolan” he asked.

  “And battery, Mr Jacobstein,” put in a dazed Dolan, still flat out on the pristine linoleum.

  “And you Mr Charles Adair and Mr Edward, known as Ned, Adair will be bringing an action in a civil court as regards defamation of character by Mr Dolan, you said?” Jacobstein turned and looked at his boss. “Busy night, Inspector Pollock.”

  “You’re telling me. Somebody will make money out of this civil action and it will only be Mr Adair here’s lawyer. Very hard to prove with no witnesses.”

  “You heard,” chimed three voices at once. Pollock shook his head.

  “Only some muttering – incoherent, as I was conferring with my sergeant. And the same goes for Mr Dolan’s accusation. I was reading my sergeant’s notes when I suddenly noticed Mr Dolan flat on his back. Grief, I thought. Are you sure, Mr Dolan, you didn’t just faint? Yes, I thought you might have. Now, are we ready to leave. Let me help you up, Mr Dolan. Maybe you should sit by the fire awhile till you feel better.” Pollock reached the outside door first and slammed it shut. “By the time he comes to, everybody will have calmed down so back off all of you and take him into the kitchen. Nobody’s going anywhere till I say so.” Dolan was duly dragged roughly past the huge wooden coal-bunker and deposited alongside the Belfast sink.

  “She belongs to us. That waster’s a complete irrelevance.” Dolan shot to his feet at Charlie Adair’s words then fell against the sink.

  “That marriage certificate means I’m the next of kin. The insurance money’s mine,” moaned Dolan. “Mr Jacobstein, sir, you’re an educated man, tell them I’m right.” The sergeant eyed him with contempt.

  “We’re here to have the body identified,” said Pollock sighing, “so, Mr Dolan, will you accompany us to the station?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Adair and his look defied anyone there to argue with him.

  “No, I’ll do it!” Mrs Adair’s shrill voice settled the matter amongst the Adairs.

  “My wife, my duty,” said Dolan gingerly rubbing his jawbone.

  “Pity the word ‘duty’ never cropped up before, Dolan,” remarked his mother-in-law. Dolan was at least six inches shorter than the smallest Adair and he was now well-aware of it. But his loud mouth got the better of him.

  “Pity none of you thought to tell me I was marrying a hell-cat who liked to settle differences with a frying-pan.”

  “So did you!” shouted Mrs Adair. Dolan pretended not to hear.

  “Your best £2 cast-iron one at that, Mr Jacobstein. A wedding-present from my sister.” Pollock was beginning to think that his sergeant’s presence in that area was a double-edged sword. A bit like the frying-pan, in fact. He stepped in.

  “Now listen to me and listen hard. A young woman was found locally tonight – murdered. Right now we have men out interviewing people and trying to get as much initial information about that tragic incident as we possibly can. Acting on information received, we must ask Mr Dolan here to view the body if the deceased, as our information suggests, might be his wife.” Mrs Adair put her coat on, nobody took his off. Pollock knew he was about to become the Pied Piper. Dolan eyed the Adairs as he spoke,

  “I’m more than willing to come with you, Inspector Pollock, and do my duty.” Pollock spoke again drowning out all Adair expletives.

  “Should the deceased be Mrs Dolan, you, the Adair family including Pat and Joe, will be allowed to see her.” Dolan’s face as twisted with rage.

  “Now you listen to me, Mr CID.”

  “Shut up! You could quite easily be rendered surplus to requirements, Dolan,” warned Pollock.

  “Aye, and I’ll be the one to do it and I’ll do it with.” But Pollock stepped in again and addressed the fighting Adair son.

  “Your name, sir?” he asked and out came Jacobstein’s notebook once again. That brought the nameless one to a grinding halt.

  “His name’s Eugene, Eugene Adair,” said the lad’s father.

  “Keep your boys under control, Mr Adair, and remember, it might very well be their sister on that marble slab, so a bit of quiet respect please.”

  “Now, Eugene, walk right behind your da,” said Mrs Adair, “and remember we’re a respectable family, not louts, not wasters.” All there, including the detectives, looked at Dolan.

