Running the length of the opposite side of the hall was a three-quarter-height partition, topped with windows, which ran parallel to another, narrow inner hall; all the offices on that side belonged to the rank and file of the detectives. Supposedly the interior windows pulled in more light, but the partition also afforded privacy from the chiefs. Not to mention from any of the general populace who came to appeal fines or get licences and got trapped in the sticky web of bureaucracy.
—
Jack was awakened by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Still half asleep, heart jumping, he couldn’t identify the strange sound at first. Where was he? He sat up. Yes, of course, he was at home, in his father’s house, in his old bedroom. He could see the clock on the mantelpiece. It was just five minutes past nine. Morning? Yes, morning. Daylight was edging the window blind.
The telephone kept on ringing. He got out of bed, swaying for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit him. His arm throbbed and he pulled it in close to his side.
He went downstairs. The telephone, on the parlour sideboard, was still ringing. He lifted the receiver.
“Hello, Wilton 654.”
The operator’s pleasant voice came over the line. “I have a collect call here from a Mr. McKinnon for Mr. Jack Murdoch. Will you accept the charges?”
“What? Oh yes, of course.”
“Caller, you are now connected,” said the unknown woman.
Percy came on the line. “Jack? Jack, is that you?”
“Of course it is. Who else were you expecting?”
“Has your father gone to work?”
“Yes, he has. Percy, what the hell’s the matter with you?”
There was silence for a moment, then Percy said in a barely audible voice, “Jack, I think I’ve killed somebody.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TUCKED AWAY ON A TABLE IN the corner of Murdoch’s office was his chess set, its carved wooden pieces set out mid-game. It had been a second anniversary present from Amy. They had played together often, and she checkmated him regularly. After she died, he’d put the set away, and it was only last year, when he moved to headquarters, that he had brought the board out again.
It wasn’t that he was hiding the chessboard exactly, but other detectives coming in had the irritating habit of advising on the ongoing game he was playing with Sergeant Allen at number four station. He didn’t want advice. He enjoyed the keen competition. They were communicating via wireless telegraphy and exchanged moves two or three times a week. So few other messages came over the wireless that Murdoch considered it a harmless use of the police line. Besides, the honour of the Headquarters Detective Division was at stake.
He looked at the note that Wallace had given him: “Bishop to c 8.” Murdoch made the move. He clapped his hands and addressed his chessmen aloud, albeit quietly. “Ah. I think he’s taken the bait.”
Talking to oneself was an easy habit to fall into when you lived alone. He’d better watch out, especially about having conversations with the chess pieces. He didn’t want his officers to think he was losing his wits. He tapped the knight on its glossy head. It looked as if it were ready to gallop off sideways. I’d like to get going even if it is a strange trajectory I am compelled to follow. What other horse have you seen that goes one step on the diagonal, one forward?
He already knew what his next move would be and he moved the restive knight to c 5. He wrote the move on a piece of paper. He’d hand it to Wallace to transmit in a couple of days. No reason to rush to Allen’s downfall.
He had just squeezed in behind his desk when there was a tap on his door and Constable Madge Curnoe thrust her head in.
“I heard you arrive, Will. Shall I make a pot of tea before you get going on things?”
Madge and another woman, Miss Louise Trull, had been hired as police constables four years earlier. Positively revolutionary, but the timing had proven very prescient; the war had broken out soon afterward, taking many male officers away, some of whom would not return.
The chief constable had supported the new induction of the weaker vessel. “Got to move with the times,” was how he put it. “Women can do some things better than any man. We need that softer side more than you think.”
Louise had recently been seconded to the police department in Hamilton, so Madge was the sole representative in Toronto of “the softer side.” Madge was generally referred to as “handsome”—the term usually applied to single women of a certain age. She was dark-haired with keen blue eyes, as tall as Murdoch, round at the edges, and as far as Murdoch was concerned, she brought the perfect balance of common sense and sensitivity to the cases they worked on together.
He smiled at her. “Wallace is bringing me a pot, but we can ask for more cups. I’m expecting Detective Fenwell to give me his report so we might as well include him.”
“In here or the duty room?”
“In here, as long as you don’t mind the squash.”
“There’s something here I wanted to show you.” She handed him a copy of the Toronto Daily Star. She had circled one of the ads. It was short.
Available for adoption. Three-month-old boy. Healthy. Contact Star for information.
“I know some people have to give up their children for what they consider to be good reasons, the child’s best interests and so forth, but it made me shiver. As if they wanted to sell a dog or a chest of drawers.”
“Look into it please, Madge.”
“I will. Oh, by the way, I almost forgot to offer my congratulations.”
Murdoch raised his eyebrows. “For?”
“I see that Jack is to receive the Military Medal.”
“Good Lord. He didn’t tell me that.”
“It’s in the paper. The medals will be presented by the lieutenant-governor on Monday.”
Murdoch was a little hurt that Jack hadn’t informed him.
“How is he doing?” Madge asked.
Murdoch bit his lip. “Let’s put it this way. It’s obvious he’s been through a dreadful ordeal. It’s going to take a while before he’s back to normal.”
