Silent Witnesses

by Annelie Wendeberg

  Stay away from this man and this investigation, Liz!

  An acquaintance of mine works at Headquarters. He's not overly eager to divulge information. But a few beers usually help loosen his tongue, and so I acted the drunk bastard for my lady doctor friend. Ha!

  Let's talk on Friday. Will you come?

  Yours,

  Uriel.

  PS: Stay away from McCurley!

  PPS: As to your question about the tramp's attorney: the bill of indictment was accepted the day before yesterday, and an attorney is to be assigned to his case by the end of this week.

  * * *

  Behind me, Margery cleared her throat. I almost jumped out of my skin.

  'Mrs Hughes is waiting,' she said.

  'Thank you.' With trembling fingers, I pushed the letter into its envelope and made for my office.

  * * *

  After lunch, Klara and I followed Zachary into the garden and watched him weed the flowerbeds. My mind was bouncing from one problem to the next, unable to approach a solution. My hand kept straying to the crumpled note in my pocket. 'Zach?'

  'Hm?'

  'I need to leave for a short while. Will you keep Klara company?'

  'I was already wondering where my assistant had got to,' he said, and winked at Klara who came bounding across the lawn.

  * * *

  Newman Street smelled of coal tar, smoke, and sun-warmed muck. Number 3 was at the corner of Mercer Street, just across from the Glass Works, which was vomiting a great amount of soot into the sky.

  It took several attempts to find a neighbour willing to share information about Mrs Hyde, but eventually, a chimney sweep set down his brushes, stretched his back, thumped his help — a boy no older than six — on the head, and gestured for him to hold a coil of rope.

  'Mrs Hyde's husband was a rat, that's what he was. Left her two or three years ago. Following the gold, he said. Went somewhere down south, I believe.'

  'California!' squeaked the boy.

  The chimney sweep raised his eyebrows. 'And what do you know, nappy-pooper?'

  'Heard Mr Marlowe say it.' The boy started drilling an index finger deep into his nostril.

  Snorting, the chimney sweep said, 'Marlowe doesn't know his own arse.' He coughed. 'Sorry, ma'am.'

  'And her husband hasn't been seen since?'

  'No. Mrs Hyde was sharing a room with Miss Munro. But now that Mrs Hyde is gone, Miss Munro found another place to stay.' He shrugged sadly.

  'Where can I find Miss Munro?'

  He stuck his pinky into his mouth, dug the nail through gaps in his teeth, and sucked in air with a hiss. 'Up at Dexter. Right at the Bay.'

  'Do you know the man who…courted Mrs Hyde?'

  At that, the chimneysweep brayed like a donkey. 'Courted Mrs Hyde? I don't know anyone what courted her.' He rubbed tears from his eyes.

  'So she earned money offering…other services?'

  'That you can say.'

  'Hmm. I see. Well, I thank you for the information.'

  He put two fingers to his hat, and wrenched the coil of rope from the boy's grip.

  * * *

  Finding Miss Munro was surprisingly easy. I hadn't expected that she would be home, even less that she would be abed in the middle of the afternoon. She looked me up and down, tugged the lapels of an ugly, brown robe tighter around her curves, and asked me what I wanted.

  As I introduced myself and told her my business, her shoulders sagged. 'Are you with the police?'

  'I'm a woman. How could I possibly be with the police?'

  'What would I know? Seems like women take all kinds of occupations these days.' She spat it out like a foul bite of meat.

  'May I come in?'

  She jerked her chin sideways, and stepped back. Her room was small. A pallet stood at the far end. A single, naked window looked out at the smokestacks of the Glass Works. Crumpled clothes were piled on a chair, on the window sill, and below that on the floor.

  'I was about to clean up,' she muttered.

  'Mrs Hyde was in the family way,' I said, watching Miss Munro for a reaction.

  She huffed. 'She had a bun in the oven all right.' Then her face fell. 'She didn't deserve this.'

  'Very few people do.'

  'Etta is the kindest creature I know. Was, that is. Too trusting. I guess… I guess that's what did her in.'

  'Quite unusual in her profession.'

