Her aunt was silent for a moment, allowing time for Kirsty’s guilt to resurface. She was tempted to confide in her. Aunt Bea was open-minded and – so far – she hadn’t disapproved of her involvement with suffragettes. Her father was a different matter. He would definitely disapprove, and she knew Aunt Bea would be honour-bound to tell him. Once again, she pushed her guilty feelings away. She couldn’t risk it.
‘You had a good evening with your friends?’
‘Yes, Aunt Bea. It was pleasurable.’
Kirsty waited until her aunt returned to the drawing-room before continuing upwards.
* * *
Wind sighed through the trees bordering the narrow road, as if expressing grief, but he was oblivious to everything except for Constance lying beside the rear wheel of the hansom cab. His breath caught in his throat and he fought against the familiar feeling of remorse at the waste of another life. He had thought the first killing would be the worst and it would become easier with the following ones. But it didn’t get easier, and he had to steel himself to finish the task he’d set himself.
He wiped the slim blade of the rapier on the grass and replaced it in its wooden sheath. It had served its purpose, for the time being. Placing the cane on the cab’s elevated seat only took a moment. It wouldn’t do to leave it behind.
Constance stirred and moaned. His task was not complete. He leaned over her and plucked the suffragette sash from her body before wrapping it around her neck and pulling hard. Regret swept through him. Constance was a good woman, but her death was necessary.
He sat back on his heels and leaned against the wheel to catch his breath. It was done. And now, he must leave her where she could be found. Her body was heavier than he expected, but after a struggle, he propped her on the seat inside the cab. He arranged her dress and the scarf around her neck so that the ends fluttered free, exposing the motto, ‘Votes for Women’. Satisfied, he closed the door, but it was too early to return to the city. He preferred darkness cloaking his actions.
Turning his back on the cab and its cargo, he strolled through the wood, listening to the leaves rustling in the breeze and the movements of unseen animals. He sighed with pleasure. If only life was as simple as this, there would have been no need to do the things he had done. But now, his plans were coming to fruition and soon he could leave Dundee, knowing that he had completed his task.
Beyond the fringes of the wood, cottages clustered at the far end of a field. He leaned against a tree and, making sure he was hidden from view, lit a cigarette. Drawing smoke deep into his lungs, he closed his eyes and relaxed. When he opened them again, streaks of orange and gold from the dying sun glimmered through the slate-grey cloud-bank. Shadows gathered among the trees. Soon, it would be dark enough to return to the city.
He stubbed his cigarette against the tree trunk, watching sparks flicker to the ground. It was time. Turning, he retraced his steps through the wood and mounted the rear perch of the cab. Shaking the reins and clicking his tongue, he steered the horse out of the wood.
The cab rank in front of the Steeple Church was full, and he guided the horse into position behind the last one at the foot of South Lindsay Street. The horse was well-trained and accustomed to waiting in line at the rank, so it would be some time before Constance’s body was discovered. He secured the reins then jumped down and hurried along the street. He would get rid of the cabby’s coat, muffler and cap in Mid Kirk Wynd, and then merge with the crowds in the Overgate. It was unlikely anyone would recognise him or notice his passage through their midst.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Wednesday, 8th July 1908
‘What the buggery have you called me out for this time?’ Hammond made no attempt to soften his voice as he glowered at the duty sergeant.
‘It’s another body, sir. A cabby reported it to the beat bobby. Said he went to check when the cab in front of his didn’t move up the rank, he intended giving the other cabby a piece of his mind, but he wasn’t there. He’d left his cab unattended on the rank. That’s when he found the body. Inside the cab, it was.’
‘Where is the cabby?’
‘He wouldn’t leave his cab, sir. Said he’d done his duty and now it was up to the bobbies.’
‘We’ll see about that. Which bobby took the report?’
‘It was Constable Fraser, sir. He was patrolling with Constable McDonald when the cabby called him over.’
