Arrowood and the Meeting House Murders

by Mick Finlay

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘We were waiting till they’d recovered.’

  ‘What?’ demanded Thembeka. ‘Where is he?’

  The guvnor looked at me now, his eyes fresh with tears. Last time we had to break bad news like this, it was him who did it. It’d hurt him so bad he’d made me promise I’d be the one to do it next time.

  ‘I’m real sorry, Thembeka,’ I said. ‘They killed Musa. They must have found him.’

  When Senzo saw Thembeka’s face, his own crumpled too. He dropped his head, a soft groan coming from him.

  Thembeka just stared at me.

  Gisele put her arms around her. ‘Oh, my dear,’ she whispered.

  The guvnor touched Senzo’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, my friend.’

  We sat there in silence, nobody drinking their tea, the cake left on the plates. Outside, a pigeon cooed. Another joined in. Nick chucked a bit of coal into the oven.

  ‘Musa?’ asked Thembeka, stiffening. It was like she’d just heard. Her eyes fell to the red tiles on the floor. ‘They shot Musa?’

  ‘No,’ said the guvnor, his voice catching. ‘They strangled him and… knocked his teeth out.’

  Thembeka shivered and her face clenched like she had an awful pain in her guts. She spoke low and flat to Senzo. He was bent over, his elbows now resting on his thighs. He asked a question. She answered. He shook his head, said something else. Finally, he stood, clutching the edge of the table as he made his way out the kitchen.

  ‘I found a letter in Musa’s pocket,’ said the guvnor, watching Senzo as he disappeared down the corridor. ‘D’you know about it?’

  Thembeka shook her head.

  He took out his notebook and pointed at the page where he’d written the words. ‘Can you tell me what this means?’

  She read it slowly. ‘That’s our letter,’ she said at last.

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘You took it from him?’

  ‘The police have it now. What does it mean?’

  She sighed for a moment. ‘It’s nothing. We’ve a cousin.’

  ‘Here?’

  She looked at the empty doorframe. ‘In Paris. We were arranging to meet him.’

  ‘Can you translate it for me?’

  ‘Meet at…’ she wiped her eyes, ‘at Arch of Triumph Sunday at two.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No name?’

  ‘We only know one person in Paris.’

  The guvnor nodded and put away his notebook. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t go to the police when you escaped from Capaldi’s boarding house.’

  ‘Mr Capaldi’s got friends in the police. He always told us they’d hunt us down.’

  ‘They’ll find out, all right,’ said Nick, nodding his hard head. He was standing behind Sylvia, stroking the back of her neck. ‘Dave told me Mr Capaldi pays off one of them to keep his cat-house safe. It’s one of his relatives or something.’

  ‘But you must tell the police what you know about the murders,’ said Leonie. ‘How else will they find S’bu?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said the guvnor. ‘We’ll tell them what you’ve told us.’

  Thembeka finished the mug of gin and wiped her hand across her lips. ‘Find S’bu, William. Please. He’ll be so scared. He’s not as brave as he likes to pretend.’

  ‘Norman and I will do whatever we can.’ The guvnor stood and patted Senzo’s arm. ‘Tell Senzo that.’

  She nodded. ‘You won’t tell them where we are, will you?’

  ‘No, madam,’ said Arrowood. ‘I promise you we won’t.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  We left them there and got a tram to the river. It was mid-afternoon and the puddles had turned to ice, the pathways slick. The guvnor was distracted. He was perched on the edge of the seat next to two women with baskets on their laps. I had a soldier next to me, his newspaper held open in front of him. The guvnor puffed on his pipe, his mind turning over in that monstrous buffalo head. Brixton turned into Kennington. As we passed under the railway lines on Westminster Bridge Road, I asked him what we were going to do.

  ‘I don’t know, Norman,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what we can do.’

  ‘We should leave it with Napper. The money’s almost gone. We have to do some work that pays. I’ve got to eat, sir.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Norman. I promised.’

  ‘Napper’ll find S’bu.’

  He looked at me and forced a smile. ‘Will he?’

  ‘He’s not a bad copper.’

