by A J Wright
Brennan raised his hand. The coroner nodded.
‘Was anyone with you in your room, Mr Morgan?’
Once more, those on the public benches reacted, this time with sniggers. This inquest was getting juicier by the minute.
Morgan swallowed hard. Then he said, almost inaudibly, ‘No.’
‘You had no visitor? No one at all? Perhaps you forgot. Being under oath can make people forgetful.’
Given the lifeline by Sergeant Brennan, Morgan raised his head and said, ‘You’re quite right. I did have a visitor. A fellow guest, Mr Dodds, came to see which train I would be catching the following day. I was due to go to Manchester, you see.’
‘But in your statement, you have said you dined with Mr Dodds a short while earlier. Didn’t you discuss train times then?’
Morgan lowered his head again. ‘It mustn’t have occurred to him then.’
Now the coroner spoke. Brennan could see from the stern expression on his face, that he considered the witness to be treading on dangerous ground.
‘How long did Mr Dodds stay in your room, Mr Morgan?’
‘A few minutes,’ came the hasty reply. ‘Not long enough even to finish his cigar.’
The coroner and Brennan exchanged glances.
‘Did you hear anything from Room Eight?’ asked the coroner. ‘Or from the corridor? I believe your room lies around the corner from Mrs Crosby’s room.’
‘Nothing.’
The coroner now spoke sternly. ‘Mr Dodds, your visitor, has absconded. I have already issued a warrant against him for contempt of the summons, so we have no corroboration for your testimony. The police have informed me that you do not know the man’s address. Is that still the case?’
The witness seemed to consider the question for some time before saying, ‘Yes. I have no idea of his address.’
‘Do you know, in fact, if Dodds is his real name?’
‘No, I don’t.’
Again, the coroner gave Brennan a meaningful glance. Then, after once more consulting his notes, he said, ‘The young chap, George Barker, the bellboy at the Royal, has stated that he bumped into a man on the stairs, a man who was on his way down and who smelled of cigars. You say Dodds left your room after a few minutes. Could that have been Mr Dodds the boy encountered?’
‘It’s possible.’
The coroner shook his head. ‘Sergeant Brennan? Do you have any further questions?’
Brennan nodded reluctantly. ‘In your room, Mr Morgan, you have a framed photograph of a young woman. A beautiful young woman.’
Morgan shifted his stance, clasped and unclasped his hands. ‘Yes.’
‘Who is she?’
‘I told you.’
‘Tell me again.’
Beads of perspiration began to trickle down from his forehead, despite the rather chilly conditions in the room.
‘It’s my wife.’
‘And you live with your wife?’
‘Yes, of course.’
Brennan sighed. ‘Mr Morgan, after I enquired into the address you gave me – a genuine address, admittedly, the Chester police informed me that they paid your home a visit. The only young woman living there – a looker, by all accounts, is your sister. And while she was alarmed at the sight of the police on her doorstep, nevertheless, she told them the truth. That you are unmarried. There is no wife. You live with her and your mother. Your sister is a schoolteacher.’
A loud roar went up from the public bench, some of the men laughing and pointing accusatory fingers at the witness, while many of the women sat there shaking their heads and not knowing what on earth to make of it all.
Brennan knew well that it’s no criminal offence to lie about your marital status, although if the coroner were feeling awkward, he could have the man arrested for contempt. He knew there was a reason for the man’s lie, just as there was a reason why Edgar Dodds had left the town in such a hurry. There was a connection, and he knew very well what it was. Still, he would decide on his course of action as soon as the jury brought in its verdict.
Until then, there were two more witnesses to be presented in court: Gilbert Crosby and Thomas Evelyne.
*
‘Mr Crosby,’ said the coroner, ‘what is your profession?’
‘I have none,’ came the reply.
‘Then how do you live? Are you of independent means?’
Gilbert Crosby flashed a look across the room at his older brother, who was sitting with his head in his hands. ‘I’m looking for a suitable position.’
‘I see. The report I have here from the police informs me you went missing from the hotel from Monday night until Tuesday night. Where were you?’
