“I am actually looking for a Mrs. Esther Tugwell. This is her address, I understand?”
Hicks’s eyes flickered. “That’s quite correct. She lives directly above me.” At that moment, they heard the creak of floorboards from overhead as somebody walked across the floor. “That is no doubt she. She is a hardworking soul, a seamstress by trade, who takes care of her invalid son. She also has a daughter. She …” He drank more tea and didn’t finish the sentence. Murdoch had the sense he had more to say but chose not to. “My immediate neighbours are the Misses Leask, Emma and Larissa. Next to the Tugwells are Mr. and Mrs. McGillivary, a young couple who are expecting their first child soon. Then on the top floor we have Mr. and Mrs. Einboden, recently arrived from Germany, and Mr. Taylor, who is a bachelor and quite reclusive alas.” He grinned. “We are quite crammed to the rafters, you might say. But we do look out for each other when we can.”
Murdoch put his cup on the table. At least the tea had been hot. “I wonder if I might ask you one or two questions, Mr. Hicks?”
“My pleasure, sir.”
“Did you ever meet the Reverend Howard?”
Hicks smiled at him.
“Oh yes. He is a Visitor from the city relief fund and Miss Leask needed help, as, I believe, did poor Mrs. Tugwell. I was calling on her the first time he came and he kindly furnished me with Dr. Lanceley’s book. We had the most entertaining conversation for almost an hour.”
Something in Murdoch’s expression must have communicated itself and Hicks frowned. “Why are you asking, sir? Is there something wrong?”
“I’m afraid so.” There was no way Murdoch could soften the reality of what had happened. He said quietly. “Mr. Howard has been murdered.”
Hicks gaped at him. “How can that be? He was the kindest of men.”
Kindness was not unfortunately always a protection against violence, thought Murdoch. “His body was found in his office yesterday. We believe he may have surprised a burglar.”
The old man pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose vigorously so Murdoch wouldn’t see his eyes had filled with tears. “I had such expectations we would become friends. He was a most lively conversationalist.”
“I intend to find the perpetrator, Mr. Hicks.”
“Even if you do, and I have every confidence that you will, it won’t bring him back, will it? I cannot say I knew him well, but I do believe that Reverend Howard was one of those rare human beings who is truly good.”
He was stroking the cover of the book as he spoke, as if it brought him closer to the man who had loaned it to him.
“I’m very sorry to have brought you such bad news, Mr. Hicks,” said Murdoch, “but the reason I am here is because Mr. Howard was, as you say, a relief officer. I want to speak to the people on his list.”
Hicks glanced over at Murdoch sharply. “Do you suspect one of them to be his killer?”
“I have no suspects at the moment. But it’s regular procedure to follow up on the victim’s movements prior to his death. He made his rounds on Monday. Did you speak to him at all?”
Hicks shook his head. “Unfortunately, he must have been too busy to drop by.”
He averted his eyes, a man accustomed to people being too busy.
“Did he visit Mrs. Tugwell?”
“I assume he did. I thought I heard him come in and go upstairs, but I haven’t spoken to her so I cannot say for certain.”
Murdoch hesitated. “Did Mrs. Tugwell or Miss Leask ever say anything to you that would indicate they were angry with Reverend Howard?”
Hicks pulled his lips over his prominent teeth. “Not at all. Absolutely not. I know that he was unable to give Mrs. Tugwell a docket, but she never spoke a word against him. She knew all too well why she was turned down.”
“Why was she?”
Hicks cocked his head at Murdoch. “Are you going to speak to her directly?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will see for yourself and it’s far better that you do than I say a word.”
Murdoch got to his feet, picking up his bicycle lamp and his hat. “Thank you so much for the tea, Mr. Hicks.”
“You are most welcome, sir. But tell me, has a date been established for Reverend Howard’s funeral?”
“Not yet. It will have to wait until after the coroner’s inquest. But I will make a point of informing you.”
This elicited from Hicks another clearing of his nose into the handkerchief. They shook hands again and Murdoch stepped out, back into the dank hallway.
