Dangerous Destiny

by Chris Longmuir

  ‘Are they in custody?’

  ‘No, sir. We had one of them in custody, but we’ve had to release him. As I said, there’s a lack of evidence and two of the men have alibis for the times of the killings. The third man has evaded capture.’

  ‘Do they have motives?’

  ‘Billy Murphy is the boyfriend of the third victim, but the relationship broke down when she became a suffragette. As a result, he hates suffragettes. His mother attests to him being at home at the time of the murder.’

  ‘And the second suspect?’

  ‘Paul Anderson. He’s a reporter with the Dundee Courier. I’m not sure of a motive, but he’s always on the scene when a murder’s been committed.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a reporter’s job – being on the spot when anything newsworthy happens.’

  Heat built beneath Hammond’s collar again. Had he been unfair in his judgement of the reporter because he’d taken a dislike to the man? Was his gut feeling wrong?

  ‘I found it suspicious, sir.’

  ‘What about the third suspect?’

  ‘Douglas Paterson, the cabby in charge of the cab which contained the body of the last victim. We think he must have left Dundee – we’ve been unable to locate him.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir.’ Sergeant Edwards loomed in the doorway. ‘But them suffragette ladies in the charge-room are getting impatient and demanding to see you. I informed them you were busy, but they be insistent.’

  ‘Tell them to come back later.’ Hammond frowned. Those damned women were determined to spoil his day.

  ‘I told them that, but it didn’t work.’

  ‘Put the ladies in one of the interview-rooms and inform them Inspector Hammond will be with them in a few minutes,’ Chief Constable Dewar snapped.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant saluted, turned sharply, and marched along the corridor.

  ‘Do you have a reason to keep these women waiting?’ Dewar narrowed his eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Hammond almost choked on his words; he wasn’t sorry at all. ‘But these women have been interfering in the investigation. Every time I turn around, they are at my back. They think they would make a better job than the police of finding the killer. It’s not normal for women to be poking their noses into police business.’

  ‘Then perhaps you had better talk to them and find out what they know.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Hammond suppressed the urge to thump his desk and swear. It wouldn’t do to lose his self-control in front of the chief constable. That didn’t prevent him from muttering under his breath as he strode up the corridor to the interview-rooms. Nor did it stop him from taking his anger out on Constable Buchan, when he interrupted the young bobby’s lunch and rousted him from the canteen.

  * * *

  Martha drummed her fingers on the table. The inspector had kept them waiting for over an hour before the sergeant had shown them into this room. Her patience had worn thin some considerable time ago.

  The interview-room was small, with one, tiny window, high up the wall. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke and a hint of body odour. Gloria fidgeted in the chair next to her; Ethel sat, immobile, on her other side.

  ‘Remember, if you don’t tell the police all you know, you’re likely to hang alongside Archie.’

  ‘I told you before, I don’t know anything about what Archie was getting up to.’

  ‘But you did give him a false alibi, and you know perfectly well what he did to me.’ Martha turned her head to glare at Gloria. ‘So, that makes you an accessory. You had better say your prayers.’

  The door slammed open and thudded off the wall. Hammond strode in.

  ‘I hope you ladies are not wasting my time.’ He glowered at them from the opposite side of the table.

  Martha stiffened before speaking in the most authoritative tone she could muster. ‘I assure you we would never think of doing that.’

  ‘Constable, take notes.’ Hammond slumped into a chair and stared at them.

  Buchan, who had followed the inspector into the room took the seat beside him, notebook at the ready.

  ‘Well, I don’t have all day. What have you come to tell me?’

  ‘First,’ Martha said, ‘I want to report a crime. I was held prisoner by the man you are seeking, but have failed to find. If my friends hadn’t rescued me, you would have found my body with a sash around my neck in the same fashion as the other bodies.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘I have the two witnesses who came to my rescue. Miss Stewart, who is here in this room, and Miss Campbell, who is not present at the moment, but can be contacted. I also have this woman –’ she glanced at Gloria with contempt in her eyes ‘– who assisted the man when he detained me. I say “detained” for want of a better word . . . he tied me to a chair in his wine cellar. To be fair, I do not think she realised what he intended to do with me. But she has been a party to Constance’s murder by providing him with an alibi.’