‘Get Fraser. I want to hear what he has to say.’
‘I’m sorry, sir, but Constable Fraser returned to the rank to mount guard on the cab.’
Exasperated, Hammond shook his head.
‘I’m assuming Fraser left McDonald guarding the cab while he came here to report?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then why, tell me, does it take two of them to guard it?’
The sergeant shuffled his feet and flushed with embarrassment.
‘He thought that was what you’d want, sir.’
‘What I want –’ Hammond glared at the sergeant ‘– is a constable to take notes while I question the cabby and other witnesses.’
‘I thought you might. So, I took the liberty of calling out Constable Buchan to assist you. I hope I did right.’
‘Where is he?’ Hammond’s voice rose several decibels.
‘I’m here, Inspector Hammond.’
Hammond whirled around and glared at the young constable, standing in the doorway to the inner office.
‘Well, don’t just stand there. We have work to do.’ He turned and slammed out of the door without waiting to see if Buchan followed him.
Darkness clothed the streets and buildings. Nothing stirred the silence apart from the constable’s footsteps pattering behind him. Hammond bit on the mouthpiece of his pipe. He didn’t mind the quiet, though his pace quickened as he walked along Barrack Street where the wall of the Howff bordered the road.
When he reached the end of this street and entered the Overgate, it seemed like a different world. This was where the drunks and the doxies gathered. Petty thieves and pickpockets roamed among them, looking for easy pickings. He pushed his way through a bunch of men arguing over a bottle and crossed to the other side of the thoroughfare before hurrying along Tally Street to the cab rank in the Nethergate.
By this time, his temper had increased, and he glowered along the line of cabs until he found the two constables standing guard. He marched over, removed the pipe from his mouth, and glared at them.
‘Which of you is Fraser?’
‘That’s me, sir.’ The man who stepped forward was the older of the two. He stamped his feet together and saluted.
‘Well, don’t just stand there. Where is the cabby who found the body?’
‘He’s sitting on the perch of his cab, sir.’
‘I would like to interrogate him.’ Hammond enunciated the words, annoyed because he was having to spell out what he wanted. If the constable had any gumption, he would have realised that without having to be told.
‘Yes, sir.’ Fraser scurried to the cab behind the one he’d been guarding. ‘Inspector would like a word,’ he shouted to the man sitting on the high perch behind the cab’s compartment.
The cabby secured the horse’s reins, slotted his whip into its holder, and climbed down, a scowl on his face.
‘I’m losing customers,’ he grumbled. ‘Those bobbies won’t let me get on with my work.’
Hammond studied him with narrowed eyes. The man wore the typical cabby’s uniform – tight trousers, a high-necked jacket with military-style brass buttons, and a bowler hat. His rigid stance emphasised the outrage which shone from his eyes, but the inspector had met his type before. Taking his time, Hammond tapped the bowl of his pipe on the low wall surrounding the church. Satisfied he’d emptied the ash, he thrust the pipe into his pocket.
‘That’s too bad.’ He returned the man’s scowl. ‘I need you to answer my questions before we can let you go.’
‘Let me go? I’m not being arrested, am I?’
‘Not at the moment.’ Hammond watched the man squirm.
‘I’ve told the bobbies everything I know.’ The cabby’s voice was sullen.
‘Well, now I need you to tell me. Start at the beginning, when you found the body.’
‘I parked my cab in behind this one, but it didn’t move on when the cabs in front were hired. We have to wait our turn, you see. I thought the cabby might be asleep, so I went to give him a poke and tell him to move up to the next space. He wasn’t on his perch, so I looked into the cab, thinking he might be inside.’ The cabby took a deep breath. ‘That’s when I saw the lady. I thought she was sleeping, even though that seemed strange. Then I saw that thing around her neck and her face looked all peculiar. I didn’t know whether she was dead or maybe had a funny turn. So I ran up Tally Lane looking for a bobby. I knew I’d find one in the Overgate.’ The man stared at Hammond with an anxious look in his eyes. ‘That’s all I know, sir. I swear it.’
