Vices of My Blood

by Maureen Jennings

  He picked up his notes and was about to go down to the front desk when he heard hurried footsteps coming down the hall. Crabtree’s large frame appeared in the doorway.

  “Come in, George, what’s the matter?”

  The constable was rather breathless.

  “Don’t tell me you found our tramp?”

  “No, I’m afraid not, sir, but I may have made a pretty big catch.”

  Murdoch indicated the worn chair that was opposite him. “Sit down and tell me first. I’ve already got a crick in my neck, I don’t want to make it worse.”

  Crabtree balanced himself in the chair. “After I left you at the Gardens, sir, I was making my way down Jarvis Street. There were one or two people I’d missed when we was going around and I thought they might be home now. I’d just got as far as Wilton when the next thing I know there was screams and shouts going on, ‘Thief, Thief,’ and this fellow comes running around the corner. Well you don’t run like a hare with people shouting thief if you haven’t been up to something. I sees a couple of gentlemen running after him, but he’s fast and is easily outdistancing them. Then he sees me on the opposite side of the road and that gives him the fright of his life so he turns south on Jarvis, like the devil has lit his trousers. I sets off after him, but I wouldn’t have stood a chance of catching him when darned if he doesn’t put his foot in a pothole and goes a crash. He tries to get up but he can’t run a yard and I’m on him like a flash. I can see guilt written all over him. By that time the two gentlemen catch up to us and say as how he’d just stolen a purse from a poor widow woman who was walking on the street. The cove can’t even deny it because when I shake him down a little red silk purse falls out of his pocket.”

  Crabtree patted his jacket. “I’ve got it here.”

  “Well done, George,” said Murdoch. “I don’t mean to spoil your triumph, but at the moment I can’t see why this cove is such a prize nab.”

  The constable grinned. “I’m getting to that, sir. So I grabbed the fellow by the scruff and made him hop with me to where there were a group of people standing around a poor blind woman and a young tad who turned out to be her grandson. It was her purse all right. The boy identified it and said the man I’d nabbed had just come on them all of a sudden and snatched it from her belt. I had the devil of a time persuading the old lady to come to the station and press charges, but I told her as how it was her duty and so forth and we would if she didn’t so she agreed.”

  Murdoch looked at the constable, who was relishing his moment of drama. “Go on.”

  “She seems like a good old soul and she’s concerned that my poor klep has hurt himself. ‘Maybe we should have a look at his ankle,’ says she. At which point I notice his boots … They’re his boots, sir, Mr. Howard’s.”

  “What! How do you know?”

  “Remember the maid said Mr. Howard’s had been recently soled and heeled but he had broken his lace and he replaced it with a brown one in his right boot? Well these black boots the nab had on his feet have an exact same brown lace and they’ve been recently soled and heeled.”

  Murdoch whistled through his teeth. “Did you ask your nab where he got them?”

  “I did and he said he didn’t remember and that he’d had them for years.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Not a jot. I thought he was lying in his teeth. Anyway, I brought him into the station and had him take his boots off so we could take a look at his ankle and as I suspected, he was a lying bugger … he has bad blisters on the heels of both feet.”

  Murdoch slapped the desk. “So they’re not likely to be boots he’s had for years.” He jumped up. “Let’s go and have a little chin with our widow robber. Where is he?”

  “In the hall, sir. The lady has been weeping non-stop and says she don’t want no trouble. You’d think we were arresting her. The lad is crying too and the nab is moaning so it’s quite noisy out there.”

  “Did you get any names?”

  “Yes. She’s Mrs. Annabel Shorter and her grandson’s Bill. They’re from Markham and just here for the day. The thief says he’s Peter Somerset, but I doubt it’s a name his own mother would ever know him by.”

