Royce looked over at her. “When you first left your house, what time was it?”
“I would say about half past three.”
“Did you see anybody on the street or in the vicinity of the church itself?”
Miss Dignam lowered her head but her voice was clear enough. “It was a cold dismal afternoon so there really wasn’t anyone about. I saw no one.”
The coroner leaned toward her. The quieter she became, the louder his voice was. “Please remember you are under oath, ma’am. I must ask you … do you have any knowledge of who might have murdered Mr. Howard?”
“No, I do not. It is incomprehensible to me. He was a good man. One of Christ’s chosen few.”
She shuddered and Murdoch thought she might break into tears, but she held on.
“Very well, you may step down, ma’am. Constable, escort the lady to her seat.” He consulted the piece of paper on his desk. “Call the next witness, Francis Fyfer, constable second class, number forty-seven.”
Fyfer jumped up and strode over to the table where Crabtree administered the oath. The constable’s, “I do swear” was loud and Royce beamed his approval. Then Fyfer launched into his tale.
“I was on duty on the afternoon of March third and I was just approaching the end of my beat, which is at Jarvis Street and Carlton, when a woman comes running out from the side path of Chalmers Church. That woman is here in the courtroom, seated in the first row.”
Murdoch couldn’t help but smile. The young constable must have been a witness before at a formal trial. On the other hand, his demeanour was rather unfortunate, as there was the slightest implication that Miss Dignam was herself on charge. Murdoch knew enough about the collected ignorance of any emotional group of people and he feared what rumours might be getting spawned.
“At first I thought she was hurt because she had blood on her face and hands and garments –”
“One moment, constable.” Royce turned over his sheet of paper. “Miss Dignam has told us that she attempted to ascertain whether or not Reverend Howard was quick or dead. Would you say that the amount of blood you observed on her person was compatible with her pressing her head to the dead man’s heart?”
Fyfer paused and flicked nervously at his moustache. “It is possible, sir. She was certainly covered with it.”
Royce made a note and Murdoch saw the covert exchange of glances among the spectators, the ripple and shift of reactions. Miss Dignam had her head lowered as if she were praying.
The constable continued his statement in his loud, confident voice. “When I determined that she was uninjured and when I could make out what she was saying, I told her to stay where she was. Mr. Drummond, one of the parishioners who is also present in the courtroom, had arrived at this point and I left the lady in his care while I myself went into the church. I discovered the body of a man lying in one of the rear offices. This man was later identified as Reverend Howard, the pastor of the church. He appeared to have been severely beaten about the head and he was also stabbed in the side of the neck. I could see he was beyond human aid, so I ran back through the church to where I had left the lady in question, now identified as Miss Sarah Dignam. Other people were now standing outside of the church and I ordered one of them, a Miss Flowers, also here present, to take her home, having first obtained her name and address. Then I sent Mr. Drummond to sound the alarm while I did my best to watch the church in case anybody left. Detective Murdoch arrived shortly after, and we went back into the church to get a better look at things. We saw no one other than the dead man.”
“Thank you, constable. Please step down and come and read over your statement. If you are satisfied it is as you said, sign your name to the bottom left of the last page.”
Royce glanced over at Miss Dignam. “Dear me. In all the excitement, I forgot to ask you to do the same. Please come forward, ma’am.”
Miss Dignam stood up, suddenly covered her mouth with her hand, retched, then as quietly and smoothly as a suit of clothes falling from a coat hanger, she sank to the floor.
Chapter Eighteen
MURDOCH AND BOTH of the doctors Ogden sprang forward at the same time. Miss Dignam was crouched on the floor retching bile, which spilled out over her gloved hands onto the floor. Murdoch grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Julia Ogden, who held it in front of Miss Dignam’s mouth. The stench of vomit was sharp and sour in the air.
“Court is adjourned for fifteen minutes,” called Royce.
“Jurors, you will please move to the other room, immediately. Constable, remove the lady from the courtroom and have somebody clean up that mess.” He banged with his gavel and, presumably confident that Miss Dignam was in good hands, he strode out of the room. The two doctors helped Miss Dignam to her feet and, followed by the stares of the spectators, Murdoch led the way to the outer lobby. Here they placed her on a bench. She vomited once more and this time it was the elder Dr. Ogden who volunteered his handkerchief.
“Thank you, I’m so sorry,” Miss Dignam whispered.
“Do you still feel faint?” Dr. Julia asked.
“No. I think I will be all right now. I’m so sorry to have acted like that.”
“Nonsense. It wasn’t your fault,” said Dr. Uzziel. “It’s damnably upsetting for a woman to have to testify in court, especially with such an insensitive clod running the show.”
Murdoch glanced around at the curious onlookers. He recognized one of the funeral parlour attendants, who had come to watch the inquest.
“You, Thompson. Run and fetch us a glass of water.”
“Would this help, sir?” The man reached into his inside pocket and took out a small silver flask. “I always keep this handy.”
He handed the flask to Dr. Julia, who unscrewed the top and held it out to Miss Dignam.
“Take a sip. That’s good. Now another, not too much.”
Miss Dignam shuddered and gagged but didn’t vomit the brandy back.
