This time Murdoch believed she was telling the truth.
He tapped his finger on Arthur Aggett’s picture.
“Do you recognize him? Was he playing, er, cards at your house?”
Again she made the gesture of bringing the photograph close to her face.
“It is possible he was. He does look a little familiar, but I wouldn’t swear to it.”
“We found some foreign coins on his person.”
“Foreign?”
“French and English. Do you know how this money came into his possession?”
“Of course not. Why should I?”
Murdoch pushed Jack’s photograph closer to her. “Have you seen this man before?”
She studied the picture briefly, then a tightening of her lips suggested a smile.
“The young man looks like you, Detective. There is a strong family resemblance. You’re playing a little trick on me, aren’t you? No, I have not seen him before.”
Given how different Jack looked now, Murdoch couldn’t totally disbelieve her. He leaned back in his chair.
“It would be a great help to us if we could speak to the two men who were still in your house when the police constable came to investigate. Although they gave false names and false addresses, I assume they live in the vicinity. You would recognize them, I’m sure, if you were to see them again.”
She looked uneasy. “I might. As you can see, my eyesight isn’t the best.”
“Let’s put it this way, Mrs. Schumacher. You are a vital witness. Constable Curnoe will accompany you in a search of the area. You will knock on every door on every street in the Ward until we locate these men.”
“That is preposterous. I am not a young woman. My legs are bad. It might take hours to do that.”
“Yes, it might. But I think you are forgetting that you are in fact facing serious charges. Running a gambling den and selling liquor, both illegal activities, are relatively minor compared to the fact that we are investigating a major crime of homicide—perhaps more than one—and I could have you charged with obstructing justice. You are not telling the truth, and you are making our task much more difficult. I am sure you are the kind of woman who is aware of absolutely everything that happens under your roof. If a fly moves you would see it, however poor your eyesight. I believe you could find those two men without much problem. Your bad legs won’t suffer in the least. If they do, we will happily commandeer an invalid chair and push you.”
Murdoch tented his fingers. “So, what do you say, Mrs. Schumacher? Is your memory improving, by any chance?”
If looks could kill, he would certainly have been dead several times over. She returned the spectacles to her reticule.
“Very well. I believe I know where they can be found.”
“And the other men so far unaccounted for? The ones Mr. Odacre heard involved in an argument?”
“I do remember now. There were two of them. Both returning soldiers. Frankly, I thought they were inebriated. One in particular was belligerent, wanting to pick a fight. It was because of him that the game ended and they all went outside. To brawl.”
“Can you describe these two men?”
“Dark-haired, both of them. Thin. Above medium height.”
“Did one of them have a scar on his forehead?”
“I don’t know. The provoking one was wearing a wool hat that covered most of his face. Very strange-looking.”
“And the other?”
She pointed at the photograph. “That is he. Are you related, Detective, or does this man simply resemble you?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
MURDOCH SENT FRANK ASHBOURNE to accompany Mrs. Schumacher and Madge Curnoe. Frank was tall and solidly built. He had the kind of presence that would make troublemakers think twice before getting out of line.
Bessie Schumacher had no trouble finding the house where she “thought” one of her guests lived. He was at home, and seeing his erstwhile hostess with a police officer, he knew enough not to fob them off. His real name was Howard Wasman, and yes, there was a second man, his cousin, Richard Golden. He was at work right now, and they could find him at the Distillery on Parliament Street.
Madge accompanied Mrs. Schumacher home, and Frank brought Wasman into the station.
Murdoch put him in the room and showed no mercy.
“Name?”
“Howard Wasman.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Married?”
“No, betrothed though.”
“I pity the girl. Where do you work?”
“Gooderham and Worts. I fill fuses.”
“Were you at Bessie Schumacher’s on Tuesday night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were gambling and drinking?”
“I…er…”
Murdoch looked at him sternly. “Don’t bother lying to me. You’re in enough trouble as it is. If I catch you in a lie your sentence will double.”
