Arrowood and the Meeting House Murders

by Mick Finlay

  The guvnor continued to pace up and down the length of the hall, his arms crossed over his breast, thoughtful and unhappy. Finally, we heard a knock at the front door and the PC stomp down the stairs to open up. From the clicking approaching in the lobby, the detective who’d arrived had hobnails on his boots.

  ‘These are the men who called us, sir,’ said the young copper when they appeared.

  ‘Thank you, McDonald,’ said the detective. He was about the same age as me, a strange-looking fellow, his thin eyes gummy somehow, a bony lump the size of a Brussels sprout on his neck. Beneath his bowler, his red hair, cut tight to his skull, was the texture of a scrubbing brush. He looked at us with a scowl. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Napper. Who are you?’

  ‘Mr Arrowood,’ said the guvnor, pushing himself to his feet. ‘And this is Mr Barnett, my assistant.’

  Napper thought for a few moments, then his eyes opened wide. ‘The private enquiry agents?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Napper nodded. ‘I was at the Catford Murder Inquiry. You didn’t get the credit you deserved, sir.’

  The guvnor coloured, and a look approaching worry came across his face. We didn’t hardly ever get praised by the Old Bill. ‘Thank you, detective inspector,’ he said slowly, waiting for the criticism. But none came. Instead, Napper marched over to Fowler and squatted.

  ‘Who’s this gentleman?’ he asked as he had a poke at the body.

  ‘Mr Fowler,’ said the guvnor. ‘He’s a Quaker.’

  ‘The African’s in the basement,’ said the PC, pointing at the door.

  ‘His name’s Musa,’ said the guvnor. ‘We don’t know if he has another name.’

  ‘Did you search the building, McDonald?’ asked Napper.

  ‘Yes, sir. Couldn’t find nobody else, but some of the rooms is locked.’

  Napper took the lamp and went down to the basement, the PC following him. Five minutes later he was back up again, Musa’s letter in his hands. He click-clacked over to look in Fowler’s pockets. There he found a bunch of keys. The guvnor looked at me with a frown: it seemed he hadn’t searched the fellow as well as he could have.

  Napper gave them to the PC. ‘See if you can get in those rooms. And send for the police surgeon.’

  He lifted the lid of the piano and began to play a slow polka, stumbling over the notes while we sat smoking. He gave up in the middle of the tune, eased himself onto one of the benches and opened the letter again. He looked up. ‘Tell me everything, Mr Arrowood. Who are these people and why are you here?’

  The guvnor told him what we knew. Napper listened close, fiddling with a couple of marbles he’d pulled from his pocket.

  ‘So, what do you think happened?’ he asked when Arrowood had finished.

  ‘The first possibility is that the Capaldis came to take the Africans back,’ said the guvnor, lighting his pipe. I noticed his hands trembling as he did it. ‘Mr Capaldi did promise to kill one of them if they didn’t perform. His men arrived, there was a fight and the two men were killed. They captured the others and took them away.’

  ‘Or the others escaped,’ said Napper. ‘But how would Capaldi know they were hiding here?’

  ‘They’d have learnt that Mr Fowler had been asked by the court to help. They might have followed him or asked one of his servants where he was. And people would have noticed four Africans coming into this building. I just don’t understand why Capaldi would go to these lengths, though.’ Arrowood pinched his hooter, to prevent a sneeze, then added, ‘It doesn’t seem very sensible, does it? He’s the obvious suspect.’

  ‘The murderer usually is the obvious suspect,’ grunted Napper. ‘In my experience. Doesn’t pay to be too clever, elsewise you end up chasing ghosts.’

  ‘But think of the money side of it, sir. Capaldi’s got shows booked at the Royal Aquarium all over Christmas and the New Year. Tickets sold. He’ll never be able to exhibit the other three now.’

  ‘Seems like good publicity to me,’ said Napper. ‘People’ll be flocking to see the Zulus when they read about these murders.’

  ‘Did you see what they did to Musa? Even Barnum wouldn’t do that for publicity.’

