Will stopped at the bakery first and purchased two dinner rolls fresh out of the oven. Phoebe passed him the change from the ten-dollar bill he presented.
“I just got back from the Island,” he announced, smiling.
“Oh yes, for a visit?” Phoebe asked knowing full well why he had been away.
“No, on official police business. Had to go over there and identify my daughter’s body. She washed up over there, you know.”
“Yes, I had heard about that, Mr. Harney. I’m very sorry.”
“I appreciate your sympathies. Ever been on the Island ferry?”
“No.”
“You should go some time if you ever get the chance.”
The bell on the door jingled as Will closed it behind him.
Hank was sitting on the doorstep with a large German shepherd whose heavy head rested on its paws.
“Got any good stuff?”
“Sure, Mac came for a visit last night. Step inside and make yourself at home.”
As he followed Hank inside, Will threw the uneaten bit of his roll at the dog, who snapped it between yellow teeth.
The room smelled of burnt beans and unwashed clothes and bodies.
Hank pointed to an unpainted ladder-back chair, its seat split in two, and Will sat down.
“What’s your pleasure?”
“Can you spare two whiskies?”
“Yeah.”
Will laughed when Hank pulled a wooden box out from under the unmade bed in the corner.
“I see you got a loan of some Huestis property.”
The words Huestis Graystone Company, Wallace, NS, were stencilled along the side of the box. Its six-by-six-inch compartments originally held dynamite but now contained quart bottles of whiskey.
“Came by it honestly,” Hank told him. “They were doing away with some of their stuff and Mac happened to be there.”
Hank removed two bottles and handed them to Will.
“Here you go. That’s a dollar twenty-five for both.”
“That’s a bit steep, Hank, but never mind. Can I have a couple sips before I go?”
“Fill your boots.”
Will rolled one bottle up in the shirt he had in his bag. Then he unscrewed the top of the other and jerked his head back to take a long haul. His throat burned. He brought his head back down, removed the bottle from his mouth, wiped his lips, then handed it over to Hank who shook his head.
“It’s a bit too early for me.” He grinned.
“Go on.” Will shook the bottle at him. “Have a drink courtesy of the Amherst sheriff.”
Hank reached out for the bottle, took a sip, and handed it back.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Just got back from a paid trip to PE Island. They needed me to identify Mary’s body.”
“So it was her after all. God rest her soul,” Hank said. “Now how did she ever manage to get way over there?”
“Well, my punt disappeared the same time she did. She took it to spite me and ran away from home. She probably was trying to get back to Pictou County to her mother’s crazy family.”
Will took another long drag on the bottle.
“It’s a damn shame,” said Hank.
“Mary was always a little simple in the head.”
“So are you going to work today?” Hank asked, rising from the stool.
“No, lost my place there a while back,” Will informed him. “That bastard foreman was always out to get me anyway. None of them any good, including those rich Seaman sons of bitches.”
Hank gave him a puzzled look.
“It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. But that dynamite box of yours just reminded me of the unfair treatment I got from that place. I think I might take a trip to Wallace today and give them a piece of my mind before I head home to my loving family.”
Will took another drink.
Hank moved towards the door.
“That’s probably not a good idea. Better just to get yourself home now, Will. Do you have a ride?”
“Nope.” Will swayed to his feet. “Got the money to hire a drive but I’ll be damned if I give any of it to that know-nothing Fred LeFurgey. I’d rather crawl home. It’s a nice day and I might be able to hitch a ride with someone going out that way.”
Will stepped out into the sunshine. He patted the dog’s head as he clomped off the doorstep. He tipped his hat to Hank and headed down the road towards Wallace.
***
When Will arrived back home at three o’clock the next morning, he banged on the door with both fists. Mabel eventually opened it and stood before her son with a metal poker in her hand.
“About time you got home,” she said. “Scared me half to death with your knocking. Thought you were somebody come to murder us in our beds. Herself just about drove me and John crazy while you been gone. And wait until you see what she’s done now.”
***
“I can’t believe that poor girl just disappeared into thin air,” Elsie MacDonald said to Elaine Clarke as they sat, knitting, on Elsie’s front veranda.
“Somebody’s done something to her, I’d bet my life on it,” Elaine said. “Heavens, I dropped a stitch. That’s what I get for thinking ill of people.”
“Have you met the sister yet?” Elsie asked.
“Yes, at Bailey’s store the other day. She seems like a sensible person, very ladylike. I’m surprised she’s not staying at John’s, they have more than enough room.”
“I see her walk past here every day from the hotel,” Elsie said. “The first time I went out and introduced myself. I had heard she had come after Mary disappeared. She came in for tea. A lovely person. She’s worried sick about Ann and Mary. Can’t say I blame her. Her and Fred LeFurgey have taken up looking for Mary on their own. They’re going all over the same ground where everybody else looked, and the rumour going around is that Will did away with her, his own daughter. I just can’t believe it even though he seems to be little more than a brute. Remember that time he chased all of us out of the house?”