  Buchan, at the other side of the table, was writing as fast as he could. Hammond, for once, appeared speechless. After a few moments, he found his tongue.

  ‘The man’s name?’

  ‘Archie Drysdale, husband of Constance Drysdale.’

  ‘How do you know he was responsible for the murders?’

  ‘He told me. No doubt, he thought he was safe because I wouldn’t live to tell anyone what I knew. He committed all the murders to mask killing his wife, and he said I was going to be the last. That way, no one would suspect him and he could act the heartbroken husband.’

  ‘You can confirm this?’ Hammond turned to Gloria.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice low. ‘But I didn’t know about the murders. I swear, I didn’t.’

  ‘You have a note of all that, constable?’ Hammond leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Right, then. Miss Stewart and Miss Fairweather, you may go. As for you, Miss Wallace, I will require to detain you while I investigate this further.’

  ‘Does that mean you believe us?’ Martha demanded.

  ‘I didn’t say that. What I said, was that I will need to investigate your claims.’

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Hammond, pleased with his handling of Gloria’s interrogation, left the interview-room and strode towards his office. She hadn’t taken long to tell him everything he needed to know, though he’d had to apply some pressure.

  ‘Attend to the paperwork and get her locked up,’ he’d instructed Buchan. ‘Then report to me in my office.’

  No doubt Buchan was, at this moment, escorting a tearful Gloria to the women’s cells underneath the police station.

  The staccato sound of Hammond’s footsteps echoed through the building, heralding a warning to any bobbies in the duty-room that it was time for them to look busy. Cigarette smoke tainted the air as he passed along the corridor to his own office.

  Pushing the door open, he was met by the sight of Dewar sitting at the desk, reading the case files. If anyone else apart from the chief constable had been in his chair, going through his files, Hammond would have given them short shrift. Instead, he bit his lip to prevent any caustic remarks escaping.

  ‘Sir,’ he said before Dewar castigated him again. ‘We’ve had a breakthrough. My constable is escorting a female suspect to the cells as I speak.’

  ‘A woman, you say? I wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘She’s the killer’s accomplice, sir. She’s confessed and given us his name.’

  ‘Well, man – get on with it. Which one of these is the murderer?’ Dewar gestured to the files.

  ‘None of them, sir. Our killer is the husband of the last victim, Constance Drysdale. He’s currently attending her funeral.’

  Silence descended on the room. The chief constable scratched his chin while he thought.

  ‘You realise this will have to be handled carefully,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Archie Drysdale is a man of substance. We cannot afford any mistakes.’ />
  ‘Yes, sir. That’s why I intend to seek an arrest warrant from the court before detaining him.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ Dewar said.

  ‘I’ll need access to my desk to complete the application, sir.’ Hammond suppressed a smile as he watched the chief constable vacate his chair.

  ‘Keep me informed,’ Dewar said, as he left the room.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Hammond busied himself with the paperwork, which he planned to present to the sheriff to request the warrant. He smiled to himself as he wrote. The case was solved, and he had a killer to bring into custody.

  * * *

  The sheriff had needed little persuading to issue the arrest warrant, and it now nestled in Inspector Hammond’s breast pocket. Meanwhile, Buchan had done a good job in rustling up some bobbies glad to escape the boredom of the beat. A squad had been dispatched by the time Hammond returned from the court, and a police wagon awaited his return.

  The wagon rattled its way to the cemetery, while Hammond fidgeted and tapped his fingers on the wooden seat. If the funeral was over, they would miss their chance of an easy arrest. With Drysdale’s resources, he would have no trouble fleeing Dundee.