“One more.”
A little colour began to return to the woman’s face, but she still looked wretched. There were deep shadows under her eyes and the lids were reddened from lack of sleep.
“She should go home at once,” Julia said to Murdoch. “There is no reason for her to stay, is there?”
“She has to sign a copy of her statement. But I can bring it out here for her.”
“Thank you, Mr. Murdoch, I don’t think I could bear to … to go back in there.” Miss Dignam stuffed both soiled handkerchiefs into her reticule. “I do apologize to you, gentlemen. I will have these washed and returned to you as soon as possible.”
Murdoch could see Constable Crabtree in the door of the chapel, his helmet visible above the crush of people in the lobby. Nobody inside had moved although they were talking in low voices to each other.
“The court will reconvene in five minutes, Mr. Murdoch.”
“George, bring Miss Dignam’s statement and a pen and inkwell. She’s going to sign it here. And ask Miss Flowers if she’d join us. She’s the lady in the grey furs.”
Dr. Julia offered Miss Dignam more brandy. Seeing Thompson’s anxious expression, Murdoch tapped him on the arm.
“Don’t worry. Send your bill to the police station. You will be reimbursed.”
Crabtree soon returned with an inkwell and paper in his hand and Miss Flowers in tow. She approached her friend nervously.
“How are you feeling, Sarah?”
“Much better, thank you, May, but I am being sent home.”
“Would you mind accompanying her, ma’am?” Murdoch asked Miss Flowers.
It was obvious that May did mind. “But the inquest isn’t over yet. And I can’t leave Elias in there by himself. You know how he is.”
Suddenly, Miss Dignam reached forward and caught her by the sleeve. “Please, May. I must go to the church.”
“To Chalmers? What on earth for?”
“I want to pray.”
“Good gracious, Sarah, isn’t that being rather
morbid? After all …”
She didn’t finish her sentence but Miss Dignam shook her head.
“I will be closer to Charles’s soul in Chalmers. He loved his church. I know I will be able to feel his presence there.”
It was clear what Miss Flowers thought about that.
Murdoch’s eyes met those of Dr. Uzziel’s, who indicated Miss Dignam should be indulged. He also thought it advisable to keep an eye on her.
“I tell you what, ma’am. Miss Flowers seems to want to stay until the inquest is finished. Why don’t I assign Constable Fyfer to go with you to the church? Then he can escort you to your house after that.”
“Splendid idea,” said Dr. Uzziel.
Miss Dignam gave Murdoch a feeble smile. “Thank you, sir. That would be most kind.”
“Now if you are feeling better, I should return to the courtroom,” said Dr. Julia. “I think they have returned and I have to give my testimony.”
“Thank you, doctor. I am quite all right now.”
Uzziel offered his daughter his arm.
“Make way,” he called out. “Doctor coming through.”
Miss Flowers waved her fingers at her friend but didn’t embrace her. “I must join your brother. I’ll tell him you are quite recovered. I’ll stay and tell you what transpires.”
Let’s hope the jury doesn’t accuse Miss Dignam of murder, thought Murdoch. It was in their jurisdiction to name a culprit if they felt confident of the evidence. He’d seen it happen before.
“Read this through and sign it here, if you will, ma’am,” said Crabtree.
Miss Dignam gave the statement a perfunctory glance. “I’m sure it’s quite correct,” she said and wrote her signature in a shaky hand. They heard the coroner thumping his gavel to signal the court was reconvened and the attention of the onlookers switched abruptly to what they could see in the chapel.
“I must leave you to Constable Fyfer,” said Murdoch. “I will call on you soon.”
The constable didn’t look too happy about leaving the excitement of the inquest, but ever polite, he offered his arm to the lady, who got to her feet and leaning on him heavily made her way to the door, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea.
Murdoch followed Crabtree back into the chapel.
In case any jurors had tried to evade their civic duty by slipping away during the adjournment, the roll call was taken again and the court settled.
Dr. Ogden was the next witness and she delivered her report in what Murdoch now knew was her customary self-contained manner. One of the jurors was also a physician and when she had finished he asked several highly technical medical questions relating to the manner of the injuries to the skull, but it was obvious to Murdoch the man simply wanted to show off his own knowledge, evidently superior in his own eyes.
“And what is your opinion as to the cause of death, doctor?”
She’d already given her opinion, but she was unflustered, answered him calmly, and repeated her last sentence.
“The pastor bled to death because the weapon pierced the carotid artery.”
“I have to ask this question, doctor, even though it might seem superfluous. Could the wound to the neck have been self-inflicted? I have known the most bizarre cases of self-murder.”
“No, sir. I do not believe so and the damage to the side of the head was far too severe to have been caused by him falling down. Although the blows to the side of the face were grievous indeed, they would not themselves have caused death. Mr. Howard died from a massive hemorrhage.”
Mr. Lyon’s hand shot up. “How long before death actually occurred?”
“Given the depth of the wound, I would say it would have happened quite quickly. Perhaps a few minutes at the most.”
“Would he have been conscious long enough to confront his murderer?”
“Perhaps.”
“Is it possible then that the, um, the one eye was destroyed so that the image of the murderer could not be detected?”