“I heard something but you’ve got to keep it to yourself,” Elaine said, lowering her voice although there was no one else in sight.
“Cross my heart, I won’t breathe a word to a soul,” Elsie said.
“Well, Freda told me that Martha told her that word is out that it wasn’t Will at all but Smith Reid who had something to do with Mary being gone. Folks are saying that she was in the family way.”
Elsie nodded her head over her work. “I knew it, I knew it. Things aren’t always as cut and dried as they seem. The truth will out, as they say. Of course, Mary just might have gotten it into her head to run away. Mabel said that the girl doted on her Aunt Beatrice, the one that’s here now, and was always agitating to go and visit her.”
“I don’t believe that she just plain ran away,” Elsie said. “I think that somebody needs to be held accountable for what’s happened.”
***
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that son of a bitch did something to her,” said Hiram, leaning on the fabric counter behind him.
“Mind your tea around those prints,” Calvin warned. “Jennie will skin me alive if they get stained.”
Hiram raised the cup in his host’s direction and grinned.
Hiram, Smith and Jack Reid, and Fred LeFurgey were meeting at Bailey’s store to decide what to do about Will.
“Yeah, Harney likely did something. But what and how can we prove it?” Fred asked.
“The police didn’t really do much, did they?” Smith growled.
Calvin snorted. “The police. Did you hear about the Huestis quarry in Wallace? Two of its warehouses burnt to the ground the other night. They’re sure as shooting that it was arson but the police don’t know who did it and likely never will. Their guard dog was found dead just ins
ide the main gate. Beat to death. So it probably wasn’t kids, killing a dog like that. But who knows. There’s been lots of fires around over the last year or two. It’s a worry to a businessman, let me tell you.”
“Anyway,” Fred said, “we might all think that Will did something to Mary but besides stringing him up ourselves, how can we get the authorities to pay attention?”
“We need to speak in one voice. They can’t ignore a large group of people who want something done. And it has to be official,” Hiram said.
“What about a petition?” Smith asked. “Last spring when the ladies’ garden club in Pugwash wanted to have flower pots put around the post office steps, they got a petition going ’round for people to sign and sent it to the village council. They soon got their damn flowers.”
“That’s an idea. But what do we want?” Jack asked.
“I want Harney strung up by the heels,” Fred said.
“Yeah, but we need to put it in a way that sounds legal and official. Something that the authorities will pay attention to,” Hiram said.
“Then who would we send it to? Who would listen?”
“Send it to Halifax,” Fred offered. “To the police. I remember reading in the paper not long ago that they have detectives down there specially trained, who will go outside of the city to look into crimes and to pick up prisoners. They’ve even gone up into Maine. Maybe we could get one of them to come here. We could send the petition to Hiram Black to sign himself and get him to mail it for us. He’s the MLA, he’d know where to send it. He’s a Liberal but he might be good for something.”
“It’s worth a try, that’s for sure,” Calvin agreed. “I’ll go get a pencil and some writing paper.”
“Who will we get to sign it?” Smith asked.
“Every man over eighteen,” his father said, nodding.
“May as well let the women sign as well, the married ones anyway. We need all the names we can get,” Calvin suggested.
“Miss Hennessey will want to sign it too, that’s for sure. And she’s not married,” Fred said, looking sheepish all of a sudden.
“Heard you’ve been spending a lot of time in her company since she got here,” Calvin said, raising his eyebrows at the blushing man.
“I want to sign it too,” Jack piped up.
***
Petition
To the Chief of Police
Halifax, Nova Scotia
September 22nd, 1877
Dear Sir,
In the matter of the disappearance and murder of Mary Harney, the below signed individuals of Rockley, Cumberland County, Nova Scotia, and surrounding areas, request that the Halifax Police Department send a detective to Cape Traverse, PE Island, where a girl washed up on shore and was later buried. The dead girl might be Mary Harney.
The below signed individuals of Rockley and surrounding area accuse William Harney, the father of Mary Harney, of the wilful and wrongful murder of his daughter. We need the assistance of the police to bring him to justice.
Trust that we are your most humble servants,
Calvin Bailey
Hiram Reid
Fred LeFurgey
Smith Reid
Jack Reid
The stars blur above me. Then nothing.
Halifax
Nova Scotia
September 30, 1877
“Ever been to PE Island, Lew?” chief Ernie MacFarlane asked.
“No, I never have.”
The Chief of Police motioned towards a chair and extended a cigar. Detective Lewis Hutt shook his head and sat down across from his supervisor. The desk between them was littered with papers, cigar butts, and ashes.
It’s a wonder this whole building hasn’t gone up in flames, Hutt thought to himself.
“Received a petition this morning by special delivery from Cumberland County. There’s a missing girl up there and a body was found recently on PE Island. Might be the same person. People in…now what the hell was the name of that place again?”
Hutt watched with exasperation as Macfarlane rummaged around among the letters and posters in front of him. One of the many things the detective couldn’t tolerate was disorganization. Finally, six long narrow pieces of sepia-coloured foolscap were retrieved from the mound.