  “Let’s go and talk to them, shall we, George? A recently repaired black boot with a brown lace is a bit too much of a coincidence to swallow.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  CRABTREE’S NAB WAS SITTING on the bench a few feet from an elderly lady and a young boy. He was indeed moaning, the woman was weeping rather noisily, and the boy was trying to comfort her, also loudly. She was in full widow’s weeds with a long black crepe veil that covered her face and fell as far as her waist. The boy was also in black with knickerbockers and jacket. A velvet cap was pulled down low and the lower part of his face was wrapped in a black scarf so that only his eyes were visible.

  “Grandma, hush. Here’s the detective come to talk to you.”

  She turned in the direction of the door, although Murdoch was coming from the hall behind the counter.

  He walked over to her. Her grandson was speaking so loudly, Murdoch assumed the old lady was deaf and he too raised his voice.

  “Mrs. Shorter, I’m Detective Murdoch. I wonder if you could tell me what happened.”

  He glanced over at the man, who had sunk back on the bench and buried his face in his muffler.

  “My grandma is too upset to talk much,” said the boy. “She don’t want to press charges. We have to get back to the train station before three o’clock.”

  Murdoch sat on the bench beside the old woman who was staring straight ahead. He couldn’t make out her face through the dark veil, but he could see she was trembling. He tried to speak gently, which was difficult at full volume.

  “Mrs. Shorter, your purse was stolen and we have caught the thief. You won’t have to stay long if we write up a charge. You’ll just have to sign it. Why should he get away with frightening elderly citizens?”

  “I’m blind, I didn’t see him,” she said, her voice was shrill.

  “I realize that. But we have other witnesses. And your grandson must have seen him.”

  The boy shook his head, still focused on his grandmother. “No I didn’t. I was looking after grandma when she fell down. Then I saw a man running away and men yelling and chasing after him. I just thought he hadn’t been looking where he was going and knocked her over.”

  “Then you saw that your grandmother’s purse had gone.”

  “I noticed it then, but she could have lost it earlier.”

  The woman stretched out her hand in search of her grandson’s and he clasped it tightly.

  “I’m a Christian woman, Mr. Murdoch,” she said, “and I believe that we should forgive those that trespass against us. If indeed this young man did rob me, I have my purse returned, I am not harmed, and that is all that matters. There was nothing in it but some streetcar tickets and a little change. We really do have to catch our train, my daughter is expecting us.”

  Murdoch peered at her, but her face was obscured by the thick crepe veil. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the thief. In spite of his attempt to burrow into his collar, Murdoch could see a broad forehead and ragged sandy-brown hair.

  Mrs. Shorter went to stand up, but Murdoch blocked her with his arm.

  “Why do I have the impression we have met before?”

  She recoiled, bowed her head briefly, then with one swift movement, she jerked upward, threw off his arm, shoved him away from her, and kicked him hard in the shins. With a yell to the boy, she ran for the door. Startled by the pain, he couldn’t move fast enough. Somerset tried to follow her, but even though he hopped with astonishing speed, he was no match for Crabtree, who got him from behind. The woman would have got away, but her long veil, flowing out behind her, caught on the edge of the stove in the centre of the room. The bonnet came off, but it was tied underneath her chin and she was stopped in her tracks, giving Murdoch a chance to seize her arm and twist it behind her back.

  She
cried out in pain, but as it was now obvious she was no old woman, he held on. In the meantime, Gardiner and Callahan had run from behind the counter to help. The sergeant grabbed the boy, who fought desperately, until Callahan managed to hold his legs and Gardiner pinned his arms. In minutes the struggle was over.

  “Mrs. Shorter, or should I say, Mrs. Pierce?” shouted Murdoch. “Whoever the hell you are, you’re under arrest,” He was panting from the struggle and the rush of anger beyond his control at the painful kicks that had been inflicted on him. “I’m going to let go of you so I don’t break your arm, but if you move a muscle, you will be cuffed. Do you understand?” He gave her a little shake that made her yelp again. “Do you understand?”