“I cannot speak for the motivation of the murderer, sir, but I assure you we saw no such image in the postmortem examination.”
Lyons had a pencil in his hand and he tapped it on his teeth. “Another question, doctor, if I may? In your expert opinion, was the piercing of the artery accidental or deliberate? What I mean is, did the assailant intend to commit murder? Did he know exactly what he was doing, or was he only striking out blindly in the course of which he managed to hit that particular spot?”
“Even if the actual entry point of the knife was accidental, everything seems to indicate that there was a murderous intent. Mr. Howard was obviously kicked repeatedly when he was lying on the ground. I would say his assailant most certainly wanted to kill him.”
This comment was too much for the spectators and there was an outburst of chatter and more noisy crying from some of the women.
Crabtree called for silence, Royce rapped his gavel, and finally everybody quieted down.
“Are there any more questions for Dr. Ogden?” the coroner asked.
A tiny, rabbity man who had given his name as Moses Galt and his occupation as a buyer in Mr. Simpson’s drapery department raised his hand.
“Given the amount of force necessary to thrust a knife that deeply into a man’s neck, can we assume without question that the murderer could not be of the fair sex?”
This question caused another ripple through the crowd, and Dr. Ogden waited for a moment before answering.
“I would say, we can assume no such thing. Both men and women are capable of unusual strength when the blood is up, whether that is in feats of heroism or acts of blind rage. I have known a woman of quite average build lift a carriage from off the legs of her child who had been run over. It was something she could not possibly have done in normal circumstances.”
More reaction from the crowd and various nodding and exchanges. The juryman doctor called out that he had known such cases himself.
“In your learned opinion, Dr. Ogden, would the assailant have been marked with blood?” asked the journalist, who obviously was hoping for the most lurid story he could concoct.
“Perhaps less than one might think. The blood probably spurted to the side on one gush. If the murderer was directly behind Mr. Howard, he, or she, would have been able to avoid it. When the pastor fell to the ground, the blood flowed out but as he died almost immediately, it would not have pulsed and again would have been easy to avoid.”
“So the murderer could have been bloodstained or totally untouched, either one?”
“That is correct. It is impossible to say with surety.”
There were no more questions, and Royce asked Dr. Ogden to sign her statement. She did so and returned to her seat. Her father tapped her lightly on the elbow to signify his pride in her performance.
Murdoch was called next and he added to the doctor’s report by mentioning the missing watch and boots.
“You’d say a thief then, would you, detective?” asked Royce.
“That or somebody wants us to think so.”
Mr. Lyons indicated he had a question. “Dr. Ogden in her excellent testimony has told us that there is every indication that the assailant was in a mad fury. I wonder then, if a person in such a state would have the presence of mind to deliberately mislead the police. I beg your pardon, Mr. Murdoch, I have no wish to cast aspersions on your competence.”
In fact Murdoch thought the man’s question was a shrewd one and he’d thought of it himself.
“Frankly, sir, I don’t know at this point. It would have taken seconds to snatch the watch and only a minute or two at the most to pull off the boots. I could see even a person in a state of blind rage, having both time and sense to do those things with the intention of throwing suspicion elsewhere.”
“Or there could have been more than one assailant,” piped up the buyer.
“That is not out of the question.”
There were a couple more questions about his opinion on the injuries from the doctor
who was still trying to discredit Dr. Ogden, but Murdoch deferred to her judgment and the juror was forced to sit back and resume twiddling with his gold watch chain.
Murdoch signed his statement and returned to his seat. The next witness was a Mrs. Emmeline Bright, who was the matron of the girls’ home on Gerrard Street. Fyfer had taken her original statement and Murdoch knew he would be disappointed not to hear her testimony, which he considered of vital importance. Murdoch was less sanguine about the reliability of eyewitnesses.
Chapter Nineteen
MRS. BRIGHT WAS SURPRISINGLY YOUNG for her position, and belied her name by her sombre, authoritative manner, which a dowager might have envied. Murdoch imagined she would be most intimidating to her young charges.
Crabtree swore her in and she gave her testimony. “I was walking along Gerrard Street going toward Jarvis. The time was exactly a quarter past one o’clock. I was on my way to visit my sister-in-law, who resides on Church Street and who has recently been delivered of her first child. I noticed a man was crossing the Gardens in the direction of Chalmers Church. He was wearing a long dark coat and a dark fedora hat. He was carrying some sort of sack over his back. He looked like a tramp.”
The officious doctor raised his hand and, getting the nod from Royce, he asked, “Was this person running or walking?”
“He was hurrying.”
Royce frowned. “May I remind the good men of the jury that Tuesday was a miserably cold day and any sensible person would be in a hurry to get indoors. We cannot make more of this witness’s testimony than is called for.”
Moses Galt indicated he had a question.
“How can you be so certain about the time of day, Mrs. Bright?”
The matron smiled. She’d been hoping somebody would ask this. “I was due to meet my sister-in-law at one-thirty and I was delayed because I had to admit a new girl. I looked at the clock as I was leaving. It was ten past one. The home is only a few minutes walk from Jarvis Street.”
Vices of My Blood Page 12