MacFarlane blew out a smoke ring before continuing. “Rockley. Never heard of it. Anyway, a bunch of people up there are bound and determined that she was done away with. The father of the missing girl is named as the suspect.”
He jabbed a yellowed finger at the document. “Look at all the names. Just about everybody in the place signed that murder has been committed and should be investigated. Their MLA sent it on. He and two justices of the peace signed it too. They want a detective to check it out.”
“May I see that, sir?”
Hutt studied the list of names for a minute. MacFarlane began to drum his fingers on the desk.
“I should travel to this Rockley as well, sir.”
“Go over to the Island and look at the body first. It’s likely buried by now. You’ll need a court order to get it dug up. I’ll handle that for you. Talk to the locals. Get a better idea of what went on there first and then if things seem fishy, head for Cumberland County.”
“When should I leave?”
“When can you leave is the question. Clear up what paperwork you got and head out right away.”
“I’ll have to go home and pack and telegraph Mrs. Hutt. She’s gone to her sister’s in Bridgewater for a few days.”
“Fine, fine, no problem.”
“Will—”
“Yes, Lew, the department will look after all your expenses. You’ll be reimbursed when you get back.”
***
These places all look the same, Hutt thought as he stepped out of the hansom cab and down onto dusty King Street in front of the Cambridge Hotel in Charlottetown. Over the last fifteen years he had travelled, from time to time, throughout the Maritimes and New England, chasing criminals and looking for missing persons.
One case just runs into the other, he thought, sighing.
It was warm for the first day of October but to Hutt it felt good after the chilly steamship ride from Pictou. He retrieved his leather suitcase from the back of the cab and walked along the wooden platform to the door of the hotel. It was nice enough inside. The spittoons in the corners shone, the tidy counter stood in front of pigeonhole cupboards, neatly stacked with letters and telegrams. Hutt walked up and rang the bell.
A balding man stepped out from a small room and stood behind the counter.
“Lewis Hutt. I’d like a room for the night.”
“Yes, sir. We have a number of vacancies. Our best room is six dollars a night. And every bed in the place, believe it or not, has spring mattresses.”
“Do you have anything less expensive?”
“Got a nice little room on this floor. Four a night. Neat as a pin.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Sign the register here, please.”
Hutt carefully wrote his name and address in the thick green book on the top of the counter. The clerk swerved it around to read the entry and his eyes widened a little.
“Halifax. Any chance you’re that detective I read about in the Examiner that’s supposed to be coming to the Island about that Harvey girl?”
“Harney, her last name is Harney. And yes, I’m that detective.”
“That was something. Imagine her getting over here all the way from Nova Scotia. How’d she ever do it?”
“That’s what I’ve come to find out. My key, please. Thank you. And what time is supper served?”
“Starts at five o’clock sharp until eight, sir.”
“Can I get a train to Summerside tomorrow morning?”
“At seven.”
Hutt carried his suitcase down the hall and through the
open door indicated by the clerk. After removing his coat and hat, he placed the suitcase on the bed. His shaving kit and brown leather collar box found a temporary home on the small bureau by the window. He hung his second-best brown travelling suit (he was currently wearing his third-best) on the peg at the back of the door. Hutt took off his spats and shoes, hung his hat and coat on the peg over his suit, then removed his collar and cuffs and placed them in the leather box. He hung his shirt and then his socks neatly over the back of the chair, which was placed before a small writing desk. Dressed only in his underwear, Hutt flung the quilt aside and sat down on the narrow bed.
Jesus, I’m tired, he thought. I’m getting too old to be traipsing around the countryside. Then, remembering, he rose once more and took his pocket watch out of his coat.
Four thirty-seven. He’d sleep until six-thirty and then go down to eat at seven.
Hutt reached into his case and extracted an oval frame containing a photograph of his wife, Annie. He set it on the bureau beside the collar box. He lay on the bed and stared at her face until he fell asleep.
He woke with a start. It was twilight. He reached for his pocket watch. “Damn,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. He’d overslept. That wasn’t like him. Now he’d have to hurry if he wanted a decent bite before the kitchen closed.
When he arrived in the dimly lit dining room, all the tables were occupied. So much for a quiet supper. He’d have to ask someone if he could share a table. Two men, who looked like travellers themselves, were sitting in a corner hidden partially by a large fern. Hutt made his way over to them, squeezing between the tables. Yes, they would be pleased to have him sit with them. They turned out to be actors, members of William Nannery’s Atlantic Victorian Theatre, currently on a regional tour, and were leaving for Fredericton in the morning.
Hutt was thankful his supper mates were more interested in recounting their own exploits than they were curious about him. The waiters shared sideways glances and whispered to each other, but they did not ask Hutt any questions either, beyond what he wanted to eat and drink. He was not averse to people knowing what he did for a living. It was usually to his advantage, however, not to have them know who he was when he came into town.
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