  “Leave her alone,” yelled the boy and he somehow jerked out of the grasp of both constables who were holding him and ran to help the woman. His cap had fallen off and Gardiner grabbed him by the hair, shoved him to the floor, then dropped, putting his knee on the boy’s back. He administered a couple of hard slaps to his head while Callahan once more held on to the boy’s ankles. Murdoch let go of the woman’s arm and shoved her onto the bench.

  “Let him go,” she screamed at the other two officers.

  She probably would have got up again, but Murdoch yelled at the top of his voice.

  “Stay there.” He looked over his shoulder. “Sergeant, let him get up.”

  Gardiner looked as if he was going to defy him, but then he reluctantly got off the boy and stepped back, clearly ready to pounce again if necessary. Callahan released the lad’s ankles and also stood back.

  “You, boy, come over here and sit beside your mother,” said Murdoch.

  Now that she had lost her black bonnet and veil, the woman’s dark hair was revealed. She was not in the least elderly, probably in her thirties, maybe even younger but she had no teeth, which aged her face considerably. The boy’s face had gone quite white and a bruise was vivid above his eye. He looked unsteady, but he rushed over to her and she pulled him close to her side. Both of them sat staring at Murdoch with a mix of defiance and fear. The third member of the little trio wasn’t saying anything. He wasn’t that tall a man and Crabtree, who had pulled his arms back and put the cuffs on him, towered over him.

  “Now then. The excitement’s over,” said Murdoch. “Madam, do I have your word, you won’t try to make a bolt for it?”

  “I’d sooner trust a rabid fox,” said Gardiner. “Put the cuffs on her. And the whelp.”

  The woman had stepped across the line from respectable victim to criminal scum in his eyes. He started over to them but Murdoch warned him off.

  “It’s all right, I’ll deal with it.” He addressed the woman. “Shall I call you Mrs. Shorter or Mrs. Pierce?”

  “Whatever you like. It don’t matter to me.”

  “So neither one is your real name?”

  She shrugged.

  “Look, ma’am, you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later. You delivered some pretty vicious kicks to my shin and I could lay charges against you that would have you in the Mercer for a couple of years. Your lad would go to the industrial school and I doubt he’d like that.” Murdoch nodded at the other man. “Is he your husband?”

  “Not him. I’ve never seen him before. And you can’t charge me with nothing. You grabbed ahold of me and I was just defending my honour.”

  “You were pretending to be blind and you claimed this man had robbed you.”

  “I didn’t say he’d robbed me. And there’s no harm in pretending to be blind. It ain’t a crime. It was just a game I was playing with Tim.”

  “I see. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in a police station, I take it?”

  “’Course it is. And it will be last, the treatment you coves dish out. I’ll speak to the chief himself, I will.”

  The preposterousness of the statement made Murdoch grin. He couldn’t help it.

  “I tell you what, ma’am. This has been very strenuous. I, for one, need a cup of tea. Give me a name that I can call you by for politeness’ sake and I’ll have our constable here make us a pot. What do you say?”

  “Are you going to charge me?”

  “I haven’t heard your story yet, nor your friend’s.”

  Gardiner was still hovering behind Murdoch, his face dark with anger. “’Course he’s going to charge you. You and your bastard assaulted police officers.”

  The lad had an angry red mark on his cheek where Gardiner had hit him.

  “I’ll handle it, sergeant.” Murdoch turned back to the woman. “Given that this is a public hall and we need some privacy, I suggest we have our tea in one of our jail cells.”

  “All three of us?”

  “Yes.” She was about to protest but he held up his hand. “I know, I know. This man is a complete stranger. But as this is the second time I’ve seen you in the same company, I don’t believe you. You’re queer plungers and your names are on a bill that I was just looking at on Monday.”

  The woman’s eyes scanned the men gathered around her. Gardiner, red-faced and angry, Callahan eager for another fray, Crabtree just very large.

  “All right, me name’s Bagley, Mrs. Olivia Bagley. This is my nipper, Tim, and that’s Ed Parker, a friend.”

  The redhead gave Murdoch a knuckle salute like a sailor.