  ‘People will do anything for money. Have you forgotten the slave ships, Arrowood?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘D’you know what people do to each other here, in your own city? I’ve seen men slice the skin off a baby as revenge on their mothers. I’ve seen—’

  ‘Please, detective!’ cried the guvnor, holding up his hand. ‘I know people can be cruel.’

  ‘Maybe Mr Capaldi has to be seen doing what he said he’d do,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s as simple as that.’

  ‘Was there any dispute between the Africans, d’you know?’ asked Napper.

  ‘There was a disagreement about who should have the guns,’ said the guvnor. ‘Miss Thembeka wanted the pistol the young lad had. The others wouldn’t help her take it off him.’

  Napper wrote it all down.

  ‘D’you know whose coats are out there?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Fowler. She must have arrived when the murderer was here. The basket of food’s still in the vestibule.’

  ‘If she’d escaped, she’d have alerted the police by now,’ said Napper. ‘She must have been captured. But why?’

  The guvnor shrugged.

  ‘Well, as Sherlock Holmes would say, It is a capital mistake to theorize before one has data,’ said Napper, putting on a lofty voice.

  ‘Any fool would consider the data,’ snapped Arrowood. Napper didn’t know it, but unlike the rest of London, who seemed to worship Sherlock Holmes, the guvnor couldn’t abide the bloke. It wasn’t just that Holmes was richer and more famous than him, he didn’t think the fellow was as clever at solving crimes as he made out. Even hearing his name could be enough to burst another blood vessel in his swollen hooter.

  ‘My old man’s memorized every case,’ said Napper, tapping his pencil on his notebook. ‘So, we’ve two suspects: Capaldi’s people or the Africans.’

  ‘Or Mrs Fowler,’ I said.

  They both looked at me.

  ‘When you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, even if it’s not likely, has to be the truth,’ I said, pleased with myself for remembering another of Holmes’s sayings.

  The guvnor glared at me, his lip curling. ‘At least get the quote right, Barnett,’ he said at last.

  ‘Who else knew they were here?’ asked Napper.

  ‘Two ladies from the Quakers,’ answered the guvnor. ‘Mrs Painter and Mrs Stockton-Hugh. There may be other Quakers who knew.’

  ‘I’ll speak to them,’ said the copper, writing the names in his notebook. He held out the envelope to the guvnor. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’

  ‘No,’ said the guvnor.

  ‘You’re not going to read it?’ asked Napper.

  The guvnor shook his head.

  ‘Ah,’ said Napper. ‘You’ve seen it already. Well, I’ll have to get it translated. Must be in African, I suppose.’

  PC McDonald returned. ‘I’ve searched every room, sir. There’s nobody else here.’

  ‘Right. Go to the offices,’ said the detective. ‘There’ll be some kind of book with the names and addresses of the members. Get the Fowlers, Mrs Stockton-Hugh and Mrs Painter. Find out who’s in charge too.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the young copper. He looked about sixteen years old.

  ‘After that, you stay here until the police surgeon comes. Tell him I’ll see him at the mortuary later. You’ll need to give him a hand with the bodies. Now, get me those addresses.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the young copper. He looked at Napper but didn’t move.

  ‘What is it, McDonald?’

  ‘Stay here on my own, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With the deceased, sir?’

  ‘Yes, with the deceased. What d’you expect them to do, lad? Get up and go home?’

  ‘No, sir,’ mumbled the young copper. ‘Ye
s, sir.’ He didn’t look happy at all.

  ‘And get a brush to that helmet, lad. It looks like you’ve buttered it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘What are you going to do now, detective?’ asked the guvnor.

  ‘I’m going to the Royal Aquarium. They must have an address for Capaldi.’

  ‘Very good,’ said the guvnor, buttoning his Donegal at the neck. ‘We’ll come along, if you don’t mind.’

  Napper laughed again. ‘I’m afraid not, Arrowood. This is a police case now. Leave it with me.’

  ‘But we’re employed to protect the Africans for two more nights.’

  ‘You’ve helped enough already. If you feel guilty, you may return the money to Mrs Fowler. When we find her.’

  And with that he whirled on his heel and clattered out into the evening. The constable stood staring at the door, a miserable look on his wet lips.