  “That’ll be right.” Dolan just could not leave well alone. “Till death do us part. I believe in that. I believed in it when I took those vows in front of that Primitive Methodist minister. That’s the only reason that frying-pan is still in that house.”

  “That attic!” Mrs Adair slipped that one in quietly but effectively. “Don’t suppose it’s there because you’re addicted to fried dumpling?” Pollock heard Jacobstein sigh deeply. Pollock said goodbye to that quick meeting with Tommy MacNamee.

  “Your daughter’s fancy-man is.” Pollock and Jacobstein were once more on red alert as Dolan yet again headed for the linoleum. Jacobstein caught him on the way down and once more Dolan was helped to his feet.

  “Everybody ready?” asked Pollock as he headed on out to the landing with the Adairs at his back. Jacobstein shut the door from the inside.

  “The fancy-man, Dolan. Explain in as few words as possible.”

  “Owen Farrell. He’s a foreman in the weaving factory where my deceased wife worked. She was his bit of overtime. He’s a lecherous swine and she’s not much better. A roving eye, she’s got or had, maybe. Strangled, they say?”

  “Who says, Dolan?” But Dolan suddenly rushed back into the kitchen, face as white as a sheet.

  “Has that wee rat been bad-mouthing me again, mister?” The woman tore past everybody on the stair as she shouted and threw open the door of the flat. Dolan was having a very bad day. Jacobstein finally managed to separate the fighting couple as Mrs Adair plaintively cried,

  “How are we gonnae get Pat and Joe out now?”

  “And you are, miss?” asked Pollock as if he didn’t know.

  “Lena Dolan.” Jacobstein had opted out as his look of ‘I wonder if the wee Irish linen tray-cloths are in yet’ shone thoughtfully in his dark eyes. He took refuge from the Dolan Adair mayhem in his notebook. Pollock’s mind went back to a certain ambush just south of the Khyber Pass and his successful reaction to it. He slammed down the lid of the bunker. All ducked, including the eldest body and silence ensued. Dolan was first to recover.

  “You’re no’ allowed to fire guns at innocent folk.”

  “A coal-bunker lid does not constitute a fire-arm. Now sit down all of you. I’ve a dead body I’m trying to have identified.”

  “And what’s that got to do with us,” cut in Mrs Dolan nippily. She did not outdo her husband.

  “He thought it was you, Lena, hen. He’s from the CID.”

  “So, what’s the CID and Jacobstein’s American Emporium in this house for because it obviously isnae me.”

&nb
sp; “I’m Detective Inspector Pollock and this is Detective Sergeant Jacobstein, both of the Criminal Investigation Department. We had it on good authority.”

  “Wee Tommy MacNamee!” Pollock glanced malignantly at Ned Adair before continuing.

  “We were of the impression that the deceased might by you, Mrs Dolan, so.”

  “But it’s not!”

  “Obviously, Mrs Dolan. Now I intend speaking for the next few minutes and I want no interruptions of any kind from anyone or we’ll continue this conversation in Camlachie police station.”

  “Where Pat and Joe are, hen,” wept Mrs Adair.

  “If I hear one more word from any of you, Joe and Pat Adair will be officially charged first thing in the morning with assaulting police officers. You’ll be two fewer for breakfast for a long time, Mrs Adair.” Nellie Adair subsided quickly into her fireside chair. Tempers were kept firmly in check. Pollock stood as if he were on the parade ground at Edinburgh Castle and everyone there felt the air of authority he exuded.

  “I’d like a word in private with Mrs Dolan. Mrs Adair may stay, the rest of you take yourselves out to the stairhead landing or the pub. Your choice.”

  “Move along now, gentlemen, no sense in wasting time,” said Jacobstein as the men trooped out onto the landing.

  “I’ve a right to stay here for she’s my wife,” protested Dolan. That cut no ice with Pollock and even less with Dolan’s better half.

