by Helen Goltz
‘I understand,’ Amos said.
‘Of course you don’t,’ Matilda empathised with her.
‘I want a divorce, my freedom, and as I have been the major earner for our family for the last ten years, I want a pension or any money I can retrieve from Carl so I can live modestly and have my freedom. What happens to my husband is of little concern to me,’ Anna said in the softest of voices, as though she were discussing the weather.
Matilda’s eyes widened. She turned to Amos.
He nodded and swallowed. ‘Then first and foremost, Mrs Tufton, let’s work out what you will say to the police in your interview now, shall we, and then from there we will work out the best way to proceed with a divorce.’
‘Thank you, Mr Hayward,’ the giantess said, and visibly relaxed.
The fact was not lost on Matilda or Amos that Mrs Anna Tufton’s husband might be the killer. Or for that matter, she may have killed the showman herself.
Chapter 12
Detective Thomas Ashdown studied the prone body of Mr Burnham. Thomas wished he hadn’t had such a big night; his head thumped, and the sun was far too bright this morning. Exhaustion crept over him and he was hungry now that he was sober.
The coroner, Dr Patrick Nevins, joined him as he stared at the deceased. Nevins was neat, slim, in his fifties and greying. He was polite enough not to mention the living looked as bad as the dead this morning; he recalled being a younger man and enjoying the pleasures that came with it. He gave his brief and initial thoughts.
‘I can’t tell you much until I complete the post-mortem examination,’ he said, knowing every detective hoped he would have all the answers immediately. ‘There’s a significant wound to the throat and also many blows to the body. My first thought would be that your victim was bludgeoned to death with something resembling the shape of a cricket ball, a steel cricket ball.’
Thomas frowned. ‘Well, that is one I haven’t heard before.’
The doctor elaborated, ‘It is the best way I can think of to describe it. The shape is like a ball imprint, round, quite distinct and as if it were a cricket ball made of hard metal and repeatedly used to hit the victim. Some blows don’t have that imprint – they are more like a stick.’
‘Anything come to mind other than a steel cricket ball or a stick? Perhaps a golf stick?’ Thomas asked.
‘Perhaps. I saw a trophy like that once with a ball bottom and a thin base. The head of a golf stick is too cylindrical… sorry, that’s the best I can do,’ the coroner said. He moved around the body as he spoke. ‘I suspect he was dead by the third or fourth blow, but it appears he was hit more than a dozen times. I’ll know more soon.’
‘Good grief,’ Thomas said, studying the doctor. ‘Any refinement on the original time of death?’
Nevins smiled. ‘What did I tell you previously – 11pm to 6am?’
Thomas nodded.
‘Well, it was a cool last night, so the body didn’t deteriorate at a great rate. I’ll grace you a few hours,’ he joked, and Thomas gave him a grin. ‘Make it 11pm to 4am.’
‘That makes all the difference,’ Thomas joined in the joke. He thought aloud, welcoming the doctor’s input. ‘So, it would take someone of reasonable physical strength to inflict the blows?’
‘I’d say,’ Nevins agreed. ‘The rest of the blows were either delivered in anger, or fear that the man might still arise, or delivered by many hands.’
Thomas looked surprised. ‘Hmm, imagine a death surrounded by—’ His words fell off, as he thought of the oddities in the Freak Show, each of them bearing a weapon of attack.
‘Live by the sword and all that,’ Nevins said. ‘Of course, it might have been just one hand that held the weapon.’
‘Handy if we could find it,’ Thomas agreed.
‘Don’t disregard the bruising to the throat, that might yet be our cause of death.’
‘You’ll send for me when you are ready?’ Thomas asked.
‘I shall,’ he agreed.
The men bade each other farewell and after Nevins’ departure, Thomas continued studying the corpse and the surroundings. His partner, Harry, soon joined him.
‘Ah good, I need your eyes,’ Thomas said. ‘I’ve studied the area and the body, but it would be good if you could commit it to memory too.’
‘Of course,’ Harry said, his eyes noting the blood and violence in front of him.
‘Anything of note in the interviews?’ Thomas asked.