“My sentence, sir? I didn’t know as I was being sentenced.”
Wasman had a round, chubby face, curly hair, and dark brown eyes. He didn’t seem the least bit vicious. At the moment he was truly scared.
“You had a barney with a young man who was later found stabbed to death. Why did you give a false name to the constable?”
“Just a bit of a joke, sir. And I didn’t want my mother to know.”
“If you tell me exactly what happened, no lies, no evasions, I will consider staying the charge of homicide.”
“Sweet Jesus, sir. I swear I didn’t lay a hand on the fellow. It wasn’t even him I was arguing with. It was the other two chaps, the soldier and his chum.”
“Go on. Start at the beginning.”
“Well, the four of us was playing a game of Crown and Anchor. Peaceable as a church picnic.”
“What four?”
“Rich and myself, the Jewish lad who goes there regular, and another fellow who’s been there a few times.”
“Names?”
“Bessie doesn’t encourage us to exchange last names. Just first. The Hebrew was Daniel. Other fellow was Arthur. Lucky at the game, he was, I can tell you that. Anyways, we’d been playing about an hour when in comes these two new fellows. They was in civvies but I knew they was soldiers. They was already tanked up, and they downed two cups of Bessie’s home brew right off. That stuff will take the paint off your walls so you can imagine what it was doing to them two.”
“Hold on,” Murdoch interrupted him. “Did these two new men introduce themselves?”
“One said his name was Legion, the other said he was Faust.” Wasman tapped his finger to the side of his nose. “They were phony names. They thought we were ignorant most likely. I know that Legion is a name given to the devil and Faust is one of our generals. It didn’t matter to me what they called themselves. As long as their money was good, I didn’t care.”
“And was it? Was the money good, I mean?”
“Yes and no. We played a few rounds, and one of them put some Limey money and Frog money on the board. I didn’t want to accept it but Arthur said it was all right, he would. It was as good as Canadian currency these days, said he. He was the one winning so it wasn’t no skin off my back. I think he could see they was spoiling for a fight, and if he said no, they would have used that as an excuse.”
Wasman glanced at Murdoch to see how his story was going down.
Murdoch simply nodded. “Continue.”
“We kept on playing for mebbe another hour. Truth is we were all throwing back Bessie’s shots. Oh, not the Hebrew lad. He’s teetotal. Then the soldiers started to ride us on account of we weren’t enlisted.” Wasman’s shoulders slumped. “I’m getting mighty sick of this being thrown in my face all the time. Rich and me was given exemptions. We ain’t cowards, nor slackers neither, but if you aren’t allowed to go because you’re doing war work what can you do? You’ve got to do your bit on this side of the pond. We ain’t no conchies or Frenchies. We would have sign
ed up right away if we could have.”
“You said that to the men, I presume?”
“Oh yes. We said it more than once, truth be told. But it didn’t satisfy them. ‘The country needs every man to do his duty. Good men and true are dying by the dozens for want of relief.’” Wasman lowered his head. “We knows that, sir. What are we supposed to do about it?”
“You keep referring to ‘they,’ in the plural. Were both men involved in this argument?” Murdoch avoided looking at Madge. “The man calling himself Faust, for instance, what did he have to say for himself?”
Wasman chewed on his lip. “He was more like a rah, rah man. The other chap would start up as how conscription was vital and he would say something like ‘Go, pal! Tell them. We hates slackers.’”
“Was he also inebriated?”