Chapter Fifteen
MURDOCH FOLLOWED THE BEAM of his lamp up the uncarpeted stairs to the landing. Here there were two doors and at the far end a farther flight of even narrower stairs led to the third floor. A sliver of light was showing underneath the first door, but before he could knock, it opened and a woman emerged. She was dressed in a brown coat, plain enough, but enlivened by a wispy purple feather boa and a beribboned red hat. He presumed this young woman was the problematic daughter. She was young, but any prettiness she might have had was obliterated by the anger held in her mouth and eyes. She flashed him a tawdry seductive smile.
“What can I do for you? Lost your way, I’ll wager. I’ll help you find it if you like.”
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Esther Tugwell.”
The false smile vanished immediately. “You a bailiff?”
“No. My name is Murdoch, I’m a detective at number four station.”
Now he saw an all too familiar look. Fear, hostility, wariness. He met it all the time.
“What you want with my ma?”
Her tone of voice was so belligerent, Murdoch felt his own flash of temper.
“As I said, I’d like to talk to her. Are you Josephine Tugwell?”
“The same. And as I just said, what you want with us?”
“I’m investigating a murder and I’d like to ask her some questions.”
“Ha. Who the hell’s got the big bird that my mother’d know anything about it? She never leaves the house.”
In spite of her question, Murdoch thought she wasn’t surprised to see him and she did know why he was here. Then he recognized her. She was the woman in the red hat who’d taken exception to Crabtree as he came through the crowd outside the church. She must know that Charles Howard was dead.
“Didn’t I see you at Chalmers Church yesterday afternoon?”
For a split second, she considered her answer. Then she shrugged. “Your peepers do not deceive. I came over to see what the fuss was all about.”
“So you do know who got the big bird?”
“Didn’t have to be him, did it? There could be a cove doffed every hour for all I know. What’s it to do with my ma?”
“Reverend Howard was a Visitor for the House of Industry. Your mother is on his list. I understand he turned down her application for relief.”
“He did. Man with a poker up his arse, as far as I could tell. He thought I wasn’t deserving so the rest of the family could go starve. But I hope you ain’t thinking my own mother did for him cos she was miffed?”
“I have no thoughts at the moment. I’m interviewing everybody who was on Reverend Howard’s list.”
“That’s a clever thing to do. The prospect of some soft-handed toff having the say-so as to whether you eat for the next month could get a person all riled, couldn’t it?”
“Do I take that to mean you don’t have a high opinion of Reverend Howard?”
“I don’t have an opinion, high or low. He looked down his nose same as all of them.”
“Your downstairs neighbour, Mr. Hicks, thought he was a good man.”
“That’s Christian of him.”
Josie had doused herself with some kind of strong musky scent that was overpowering in the small space of the landing.
“Given what you just said, I’d like to ask you where you were yesterday afternoon, round about three-thirty,” Murdoch said.
“That’s a laugh. I was here, shivering
myself to death. Why? Don’t think I went up there and stabbed the bloke so I could get blood out of a stone, do ya?” She laughed at her own joke.
She was getting on Murdoch’s nerves. “Show some respect, young woman, or I’ll bring you into the station. Besides, how did you know he’d been stabbed?”
She grinned. “You didn’t say so, if that’s what you’re getting at, but that’s what everybody was nattering about up at the church. He’d bin stabbed and the boots put to him, from what I heard.”
The door behind her opened and a thin-faced woman poked her head out.
“Josie, what’s going on? You’re disturbing Wilf.”
“Sorry, ma. I was talking to the detective here. He’s come to take you to jail.”
Mrs. Tugwell was an older, worn version of her daughter, the same narrow nose and sharp chin but without the bold, defiant expression. She looked frightened at Josie’s words.
“What for?”
Murdoch tipped his hat to her. “Your daughter is teasing you, ma’am. That’s not the reason I’m here, ma’am. I am investigating the murder of the Reverend Howard. I would like to ask you some questions.”