  “We don’t want to keep Pat and his brother waiting. They don’t heat those cells, you know,” said Jacobstein completely ignoring Dolan. He closed the door very quietly as the men exited the flat then rested his notebook on the bunker lid and waited. Pollock sat on a chair beside the kitchen table as the women watched him closely from sturdy chairs on either side of the black-leaded kitchen grate.

  “We have on our hands here, Mrs Dolan, a young woman who has been very brutally murdered. It’s our job to identify the culprit and then turn all our evidence of his or her guilt over to the proper authorities so that justice might be done. The body was found earlier this evening and identified, not officially, as you.” Lena Dolan shook her head slowly.

  “I don’t know how Tommy MacNamee could have come to that conclusion.”

  “An honest mistake, Mrs Dolan, and, I might add, that he was very upset that it was you – or so he thought. This is not uncommon, a wrong identification that is, due to the severe shock the person receives and also the condition of the body. What I mean is that there were several facial injuries that would mean that a quick glance at the corpse would not necessarily give an accurate identification of the person. Also, of course, the light from the lamp that lit up the coal-righ was somewhat diminished by the smothering fog. But if I could just put a few questions to you, we might be able to clear that right out of the way and maybe understand why he was so adamant and so wrong.”

  “Ask away.”

  “First of all, I need to explain that we haven’t as yet questioned Mr MacNamee about it as he is somewhat incapacitated for the moment. But, hopefully, this will take place within the next hour or so. Now, why would he put forward your name? Had you been in the vicinity of the coal-yard this evening?

  “I was nowhere near it, Inspector Pollock, and there’s no point in asking me exactly where I was for two reasons. One, it’s none of your business and two, how could Tommy MacNamee see anyone clearly on a night like this? You should score him off your list of reliable witnesses.” Pollock smiled broadly.

  “Private detectives are all the fashion these days, Mrs Dolan. You might do well to consider a career in that line.” Lena Dolan waited impassively, Jacobstein dropped his pencil. What exactly did Lena Dolan know, wondered

  Pollock and who exactly had she been with?

  “Won’t drop him just yet. Right now, Mrs Dolan, I’m simply trying to know how the young people behave here. The deceased was found in the coal-yard, at the foot of the coal-righ, belonging to William Roberts and Son. As yet we have no idea who she was or what she was doing there. Is that yard generally used by young couples as a sort of private place at night?”

  “You mean instead of a back close?”

  “More or less.” Pollock was familiar himself with the opportunities a back close could present to a courting couple.

  “To answer your question, no it isn’t, for Harry Costello sometimes sits all night by that small, narrow door in the wall with a shotgun in his hands Not loaded, of course, but it can land you a helluva clatter when he strikes out. Unless the girl was his own guest,” Lena added smirking.

  “Not likely in this instance as he was evidently intoxicated beyond arousing any normal male appetites he might possess.” Pollock knew that the watchman had soiled himself in his drunken stupor some hours before. He had not been by that side door for some considerable length of time.

  “This interview, Inspector Pollock, is now at an end.” Lena Dolan walked towards the outside door and Jacobstein caught Pollock’s eye and made no attempt to stop her. Suddenly Pollock’s voice cut in sharply.

  “Do you own a scalloped-edged shawl and if so, who was wearing it instead of you tonight?” Lena Dolan froze and then an ear-shattering scream erupted from her throat. She wrenched open the door and fell into her father’s arms.

  “Da!” she screamed, “it’s Meg! Meg! She’s dead.”

  “What’s that you’re sayin’, Lena, and for God’s sake, stop screaming.” Dolan’s voice was even shriller and louder than his wife’s. He was grabbed unceremoniously by his brothers-in-law and rammed up against the wall as his wife’s screams turned into shouts.

  “It was him, Da, him! He’s killed her! Murdered our Meg!” Every door up that close was thrown open but Pollock now stood calmly by and signalled to his sergeant to do the same.

  “She’s mad,” Dolan croaked as Ned Adair’s forearm applied slight pressure to his throat.

