Lyons put up his hand. “You seem quite certain the man you saw was a tramp. Other than the fact that he was carrying a sack, what else was there to identify him as such?”
Mrs. Bright fidgeted with her glove, the first sign of uncertainty she had yet shown.
“The park is a favourite spot for tramps, who often go to the churches in the area to beg for money. They are quite a plague, I might add. This man had a thick black beard and he walked the way tramps do. His clothes were not good quality.”
“Did you see him enter the church?”
“Yes,” she hesitated. “Er, that is I didn’t see him open the door, if that’s what you mean, but where else would he be going?”
Lyons would have made a good lawyer, Murdoch thought, he didn’t give the woman a chance to compose herself. “You said he walked the way tramps do. How is that, may I ask, ma’am?”
“Well, they sort of shuffle.”
“You said he was hurrying.”
“He was, but he still dragged his feet.” She frowned at Lyons, obviously not used to being questioned in this way. Murdoch wondered briefly what sort of man she had married. She would have to be a widow to be employed at the home, but she wasn’t in mourning dress so the bereavement must have happened a few years ago. She had a full, smooth face with well-shaped brows, but the hardness of her expression was not attractive. He tried to be more charitable. Perhaps she was covering profound loneliness.
There appeared to be no more questions from the jury and Royce took his large gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it.
“It’s almost dinnertime and I should begin my summing up so we can –”
The Reverend Swanzey was sitting in the row behind the jurors and suddenly he jumped to his feet. “I do apologize for the late notice, Mr. Royce, but I would like to be sworn in. I believe I have some evidence to add that could be of the utmost importance.”
He had a fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth and he actually swayed a little so that Murdoch was afraid he might collapse. He could feel Dr. Ogden shift beside him, so she too was at the ready.
“Good gracious, sir. Why didn’t you tell the constable earlier so he could put you on my list?”
Swanzey gulped and Murdoch saw his prominent Adam’s apple move up and down.
“I beg your pardon. I realize that was remiss of me, but frankly, the frightful events drove it completely from my mind. However, after hearing Mrs. Bright’s testimony, I think perhaps it might be significant.”
“Very well. Swear him in, constable, if you please.”
Swanzey went through the ritual, seeming nervous and on edge. He sat down in the witness chair.
“Give your statement, Mr. Swanzey, and do speak up,” Royce said. “The previous witness set an excellent example.”
“Yes, sir.” Swanzey took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was loud and resonant. There would be no difficulty hearing him at the back of the room. “It is my habit to take an afternoon constitutional as often as the demands of my work permit. I find it is an opportunity for inner contemplation and even in the most inclement weather I do so. However, on Tuesday, I decided that the raw afternoon was too much even for me and after a short walk around the Gardens I went into the greenhouse. The greenery is so soothing to the eye at this time of year.” He paused and looked about the room. Murdoch could feel how intently the spectators were listening to him. Swanzey was demonstrating the skill and pacing of a good preacher.
“It was as I was making a turn of the building when I encountered a tramp. I did not think much of it because it is not unusual for wanderers to go inside the greenhouses where they have some protection from the elements. However, this man, I now see exactly fitted the description of the man seen by our estimable matron hurrying toward the church.” There was a murmuring from the spectators. “He was of middle age, tall, and broad-shouldered with long, grizzled hair and beard. His coat, albeit ragged, was dark, and he was wearing a soft-brimmed black hat. He also had a sack of some sort, although when I met up with him, he was not carrying it but rather had set it at his feet.” He paused again.
“Did you speak to the man?” Royce asked.
“I merely bid him good afternoon. He was a rather sullen fellow and didn’t give me much of an answer. As I said, I would have thought no more about him except that I now realize he had a watch in his hand, which he had been in the process of winding when I came across him.”
“Was it a silver watch?” one of the jurors called out.
“I wouldn’t swear to that, but I did remark to myself that such a fellow had a watch at all.”
“Did you notice if there was blood on him?” Lyons asked.
“No, I did not. It was quite gloomy inside and he wore dark clothes.”
Royce leaned toward the pastor. “Mr. Swanzey, I want you to consider your answer to my next question very carefully. If you do not know, say so. I don’t want any exaggeration or twisting of the facts because you think it will suit us … Now then. What time of day was it when you encountered this tramp?”
Swanzey’s Adam’s apple bobbed vigorously. “I left my lodgings on Gerrard Street shortly after three, as is my wont to do. I walked around the park as I said, then I went into the greenhouse where I walked some more. I met the man on my third perambulation, so he must have entered after I did.” He hesitated, biting on his lower lip. “I would estimate the time was approximately a quarter to four o’clock or shortly thereafter. I decided to resume my walk and I bid the fellow good day and left. As far as I know, he remained in the greenhouse. I myself proceeded across the park toward Sherbourne Street. It was later that I returned to the church and saw a crowd of people had gathered. Then, alas, I was told the sad news.”
He swallowed hard and Murdoch thought for a moment he was going to burst into tears, but he clamped his teeth and remained in control.