‘I was with some people I’d met. I spent all Monday night in their company.’
‘Where would that be?’
‘A rather foul-smelling place that goes by the ridiculously inappropriate name of the Gibraltar Inn.’
The murmurings from the public suggested they didn’t take too kindly to the man’s arrogant and condescending tones. One or two of them might be regulars, Brennan thought.
The coroner read through Gilbert’s statement before him. ‘You were gambling?’
‘I was.’
‘And you failed to return to the hotel the next morning?’
‘I was invited by my new acquaintances to accompany them to the races at Liverpool. Aintree, to be exact.’
‘You arrived back in Wigan at what time?’
‘Nine o’clock.’
‘And according to the information I have before me, no one can confirm that time?’
‘I can confirm it. You have my word.’
The coroner raised an eyebrow and said, ‘You have spent time in prison, I see?’
Another murmur from the public bench.
‘An unfortunate misunderstanding.’
The coroner looked at Brennan, who once more stood up to speak.
‘Mr Crosby, you are a gambler.’
‘I have been known.’
‘And your gambling caused friction between you and your brother and your sister-in-law.’
Gilbert smiled. ‘Not really. They have always helped me when I’ve needed it.’
‘Apart from the time when Violet Crosby persuaded her husband not to pay off your fine, which led to your being sent to prison. Is that right?’
‘Poor Violet was right, of course. I needed teaching a lesson.’
Brennan pointed at Crosby’s face. ‘It was in prison, as a result of Violet Crosby’s influence over her husband, that you were in a fight and received that scar on your face. Isn’t that so?’
Automatically, Crosby lifted his right hand and ran a finger along the scar.
‘I was attacked. It was nothing to do with Violet. I bore her no ill will.’
Brennan indicated to the coroner that he had no further questions, and the witness was dismissed.
*
Once Thomas Evelyne had taken the oath, several of those present looked forward to fireworks. Here in court, facing each other, were two men who held quite opposing views on hanging, and the recent violence in King Street was fresh in the memory of many in the room. Indeed, Evelyne stood rigidly to attention, his eyes shining with what appeared to be something more powerful than anger. As he glared fiercely at Simeon Crosby, the people could see hatred in his eyes.
The coroner, when presented with the list of witnesses suggested by the police, had queried the inclusion of Evelyne, who had been nowhere near the Royal Hotel on the night of the murder. But Sergeant Brennan had explained his reasons for the man’s presence on the list, and the coroner had eventually agreed.
‘Mr Evelyne,’ began the coroner, ‘can you describe to the court the events of Tuesday night?’
Taking a deep breath, apparently to calm himself, the witness proceeded to give a factual account of the meeting in the Market Square, the march down King Street and the sudden appearance of a madman who charged at the hangman. He also described how he suffered a blow to
the head causing a painful swelling which rendered him unconscious, whereupon he was rescued by a Catholic priest who gave him sustenance.
Brennan took up the questioning.
‘Mr Evelyne, what is your opinion of Simeon Crosby?’
A scowl darkened the man’s features as he once more cast a glance in the hangman’s direction. ‘As low as it is possible to get.’
‘Can you explain why that is?’
‘The man is responsible for suffering and death.’
‘Whose suffering and whose death, Mr Evelyne?’
The question seemed to throw the witness. ‘I beg your pardon?’
But Brennan ignored him. ‘Tell us about the moment you were saved by the priest. Father Clooney.’
Evelyne spoke sharply. ‘As I’ve already testified, after I was assaulted by the Wigan police, resulting in a swelling on my head, I collapsed outside a Catholic church. The priest came and helped me.’
‘You told me in your statement that he found you and helped you.’
‘Yes.’
‘But in his statement, which I have recently checked again, he told me you knocked on the door of the church.’
‘Then that is what I must have done. I’d been unconscious, remember.’
The coroner spoke up. ‘It seems quite reasonable, given the circumstances.’
Brennan went on. ‘On the afternoon of the murder of Violet Crosby, you spoke with Maria Woodruff.’
