Arrowood and the Meeting House Murders

by Mick Finlay

  ‘It’s just occurred to me that Mabaso would also have known it was a traitor killing.’

  ‘And he didn’t tell Napper,’ I said, wondering how it was I hadn’t thought that myself.

  He stood. ‘Let’s get to work, Norman.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked as I followed him out to the street, Neddy hurrying behind with the little dog.

  ‘To the office of the Castle Mail Packet Company.’

  The street was busy with wagons and carts going to and from the dock. Horses snorted, snot spraying from their noses, their shoes clattering on the cobbles. Cabmen yelled at each other to get out the way, groups of sailors on the ran-tan laughed and argued, while coffee stalls, hot potato sellers, eel women and trotter girls bawled out over the cold riot of noise. The guvnor was in a hurry, waddling ahead, holding his bowler to his head against the wind. The office was on the wharfside in Shadwell Basin. He walked straight through the doors, into a long room filled with blokes in suits from Nichols sitting at desks and counters.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said a fellow with oily hair sitting on a high chair by the door. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Inspector Arrowood,’ said the guvnor. ‘This is Mr Barnett. May I ask your name?’

  ‘Mr Lilly, sir. Office manager.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Lilly.’ The guvnor held out a letter to him. Though I couldn’t read the writing, I could see it had the Metropolitan Police header on it. ‘We’re helping Detective Inspector Napper of Scotland Yard on the multiple murder case you’ve probably heard about. The one involving the Zulus.’

  ‘Ah, yes, sir,’ said the bloke, dropping his spectacles from his forehead to his eyes and having a quick read of the letter. He nodded and handed it back.

  ‘I need some information about a passenger from Port Natal. A Police Constable Mabaso.’

  ‘Certainly. What date did he arrive?’

  ‘Around the seventeenth or eighteenth of this month.’

  ‘Well, the Hawarden Castle was scheduled to arrive in Southampton on the seventeenth, but they had very favourable conditions. It arrived three days earlier, on the fourteenth.’

  ‘Southampton?’

  ‘Yes, sir. The passengers disembark there. Our warehouse is here because most of the cargo is brought to London on another boat.’

  ‘Would you mind checking your passenger list for me?’ asked the guvnor.

  The bloke marched over to a desk near the back and mumbled to a swarthy fellow, who rose and searched the shelves behind him.

  ‘Did Napper give you a letter of introduction?’ I whispered to the guvnor.

  ‘A bit of Scotland Yard notepaper fell into my pocket from one of the other desks,’ said the guvnor under his breath. ‘I didn’t want to trouble Napper to fill it in himself.’

  The clerk pulled down a ledger and handed it to Mr Lilly. The office manager opened it and found the right page. His finger traced down the page. ‘Yes, Mr Mabaso. Police Constable of the Langlaagte Police.’

  ‘And he arrived on the fourteenth?’

  ‘Yes, sir. At 3.45 p.m.’

  ‘When did the boat leave South Africa?’

  Mr Lilly read from the page. ‘Twenty-sixth of November. It takes three weeks or so.’

  The guvnor straightened his back and looked at me. ‘Why didn’t he go to Paris, Barnett? When our friends left Mozambique, their destination was Paris. Their contract was only sold to Capaldi while they were there, and that was only a couple of weeks ago. How did Mabaso know to come here?’

  ‘If I may, sir?’ said Lilly. ‘There are no direct sailings to France from Port Natal.’

  ‘I see. Of course. Now, his superior Detective Duffy died of dysentery on the boat. Can you tell me where and when that happened?’

  He turned the pages again. ‘This is the doctor’s report, but there’s nothing about a death. Deaths are always recorded here.’

  ‘So Detective Duffy disembarked at Southampton?’

  Lilly checked the ledger again. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Did he get off the boat on the way?’

  Lilly frowned. Again, he leafed through the ledger. ‘Let me see. East London, no. Port Elizabeth, no. Cape Town, no.’ He looked up. ‘Those are the only stops. Let me just check something…’ He walked back to the swarthy man and talked to him. They both looked through the ledger. Finally, Lilly nodded and returned to us. ‘He had a ticket, but isn’t recorded as having boarded, nor of disembarking.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mr Lilly?’ asked the guvnor. ‘Would you mind checking that one more time?’

  ‘Let me ask the captain,’ said the office manager. ‘He’s upstairs with the directors.’