“I’m sure that’s why he hasn’t told you about the medal as yet.”
“Possibly. I told him to drop in later. If he does, I’d like you to meet him.”
“I’d love to.”
She turned and almost collided with a detective in the doorway.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, and stepped aside. Murdoch couldn’t help but notice that the usually unflappable Madge looked flustered at the encounter. Oh dear, not another conquest for Peter Fenwell, surely?
Murdoch had to admit that his friend was a strikingly handsome man. He was getting close to fifty but he could have passed for forty. His light brown hair was thick, no sign of balding there. No grey hair, for that matter. As far as Murdoch knew, Fenwell didn’t exercise a great deal, but he had a physique that always seemed fit and trim. Add to that regular features and keen blue eyes and you had a man that women fell for in droves. Fortunately, he was a devoted husband and father of three and never reciprocated, or even seemed much to notice, the attention directed his way.
“Morning, Will,” he said. He plopped down on the chair in front of Murdoch’s desk.
“I hear from Wallace there was a disturbance reported last night,” said Murdoch.
Fenwell shrugged. “Nothing too serious, I’m glad to say. The beat constable took care of it. I didn’t even have to go out.”
Murdoch leaned forward. “You look exhausted.”
“It wasn’t just last night. I’m not sleeping too well these days.”
“You and half the city. Maybe we should start an insomniacs club. We could get together in the early hours and discuss world issues.”
Fenwell chuckled. “That would keep us awake, not calm us down.”
“Shouldn’t you have the day off today?”
“I should, but Crowther asked me to swap with him. He’s got some important family business to take care of.”
“Does he indeed?
He should have let me know.”
“I think it was all very last minute. We didn’t think you would object.”
“I don’t, but I do like to keep informed as to what my detectives are doing.”
“Of course, Will.” Fenwell regarded Murdoch. “How’s Jack? Did you settle him all right?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.”
“I understand from Madge that he’s up for a Military Medal. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Peter. I seem to be the last to know.”
Fenwell eyed Murdoch sympathetically. “Just give him some time. It’s probably a big adjustment for him, coming home.”
“He doesn’t want to talk about anything.” Murdoch frowned. “I don’t even know why he’s being given a bloody medal.”
“He’ll tell you when he’s good and ready.”
“But surely it’s something to be proud of?”
“Of course it is. Stop fretting. He’s only been back for a night. Look, think yourself lucky he’s here at all.”
“All right. Enough said. What about your Eric? Heard from him yet?”
“No. In this case, no news is probably good news.”
Three weeks earlier, Fenwell had received word that his oldest son had been taken prisoner. He was in a prisoner of war camp in Germany.
“I haven’t had the chance to tell Jack. When he’s more amenable, I’ll ask him if he knows anything about those situations,” said Murdoch. “Speaking of which, what’s your opinion of how Rubridge is holding up?”
“He doesn’t mention it at all,” said Fenwell. “But I’d say he’s still pretty devastated.”
“That’s certainly my impression. He insisted on coming back to work almost right away, as you know. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed him. It’s only been a few weeks since he got the news.”
“True.”
“I suppose it doesn’t help matters that he and Irma separated,” added Murdoch. “There’s probably not much comfort at home for him.”
The door was pushed open again and Madge returned carrying a tea tray. Fenwell jumped up to help her clear a spot on the corner of the desk.
“Constable Wallace asked me to tell you there is a woman at the desk who wants to talk to you,” she said to Murdoch. “She says her name is Aggett.”
“Really? She’s not supposed to come until tomorrow.”
“Do you want me to tell her?”
“Would you mind? I’d like to get on with this report. Their appointment was for Thursday at eleven o’clock.”
“I’ll just be a jiffy.” Her smile slid from Murdoch to Fenwell, who was busy looking over his notes and didn’t notice. Murdoch felt a pang of what he had to own as jealousy. He’d grown to like Madge Curnoe a lot. Perhaps even allowed himself a few fantasies, such as asking her to go with him to the picture show, for instance.
He hadn’t acted on that as yet.
Fenwell looked at him. “What’s up, Will? You seem a bit despondent this morning.”
“Do I? Damn war I suppose. It’s getting me down. Seeing so many fine young men at the train station yesterday, damaged beyond repair some of them, was a sobering experience.”
He reached into his desk drawer and took out his pipe and tobacco pouch. He smoked less these days than he used to, but every so often a pipe was comforting.
“If you’re going to do that, I’ll have a cigarette,” said Fenwell.
They had both hardly finished sending plumes of smoke into the air when Madge returned. She flapped her hand in front of her face but didn’t comment.
“She said it wasn’t about a meeting. Her son hasn’t been home all night and she’s worried something’s happened to him. She insists on talking to you.”
“Her son?”
“This is the senior Mrs. Aggett.”
“Is she by herself?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Madge, would you mind running another errand? Would you tell her I’m tied up for at least another half an hour? Perhaps you could take down the particulars. We’ll fill you in about this later.”
She left, and Murdoch put his pipe in the dish on his desk.
“Go ahead, Peter, I’m all ears.”