  ‘It’s not just that. I can’t stop thinking about what we’ve done to them.’

  ‘It wasn’t our fault, sir. The guns were only meant to frighten them off.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I mean why they’re in London. Why they left South Africa. Hamba’s told me so much about conditions in India. You read the news in the paper, but it’s different when you see a real person. It’s different when you hear their stories.’

  ‘We’re not to blame for the empire.’

  ‘We’re part of it, whether we like it or not. This might be our only chance to make amends.’

  When we reached Scotland Yard, a copper took us up to the detectives’ office and opened the door for us. There was a bloke sitting on the other side of Napper’s desk.

  ‘What the devil?’ said the guvnor under his breath.

  ‘Ah,’ said Napper, getting to his feet. ‘You’ve come at just the right time. Let me introduce Constable Mabaso of the Johannesburg police.’

  The African stood and turned to us, his movements controlled, his face severe. He was dressed in a worn mackintosh, darned in a few places, a navy police suit with no waistcoat, a thin yellow shirt and brown tie. His hair was tight to his head, his ears sticking out like oyster shells. I offered him my hand.

  ‘Mr Barnett,’ I said. ‘This is Mr Arrowood.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been hearing about you.’ His English was perfect, his accent African. He had a sharp nose, pinched eyes. The skin on his face showed no sign of ever growing hair.

  Napper asked us to sit, then explained.

  ‘Constable Mabaso’s just arrived from Johannesburg. He has an interesting story you might like to hear.’

  Mabaso clasped his hands in his lap. As he spoke, his body remained still as a post, his face serious, his lips moving the least they needed to make the words. ‘We have a criminal gang called the Ninevites in our district. They cause much trouble: ambushing stage-coaches, burgling houses, robbing workers of their wages. Maybe you’ve heard of them?’

  ‘No, sir,’ said the guvnor.

  He tightened his mouth and had a small cough. ‘They have a couple of thousand men, led by a man called Nongoloza and set up like an army: they even wear stolen military uniforms. They live in caves and old mine shafts in the hills around the city. Their men have infiltrated the mine compounds and prisons, where they recruit more members. A few months ago the Ninevites burgled the home of one of the owners of Robinson Mine, Mr Kruger. The thieves made off with a cart carrying the miners’ wages and a quantity of gold bullion. Mr Kruger’s child and a guard were killed. Detective Duffy of Langlaagte police station was appointed to track the raiders down. I am his assistant. We discovered they’d fled to Mozambique, where they met a French showman, Mr Monteuil, who was looking for natives to perform in Europe. They signed a contract with him and took a boat to Portugal, and from there a train to Paris. I believe they’re now here, in London.’

  The guvnor glanced at me.

  ‘Detective Duffy died of dysentery on the boat coming over here,’ said Napper. ‘So until they send another detective, Constable Mabaso’s in charge.’

  ‘When will the other detective arrive, constable?’ asked Arrowood.

  ‘The boat takes about three weeks,’ said Mabaso. As he shifted in his seat, I noticed a book jutting from his coat pocket. ‘I sent a telegraph informing them of the situation yesterday, when I arrived in Sout
hampton.’

  ‘Until that time, the Colonial Office have asked us to give PC Mabaso any assistance he needs.’ Napper paused to light a cigar. ‘Even though he’s only a constable.’

  ‘I’ve been a police officer for fifteen years, sir,’ said Mabaso slowly, his eyes fixed on the Scotland Yard man.

  ‘But you’re not a detective.’

  ‘Blacks are not permitted to be detectives in South Africa, sir.’ Mabaso looked at me, then at the guvnor. ‘Detective Inspector Napper says that you’ve met the men I seek.’

  ‘What are their names?’ asked the guvnor.

  ‘Musa Schoko and Senzo Nyambezi. Two of the four Zulus you were hired to protect. I hear Mr Schoko is dead.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know if it’s them,’ said the guvnor. ‘I don’t know their last names.’

  ‘It is them, sir. I learned that Monteuil sold the contract to an English showman called Capaldi who brought them here.’

  ‘So you aren’t searching for the other two?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know if they’re involved yet.’ He turned back to the guvnor. ‘Do you know where Senzo Nyambezi is, sir?’