Hammond waited until Constable Buchan stopped writing in his notebook before continuing.
‘What time did this take place?’
‘Midnight was striking on the steeple clock when the rest of the cabs moved up the line, so it must have been a few minutes after that.’
‘What about the driver of this cab? Did you see him when you parked behind?’
The cabby shook his head.
‘The cab was here when I arrived and I didn’t see anyone. Maybe one of the cabbies in front might have seen something.’
Hammond turned to the two constables guarding the cab.
‘Did either of you question any of the cabbies further up the line?’
‘No, sir.’ Fraser shuffled his feet.
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get on and do it.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Fraser beckoned to McDonald, and they headed for the cabs further along the rank.
‘Right, you.’ Hammond turned back to the cabby. ‘Give your name and address to my constable here and then you can get on with your work. But no funny business, mind. I can easily track you down.’
The cab containing the woman’s body was no different from any of the others in the rank. The horse stood patiently, held by its reins secured to the narrow iron rail on top of the cab, while the perch sat empty. Hammond reckoned that any cabby who took a tumble from there would be in danger of breaking their neck. The passenger compartment was flanked by two large wheels at either side, which raised the cab high off the ground.
Hammond grabbed the wheel when the cab swayed as he placed his foot on the iron step. Pausing for a moment to regain his balance, he hoisted himself upwards to the higher step running the length of the compartment. He peered over the wooden, folding doors; it was as the cabby described. The woman sat with her head resting against the back of the seat as if she were asleep. The ends of her silk scarf dangled in front of her, and although Hammond couldn’t decipher the words in the gloom, he knew they said ‘Votes for Women’. It was another one of those damned suffragettes.
He opened the half doors to examine the body. He searched her dress for pockets and looked for a reticule or handbag. The only thing he found was a handkerchief with the initials CD. Closing the doors again, he clambered down from the cab.
‘I told the cabby he could get on with his work and he’s moved up the rank. I hope I did right, sir.’
‘Yes, yes. You got his name and address first?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Fraser and McDonald? Have they reported yet?’
‘They’re on their way back, sir.’
Buchan’s constant use of ‘sir’ grated on him, but he’d no intention of telling him to stop. The young bobbies needed to show respect to their elders.
‘Well,’ he snapped as the two bobbies reached him. ‘Did any of the others see anything?’
‘No, sir.’ It was Fraser speaking again. Hammond wondered whether McDonald had a tongue, or if he was in the habit of following Fraser’s lead.
‘What about the cab? Did they have any information on the driver?’
‘No, sir. But they said there should be registration details on a plate or card either inside or outside the cab. It’s the licensing law, sir.’
‘Good lad. We’ll have a look for that when we get the cab back to police headquarters.’
Buchan looked startled.
‘Can we do that, sir?’
‘It’s better than trying to remove the body here. It would help if we could identify her first.’ Hammond stared across the street to the houses opposite. ‘As I recall,’ he said, ‘two suffragettes live around here. They might be able to identify her.’
‘At this time of night, sir?’
Hammond ignored the comment.
‘You know the address and you’ve been there before, so you can lead the way.’
Buchan shuffled his feet, his reluctance obvious.
‘Snap to it, Constable. Why are you waiting?’
‘But they’re ladies, sir, and they could be alarmed if we rouse them in the middle of the night.’
‘Ladies?’ Hammond spluttered. ‘They are suffragettes, lad, and they get up to all sorts, doesn’t matter if it’s night or day.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In the meantime –’ Hammond addressed Fraser and McDonald ‘– you two remain on guard here until we get the body identified. After that, one of you will get the job of driving the cab to headquarters.’ He turned back to Buchan. ‘Come on, Constable. Let’s rouse the ladies from their beds and get this over.’