‘We’ve still got a few to do, but so far, nothing worthy of mention. I’ve given the constable and Mrs Wilks a rest break; she insists on accompanying everyone. In time there may prove to be some little detail that will be useful when I check consistencies across all statements and run each of the exhibitors for criminal records.’
Thomas chuckled. ‘Do you think they’ll have criminal backgrounds? Poor bastards probably wouldn’t be exhibited if they were criminally minded.’
‘True, but you never know,’ Harry said, studying the body.
‘You never know,’ Thomas concurred.
‘I saw your lady friend, Miss Matilda Hayward, arrive.’
Thomas didn’t bother to correct the misconception. ‘Where did she go?’ he asked, trying to make his voice sound casual.
‘I believe she’s talking with the big lady,’ Harry said. ‘She’s got her brother with her. The blond one who looks like her. What’s his story?’
‘Amos.’ Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. ‘He’s a solicitor.’
The two detectives looked at each other.
‘And why would the big lady need one of those?’ Harry asked.
*****
Constable Robinson joined the detectives as they watched the body of Mr Burnham being removed; the white sheet covering the brutality of the attack.
‘Sirs, I’ve interviewed everyone now except for the big lady who calls herself the giantess. She insists on having her solicitor with her and will only speak with you two detectives. She’s on her way to the tent now. She doesn’t want Mrs Wilks present.’
Thomas nodded. ‘You’ve done a good job, Constable, thank you. Detective Dart and I will see her now. You may let Mrs Wilks know her services are no longer required.’
‘Right, sir, I’ll do that and then head off to do my report,’ he said.
Thomas turned to his partner, Harry, and rubbing his temples said, ‘Let’s see what she has to say and then I’ve got to eat.’
‘See, if you got yourself a lovely wife like mine, you’d be fit and fine. Bacon, eggs, and thick toast was served up at my place this morning,’ Harry said, ribbing his partner. ‘Can that nephew of yours cook?’
‘I live in hope,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’m not sure I could have handled that breakfast this morning. Now, I could do it justice.’
The men left the area cordoned off and re-entered the tent to interview Mrs Anna Tufton. As he entered the room, the sight of the giantess momentarily shocked Thomas, as most people were in her presence. He heard Harry mutter, ‘Strewth’ under his breath.
Seated on one side of the giant lady was the delicate Miss Matilda Hayward, and her brother sat on the other side of Mrs Tufton. A most forbidding scene, almost rehearsed, Thomas mused.
Amos rose and offered his hand.
‘Thomas, I mean, detective,’ he said, correcting himself.
‘Mr Hayward, Miss Hayward, Mrs Tufton I believe?’ Thomas gave a small nod. ‘My partner, Detective Harry Dart,’ he said by way of introduction.
Once everyone was seated, Amos began.
‘With your permission, Detective, Mrs Tufton would like the following known…’ He read out where she was before the death of Mr Burnham, and where her husband was. He detailed the circumstances of the meeting between the exhibition owner and her husband, the tension that arose, and what time she returned to her caravan. Amos also added to be on the front foot, that Mr and Mrs Tufton led separate personal lives and might make that legally binding. Amos didn’t wan
t that coming up later and looking suspicious.
‘And did you see anything peculiar or anyone you didn’t recognise on the grounds at that time?’ Harry asked.
Anna looked at Amos, who nodded. She answered negatively to the question.
‘No, Detective. I saw no one else. My path was directly from my caravan to meet with Mr Burnham and my husband, and then back. I heard movement in some of the caravans as I passed and returned to mine, but I am not sure I could recall accurately which caravans for the purpose of confirming the whereabouts of my fellow artists.’
‘Did anyone see you return to your caravan?’ Thomas asked.
‘Not that I am aware of, but it might be so,’ Mrs Tufton said.
Thomas’s glance shifted to Matilda as Mrs Tufton spoke, and then he addressed Matilda directly.
‘You were here yesterday, and you interviewed Mr Burnham previously. Did you notice anything that now in context might have been threatening or unusual?’
As Matilda was about to answer, Amos answered on her behalf.
Thomas noted the flash of impatience across Matilda’s face, but she tolerated it given the current situation.