Esther glanced at Josie nervously and her daughter sighed impatiently.
“I ain’t never going to get out of here. You’d better let him in, Ma. Don’t worry, I’ll come too and make sure he don’t knock you about.”
Mrs. Tugwell backed into the room, Josie went in, and Murdoch was left to follow her. The air was unpleasantly close and the front windows were uncurtained and grimy. Underneath them was what seemed to be the only real chair in the place. A couple of packing boxes served as seats. Even those meagre furnishings made the room seem crowded because most of the space was taken up by the stove and the family bed. On the floor was a pallet where he could make out a boy’s sleeping form.
Mrs. Tugwell spoke softly. “That there’s our Wilf. He’s got St. Vitus’s dance, so I’ll thank you not to raise your voice. Any loud noise sets him going.”
Josie plopped on one of the boxes. “I’d offer you some tea, but we drank the last of it this morning. And I hope you ain’t hungry because the larder is empty. So you’ll just have to forgive our bad manners. We wasn’t expecting company.”
Murdoch knew quite well she was baiting him, but he felt a pang of pity. Their state was every bit as wretched as the others he’d seen. Esther fluttered around and pulled the chair closer into the room.
“Why don’t you sit here, officer.”
She sat down on the other box and Murdoch accepted the chair. The two women were lower and close to his knees, which made him feel like a schoolmaster addressing his pupils.
“Reverend Howard came here on Monday afternoon, I understand?” he spoke to Esther Tugwell although he could tell that the real authority in the family was Josie. It was she who answered.
“That’s right. He stayed for what, Ma? Ten minutes. Decided we weren’t deserving of no meal ticket and shoved off.”
“He told you right away, did he?”
“Oh yes. They have to. Gives you a chance to go somewhere else. We went to the Sisters, who at least have some charity.”
“How did you feel when the pastor told you he wasn’t going to grant your application?”
Both women looked at Murdoch in astonishment, then Josie laughed.
“How’d you think we felt? Use your noggin. Three mouths to feed, no coal even if we did have food. Wilf is sickly, as you can see. What you think? We were happy as larks.” She slapped her knee. “Wait a bleeding minute. I thought you even gave a toss. But you mean, did we want to kill the bleeder? Well I know I did. What do you say, Ma?”
Esther shrank. She was wearing a brown velvet wrapper that must have been passed on to her from a charity. It was too big and the shoulders drooped down her arms.
“He was only doing his job, Jo. He was a good man, really.”
Josie glared at her. Not said but hanging in the air was the knowledge that she was the reason they had been turned down.
“My mother’s a real Christian, Mr. Murdoch. She thinks Old Nick himself is only doing his job when he roasts sinners in hell.”
Her tone was cruel and Esther flushed. “Josie, that’s not true.” She turned to Murdoch. “We was disappointed of course we were, but like Jo just said we was able to go to the Sisters.”
“And Monday was the last time you saw Reverend Howard?”
Josie jumped in. “Of course it was, Mr. Sly Boots. He wasn’t likely to drop in for supper, was he? Yesterday was Tuesday, and Tuesday was when he was went to the Grand Silence.”
Murdoch looked at the older woman, who’d folded her hands into the sleeves of her too big dress. “Is that the truth, Mrs. Tugwell?”
She nodded. Murdoch might have pressed her but at that moment, the boy on the pallet groaned. His arm jerked out from the blanket covering him. Esther got to her feet quickly and went to him.
“He’s awake, is he? Mama’s here, lambie.” Her voice was tender when she spoke and Murdoch saw the anger flit across Josie’s face. She’d seen that tenderness lavished on her brother all her life, something she wanted and didn’t get. She jumped to her feet.
“If you’re done now, mister, I’ll be off.” She gave him an unabashed leer. “I’m meeting a friend and I’m late already.”
Murdoch didn’t think he was going to get any further and he wanted to get out of the stifling atmosphere of oppressive poverty. Wilf was making strangled noises and his arms were jerking wildly. Esther understood what he was trying to say and she fetched a mug of soup from the stove.