  The guvnor sat on the bloke’s chair as we waited. As the minutes went by, the clerks murmured to each other, telegraphs arrived, boys were sent with messages. Neddy’s little dog edged over and stood between the guvnor’s legs, gazing up at him with moony eyes. As the guvnor leant over to pat it, it turned to show him its backside, tail stuck up straight as a cock-stand. The guvnor shook his head, then did what the dog wanted, scratching the bit of fur where its tail joined its body. The dog’s back leg shot out in the air, jerking with pleasure.

  ‘He always does that,’ said Neddy.

  ‘I don’t like it,’ said the guvnor, taking his hand away and straightening.

  ‘Nor me,’ I said.

  ‘He can’t help it,’ said Neddy.

  ‘How are those sisters of yours?’ asked the guvnor.

  ‘Abi’s going into service,’ said the lad. ‘Can’t wait to get rid of her. She eats so much, and she don’t try to sell those matches. Ma says she’s got three legs. And why must I share the bed when she can share with Ma? She’s always got nits. She won’t be shaved. I can’t wait to see the back of her.’

  The guvnor’d usually be laughing by now, but he wasn’t even listening. He was gazing out the window at the dark basin, his face solemn. Leo’s death lay heavy on him, and what Isabel said had swiped out all his hope.

  ‘Where’s her service?’ I asked.

  ‘There’s a lady fixing it up for her. You know she’s got to give her the first three months wages for it? It’s a blooming swindle!’

  ‘Don’t curse, boy,’ growled the guvnor.

  ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘You tell her to be careful,’ said I. ‘You must go with her, make sure it’s a proper house and not one of those rackets.’

  ‘I know, the Maiden Tribute. Miss Ettie told me already.’

  Mr Lilly appeared with the ledger under his arm. ‘Detective Duffy never boarded the boat, and there were no deaths on the voyage. The captain confirms it.’

  ‘Are there any other boats he could have been on?’ asked the guvnor.

  Lilly took down another ledger and looked through it. After some time, he shook his head. ‘He wasn’t on the later or earlier boats.’

  ‘Are you the only shipping company serving South Africa?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered,’ said the guvnor. ‘Mabaso did say he died of dysentery on the boat, didn’t he, Barnett?’

  ‘Napper said it. Mabaso didn’t correct him.’

  ‘And Mabaso said they were sending another detective. Well, well. I think we need some answers, don’t you?’

  ‘We do, sir,’ said Neddy. ‘We need some answers.’

  We reached Scotland Yard about four that afternoon. Napper made us wait about half an hour, then came down to see us.

  ‘What is it now, Arrowood?’ he grunted. He looked awful. His nose was red and runny, his hair like an orange sponge, his suit in need of a good brushing. ‘We’ve got our murderers, whether you like it or not. The only thing left is to discover whether the gold’s here in England.’

  ‘Did you question Senzo and Thembeka about it?’

  ‘They’re both sticking to their story it was taken by the Ninevite commanders. But we’ll question the princess when she returns. Meanwhile, I have a murdered lady in Shepherds Bush
to tend to.’

  ‘Is Mabaso here?’

  ‘I told him to take in the sights. He’ll be back to interview the princess when she returns. Tomorrow, did you say?’

  The guvnor grunted.

  ‘Not that it makes much difference to me. The way they treat us is shameful. You know detectives don’t get a single damn rest day, I suppose? Not even Christmas. Even factory workers get rest days. The Chief Inspector could show a little understanding, but oh no, that would take a little too much initiative.’

  ‘You don’t seem to admire your superiors, Napper,’ said the guvnor.

  ‘I suppose you take holidays whenever you want?’

  ‘At least you get paid, Napper,’ I said.

  The doors to the street shot open and two PCs dragged in a navvy with no boots.

  ‘We’ve some new information,’ said the guvnor, watching the fellow as he was taken through to the cells. ‘I wanted you to know immediately.’

  ‘Well, this makes a change,’ answered Napper. ‘What is it? And hurry, I’m busy.’

  ‘What did Mabaso tell you about Detective Duffy?’

  ‘He died of dysentery on board.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘We’ve just been to the shipping company. Duffy had a ticket but never boarded the boat.’

  Napper blinked, his head twitching as he tried to understand what that might mean. ‘And?’ he asked at last.

  ‘Mabaso deceived you.’

  ‘So? Duffy never got on the boat. He had dysentery.’

  ‘Mabaso said he died on board.’

  ‘What’s your point, Arrowood?’

  ‘He also said he’d sent a telegram requesting another detective the day before we met him. That was the eighteenth.’ The guvnor uncapped his pipe. ‘Why didn’t he send the message before he left, if he knew Duffy wasn’t coming?’