Royce looked over at Murdoch. “Detective, you have heard Mrs. Bright’s and Reverend Swanzey’s testimony. It is not a leap of credibility to assume the two men are one and the same. The man could easily have escaped to the greenhouse from the church after the attack on the pastor. I assume you will be doing everything in your power to find the wretch.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
As far as Murdoch was concerned the evidence was not conclusive, but there was no point in going into that now. Certainly, the tramp needed to be found.
There were no more witnesses or questions and Royce’s summation was short. He then withdrew to the rear room and Crabtree directed the jurors to the adjoining room for their deliberations. One of two people in the audience stood up and stretched, but mostly they just sat quietly, the weeping women were comforted but all the voices were low and respectful.
It was hardly more than fifteen minutes later when the jurors returned and filed back to their seats. Royce took his seat and Crabtree took a roll call again.
“Mr. Chamberlin, have you and the jury agreed on your verdict?”
“We have, sir.”
“As foreman, will you please address this court and state what conclusion the jury has reached.”
The elderly man stood up, adjusted his pince-nez, and, holding his notes in front of him, said, “We the jury here gathered today declare that on the third day of March, 1896, between the hours of three and half past three o’clock, in the offices of Chalmers Presbyterian Church, a person or persons to the jurors aforesaid unknown, did feloniously murder the Reverend Charles Edmund Howard.”
This verdict was not a surprise to anybody and there was no reaction from the spectators.
“All of you must come forward and sign beside your seal that you agree with this verdict,” said Royce.
When that was done and they all sat down again, Royce addressed them once more.
“Gentlemen, hearken to your verdict as delivered by you. You find that Charles Edmund Howard was murdered by person or persons unknown, so say you all. The body can now be buried.”
&nbs
p; It was Crabtree’s turn. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! You good men of Toronto who have been empanelled and sworn of the jury to inquire for our Sovereign Lady, the Queen, touching the death of Charles Edmund Howard and who have returned your verdict, may now depart hence and take your ease. God save the Queen.”
Royce gathered his papers together. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are invited to join me in a small repast at the Crown’s expense.” He banged the gavel. “I hereby declare this court adjourned.”
The reporters made as fast an exit as they could. Murdoch stood up, ready to let the crowd leave ahead of him. Two rows back, a skinny arm emerged from a heavy raccoon coat and waved at him. As the wearer of the coat was also wearing a matching fur cap, Murdoch hadn’t recognized him. Then he saw it was Mr. Hicks. Next to him was a woman who was so muffled in a woollen shawl, he hadn’t recognized her either. It was Josie Tugwell. He nodded at her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.
Chapter Twenty
TELLING CRABTREE TO FOLLOW on as soon as he could, Murdoch went straight back to the police station. He parked his wheel outside and walked into the front hall. Sergeant Gardiner was sitting at his high stool behind the desk.
“Don’t bother taking off your coat. Miss Dignam rang through. She wants to talk to you as soon as possible. In person, not on the telephone.”
Two young women whose provocative dress proclaimed a dubious occupation were sitting together on the public bench that ran around the room. They made ostentatious giggling noises.
“Cut that out, you two,” bellowed the sergeant and they stopped abruptly. They couldn’t afford to alienate him.
Murdoch approached Gardiner. “Did she say anything else?”
“No, just that it was urgent. It was about half an hour ago.”
“Has Fyfer reported in?”
“Not yet. What was the verdict?”
“What you’d expect, homicide by person or persons unknown.”
“Well, I’m warning you. Don’t leave me alone with the culprit when you do find him.” The sergeant’s normally affable face was contorted with anger. “How dare that scum take down a man of the church.”
Murdoch started to leave, then he paused. “By the way, what is your opinion of Miss Dignam?”
“She’s a very well-bred lady. She’s always had a greeting for me and my wife, whereas there are some whose faces would crack if they smiled a good morning to the likes of us.”
“Do you think she is prone to hysteria?”
“Not that I know of. But I’ve only seen her on Sundays, mind you. She’s never married and has no chance of a dowry as I’ve heard tell, so I’d say she’s probably lonely, but sensible with it.”
“And Angus Drummond? What’s your view of him?”
“Salt of the earth.” The sergeant gave a wry grin. “A bit too salty for some tastes, but then you can’t please everybody, can you?”
“Mrs. Howard refused to admit him when he came to offer his condolences.”
Gardiner sighed. “I can understand that. Angus hasn’t minced words when he’s had something to say about the pastor. But that’s just his way. He’s a good man who’s devoted to the church.”
“Thanks, sergeant. I’d better get going.”
Murdoch headed for the door. The two women watched him go and the older one in the scarlet hat managed to whisper, “’ave a nice time.”
In the fading daylight, Murdoch could see that the Dignam house, while large and elegant, was not in a good state of repair, something he hadn’t noticed previously. The paint on the door and windows was peeling and the garden was overgrown and neglected.
Unexpectedly, it was Miss Dignam herself who answered his ring.
“Thank you for responding so quickly, Mr. Murdoch. Please come in.”
He stepped inside and she waited while he took off his hat and coat. She accepted them from him as if she were a maid and put them on the hall stand.