  Miss Munro frowned. 'What do you mean?'

  'I heard she worked not only as a washerwoman but also as a prostitute. To be so trusting is—'

  'Nonsense! I'm the whore. She's the decent one. Was…the decent one of the two of us. All them hollow-brained mules out there,' she made a sweeping gesture toward the window, 'think her guilty by association.'

  'But someone must be the father.'

  Miss Munro pulled in a breath. 'She didn't talk about him. Which was odd. We told each other everything. Even… We even talked about my clients.'

  'And you don't have the slightest idea who the man might be? Or when Mrs Hyde first met him?'

  Miss Munro's brow furrowed. She shook her head. 'Damned if I know.'

  'Did she ever mention a Mr Stone?'

  There was no flicker of recognition at the mention of the name. But she said, 'Maybe she did. It's a fairly common name.'

  'He's a flower grower who lives near Franklin Park.'

  She pushed her hands into the pockets of her robe. 'No. I don't think I ever heard her talk about a flower grower.' A muscle worked in her jaw.

  I waited, but when she didn't continue, I said, 'I found a yellow rose petal in her hand. Unusual this time of year.'

  Her gaze sharpened. 'You are the doctor who examined her. The papers wrote about you.'

  As far as I knew, they mentioned briefly that a woman physician had provided first insights. My name hadn't been mentioned, and I was glad of it.

  'Is it true?' she whispered.

  'What do you mean?'

  'That she was…' Miss Munro flung out an arm.

  Scattered.

  'Yes.'

  She touched a trembling hand to her throat.

  'Did anyone hate Mrs Hyde?'

  A shake of her head, eyes downcast. 'I don't know. It seems…that I don't know anything. I mean, Etta and I lived together, talked about everything. Or so I thought. But I don't have the faintest idea who could have killed her.' She looked up at me. 'That makes me a piss-poor friend, don't it?'

  'No one would ever need the police for a murder if good friends always knew in advance who was plotting it.'

  She smoothed her rumpled hair and nodded, almost smiling.

  I handed her my card. 'If something comes to mind, or if you hear anything, please do let me know. Or if you need help.'

  She glanced at the card, the address, and flipped it around. 'Help?'

  'I'm a physician.' It was like a punch to my gut when I realised that I hadn't offered medical treatment to the poor for a very long time. In fact, not once since I'd moved to Boston. All my patients could afford to see me. They paid well, although I didn't need a penny of their money. In London, I had lived in a slum, treating prostitutes, vagrants, criminals and… Oh gods, Garret. I don't even know if you are still alive.

  'What is it?' Miss Munro asked.

  I shook my head. 'I just realised that I'll be late for an appointment.'

  Case Notes, June 7, 1893

  Notes on the body of Mrs E. Hughes, Wednesday, June 7, 1893 (body found between elevator of Boston Wharf Co. and New York and New England Railroad)

  Quinn McCurley, Bureau of Criminal Investigation

  * * *

  Bruising to throat and neck consistent with strangulation. Faint bruising to forearms. Fingernails broken and bloody, with thick layers of dirt under them. Outer clothes in disarray. Stains and tears on back of jacket and skirts, most pronounced on both elbows (photograph 9). Deep scuff marks on boot heels (photograph 12). No signs of struggle on the ground where body was found or in vicinity thereof
(photographs 13 to 18).

  * * *

  Awaiting post-mortem surgeon's report.

  * * *

  Items found on body: a cotton handkerchief; a small purse containing 6 one cent coins, 1 twenty-five cent coin, 1 fifty cent coin; a small chain with two keys and a buttonhook; a small likeness of a child.

  Tucked into her corset was a photograph of what appears to be a pencil drawing of Dr Elizabeth Arlington's face. Both drawing and photograph are of professional quality. No identifying markings on either. Information to be kept within Bureau!

  Assigned Detectives Burke & Collins to tail Arlington for next 72 hours.

  * * *

  Connection between Hughes and Hyde? Coincidence?

  Both victims heavier and taller than Arlington. Accomplice?