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The sound of someone thumping on the door echoed through the slumbering house. Ethel’s eyes shot open and she stared into the gloom, her heart pounding. She wanted to pull the covers over her head and hide. Da had found her.
The thumping sounded again, louder this time, and she heard Martha emerge from her bedroom. Throwing the sheet aside, she jumped out of bed and ran to the door. Her da had a violent streak. She must warn Martha.
‘Wait! You’re no match for him.’
‘What do you mean?’ Martha paused in front of Ethel.
‘It’s my da. He’s found out where I’m living, and he never thinks twice about using his fists.’
‘You can’t be sure it’s him and we won’t know unless we go downstairs.’
Ethel shuddered.
‘I’m coming with you.’ She darted into her room, rammed her feet into her shoes and grabbed her shawl from the peg on the back of her bedroom door. Her da would have to come through her first before she’d let him touch Martha.
‘I promise not to open the door until I confirm who is on the other side,’ Martha reassured her as Ethel re-joined her.
Martha tightened the tie-belt on her robe as they reached the door.
‘Who’s there?’
Ethel held her breath, waiting for the explosion of foul language that peppered her da’s speech.
‘Inspector Hammond, Dundee City Police.’
Ethel exhaled and relief surged through her body, though this was quickly replaced by feelings of unease. It wasn’t normal for the bobbies to come knocking on respectable folks’ doors in the middle of the night.
‘What on earth do you want?’ Martha fingered the key in the lock but did not turn it.
‘Open up. That’s an order.’
Martha stiffened at the gruff sound of the inspector’s voice, but she turned the key and opened the door.
‘What is the meaning of this? What right have you to come disturbing us at this time of night?’
‘There has been another death, and it is my belief you may know the victim.’
Martha’s eyes widened, but her sharp inhalation of breath was only audible to Ethel, standing next to her.
‘I don’t suppose it occurred to you that you could have waited until morning before informing me of this?’
‘The body requires identification before we move it to the mortuary. As she appears to be a member of your organisation, I must insist you com
e with us and do the needful.’ Hammond’s voice brooked no argument.
‘Like this?’ Martha pointed to her robe. ‘I can’t leave my house unless I am properly attired.’
Hammond reddened and the constable behind him seemed to be having difficulty keeping a straight face.
‘Very well. But be quick about it,’ Hammond responded gruffly.
Martha closed the door, leaving the policemen standing outside.
Ethel raised her eyebrows.
‘Should you have done that? Might it not have been more polite to ask him to wait inside?’
‘He’s an obnoxious man. He can wait there while we get dressed.’
By the time Martha opened the door again, half an hour later, Hammond was pacing back and forth, and obviously in a foul mood.
‘This way.’ He glared at them.
Ethel suppressed a smile and noticed Martha doing the same. They followed the inspector across the road until he came to a halt beside a hansom cab.
‘The body’s in there.’ He pointed. ‘You’ll have to climb up to the running board to see it.’
Martha grasped the cab’s wheel, lifted her skirt, placed a foot on the steep step and hoisted herself up to the running board in front of the cab’s passenger compartment.
Constable Buchan crossed to Ethel’s side.
‘I’m so sorry we had to disturb you tonight, Miss Stewart. But the inspector insisted.’
She glanced at him. He was nicer than his boss and she liked him.
‘That’s all right,’ she said.
‘Well?’ Hammond demanded. ‘Can you identify her?’
Martha remained perched on the running board, staring into the cab, seemingly oblivious to everything around her. Fear clutched Ethel’s heart. Something was wrong.
* * *
Hammond bit on the mouthpiece of his pipe and stamped to the back of the cab to prevent himself from shouting to the woman to get on with it. How long did it take to identify someone? He shuffled his feet and glared at Buchan and the girl. Damned young bobbies were all the same when they saw a pretty girl. Thank goodness he wasn’t afflicted that way. In any case, they didn’t stay pretty forever; they grew into women like his gran.
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