“Yeah, he was glassy-eyed. But Legion, he was really knocking it back. And it wasn’t long before he accuses Rich and me of cheating, which we weren’t. Rich didn’t like it. Me, I wanted to shake it off. They was mad drunk. But no, ‘Let’s take this outside,’ says Legion. My cousin is slow to rile up, sir, but when he does, you can’t pull him back. So Rich won’t let that go by and he says, ‘Sure thing…’ At that point the young Jewish lad says he’s going home. He don’t want no part in it. So off he trots, but not before Legion starts jeering at him. Calls him nasty names.” Wasman paused. “Now I must admit, in all fairness, his chum did try to shut him up, but he was too hot by then. Even Arthur was steaming. He didn’t like being called a yellow-belly. So outside we all go and there we were shouting and shoving at each other.” Wasman actually gave a little grin. “Who knows how far it would have gone, when Bessie came out. She had a bucket of cold water ready to throw over us like we was dogs.” He shuddered at the memory. “She ain’t a woman you give grief to. Rich, Arthur, and me all quieted down real fast. She told the two soldiers to leave or she’d do worse. So they did. The three of us went back inside. Bessie made us some proper tea this time and made us sit there and drink it.”
He halted and ran his hand through his hair. “That’s it, sir. I’m terrible sorry Arthur has got himself killed but I swear it wasn’t me.”
“If not you, who, then? Golden?”
“Oh Lord no. Not Rich. We went home shortly after. He stayed at my house because we weren’t in great condition by then, and it’s closer. My mother will tell you we was both there.”
“You could have gone out again. How would she know?”
Wasman rubbed his head again. His expression was that of a small boy.
“You don’t know my ma, sir. She locked up the house and sat in the chair by the front door. She wasn’t letting us out for one minute. We had to show up for work the next day and that was all there was to it. Besides, we had no reason to kill that fella, Arthur. Only met him three or four times and he seemed like a straight-ahead chap.”
“One more question, Mr. Wasman. Did anybody by the name of Morris Swartz join you at any of Mrs. Schumacher’s evenings?”
“Not that I recall. The group don’t change that much, truth to tell. Is he in trouble?”
“He was attacked yesterday morning. He is critically injured.”
Wasman looked even more frightened. “Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet. I’m hoping that when, or if, he regains consciousness, he’ll be able to identify his attacker.”
“If you’re looking for a suspect, sir,” said Wasman, lowering his voice, “I’d say take a gander at them two soldiers. They was real riled up. In a killing frame of mind, if you ask me.”
Murdoch couldn’t help himself. “Both of them?”
“Well, more the scarred up one, mostly, but yes, both.”
“The scarred up one?”
“Mr. Legion. He was wearing this funny hat thing covering his face but it came off in the pushing. He has a nasty scar on his forehead. Shaped like a V.”
—
Murdoch had been intending to keep young Wasman in the cells for the night to scare him into honesty, but after this interview he knew he didn’t need to. He sent him home and directed Ashbourne to bring in Rich Golden. He’d made sure Bessie Schumacher had been kept in the station, and now he brought her back into his office. He asked Madge to be present. This time, Mrs. Schumacher offered little resistance, and after a few preliminary skirmishes, she admitted to everything, including selling liquor.
“So you were lying to me the whole time? I could charge you with trying to pervert the course of justice.”
“Yes, you could,” she said, unfazed. “But that would mean a trial, and if I have to be on the stand a lot of muck might come out. Muck involving the Toronto constabulary.”
Murdoch was furious. “You’re trying to threaten me, Mrs. Schumacher, and I won’t have it. I am going to charge you. I don’t care what muck, as you call it, will come out. You will receive a summons, and your establishment will be closed until such time as the government of this province sees fit to rescind the temperance laws. Is that clear?”
She shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter to me. I was considering joining my sister-in-law in Alberta anyway. There’s more opportunity there.”
“I’d wait to make your plans if I were you. You don’t know how long you will be in the Mercer Reformatory.”
—
When Madge came back into his office, Murdoch was standing over the chess board. At least he could see this next move clearly. He was about to checkmate his opponent.
“Do you want a cup of tea?” Madge asked.
Murdoch turned around and went back to his desk.
“No. No thanks.”