  ‘Why don’t you let me help you find those addresses, lad?’ said the guvnor.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said McDonald. ‘That’d be best.’

  As the lad set off for the office, the guvnor pulled me into the lobby and drew his mouth near. ‘Get after Napper,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t let him see you. Hopefully he’ll lead you to Capaldi.’

  I gained the street just in time to see Napper cross the road down past the fire carts, and from there followed him across Trafalgar Square to Whitehall. Though it was cold and foggy, there were plenty of folk around. Crossing sweepers patrolled each intersection, while gents stepped out the government offices with top hats and shiny bowlers, their carriages waiting on the street to take them to their clubs.

  The entrance to the Aquarium was on Totthill Street, just opposite Broad Sanctuary. I watched from across the street as Napper climbed the steps, past the queue of punters waiting to pay their shillings for the evening show. After talking to the gent on the door, he was waved through and disappeared.

  ‘Suicide on the Southend train!’ yelled a newspaper seller walking up and down the line of frozen people; ‘Get your toffee apples!’ cried a thin woman coming behind him with a basket under her arm. ‘Get your pippins!’ I remembered taking Mrs B to the Aquarium to see Carter the Great in the days before we married. It was a sight to behold: six hundred feet long, with a curved glass ceiling, winter gardens, pools full of fish and a skating rink that my old darling wouldn’t try. She loved every minute of that day, and, as the bells of Big Ben sounded eleven, we walked to St James’s Park, climbed over the railings and rutted in the sweet summer night. It was the best day of my life. As I stood there alone on the cold pavement, I realized I was smiling to myself. An image came to my mind of how she used to look at me, and I felt the smile fade. I shook my head. When would this wretched sadness leave me?

  To move my thoughts on, I read the bills posted along the wall telling you what awaited inside: the trained cormorants and seals fed three times daily, Captain Swan and his boa constrictors, the Honrey Brothers, Chas Dubois’ Grand Promenade Concert, Polichinelle and his Laughing Cat, Professor Stokes Memory Show. Capaldi’s Zulus were due to perform at 5.30, 7.30 and 9. There’d be a few unhappy punters in there tonight.

  A sudden wind rushed up the street, causing all those waiting in the queue to clutch their hats and gasp. I crossed to the hotel opposite where there was a bit of shelter, and there I stood until Napper came out ten minutes later.

  I dipped my head so he wouldn’t see my face under my cap, but he crossed the road and walked directly toward me.

  ‘Mr Barnett,’ he said. ‘Bruno Capaldi lives at 25 Albert Terrace in Stockwell. That’s not an invitation for you to visit, I’m just trying to save you the trouble of following me again. I’m going to get a few constables and go there now. If he has the Zulus, I’ll free them. Do not interfere. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Come to Scotland Yard later this evening and I’ll fill you in.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He turned and marched toward the river.

  Chapter Six

  It’d been a real surprise when Isabel moved back to London that summer. She’d left the guvnor a couple of years back and found herself a lawyer in Cambridge, who caught belly cancer and died while his baby Leopold was still in her womb. When she returned to Coin Street, the guvnor’s sister Ettie had also just had a baby, and for the first few months it’d worked out fine. They took turns to look after the children, and that meant Ettie could keep helping at Reverend Hebden’s mission, where she and the other ladies visited the slums and ran the ragged school. But it had got strained between them over the last few weeks. Arrowood told me they’d been rowing over little things, over the towels and the tea, and that sometimes it’d moved on to the scriptures. When I reached Coin Street later that night, Isabel was vexed.

  ‘Ettie’s at a meeting about the medical mission again,’ she said as I stepped in. ‘I’ve been here on my own since midday.’

  ‘Is she going to take the job, then?’ I asked, gazing down at the two babies lying in their boxes on the table. Reverend Hebden had been raising subscriptions for a medical side to his mission, and he’d offered Ettie a position there to help set it up when enough money came in. At the same time, Isabel had put in her papers for a new scheme at the Hospital for Women to get more ladies trained as doctors, and was waiting to hear if she’d been chosen.