“Here, lambie. I saved it for you.”
Murdoch stood up.
“I’ll be going now, Mrs. Tugwell, but I may have to come back.”
“She’ll be here,” said Josie. “She never goes out. She’s always worried about brother Wilf.”
Esther straightened up and gave Murdoch a wan smile. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help, sir. I’m sorry to hear about the pastor. He seemed like a kind man.”
Josie snorted derisively. “Kind, my arse. He didn’t care if we were starving.”
Her mother sighed and turned back to helping Wilf with his soup.
Josie grabbed Murdoch by his sleeve and grinned up into his face. “Now why don’t you do me a favour, mister, and light the way down the stairs so I don’t trip and break my bleeding neck.”
Murdoch followed her from the room, leaving Mrs. Tugwell to minister to the skeleton-thin, twitching boy.
Chapter Sixteen
MURDOCH CALLED ON SEVEN other applicants on his list, all of them “approved.” Only one of these, a man with a broken leg, whined that Howard had not given him as much help as he needed and he was worried that the pastor’s death might slow down his ongoing application for relief. There were few comments from the others, who all had learned to be wary of policemen asking questions. Self-interest was uppermost and they were all concerned about who would take over now that Howard was dead. “He treated me like I were a real person, not a number on a list, the way most of them do,” said one woman who was close to her confinement and no husband in sight. By eight o’clock, Murdoch was tired and ravenous. He decided to start fresh in the morning and finish for the day.
As he got to his lodgings, he could see there was a party going on. The curtains were not yet drawn in the front parlour and light was spilling out onto the street. All the movable furniture had been pushed back to the walls. Amy was standing on a chair with her hands cupped in a whistling position and Seymour and Katie were executing an energetic, if constricted two step in the tiny space in the centre of the room. Murdoch could hear Seymour’s whoops and Katie’s laughter. He stepped up to the window and, leaning in close, rapped hard. Seymour waved, twirled his partner wildly, and they both dropped breathlessly onto the couch. Amy stopped whistling, jumped off the chair, and beckoned to Murdoch to come in. She was wearing the smock and pantaloons that she favoured for home.
Perversely, he felt a pang at t
he scene as if he were an outsider, the hungry boy at the butcher’s shop window. He let himself into the hall, hung up his hat and coat, and opened the door to the parlour. Seymour greeted him with more exuberance than Murdoch had ever seen him express before.
“Will, come in. Katie and I just did a Scottish reel, would you believe? At least I think it was a reel. I know there was a lot of leaping about on the part of my partner and I just tried to imitate her as best I could.”
Katie, who usually looked pale and worried, was flushed with the exertion, her hair dishevelled and her eyes shining. Murdoch saw how pretty she could be when she wasn’t weighed down with the care of her children.
“Miss Slade is as good as an entire military band,” she laughed. “And I was not leaping about, as you put it, Charlie. You have to do pirouettes.”
“It certainly looked energetic at least,” said Murdoch. “The entire street was enjoying the show.”
“Oh dear, I’d better draw the curtains,” said Katie and she hurried to do so.
“Why don’t you have a go, Will,” said Seymour. “Katie can manage another dance, I’m sure.”
Murdoch backed away. “Not tonight, thanks. I’d be worse than a sack of potatoes.”
They all sensed the change of mood he’d brought into the room but mistook the reason for it.
“You look famished,” said Katie. “Come into the kitchen and I’ll get you your supper. I made a pork hash tonight and I know you like that.”
Murdoch glanced around the room. “Where are the boys?”
“In my room,” answered Amy. “They’re sleeping soundly.”
“Not for long, I’m afraid,” said Katie. “They’re teething and it’s making them mardy. I hope we won’t disturb you tonight.”
“I think I’ll sleep like a log, don’t worry.”
A wailing from the other room corroborated Katie’s statement and she laughed. “I’ll tend to them and be with you in a minute, Mr. Murdoch.”
Vices of My Blood Page 10