Madge hesitated. “Will, I’ve never seen you this impatient. Not even with a tough piece of work such as Bessie Schumacher.” Murdoch sighed. “You’re right. I let her get to me, didn’t I. Essentially she was trying to blackmail me, and I can’t stand that. Where is she?”
“She’s left.”
“I’m sorry, Madge. It’s just that I’m…”
“I know what you are,” she said. “You’re worried sick about your son. But I already told you what I thought about that. He’s a good lad, I’m sure of it.”
“I’d feel a lot better if we had a chance to have a good chinwag, but so far, we’ve been reduced to writing notes.”
“Do you want somebody else to take over the case?”
“Good God, no, Madge. At least, not yet. I don’t want any surprises.” He smiled at her. “But thanks. What would I do without you?”
She shrugged. “Suffer?”
CHAPTER FORTY
MURDOCH’S DESK PHONE RANG. It was Constable Wallace.
“Sir, there’s a Captain Runcie on the telephone. He wonders if you could drop by the Armouries at your convenience.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t say exactly. Just that there is something he’d like to discuss with you.”
“Ring him back, then. Tell him I’ll be over at two o’clock. Oh, Constable, a couple more things. If there is any word from the hospital about Morris Swartz, let me know at once. And will you keep trying to ring my house? If my son answers, put him through right away.”
“Yes, sir. And I almost forgot, sir. Sergeant Allen telegraphed. He wondered if you had made your next move.”
“I have. Do you want me to write it down?”
“No, I’ll remember. I’ve been following quite avidly, if I might put it that way, sir.”
“You may. I’m happy to hear it matters to somebody. All right, here’s the move. Knight to c 5. Check.”
“And checkmate, unless I’m mistaken, sir.”
“Well done, Wallace. You should be promoted.”
“Thank you, sir.”
—
Murdoch would have to say that the remainder of the day didn’t feel very productive. The weapon used to kill Arthur Aggett had not been found. The police laboratory had not been able to get any clear fingerprint from the brick used to batter Morris Swartz, and it wasn’t likely they would, giv
en the rough surface. Morris himself was still unconscious. Jack was still not answering the telephone, and Murdoch had no idea how to locate his friend. It took him a long time to fix his bicycle, although it shouldn’t have.
Detective Lennox seemed to be coughing and sneezing over every surface, and by a quarter to two Murdoch was glad to have a change of scene. He set off to meet Captain Runcie.
When the Armouries had opened, there had been a hullabaloo about how grand they were, what a jewel in the city’s crown, but Murdoch had never liked them. The castellated towers, poor imitations of a medieval castle, aggravated him. Surely the architects could have come up with something more contemporary. He found the squat main building with its enormous drill hall and steel girders ugly and without grace. When he had fumed about it to Amy she had laughed at him.
“What do you expect from a fortification? You can’t look as if a strong breeze could blow you away. If you don’t puff yourself up, how are your enemies going to be intimidated?”
“What enemies? We are not going to be besieged, surely? We’re all chummy with the Yanks now, and the natives don’t seem ready to throw us out.”
The building was twenty-three years old now, but on this damp, grey afternoon the smooth sandstone facade gleamed as red and raw as the day it was built. Time could never soften it. Only the greying trim looked as if it were succumbing to age, and that was more shabby than enhancing.
The main entrance was arched, wide enough to admit a marching band, and would have gone nicely with a portcullis and drawbridge.
Murdoch approached the pedestrian door tucked into the niche of the tower. A uniformed soldier stepped out of a sentry box.
“Please state your business, sir.”
“I’m Detective William Murdoch from the Toronto police department. Captain Runcie has expressed a desire to see me.”
“One moment.”
The soldier turned smartly and re-entered the box. It meant he had his back to Murdoch, which confirmed his opinion that the whole damn contraption was for show. A huge toy manned by toy soldiers. If he had been a serious malcontent, he could easily have jumped on the sentry and disarmed him. Didn’t he know the basic rules of engagement? Never turn your back to a stranger.
Let Darkness Bury the Dead Page 18