‘Matilda was here quite some time before the unfortunate death of Mr Burnham to secure the interview, and again recently to provide a copy of her publication. But on that last occasion, she saw Mr Burnham alive and well. As you arrived to escort her home, Detective, you would have noticed how many people were milling around at the exhibition and enjoying the nearby hospitality.’
Thomas nodded, unimpressed with Amos’s inference. Thomas returned his attention to the giantess. ‘If I may speak candidly, Mrs Tufton, if I am to understand that you and Mr Tufton may seek to make your separation legally binding,’ he paraphrased Amos, ‘why would your husband be negotiating your fee structure if you were intending to leave him and the exhibition, or were you going to remain and manage your own payment?’
Again, Mrs Tufton looked to Amos, who responded on her behalf to Thomas’s great frustration.
‘Mr and Mrs Tufton have been living in separate quarters, but Mrs Tufton had not yet made her desire to legally separate known to Mr Tufton. His negotiations were on the basis that life would proceed as usual and Mrs Tufton would continue with the exhibition,’ Amos said, and the giantess nodded her agreement.
Thomas noticed Matilda gave him a sympathetic look.
Harry stepped in. ‘Did Mr Burnham know, or could he have heard what your plans were? I am wondering if he told your husband which provoked a fight.’
Mrs Tufton responded on her own. ‘I spoke of it to no one except Miss and Mr Hayward.’
Thomas soon wound up the interview; Amos saw his client back to her caravan and Harry went to advise Mr and Mrs Wilks – the manager and manageress – that they were departing for now.
Thomas turned to Matilda once they were alone. ‘How did you come to hear of the murder?’
‘Mrs Tufton, Anna, sent me a note asking me to come.’
‘I’ll need that note,’ Thomas said.
‘I’ll let Amos know.’
They looked at each other; Thomas annoyed that Matilda was ingrained into his investigation, Matilda frustrated by his attitude.
‘What’s got into you, Thomas?’
‘Nothing, I am trying to do my job.’
‘Your job? Have you not been home since last night?’ she asked.
‘Of course I have.’
‘You have rouge on your collar, and you smell like…’ She wrinkled her nose on inhaling sharply. ‘I’m guessing that is an abundance of whiskey? I hope you and your lady had an enjoyable night.’
He cleared his throat. ‘A night out with fellow detectives,’ he said.
‘Yes, necessary for some relief, I imagine, amongst other things,’ she said, her small smile far from genuine. Matilda was not fooled that Thomas, along with Daniel and her twin brothers, were enjoying the company of women as need be.
Amos re-entered the room. ‘Shall we go, Matilda? Let me know if you need anything further from Mrs Tufton, Detective.’
Thomas nodded and smiled at him. Before Amos got to the exit, Thomas asked, ‘Why did Mrs Tufton feel she needed a solicitor?’
Amos held his gaze. ‘She didn’t, not concerning Mr Burnham’s death. She sought my help to start divorce proceedings and a pension from her husband; they’ve lived separate lives for some time, as discussed. But as I was here, I offered my services for the interview.’
‘I see,’ Thomas said, his mind working overtime. He bade them goodbye, dipped his hat slightly, and watched Matilda’s shapely figure as she departed. Not once did she look back. He imagined waking up next to her every morning and ran a finger around his collar. Rouge. Damn it.
Chapter 13
‘That poor woman.’ Mrs Lawson shook her head. ‘While her husband has been her manager, she has been publicly humiliated and providing an income for both of them. Shameful!’ She looked out at the ladies working in the print room outside the large glass walls of her office.
Matilda nodded in agreement with her editor. The office was a hive of activity as the ladies wrote, edited, illustrated, and met the required deadlines. Matilda turned back to Mrs Lawson. ‘Mrs Tufton has hired my brother, Amos, a solicitor, to start divorce proceedings and secure her a pension from her husband.’
‘Hmm, I’m not sure she’ll get both. I know of women who have stayed married and received a pension or divorced but had to show fault in their husband to get any kind of security. Of course, if her husband murdered Mr Burnham, that would serve as a fault,’ she said with the hint of a smile.