  ‘He might not have known until it was too late.’

  ‘The ship stopped at East London, Port Elizabeth and Cape Town. Why not from there?’

  ‘You tell me, Arrowood.’

  The guvnor lit his pipe. ‘He arrived in Southampton on the fourteenth. He sent the telegram on the eighteenth. Why did he wait four days?’

  Napper had his marbles out of his pocket and was twiddling them furiously. ‘You know what I think?’ he said at last. ‘He wants to solve the case himself, bring back the Zulus on his own. He wants to prove he’s as good as any Englishman. It was clear from when he first arrived he thinks he’s a few levels above his station.’

  ‘Very possibly. But there’s one more thing you should know. Before Musa was killed he had all his front teeth knocked out with that hammer. Did Mabaso tell you that the Ninevites do that in Natal?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s what they call a traitor punishment. The gang do it to a person who’s betrayed them. According to Miss Druitt, it’s very common to see such men in Natal. Mabaso didn’t tell you?’

  Arrowood watched him steady as he puffed on his pipe.

  ‘Ha!’ exclaimed Napper. ‘That proves it was Senzo who killed him. I was right. But that bloody Mabaso wants all the credit to himself, the bloody jumped-up hound. They won’t allow him to be a detective so he’s trying to prove a point. I’ll send a couple of constables over to bring him in.’

  ‘Wait, Napper. He might be more involved in all this than we realize. Here’s what you must do. Send a telegram to the Langlaagte police station. Tell them Duffy hasn’t arrived. Ask them where he is.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘Because if they think Duffy’s here, then we have another missing person.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  Napper had the telegram sent, then ordered us to wait in the reception while he sat in his office pretending to work. A reply came about two hours later, and we stood as the desk sarge took it upstairs. Napper was down five minutes later, the paper clenched in his hand.

  ‘The Langlaagte Police says Duffy left for England on 26 November. Mabaso must never have sent a telegram at all!’

  He summoned McDonald and hailed a four-wheeler, giving the driver an address on Lambeth Road. It was already dark, the Thames rolling black under Westminster Bridge, the little lights of steamers and tugs like candles in the air.

  ‘Here, McDonald,’ said the guvnor, leaning forward. ‘Remember when you brought Senzo and Thembeka back to the station from Gresham Hall?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ answered the young PC.

  ‘Did Mabaso visit Senzo alone in his cell?’

  ‘He wanted to question him.’

  ‘Did you check on the prisoner after?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And that was the same day Senzo was assaulted, or was it the day before?’

  ‘Same day, sir.’

  Napper was glaring at the lad, his fingers clenched around his precious marbles. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, boy?’ he hissed.

  ‘I didn’t think I needed to, sir.’

  ‘The kaffir was assaulted that same day, you imbecile! That’s why Mabaso volunteered to help you take them back to the Yard.’

  ‘But that was Sergeant Farmerson!’

  ‘Farmerson denied it!’

  ‘The super said it was him, sir.’

  ‘Don’t trust everything the superintendent says. I told you that.’

  ‘But the prisoner himself said it was Sergeant Farmerson who beat him, sir, and the sergeant’s done that sort of thing afore, sir!’

  ‘Tell me, lad,’ said the guvnor. ‘Did Farmerson treat Mabaso with respect?’

  ‘No, sir. He called him a savage, and a few other things besides. He’s always the same with the foreigners. Only the other day there was a Hindoo brought in and—’

  ‘Farmerson would be the perfect person to blame,’ he interrupted. ‘I think Mabaso told Senzo to say it was him. Perhaps he threatened to hurt S’bu or Thembeka if he didn’t. The prisoners have been hiding what they know about Mabaso since they arrived, anyway. They’re holding a secret about the gold that was stolen in Natal, and Mabaso’s involved in some way.’

  McDonald’s mouth fell open as if to speak, then he winced, looking at the ceiling of the cab.

  ‘Don’t worry, lad,’ said the guvnor, giving his knee a squeeze. ‘You’ll learn.’

  We followed the tramlines to the Lambeth Road, where we pulled up outside a lodging house. A thin woman holding a candle let us in and led us to a room at the back. When there was no answer, she got out her keys.

  The room was empty but for a portmanteau with a spare suit and a pair of drawers in it. Mabaso’s book lay on the mattress.

  ‘D’you know where he is, madam?’ asked Napper.

  ‘He don’t tell me where he goes.’ She was wearing a pair of boots as looked like they’d been bought that morning, and a shawl as seemed too pricey for a boarding house like hers. The stink of sweat and onion fitted her well enough.