‘Yes. She came to see me. To interview me.’
‘And she told you about her secret rendezvous with Mrs Crosby later that evening? When she was to feign a headache.’
Evelyne shook his head. ‘She told me no such thing.’ He affected the beginnings of a smile. His word against a dead woman’s.
Brennan ignored it. ‘You live in Bolton, Mr Evelyne.’
‘Yes. Doubtless, you’ve checked my address.’
‘I have. You live there with your father.’
‘He’s not in the best of health these days.’
Brennan paused before asking the next question. Then he said, ‘You told me you were married.’
‘I was.’
‘What happened?’
For the first time, Evelyne’s composure seemed to waver. He glanced over at Simeon Crosby, but the hangman was hunched forward, looking at the palms of his hands.
‘My wife died,’ said Evelyne in a voice now so low that many in the room couldn’t hear him.
The coroner spoke up. ‘I must ask you to speak louder, Mr Evelyne. Your responses are being written down.’ He pointed across the court to a small, bewhiskered man, wearing pince-nez, who was scribbling furiously.
‘I said my wife died.’ Evelyne raised his voice, putting emphasis on the last word.
‘And yet you told me,’ Brennan went on, ‘that you were anxious to return to your wife.’
‘My wife’s grave, Sergeant. Her shrine.’
Now it was Brennan’s turn to speak low when he asked, ‘How did she die, Mr Evelyne?’
Simeon Crosby turned to Ralph Batsford and said, loudly enough for those closest to him to hear, ‘How in God’s name is this relevant? It’s my wife’s death that’s at issue, surely?’
The witness gave no sign of having heard. He held his head high, and those close to him could see that tears were beginning to form. There was a new inflection in his voice now, and later, people argued over which was the dominant emotion: anger, sadness or love.
‘My wife was murdered, Sergeant.’
There was an audible gasp from the benches.
Brennan chose his next words with care. ‘And who was responsible for her murder, Mr Evelyne?’
The witness stared at Brennan with understanding in his eyes.
‘Simeon Crosby killed my wife, Sergeant. He was responsible for her death.’
26.
There was uproar in the court, leaving the coroner with no alternative but to order an adjournment. Once the public and the reporters had left, only the witnesses were left in their seats on the instructions of Sergeant Brennan. The coroner and the other officials had also left the room, leaving only Brennan and Jaggery as representatives of the forces of law and order.
Thomas Evelyne was still standing facing the others in court, but now he had his head bowed low, with his right hand pressed firmly to his face.
When Evelyne had made his accusation, pointing a wavering finger at the man he’d accused, Simeon Crosby had stood up and told Evelyne, the coroner and everyone else in the court that this was absolute nonsense!
His brother had also stood, placed an arm on Simeon’s shoulder and yelled at the witness in a similar, though more colourful, vein.
Now, with the exodus from the court complete, accompanied by strange looks and speculative murmurings, the room was eerily silent, with Constable Jaggery standing just behind Sergeant Brennan and surveying the row of witnesses with a fearsome scowl that precluded any further protest.
Outside, the snow fell ever more heavily, the tops of the chimneys still visible against the black night sky.
Brennan began to speak. ‘Mr Evelyne has answered my question as I suspected he would. It’s true that his wife was brutally murdered, just as yours was, Mr Crosby.’ He looked at the hangman and held his gaze for a few seconds. ‘It’s also true that the two murders are connected by a thread more powerful than any hemp rope used on the gallows.’
There was confusion on the faces of most of the witnesses.
‘When I asked Mr Evelyne who was responsible for his wife’s murder, he gave what he believed to be the absolute truth. Two years ago, you, Mr Crosby, made rather a mess of an execution.’
Simeon Crosby rose in anger. ‘I did not! I presume you are referring to the man named Goodfellow.’
‘I am indeed.’