  The guvnor’s nose twitched, and I could see he hadn’t yet decided what he should tell this stranger. ‘I’m also searching,’ he said at last.

  Napper stared at him, a suspicious look on his mug. ‘Did you talk to the vagrants?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ answered the guvnor.

  ‘And what did you discover?’ asked Napper, picking up his pen.

  ‘A witness told us two white men with guns entered the Quaker Meeting House. Describe them, Barnett.’

  I told them what we knew from Thembeka.

  ‘A Chinaman, you say?’ asked Napper, writing in his notebook. ‘Could be Capaldi’s men?’

  ‘Could be,’ I said. ‘If they use a Chinaman.’

  Napper stopped writing. ‘What about the Africans?’

  ‘We’ve reports of them at Charing Cross Station,’ said the guvnor. ‘Two of them, probably Senzo and Thembeka. The young lad wasn’t with them.’

  ‘Mrs Fowler?’

  ‘No reports of her.’

  ‘Who’s the witness?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ said the guvnor.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  Napper’s brow wrinkled as he stared at his notebook, his pen clenched in his freckled hand. ‘Can’t or won’t?’

  ‘Both. They don’t want to be involved with the police. We promised we’d respect that.’

  Napper looked up and sighed. ‘Tell me, Arrowood. This isn’t a game.’

  ‘No, detective. It’s no game.’

  ‘I’ll have you both locked up.’

  ‘You need us to help you. You’ve only two men.’

  ‘Damn you!’ exclaimed Napper, slapping the desk. ‘If you’re hiding anything that obstructs this case, I’ll charge you.’

  Arrowood nodded.

  ‘Did they get on a train?’

  ‘A child fell ill and I had to take the mother to the hospital,’ said the guvnor.

  ‘Did you ask around the station if anybody’d seen them?’

  ‘We’ve been busy.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘We’re under no obligation to tell you about the cases we work on.’

  ‘You are if they involve my case, Arrowood. There’s a woman missing. She may be in danger.’

  ‘You’re only concerned with the white woman? What about the other three?’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening to what the constable said? They’re criminals, Arrowood.’

  ‘Senzo’s the criminal.’

  ‘The others are helping him.’

  ‘S’bu’s only a boy.’

  Another copper came bustling through the door, whistling to himself. He pulled off his overcoat and dropped it on a desk. Mabaso’d sat through the little spat quietly, his hands in his lap.

  ‘You need to find where Capaldi’s other properties are and search them,’ said the guvnor. ‘They must have the boy. They might have Mrs Fowler too.’

  Napper rolled his eyes. He jabbed his cigar hard into a bowl, dirty with dried porridge. ‘Why would Capaldi’s men capture Mrs Fowler?’

  ‘They’re witnesses to murder.’

  ‘Then why not just kill them?’ asked Napper. ‘Why capture them? You can only hang once. No, there must be something else behind this. What d’you think, constable?’

  Mabaso slowly turned his head. ‘I’m just learning what’s happened, sir. What about this Mrs Delacourte you mentioned?’

  ‘We’ll go there next.’

  ‘Did they bring the gold to London?’ asked the guvnor.

  ‘It was never found,’ answered Mabaso.

  ‘They didn’t have luggage when they escaped from Capaldi’s boarding house,’ I said. ‘All they had was the clothes they stood in.’

  Mabaso nodded. ‘It’s possible they hid it in Africa before they got on the boat. Luggage that heavy would have been noticed by Monteuil’s people. He was paying their fares.’

  Napper had a think. His thin, gummy eyes finally fell on the guvnor again. ‘You haven’t told me what you were doing today.’

  ‘No, sir, I cannot.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mrs Fowler’s family?’

  For some moments, Napper glared at the guvnor, his eyelids half-closed. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell. ‘My constable’s questioning her servants and friends this afternoon. The superintendent wants her found: he might give me another constable tomorrow, and I hope to hear about offering a reward later today, if he can drag himself out of the chophouse.’

  ‘Any other witnesses come forward?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Would you like us to do anything for you?’ asked the guvnor.