  ‘Heaven knows.’ She wiped her hands on her pinny. ‘I don’t want to look after them both. We’ll have to get a wet nurse if I’m chosen for the medical scholarship. That is, if they ever get round to making a decision. I’m beginning to wonder if they’ve withdrawn the money.’

  ‘Maybe a lot of women applied,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. The suffragists have changed how people think, more’s the pity.’ She laughed, and it was good to see a little bit of light in her eyes again. ‘That didn’t come out right, Norman. I meant they probably all sent in their blooming letters as well.’ Her face fell again. ‘Oh, Lord, I hope they choose me. The more I think about it, the more certain I am I could be a useful doctor.’

  I went to make the tea. When I brought in the tray, she was sitting in the good chair reading Beeton’s Medical Dictionary, a pair of the guvnor’s spectacles on her nose. I’d just poured her a mug when he came down the stairs.

  ‘Did Napper find Capaldi?’ he asked, cutting a slice from the Christmas cake that lay on the table.

  ‘He gave me the address as long as I didn’t follow him,’ I answered, pouring him a mug. ‘Said we should go to the Yard this evening and he’ll tell us what he found. He doesn’t seem a bad bloke.’

  Arrowood drank down his tea in one. ‘Right. Let’s get to it.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Goodnight, my dear.’

  ‘I did ask you not to call me that,’ said Isabel, looking up from her book. ‘Are you deliberately ignoring me?’

  He pulled on his coat with a sigh. ‘I’m sorry. It’s habit. I’ll try to remember.’ He kissed little Mercy, little Leo, then straightened, smiling at the sleeping babies. ‘Goodnight, my darlings.’

  ‘Why do you do that?’ asked Isabel sharply.

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Kiss Mercy first and Leopold second. You always do it that way.’

  ‘Do I? I don’t th—’

  ‘Yes, you do. Doesn’t he, Norman?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘He does. Why, William? Why always Mercy first?’

  ‘But I don’t—’

  ‘You do. I’m asking you why?’

  ‘But I don’t th—’

  ‘Is it because Mercy’s your blood?’

  ‘No! You’re my wife, and Leo’s my son.’

  ‘You’d love him more if Mercy wasn’t here. If you didn’t have a child of your own blood you’d give him all your infernal love.’

  ‘You’re all wrong, Isabel. I didn’t even know I kiss her first!’

  ‘Then perhaps it’s that primitive inside you that loves her most. You think I betrayed you and you ca
n’t forgive him for that. Just like you can’t forgive me.’

  ‘But Isabel! It’s you who push me away! I’ve tried to be kind ever since you returned, but you don’t want me.’

  ‘Because I see that you don’t forgive me. Admit it, you don’t love me as you did before.’

  The guvnor’s face crunched up. His brow tightened, his eyes swivelling left and right. I stepped to the door, feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘I do love you, Isabel. But you left me. You took up with another man. I don’t know what I feel until I know what you feel. And you just keep pushing me away.’

  ‘Sometimes I think we’d be better off in Norfolk.’

  ‘Please don’t say that. I need both my children.’

  ‘Neither are your children, William. What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  She was pale, her face drawn. She pointed at him and said with venom: ‘Neither Mercy nor Leo is your child. Now go on, run away to your little games. Try and remember to get those red candles this time. And don’t go to the pub again.’

  He looked at me, a confused helplessness in his eyes. I took his arm to lead him to the door. As we stepped out into the corridor, I could feel his whole hot body trembling.

  Chapter Seven

  We had to sit in the waiting area at Scotland Yard for half an hour before Napper came down. All the time, the sergeant at the reception desk stood behind the counter, turning the pages of the Evening News. It wasn’t a busy night for the coppers.

  ‘We searched Capaldi’s house, but there was no sign of them,’ said Napper when he finally appeared. It was nine, the gas taps lit along the wall. The detective’s hands were in his pockets as he stood before us. One shirt tail hung outside his britches and his eyes were dull with tiredness. He wore no hat, revealing a bare line along the side of his head as if he had a parting, though no comb would do any good on that orange bristle he had for hair. ‘The one in charge is Bruno Capaldi. He swore he had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘Any of his men there?’ asked the guvnor.