“This way, if you please.”
She led the way, holding aloft a single candle. Her black gown seemed to him to be excessively tight at the waist and the skirt was pulled back into a no longer fashionable bustle. There was a definite whiff of camphor coming from her. She had taken out a dress from a previous mourning period and she even had a weeping veil pinned to her hair. She opened the door to the drawing room and they went in.
“I must thank you again for your kindness at my, er, my indisposition.” She gave him a faint smile. “You remind me of Charles. Even though you are a police detective, I observe that you have the same air about you. ‘His eyes were the eyes of doves.’”
Murdoch knew by now what she was referring to and he acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod of his head. He had been compared to various things before but never to Solomon.
“I know the verdict of the inquest,” she continued. “Miss Flowers and my brother together with our servant are presently in the kitchen discussing every word that was said. However, they might be done momentarily. Elias has a limited tolerance for company, even in these exciting times.”
Murdoch could see a tea tray with silver teapot and china cups was set up by the fire, but he took her last words as a cue and forestalled her invitation to take tea.
“I gather it was a matter of some urgency on which you wished to speak to me, Miss Dignam.”
She sat down in the fireside chair, which was pulled as close to the hearth as possible, and again he took the one opposite her.
“I was wondering if you found my cake tin?”
If it weren’t for her complete composure, he would have considered she had dropped into some kind of dementia.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“I had made a special cake for the prayer meeting that I was carrying when I went into the church. I don’t have it here so I can only assume I dropped it … when I … when I tried to ascertain whether Mr. Howard was alive.”
“To my knowledge no cake tin has been found, Miss Dignam.”
“Then that is not without significance, wouldn’t you say?”
Caught up in the world of spinster ladies and tea and cake, Murdoch looked at her blankly for a moment.
She sighed. “I see I am not making myself clear. Forgive me. The tin is a pretty one with some sentimental value, but that is not the point. If you have not found it, then it was stolen.” She looked away from him into the dancing flames. “I told you that when I found him, the pastor’s body was still warm to the touch. It is possible that his assailant had remained in the church, perhaps hiding. When I ran out I must have left the tin behind. It is likely that the murderer took it.”
She had a point, but a cake tin!
“You say the tin had no particular monetary value, ma’am.”
“That is correct but the murderer did not necessarily know that, did he? It could have contained something of value. He probably took it with him to find out.”
“How big was it?”
“It was large enough to hold a cake that would feed eight people. The colours were gold and pink with a motif of peacocks and roses.”
Not an object that could be easily overlooked.
“I’ll check with the constables who were searching the premises, ma’am.”
She leaned toward him. “There is one more thing, Mr. Murdoch. I didn’t mention this to you before because frankly in the upset of the moment, it slipped my mind. I also didn’t think to say it at the inquest. There was a most disagreeable odour in the church when I first went in. I have been thinking about this most carefully, how I would describe it to you. Rotten eggs combined with a stale dirty sort of smell as if dishcloths had been allowed to stand damp for a long period of time.” There was a muffled sound of laughter from the next room and she frowned. “Elias told me that one of the witnesses saw a tramp going into the church –”
Murdoch interrupted her. “He was observed crossing the Gardens, ma’am, not actually seen entering the church.”
“But he must have gone inside. Tramps do have
the odour I mentioned. I have smelled it before. They often come to Chalmers to beg. The fact that my cake tin is missing would confirm that. He would have expected it to contain food.”
She was making sense, but Murdoch found himself reluctant to pounce on the “tramp” theory. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny that was what it was starting to look like, especially given Reverend Swanzey’s testimony. If the man he had encountered and the tramp noticed by Mrs. Bright were one and the same, the likelihood was such a fellow could have entered the church, killed Howard, and escaped to a temporary hideout in the greenhouse. The timing fitted.
“Is that all you wanted to tell me, Miss Dignam?”
“Yes it is. I’m so sorry I didn’t say this earlier, but it had left my mind completely until now. It was only when I walked into the church again that I remembered.”
Murdoch wondered if she had communicated with the dead man’s spirit as she had hoped.
“There is something I meant to ask you, Miss Dignam. I do understand that you were in a state of shock when you came upon Reverend Howard’s body, but perhaps more things are coming back to you now.”
She stiffened. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Murdoch.”
“Constable Fyfer says you were covered with blood when you came running toward him, particularly your hands … why was that, Miss Dignam?”
Her hand flew to her cheek. “You heard what I said at the inquest. I bent down to his chest to check for a heartbeat. There was considerable blood on his coat. It must have …” She didn’t finish.
“Ma’am, essentially you are still under oath to tell the truth.”
“Of course. I don’t know why you are speaking to me this way, detective.”
Watching her try to puff herself up was like seeing a kitten fluff itself in front of the dog.
“Miss Dignam. Did you attempt to remove the knife from Mr. Howard’s neck?”
She turned quite white. “I … er …”
“I must have the truth, ma’am.”
She stared at him for a moment with horrified eyes, then she shrank back into her chair. “I did try, yes, but it was immovable.”
Vices of My Blood Page 13