  7

  The sun was drying dew off the grass and spiderwebs in our backyard. I hadn't spent my early mornings on the porch for…had it been a full week already? A week of rushing from one lecture to the next, from one emergency to another. I'd had no time to go to the music hall and meet the Freaks, and only with difficulty had I managed to carve out time for my daughter.

  But this day held no such obligations.

  Margery emerged with a basket of food, and said that she and Klara were ready. A few moments later, we left the house.

  Klara made nose prints on the window of the cab, and invited me to draw faces into the clouds of condensation she was leaving on the glass. Margery was absorbed in a romance novel about a governess and a lord. Occasionally, she cleared her throat, dashed a glance at me, and then quickly back to her book.

  I pinched my lips together, trying not to laugh.

  We arrived at Franklin Park. Klara used our blanket as a cape or wings, I wasn't sure which. And she wasn't either, because at times she hopped and ran, making bird-like noises, while other times she stalked this lady or that, tipping a non-existing hat in the most chivalrous fashion.

  We found a spot by a pond, and spread out our things. Klara and I skipped stones (well, I skipped and she plopped), while Margery stuck like a barnacle to her book. As the sun climbed higher, people began to flock to the park. Bicyclists wove through pedestrians, ladies twirled their parasols in the breeze, gentlemen began taking off their hats and fanning their faces, and soon the first children were noisily demanding to be taken to Crescent Beach.

  When Klara had pulled off her shoes and stockings, and was wading knee-deep in the pond, I told Margery that I needed to see someone, and I would be back in half an hour, or so.

  She moved down to the water's edge with her book, and stuffed a candy into her mouth (and had to sacrifice a second one to Klara, whose attention had been pricked at the candy wrapper noise).

  'Did he kiss her already?' I asked.

  Margery opened her mouth, shut it, and waved me away.

  * * *

  As I approached the Forest Hill Cemetery, I noticed a man following me at some distance. Earlier, he'd been sitting by the pond across from us, reading a newspaper. I stopped walking and pretended to tie my shoelaces. He strode past me.

  Perhaps I was being oversensitive.

  A flash of light pierced my eyes. The hothouse at Weldon Street glinted in the sun. I walked up to a fenced-in garden, and waved at a man who was bent over a row of lavender. 'Excuse me? I'm looking for Mr Stone.'

  The man straightened, pressed a hand to his back, the other shielding his eyes from the sun. He was at least a head taller than I, and massive in the shoulders. 'And you are?'

  'Mrs Chloe Newby is my name. I heard Mr Stone grows the best roses in all of Boston.'

  His answer was a derisive snort.

  'Are you Mr Stone?' I kept my voice light and on the edge of naiveté.

  He grunted in the affirmative.

  'I'd like to purchase two dozen yellow roses for a dear friend.'

  'Short- or long-stemmed?'

  I should have brought Zach with me. I could only guess, so I said, 'As long as they are yellow.' I knew it was the wrong answer as soon as the words had left my mouth.

  'I'm not interested.' He turned back to the lavender and recommenced snipping off dried stems.

  'It is rather urgent. You see, I need them by Sunday morning, but can't find anyone who sells yellow roses.'

  'I'm not interested,' he said again, louder this time.

  'Please, have a heart, Mr Stone.' I disliked the whine in my voice, but it showed effect. He straightened up again.

  I added, 'She loved them so.'

  His nostrils flared. He had noticed the past tense. 'Get away from my fence,' he snarled and pointed a pair of clippers at me.

  I lifted my hands from the garden gate. 'Mr Stone, I—'

  'I'm not selling my roses to be dumped on a pile of dirt.'

  'Not even for Henrietta Hyde's grave?'

  All blood fled from his face. He hardened his jaw, turned away and disappeared into his house.

  * * *

  As I entered Inspector McCurley's office the following day, he choked on what looked and smelled like scorched beans. He was less groomed than last time I'd seen him. Stubble nearly hid the prominent scar on the side of his face.

  He swallowed, wiped his mouth, and seemed rather shocked to see me. 'And what brings you here, Dr Arlington?'