Matilda returned her smile. ‘Yes, I imagine it would. I guess it is a blessing they have no children.’
‘Indeed,’ Mrs Lawson agreed. ‘He could ensure she never sees them again. Filing for a divorce is going to be difficult in itself.’
Matilda lowered her voice. ‘Confidentially, as they have been separated for some time – rarely sharing the marital bed and not always in the same city, Amos thinks Mrs Tufton might have a better case for abandonment. She is already working to support herself, and him, so she may be entitled to a pension from him if he is gainfully employed elsewhere.’
‘Well, I guess that is a small relief and an option,’ Mrs Lawson said. ‘To your story then…’
‘Yes, I was thinking as the Daily News is carrying the story of Mr Burnham’s demise, would you like me to step away from an insider story on Mrs Tufton until the dust settles?’
‘I was pondering that myself.’ She walked across the front of the glass windows and back again, thinking. Matilda did not dare interrupt.
Mrs Lawson clicked her fingers and looked up at Matilda. ‘I think your next article needs to be more intimate. Something sympathetic and emotional, and a little broader so we don’t interfere with the investigation – what life is like for the ladies of the Freak Show.’
Matilda’s breath hitched, and she tried not to show her reaction. Interviewing Mrs Tufton was easy, but the conjoined ladies…
‘Only if you feel you can do it?’ Mrs Lawson said – a red rag to a bull.
‘Of course, it is a brilliant idea. Shall I include management too?’ Matilda asked. ‘The manager’s wife, Mrs Wilks is Russian and involved in the day-to-day running.’
‘Excellent, yes!’ Mrs Lawson clapped her hands together with enthusiasm. ‘It will fascinate our readers learning what these ladies must contend with. You may even find some relevant information to share with that detective of yours,’ she said and gave Matilda an affectionate smile.
‘Ah, he is not mine, but he was someone’s last night – he had rouge on his collar,’ Matilda said, still smarting.
‘He is a single man with no obligation,’ Mrs Lawson reminded Matilda. ‘Unlike poor Mrs Tufton. To have the misfortune of being linked to a deceitful or neglectful man for life from an agreement formed in the helpless innocence of girlhood, that is a great tragedy, and I suspect your
Mrs Tufton and many other women find themselves in the same situation.’
Mrs Lawson’s compassion inspired Matilda.
‘I’ll seek the interviews tomorrow and begin,’ she said.
Mrs Lawson nodded. ‘Excellent. I’ll hold space for you in the next fortnight’s edition. I have another consideration for you…’
‘Yes?’ Matilda asked as Mrs Lawson moved towards the door of her office.
Mrs Lawson leaned out and motioned to a young lady busily scribbling in a book. ‘Alice, do you have a moment?’
Alice rose quickly, grabbed her notebook and pencil, and hurried into the office.
Mrs Lawson did the introductions. ‘Miss Matilda Hayward, this is Miss Alice Doran.’
‘How do you do, Miss Hayward,’ Alice said with a clipped English accent.
‘Lovely to meet you, Miss Doran,’ Matilda acknowledged.
Mrs Lawson smiled her pleasure at the two ambitious young ladies before her. ‘Miss Doran has just joined us. She is keen to report on the efforts of the newly formed Queensland Women’s Suffrage League.’
‘Indeed,’ Matilda said enthusiastically.
‘However, it would be a good experience for Alice to write some profile pieces and helpful to you, Matilda, to have support. Could you work on these profile stories together?’
‘Of course,’ Matilda said, and Alice beamed with pleasure.
Mrs Lawson glanced out the window at an empty desk and then back to the two ladies. ‘Given that Esther, our resident artist, is away, I would be willing to commission your brother again at the same rate to do another illustration or two for your piece.’
‘That is wonderful, thank you, Mrs Lawson,’ Matilda said, delighted.
‘I have an ulterior motive,’ she confessed. ‘He can escort you both and illustrate while you undertake the interviews. There is, after all, a murderer on the loose.’
Matilda and Alice sobered at the thought.
‘Has your brother some stature?’ Alice asked.
‘Oh yes, he’s tall and strong,’ Matilda said, reassuring Alice.