  “No need for any rough stuff, boys,” said Jacobstein quietly, edging Ned’s arm off Dolan’s airways. “And you shut up, Dolan.”

  “You were saying, Mrs Dolan?” said Pollock making no attempt to get the Adairs back indoors. Lena Dolan’s contempt for her husband oozed from her large, dark eyes.

  “We’ve all heard him, that weasel, heard him say he’ll kill me and that’s why you probably couldnae find him and had to come here. Washing the glasses in that sleazy pub. Celebrating there thinking he’d done me in and got off free as a bird.” Jacobstein’s arm deflected the fierce blow aimed at Dolan and he felt it go dead.

  “Thanks, Mr Jacobstein,” squeaked Dolan. But the next attempt found its mark. Dolan lay prostrate on the landing as Joacobstein slouched against the wall.

  “That’s enough,” barked Pollock. “Every Adair on this landing will come with me and my sergeant to Camlachie police station. Get up and get back to your attic, Dolan. I’ll see you in the morning. Aye, Mrs Adair, you come as well. You can keep your daughter company.” Pollock turned to Jacobstein. “Are you nearly alright? Need a doctor?” Jacobstein forced himself to smile.

  “Tomorrow, maybe, but right now there’s no feeling and no pain, sir.”

  “Bring up the rear then.” Pollock raised his voice. “Show’s over, folks!” Doors slammed to on every level. “Right now, on the way to the station, the Adair family can decide among you who’s to do the preliminary identification until we can fetch the next of kin. And you can also tell me what relation she is to all of you.”

  “That’s me, her next-of-kin,” said Charlie Adair, “for she’s an orphan and we’re her only relatives. We brought her up. Lived here until recently.” The two women sobbed loudly.

  “Her name?”

  “Meg, Margaret Hughes, but I hope to God it isnae her. She lived here until a few months ago.” Pollock understood his wish but it had to be somebody.

  “Height? Build? Did she resemble you, Mrs Dolan?”

  “We were like twins.” Lena began to sob uncontrollably and suddenly fell into Dolan’s encircling arms. Pollock sighed and
relented.

  “Alright, you can come as well, Mr Dolan.” He shook his head in resignation and glanced at Jacobstein who was trying hard not to smile. “While the agreed person or persons are viewing the deceased, the rest of you will stay in the office and see to the release of Pat and Joe. The slightest hint of shenanigans and the brothers will be arrested immediately. Now work it out amongst you on the way to the police station, who will do what.”

  Charlie Adair staggered a little, turned ashen and threw up into a well scrubbed pail a yard or two from the marble slab. The constable in attendance did likewise for he had been on patrol all evening and had just been quickly assigned this new duty. Adair wiped his mouth with his hand and then made quickly for the door and the nearest sink. Pollock handed him in a small cake of carbolic soap. He also scrubbed his own hands although he didn’t quite know why.

  “Do you recognise the deceased girl?” he asked Adair, viewing the distinctly green face with alarm. The man nodded but it was a few painful minutes before he could get the words out.

  “It’s Meg alright. Now they’re all gone, all my own brothers and sisters and their children. Typhus in 1867 got the lot of them except wee Meg. You can leave finding out who did this to me and my boys, Mr Pollock. It’s our right. Lena will ferret him out and me and her brothers will dispense justice. Won’t cost the working man a penny piece.” Adair broke down again. “She was a trusting wee lassie was Meg.”

  “Come on back through here, Mr Adair. Go home with all of your family and leave this up to us. I can assure you we’ll be working at it night and day and we’ll get whoever did this. Don’t you doubt that for a moment. I’ll make sure you’re kept informed.” There was an unnerving silence in the front office and Charlie Adair ignored them all and quickly made for the front door, his close family right on his heels, all except Lena. She made for Pollock.

  “Let me see her.”

  “Better not, Mrs Dolan, at least not until after the police surgeon’s made his detailed examination and that will take place in the City Mortuary as soon as this fog lifts and we can get her there. As soon as that’s over, you’ll be informed and then you can see your cousin. We’ll treat Meg with every respect, I can assure you of that.”