Fenwell consulted his notes. “We got a call at ten minutes past two from Constable Mogg. He’d been summoned to a disturbance on Chestnut Street. A man named Odacre said he had been woken up by the sound of shouting coming from next door.” Fenwell looked over at Murdoch. “The house in question is owned by a Mrs. Bessie Schumacher. We suspect she’s running a blind pig but so far we haven’t had any solid evidence. Nobody wants to report and risk cutting off their own supply of booze. According to Mogg, he was on his regular beat when Odacre ran out and hailed him. Says there was a big barney happening on the street. Mogg says he could in fact hear loud shouts coming from Mrs. Schumacher’s residence as he approached. He knocked—”
“Obviously an intelligent fellow,” interrupted Murdoch with a grin. “Did he ascertain what was happening?”
“Not exactly. Mrs. Schumacher answered, and by this time all was dead quiet. She said she was merely having a late night with friends, discussing the state of the nation. She says things got a little heated but nothing serious.”
“Mogg went in to have a look, I hope?”
“He did. There were two men sitting at a table. He asked them if they were all right and they answered in the affirmative. They had been discussing the state of the nation, just as she claimed. So he took down their names and left. He couldn’t make a charge if nobody was a complainant.”
“All right, let’s keep Mrs. Schumacher and her house under observation.”
Murdoch intensely disliked the new laws prohibiting the sale of alcohol. All they had done was send the making and selling of liquor underground, and they certainly added to the policeman’s workload. More than likely Mrs. Schumacher was selling liquor, probably sneaked in from Quebec where there were no such restrictions.
Fenwell stood up. “By the way, Ruth wanted to know if you and Jack could have a meal with us soon.”
“I’ll ask him. I’m sure he’d like that.”
Jack and Eric Fenwell had been childhood friends, and Jack had enjoyed spending time with the Fenwells. Ruth was a motherly sort, and after Amy died she had taken Jack under her wing.
There was a knock on the door and Madge popped her head in.
“Mrs. Aggett says she must talk to you, sir. She won’t take no for an answer. She says it’s urgent.”
“All right, bring her in. We’re done here for now.”
Madge ushered Mrs. Aggett into the office as Fenwell left.
CHAPTER NINE
ARTHUR AGGETT’S MOTHER was something of a surprise. Given her daughter-in-law’s feelings about her, Murdoch had expected somebody frail and perhaps woebegone, but this was not the case. She was petite, true, but she entered the office with an air of brisk determination. Her grey hair was smoothed neatly under her hat. Her features were pleasant, but there was a firmness to the set of her mouth that made Murdoch think of schoolteachers he had known. She wouldn’t brook any nonsense, as she perceived it, he was sure.
He got to his feet. “Mrs. Aggett, please take a seat. I understand you are concerned about your son.”
She accepted the chair he offered, sitting ramrod straight on the edge.
“You don’t mind if Constable Curnoe stays, do you, madam?”
“No. The more the better if it means you take some action right away.”
Madge took up a position by the door.
Murdoch returned to his chair and pulled his notebook closer.
“You say Arthur is missing, Mrs. Aggett. Will you give me details? When did you see him last?”
“At ten o’clock last night. My daughter-in-law decided to visit her sister, who lives in Mimico. For the first time in weeks Arthur and I were able to spend a pleasant evening together. We enjoy reading to each other, you see, and did so regularly before he was married. He will read
a verse or so of scripture and I will do likewise. His wife has no such interest. She prefers to play cards or go out to the picture show or the theatre.”
Mrs. Aggett’s voice was matter-of-fact but it was clear to Murdoch that Lottie’s complaint about her mother-in-law not accepting her had some justification.
“I usually retire for the night about ten. Arthur said he was…er, he was going to use the privy and then go to bed himself. I told him I would prepare his favourite breakfast in the morning, waffles and bacon. His wife is no cook, and Arthur was delighted with the notion. I went to bed myself.” She halted and her hands clenched tighter. “When I went to call him this morning, I received no answer. I looked into his room but his bed had not been slept in.”
“What has made you think your son is missing?” Murdoch asked gently. “Perhaps he decided to go to Mimico to see his wife.”
“How would he get there? We don’t have a carriage or a motor car. There is no streetcar that runs to Mimico at that time of night.” Another pause, and she glanced down at the hands clasped in her lap. “I know my son, Detective Murdoch. He would not have disappointed me and missed his breakfast. If there was an imperative reason for his absence, he would have left me a note.” She looked back at Murdoch. “I am aware that you have met my son and his wife, Detective. I’m sure she told you I want my son all to myself and that I resent her.”
She nodded as if Murdoch had answered.
“To some extent that is true. I did not and do not approve of this marriage, which was conducted in haste, only, I’m sure, to be repented at leisure. Arthur is a good man. He wants to make sure I am taken care of as he has always been my mainstay…I can say with absolute sincerity that I would joyfully accept as a daughter-in-law any young woman who was worthy of my son. But Lottie is a vain, silly girl who cares far too much for appearances. She is willing to cast Arthur into the maw of destruction if it means she will herself receive some of the reflected glory that comes to the wives of soldiers. I am not willing and will never be so.”
Let Darkness Bury the Dead Page 5