  ‘Listen, when he returns, I want you to send a message to me at Scotland Yard.’ Napper reached in his pocket and pulled out a penny. ‘Send a boy. But you mustn’t tell Constable Mabaso that I’m looking for him. Understand?’

  ‘What’s he done?’ she asked, taking the coin.

  ‘It’s police business.’

  ‘He’s done something bad,’ she moaned, twisting her pinny in her hand. ‘I knew it. First time I saw him, I knew he was up to no good.’

  ‘He’s a police constable, madam. Just do as I ask, please.’

  ‘He always seemed so quiet. Will he kill me?’

  ‘Only if you don’t do what I ask.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Just do it, madam.’

  ‘Can’t he stay?’ she asked, pointing at McDonald. ‘Tell him to stay. I can’t fight him myself.’

  ‘You don’t have to fight him.’ Napper squeezed past her and hurried back down the corridor. The woman grasped McDonald’s arm as he tried to follow.

  ‘You stay, son,’ she murmured. ‘There’s a
good lad. Don’t leave me alone all night.’

  ‘Sorry, missus,’ he said, pulling free. ‘My boss says I got to go.’

  When we were back on the street, Napper turned to us. ‘I need you to watch the building. When Mabaso returns, follow him and send me a message.’

  ‘We don’t work for you, detective,’ said the guvnor. ‘McDonald can stay.’

  ‘What, in his uniform? Mabaso’d spot him a mile off.’

  ‘You’re in plainclothes,’ said the guvnor. ‘You stay.’

  Napper shook his head. ‘I have to circulate Mabaso’s description. If we get it to every PC on the beat, he’ll soon be found. There can’t be many Africans in yellow shirts around town.’

  ‘Then send another plainclothes man. This isn’t our job. We’ve been working unpaid for the last week.’

  Napper fingered the boil on his neck, then pulled his scarf up over it. A mangy brown dog came padding over and sniffed at his boot: he gave it a kick and it scurried away with a whimper. ‘If we discover that Mabaso’s in on the killings, I’ll make sure you get a share of the reward.’

  ‘How much?’ I asked.

  ‘Five quid.’

  ‘Each?’

  ‘No.

  ‘The reward’s twenty,’ I said. ‘Who gets the rest? You?’

  Napper flushed. ‘I’m the detective. And I promised Miss Druitt.’

  ‘Equals,’ I said. ‘Five quid each, else we go home.’

  He turned and strode off down the street, PC McDonald trotting after him.

  ‘Does that mean yes, Barnett?’ asked the guvnor.

  ‘Don’t know, sir.’

  He sighed. ‘Right. The princess returns on the Edinburgh train tonight at eight. I wouldn’t be surprised if Napper tried to arrest her too, so we need to talk to her before he does. You stay here. I’ll send Neddy to relieve you. Come straight to the Elephant and Castle pub when he arrives.’

  I waited in the doorway of a boarded-up shop just down the street, keeping my eye on the lodging house. It was dark, just after six, and kids were coming back from school, some in groups of two and three, others with their mas or grandpas. An hour or so passed, the rain began to fall, and I found myself thinking about Molly again. I realized I felt something like contentment when I was with her – in her face, her laugh, the glow of wildness as followed her around. Quickly I’d come to crave the warmth of her body as a cure for the cold ache in my bones. Where I grew up on Jacob’s Island, half the women worked the streets when money was short. Not my ma, on account of her face being so badly burned, but she’d have done it if she had to. Still, I didn’t like to think of Molly with other men, even for money, and it chafed that she kept it from me. I wondered if I was just another punter to her, paying in memories rather than coins. As I stood there in the dark, sheltering from the rain, questions came to my mind as quickly as I tried to shove them away. Did she really have such money troubles that she had to do that? What had she done to owe so much? Did she toss them off? Put them in her mouth? How many greasy Charlies had spent inside her between the times she saw me? I felt my teeth grinding. I cursed under my breath. Don’t think of it, I told myself as I stamped the cold out of my feet. There’s nothing you can do about it right now. Keep your eyes out for Mabaso. Keep ready in case he takes you by surprise. I crossed the street where a bloke was selling hot potatoes and ate one in my doorway as I watched folk coming back from work. Some held boxes with what must be Christmas gifts, others baskets of food. A filthy bloke with a cough like a mastiff’s bark dragged a sorry Christmas tree along the road, yelling, ‘Lovely tree! Two bob! Make me an offer!’ He stopped by me.