  Still keeping a wary eye on the woman, Murdoch said, “George, remove the cuffs from Mr. Parker and then escort him to the rear cell. Get him a cold bandage and some opium lotion if you can find it for his ankle. Mrs. Bagley, you and Tim follow behind Constable Crabtree and I will walk behind you. One move in any other direction and I will put the cuffs on. You can’t get away, there are four of us here.”

  “Can I have me bonnet? It cost a dollar.”

  “Constable Callahan, will you hand the lady her bonnet. It’s over by the stove.”

  The clerk did as he was asked and gingerly held out the hat to the woman. Then, led by Crabtree and the silent Mr. Parker, limping painfully, they moved slowly down the hall.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  GIVEN THAT MRS. BAGLEY’S ATTITUDE had been as tough as any man’s, Murdoch wasn’t sure if he was going to get anything from her, but after two cups of tea and a thick slice of cake that Crabtree donated from his own dinner, she capitulated. They were seated on the hard bunk beds of the jail cell and even though he’d left the door open, the iron bars were enough to scare anybody into co-operation.

  He showed her the poster about the queer plungers and she admitted with a touch of pride that they were the trio it referred to.

  “We’ve got several turns. You didn’t see the best, which is Tim here rolling under a carriage.”

  “I taught him how to do it,” said Parker. “I used to be an acrobat with a circus.” He gazed at the boy fondly. “He’s good at it. He can hold his breath for two minutes.”

  He didn’t say so, but Murdoch assumed that was so the boy could play dead.

  “How often do you do the little thief act, the one I witnessed?” Murdoch asked.

  “As often as we can, don’t we, Ed? We have to move around so as nobody recognizes us. Sometimes Tim is a coloured boy, sometimes he’s not. People aren’t that observant really.” She had previously soaked her cake in the tea and more or less sucked on it. “I lost all my teeth when I was only twenty-two. I thought it was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, but it turned out to be useful.” She fished in her pocket and took out a kerchief. It was wrapped around a set of gleaming white false teeth. She popped them in her mouth and smiled at Murdoch.

  “They’re not so good for eating, they’re really just for show, but they take years off my age, don’t they?” Her words were a bit slurred but with the dentures filling out her hollow cheeks, Olivia looked quite pretty.

  “Indeed they do.”

  Olivia removed the teeth and wrapped them up again. She bent over, tilted her head slightly, and sucked in her cheeks. “I can go all rheumatic and frail in a tick. Usually I powder my face white and p
ut some red rouge under my eyelids, but I had on the blasted veil today so I didn’t need it. Phew. How women breathe under those things is beyond me. If ever I married which I won’t and if ever I was really a widow, I wouldn’t wear one of them veils, I can tell you that.”

  She slurped the last of her tea and put down the cup, looking over at Murdoch shrewdly.

  “So are you going to charge us or what? We’re just actors, you know. We don’t take anything that don’t belong to us.”

  “You’re frauds and your intention is to deceive people to get money from them. That’s a crime.”

  “Oh come on, mister. The coves who give us money don’t miss it. We cost no more than a hot-cross bun to them. You saw them when I was poor Mrs. Pierce. They enjoyed themselves being kind to an old lady. It made them feel like good Christian folk. That’s worth a few cents, wouldn’t you say? And what did you think about that bloody bossy woman who wanted to take me to the station? She was having a great old time being a good Samaritan.” Olivia sniffed disdainfully. “I thought it was put on for your benefit. She fancied you, she did.”

  Murdoch was rather taken aback by that but before he had a chance to comment, Tim, who had been sitting on the bunk, dangling his legs, fell backwards. His entire body was gripped by dreadful spasms so that his head was banging on the bed. Spittle ran from the side of his mouth. Murdoch jumped to his feet, calling to Olivia.

  “What’s happening? Is he having a seizure?”

  Neither she nor Ed Parker moved and she said calmly, “Yes. The poor child has fits all the time.”

  Tim’s eyes had rolled back in his head and the spasmodic jerking of his body was violent.