  Bursting out of the van, Hammond strode through the cemetery gates, passing several mourners on the way. More people, dressed in customary black, were clustered on a knoll in the graveyard. Followed by Buchan, he strode over the grass to join them. They had almost reached the group when the grief-stricken young man throwing a rose into the grave looked up. An expression of alarm crossed his face. The inspector instinctively broke into a jog. The young man took several steps backwards and Hammond thought he was going to run.

  ‘Hoi!’ he shouted. ‘Drysdale. We want a word with you.’

  The young man hesitated then ran, dodging between the headstones in his flight. On his approach to the cemetery gates, he changed direction when he saw the police constables clustered there.

  The inspector was out of breath by this time, so he stopped and waited while the assembled bobbies chased their quarry through the graveyard. It didn’t take long before they bundled Archie into the police wagon.

  ‘Good lad,’ he said to a breathless Buchan on his return.

  Buchan grinned and handed him a sword and its sheath.

  ‘Took this sword-stick off him,’ he said. ‘He was brandishing it at us when we caught him. Do you think it might be the weapon he used on his wife?’

  ‘Good lad,’ Hammond repeated. The sword-stick, combined with Gloria’s confession, would be enough to make sure the man kept a date with the hangman.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Friday, 17th July 1908

  ‘It’s that reporter,’ Aggie announced. The dry tone of her voice expressed her displeasure. ‘Ye’d think he’d know not to call at this unearthly hour.’

  ‘It is after nine o’clock.’ Martha laid her cup in the saucer and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  ‘I’ve shown him into the drawing-room and told him he’d have to wait until ye’re ready.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Martha said, but Aggie was already on her way back to the kitchen.

  Paul was staring out of the window when Martha joined him in the drawing-room.

  ‘You see all sorts from here,’ he said, not lifting his eyes from the busy street below.

  ‘Why have you come?’ Martha crossed the room and stood next to him.

  ‘I brought you this.’ He handed her a copy of the Dundee Courier. ‘It’s hot off the press – I thought you’d want a copy.’

  She unfolded it and walked over to the table, where she could lay it flat.

  ‘Page five,’ Paul said, following her.

  ‘Our news is always on page five. Do you think your editor keeps that space for us?’

  ‘If he had his way, he wouldn’t give you any space. But news is news, and he can’t ignore it.’

  Paul stood behind her as she turned the pages. He was so close she felt his breath on the back of her neck.

  ‘I’ll get Ethel,’ Martha said, moving away from him. ‘I am sure she will want to read this.’

  She was relieved to see that Paul had returned to his stance at the window when she arrived back a few moments later, Ethel in tow.

  ‘Dundee Killer Apprehended,’ she read aloud. ‘The honourable Archibald Drysdale arrested and charged with the murder of his wife. Other charges are being brought. Dundee women can now walk the streets in safety.’ She finished up her summary of the short piece.

  ‘I would have thought they’d have printed more,’ Ethel said. ‘And you notice there’s no mention of suffragettes.’

  ‘The piece I wrote contained more information and said Drysdale was charged with the murder of suffragettes, but my editor cut it.’

  ‘At least the police arrested him. I wasn’t sure they were going to when we left the police station yesterday.’

  ‘What were you doing there before the arrest?’

  Martha sensed the arousal of Paul’s reporter’s instincts, but she had no intention of informing him what had happened to her over the preceding two days. He might find out from the police, but she was sure they wouldn’t want to admit suffragettes had any hand in solving their case. They would want to keep the glory of catching a killer all to themselves.

  * * *

  Despair had been Kirsty’s constant companion since her mother’s visit yesterday. This was to be her last day with Aunt Bea, and she felt she was sliding back into the lethargy that had claimed her since Ailsa’s birth. Gone was the energy and joy of the past three weeks, when she had come to realise there was more to life than the existence she had previously led. How she wished she had Ethel’s resilience.

  She finished brushing her hair although it hadn’t eradicated the tangles from the unruly auburn curls which fell to her shoulders. She didn’t care. Nor did she care that the blouse she had pulled on was the same one she’d worn yesterday. What was the point of it all?