‘The prison was to blame. I checked and rechecked the equipment as I always did on the night before a drop. The bolts and the trapdoors worked perfectly. But when the man stood on the trapdoors and I pulled back the lever, the doors moved only fractionally. After several attempts, I was instructed by the under-sheriff to stop the execution and the man was led back to his cell. It was the fault of the prison authorities, not mine.’
‘Goodfellow escaped, though.’ It was Evelyne who spoke, his eyes burning with hatred now.
‘I cannot be held to account for that!’
Brennan held up his hand. ‘I’m afraid you have already been held to account, Mr Crosby. Mr Evelyne, you have all but admitted to the murder of Violet Crosby. An eye for an eye. A wife for a wife. Was that not the case?’
Evelyne said nothing.
Brennan continued. ‘Was that your original intention? To kill Mrs Crosby? Or did you plan to kill Mr Crosby instead?’
Evelyne glared at Brennan, defiance in his eyes now. ‘I admit to nothing, Sergeant Brennan. The fact that Simeon Crosby failed to carry out justice on Goodfellow, the fact that as a result, Goodfellow escaped, the fact that he broke into my house and murdered my wife, the fact that she was halfway through our first pregnancy, even the fact that my ailing father doted on his daughter-in-law and was hoping against hope to see his first grandchild before he died… all those indisputable facts are as much evidence of proof as a straw in a whirlwind.’
Jaggery gave his usual cough whenever he was presented with a tricky problem. Brennan, on the other hand, remained calm.
‘I believe that you had only intended to kill Mr Crosby, for how could you have known his wife would be travelling with him? Besides, I really don’t think her death was part of your plan. Not until you discovered she was here in Wigan. Otherwise, why not simply travel to Lancaster, find out where they lived and do what Goodfellow did? Kill her in her own home. But no. I think her fate was settled when Maria Woodruff told you she was here in town and she had devised a simple trick to deceive Mr Crosby, which would leave her alone in her hotel room for a short time.’
‘You bastard!’ It was Gilbert Crosby who spoke, his hand pressed firmly on his br
other’s shoulder.
Brennan ignored him. ‘The clever part of your plan was to present yourself as a denouncer of capital punishment in general and Simeon Crosby in particular. In that way, you could make life very uncomfortable for the hangman while no one would suspect that, far from despising the existence of the gallows, you were its greatest supporter.’
Evelyne cleared his throat. ‘If Goodfellow had been hanged, my wife would still be alive. I would have a son or a daughter. We would be leading happy and fruitful lives.’ He looked high up, towards the snow-filled blackness beyond the glass. ‘It’s what murderers leave behind. Empty, cold and beautiful dreams.’
‘Something else conspired to help you that night. Oscar Pardew, an escaped lunatic who merely wished to shake the hand of the man who executed his father’s killer, caused the disturbance in King Street. You took advantage of that, left the scene and went directly to the Royal Hotel, where you knew Mrs Crosby was in her room, awaiting the arrival of Maria Woodruff. You had to act fast. So you paid a young street rat to throw a brick through the bar window and cause a distraction. Then you entered the hotel, probably stole a glance at the hotel register and discovered Mrs Crosby’s room. You probably knocked and presented yourself as the bellboy or the desk attendant, and Mrs Crosby opened her door, thinking all the while that her visitor had arrived. She would be dead within minutes.’
Suddenly, Simeon Crosby rushed forward before his brother could stop him and launched himself at Evelyne. The act took everyone by surprise. Jaggery moved quickly for a man his size, but even he wasn’t fast enough to prevent the hangman from ramming Evelyne to the ground and locking an arm around his neck.
Evelyne began to gasp and kick out, but the hangman tightened his grip, one arm pressing hard against the back of his neck, the other forming a choke-hold at the front. Evelyne’s eyes were wide open and bulging, his lips already turning blue.
‘Stay back!’ Simeon Crosby yelled as Jaggery got near. ‘I know exactly how much pressure’s needed to dislocate a murderer’s neck. It’ll only take a few seconds. No closer!’
‘Constable!’ Brennan snapped.
Jaggery began slowly to back away.
‘You killed Violet!’ the hangman hissed into Evelyne’s ear.