  Napper gave a snort of laughter. ‘You vex me, Arrowood.’

  ‘A lot of coppers say that,’ I told him.

  Napper got up and reached for his hat. ‘Right. Could you go to Charing Cross and find out if anybody saw where the other two went?’

  ‘Anything to help, sir,’ said the guvnor, pushing himself to his feet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was five in the afternoon when we reached Willows’ and already dark. The coffee shop was busy with cabbies, Ma Willows’ range being a great comfort from the icy streets. She gave our table a quick wipe with her dirty cloth and dumped a couple of bowls of mutton stew in front of us.

  ‘How are the nippers, William?’ she asked, laying her red hand on his shoulder. ‘Still keeping you up?’

  ‘They’ve a touch of fever,’ said the guvnor, chewing on a bit of mutton bone. His stubby fingers were already wet with soup, his nails chipped and grimy.

  ‘Try Fennings Cooling Powders. It worked for my niece’s kids.’

  ‘I’ll tell Isabel.’

  Rena grunted. She’d always held a candle for the guvnor, and wasn’t too happy that Isabel was back in town.

  ‘This soup is good,’ said he. ‘Is that a turnip?’

  She peered at his spoon. ‘Cabbage stalk. You hear about that lady got took by the Zulus?’

  ‘That’s our case, Rena, but it wasn’t the Zulus who took her.’

  ‘There’s a copper comes in here said it was.’

  ‘Don’t listen to him. The police have no idea what happened to her.’

  ‘She’s been gone two day now. Probably—’ She sliced across her throat with her finger. ‘And that other one with all his teeth smashed out. Here, you fancy a bit of plum pud? Just put it on today.’

  ‘Coffee, Ma!’ barked a coalman from the other side.

  She lumbered off.

  ‘We need another case,’ I said. ‘We aren’t going to get paid anymore for this one and Napper’s got Mabaso to help him now. Can you go and see if Scrapes has anything?’

  ‘I will,’ he said. ‘But I’m not giving up on this one. Not while our friends are in danger.’

/>   ‘But they killed a child. They’re criminals.’

  ‘Thembeka and S’bu aren’t criminals. Mrs Fowler isn’t either.’ He lifted the soup bowl to his lips and drained it. ‘If the killers were afraid of S’bu and Mrs Fowler because they’re witnesses, they’d have just killed them then and there. So either they needed them alive for some reason or they escaped. That seems unlikely as Mrs Fowler would certainly have appeared by now.’ He packed his pipe and thought for a while. ‘Napper and Mabaso are talking to Madame Delacourte today, so we’ll see what she says. For the moment, our best trail is Capaldi. We can’t tell Napper about Thembeka and Senzo. There’ve been enough corruption cases in the police to believe what Nick told us is true.’ He thought for a moment. ‘When our friends reached London they were prevented from going out. That means they must have had one of Capaldi’s men guarding them.’

  ‘Nick?’

  ‘They only stayed with the ladies in Gresham Hall for one night, then they were moved to a boarding house. If Capaldi’s holding S’bu and Mrs Fowler prisoner, there’s a chance he’s using the same guard and the same boarding house. Now, let’s just have a bit of that plum pudding then we’ll go and see what else they can tell us in Brixton.’

  We were back at Gresham Hall less than an hour later. Although the street was deserted, we could hear a little group of children singing ‘O, Little Town of Bethlehem’ from inside one of the houses. The guvnor paused for a moment to listen, his face wistful and sweet, his nose-breath drifting like pipe smoke in the frozen air. Then he clapped his hands and marched down the side alley to the annex. This time it was Nick who let us in.

  ‘We need to talk to you, mate,’ I said.

  We stood in the corridor as he bolted the door.

  ‘Come in the kitchen,’ he said.

  We followed him in there and sat down. The room was empty: a tallow candle sat in a jar on the big table.

  ‘How well d’you know Bruno Capaldi?’ asked the guvnor.

  ‘Hardly at all. My ma’s Italian. She knows his ma. I heard he was looking for someone to work for him. Never met him before then, and I only spoke to him five or six times even now.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell him that we were hiding in the pantry?’