  A tap at her bedroom door was followed by Ruthie’s voice.

  ‘Your aunt is wondering whether you’re ready for breakfast.’

  Kirsty didn’t feel ready, but she crossed to the door and opened it.

  ‘Are you feeling well, miss?’ Ruthie’s concerned face peered at her.

  ‘I’m all right.’ Kirsty forced a smile.

  ‘I’ll let your aunt know you’re on your way.’ With a last, anxious glance, Ruthie scurried away.

  At the breakfast table, Kirsty forced herself to eat a spoonful of porridge and spent the rest of the time pushing her spoon around the plate.

  Aunt Bea had finished eating before Kirsty’s arrival and sat studying the local newspaper.

  ‘I see they have caught the man who was killing those women. The streets will be safer now.’

  Kirsty’s mind flashed back to yesterday’s events, and the thrill of helping to unveil Archie as the killer. Aunt Bea and her parents would be horrified if they knew of her part in the affair. However, she had no intention of telling them.

  ‘In that case, you no longer need to worry when I go out alone.’ She pushed her plate aside.

  Bea folded the newspaper with deliberate fingers and did not look at Kirsty as she spoke.

  ‘As you are returning home tomorrow, your safety is guaranteed.’

  ‘I’m not ready to go home yet, Aunt Bea. Can’t I stay a little longer?’ Kirsty tried but failed to keep the desperation out of her voice.

  ‘I have loved having you here, my dear, and I wish I could say “yes”. But I cannot go against your parents’ wishes. You must see that.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Aunt Bea.’

  ‘Perhaps you should visit your friends today, say your farewells.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kirsty mumbled, despair sweeping over her again. Once she was ensconced at home, she would never see them again. Her father would make sure of that.

  * * *

  Lila looked up from sorting leaflets as Martha and Ethel entered the WFL shop.

  ‘You’
re early this morning,’ Martha said, pocketing the key she had intended to use. ‘I thought you might want some time off after Constance’s funeral.’

  ‘I expected to see you there yesterday.’ Lila raised a questioning eyebrow.

  ‘I am afraid I was otherwise engaged.’ Martha shared a glance with Ethel, resisting the urge to elaborate on the activities of the day before. ‘How was it? Was there a big turn out?’

  ‘You could say it was eventful,’ Lila said. ‘And not like any other I have attended.’

  Martha and Ethel shared another glance and Lila finished collating the leaflets, setting them to one side.

  ‘Poor Constance, thank goodness she wasn’t there to see it happen.’

  Martha guessed what Lila was about to tell them, but didn’t want to interrupt.

  ‘Did you know the police turned up to arrest Archie? It caused quite a rumpus.’ Lila’s voice faltered. ‘I never thought for a moment he would do anything to harm her. They seemed such a devoted couple.’

  ‘I think Archie may have had money troubles.’

  ‘That’s no excuse for what he did.’

  ‘So, what happened? When did the police arrive?’

  ‘Thankfully, it was when people were dispersing. The coffin had been lowered into the lair and the minister had finished saying his piece. Some of us remained for a few moments at the end. That was when police officers came storming into the cemetery. Archie took one look at them and took to his heels. It was pandemonium after that – they were chasing him between the headstones, can you picture it? Absurd! We didn’t realise what was happening, and only found out afterwards that he had been charged with Constance’s murder.’ Lila wiped tears from her eyes. ‘Poor Constance, it would have broken her heart if she’d lived to see it.’

  * * *

  It was afternoon before Kirsty summoned up the courage to go to the WFL shop to inform Ethel and Martha of her imminent return home. When she arrived, she found Ethel bubbling with excitement because she’d been left in charge.

  ‘Lila had to go home,’ Ethel said. ‘She was fine when she got here this morning, but as the day went on, she couldn’t stop talking about Constance. I thought she was going to break down. Martha must have thought so as well because she told her it was too soon after the funeral for her to be here.’ Ethel did a little jig. ‘She left me in charge.’