  As I told him about Mr Stone, McCurley only scratched his chin, a mocking scowl tilting his mouth. 'So you found the real murderer. Congratulations.'

  'I did not say that. All I said was that there might be another suspect. But, really, Inspector, I have no wish to keep you from your luncheon.' I nodded at the plate of burnt beans in front of him.

  'And you think I haven't already looked into it?'

  'You have?'

  'What do you think I'm here for?' He placed the fork aside. 'There aren't many flower growers in the Boston area, even fewer who grow roses in hothouses.'

  'Does Mr Stone have an alibi?'

  McCurley leant back. 'And what makes you think I'm in the mood to share information with you?'

  'Because you want to get rid of me?' I suggested.

  'He has a very good alibi.' He forked more beans into his mouth, chewed as though they were sand, and said casually, 'Do you know a Mrs Elizabeth Hughes?'

  'She's my patient.'

  At that, he paused for the smallest of moments. 'When did you last see her?'

  My skin began to prickle. 'What has happened to her?'

  'When did you last see her?' he repeated, slow and insisting.

  'A week ago. In fact, it was the first time I saw her. She is a new patient.'

  'What did she want from you?' His mouth worked like a revolver, firing questions at me before I even finished talking.

  'Without a warrant, I will not divulge patient information. What has happened to Mrs Hughes?'

  'I will arrange for a warrant.' McCurley pushed his half-eaten food aside, lit a cigarette, and leant back in his chair. 'Her body was found two days ago.'

  I clapped a hand to my mouth, stumbled to a chair, and sat down.

  McCurley was watching me. Smoke curled around his mouth and up to the ceiling. He flicked ash toward an ashtray and missed it by half an inch. Then he said, 'She was strangled.'

  'No,' was all I managed. A clump formed in my throat. I fought to swallow it. 'Was it the same man who killed Mrs Hyde?'

  A shrug, as though it didn't concern him in the least.

  'What did the post-mortem surgeon say?'

  McCurley produced something between a cough and a laugh, and asked, 'Where were you yesterday and the day before?'

  'You are jesting.'

  He picked up a pencil, opened a drawer and retrieved a notepad. 'Details, if you please.'

  I blinked, shook my head, and said, 'The day before yesterday, I spent nearly the entire day giving lectures at the medical school, and attending to patients.'

  'Time?'

  'Patients from nine to eleven, lectures from one to five o'clock.'

  'When and where did you take
lunch?'

  I detailed my day to him, waited until he finished taking notes, then I continued, 'If you need information about a patient of mine, you'll have to show me a warrant first. Yesterday, I spent a few hours at Franklin Park together with my daughter and housekeeper. I left them around noon to see Mr Stone and returned about half an hour later. I spent the afternoon in my garden and the public library. The head librarian will remember me, because I was searching for newspaper articles on murders similar to the one of Mrs Hyde.'

  With a huff, McCurley leant back in his chair. 'Do you know what irritates me the most? People playing detective.'

  'Oh, I'm sure you know plenty of those.' I made a sweeping gesture encompassing Headquarters.

  'Mrs Arlington—' he growled.

  'Very well, let's put aside pleasantries for a moment, McCurley. You wished to know where I was and what I did, and the names of all the people who can corroborate my account. I have given you this information. Now, I would be much obliged if you could make me a list of—'

  He threw his head back and laughed. 'You want me to give you information? That is the most hilarious thing I've heard today. And believe me, I hear hilarious things every day. Every single day. Things that make me doubt mankind has any brains whatsoever.'

  'I do know the feeling, McCurley. And I see that my time here is wasted.' I stood. 'When will you release Petey?'

  He snorted.

  'Why did the newspapers not report on Mrs Hughes death?'

  'They will report it tomorrow morning.'

  'So you withheld it—'

  'I have other matters to attend to now.' He gestured toward the door. 'You can expect me shortly with a warrant.'

  'Where was she found?' I insisted.

  McCurley narrowed his eyes and worked his jaw. The scar on the side of his face rippled.

  'You shouldn't eat that, you know. It's unhealthy.' I pointed to the burnt beans.