Let Darkness Bury the Dead

by Maureen Jennings

  There was another knock on the door. Madge opened it and stepped outside.

  Murdoch turned to Mrs. Aggett. “I think we must wait…”

  He didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence. Madge returned to the room. He could see by the expression on her face that something serious had happened.

  “Excuse me, sir. May I have a word with you?”

  “My apologies, Mrs. Aggett,” Murdoch said as he edged past her and followed Madge outside.

  Keeping her voice low, Madge said, “We just had a telephone call from number two station. The body of a young man has been found in a laneway in the Ward. He was carrying calling cards in a silver case with the name Arthur Aggett. He was attacked.”

  “Good Lord. Did they give you a description of the victim?”

  “About twenty years of age. Fair hair and moustache. Blue eyes. Wearing a grey mackinaw jacket and dark brown trousers.”

  Murdoch’s heart sank. “Sounds like Arthur Aggett all right. Ring number two back right away. Say I’ll be over as soon as possible. I assume they need the ambulance?”

  “Yes, they do.”

  “Have Wallace send it out. And order the Ford for me, will you?”

  “I’m so sorry about the boy, Will. The last thing we need is more young men dying.”

  —

  Murdoch returned to his office, Madge again taking up a discreet position near the door. He hardly had time to sit down before Mrs. Aggett said, “You’ve found him haven’t you?”

  “It is possible we have, madam. We have just had a report that the body of a man has been discovered in a laneway not far from your home. The indications are that it is Arthur.”

  “What indications are those?”

  “The deceased was carrying a silver card case. It held calling cards with your son’s name on them.”

  Her face went even whiter. “He does indeed possess a silver case. It belonged to my father. But that proves nothing. It could have been stolen.”

  “That is true. However, the general description of the body, the age and colouring, does fit your son. About twenty years of age. Fair hair and moustache. Blue eyes. The man was wearing a grey mackinaw jacket and dark brown trousers.”

  “I see.”

  “Was Arthur wearing a mackinaw when you last saw him, Mrs. Aggett?”

  “He was. But this does not make sense. He said he was going out to the privy. He took his jacket but he left his Ulster coat and his cap. Why would he do that if he intended to go any farther than the yard?”

  Murdoch thought the most likely explanation was that Arthur didn’t want his mother to know where he was going. He was a young man. A little cold night air wouldn’t daunt him.

  Mrs. Aggett got to her feet and stood, slightly unsteady but still straight. Murdoch thought back to what Arthur had said about his mother needing him to look after her. So far she had shown remarkable resilience.

  “Let us go then, Detective.”

  “I can’t take you to the scene of the crime, Mrs. Aggett. I myself will be able to determine if this is indeed Arthur. I have met him, as you know. But there is a procedure we must follow. We will have to call in a physician to examine the circumstances of the death. I promise I will not leave you in suspense. I will get word to you as soon as possible, one way or the other.”

  “In that case, I shall remain here at the station.”

  Madge came forward to where Mrs. Aggett was sitting.

  “Let’s go into my office, then. It will be more comfortable.” She offered her arm to the older woman.

  Not for the first time, Murdoch was impressed by the constable’s kind and steady manner.

  “I’ll just need a word with Constable Curnoe first,” said Murdoch. He and Madge stepped back out into the hall.

  Murdoch spoke quietly. “I’m going to take the police motor car. I’ll ring you from the signal box on the beat.”

  “If it is her son, do you want me to tell Mrs. Aggett or wait until you get back?”

  Murdoch knew that Madge could handle the situation, but he considered it his responsibility. Besides, he often found it useful to be present when news of a homicide was given to those concerned. All kinds of information had a way of spontaneously tumbling out.

  “Wait for me.”

  “I must admit, I’m hoping against hope this is not Arthur Aggett. It would be devastating for her to lose her only child. And under circumstances such as these.”

  He knew what Madge was getting at. For bereaved mothers whose sons had made the ultimate sacrifice, there might be some consolation to think that they had died nobly.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MURDOCH WAS GLAD WHEN Peter Fenwell insisted he wasn’t too tired to accompany him. He liked working with him.

  “I almost forgot to mention,” said Fenwell as they drove off. “I ran into George Crabtree at the curling rink. He asked me to pass along his regards.”

  “He was promoted to sergeant last year, I hear.”

  “That’s right. He said he’s counting the days until his retirement. And he told me he has two of his sons at the Front.”

  “Does he? I wish them all the best. I knew those boys when they were nippers.”

  “By the way, what happened to Inspector Brackenreid?” Fenwell asked. “I hear he’s living in England now.”

  Murdoch grinned. “He is. Apparently he’s breeding hunting dogs. Trying to find the perfect cross between a spaniel and a retriever.”

  “He probably retired just in time. I’m sure he wouldn’t have been too happy about having to enforce these temperance laws.”

  “I’d say you’re right about that, Peter.”

  Murdoch pulled up at the end of the laneway, where Constable Mogg was keeping watch. He saluted the pair of detectives. He had been called back into service from retirement a few months earlier when the ranks of the police were being stripped by the demands of the war. He was a conscientious man, reliable and, if a bit slow, an asset, in Murdoch’s opinion.

  “Body’s down there, sir,” he said to Murdoch.

  “I assume you were the one who found him?”

  “Yes, sir. Didn’t know what it was at first. Looked like a heap of discarded clothes. I went in closer and saw it was a body.” He handed Murdoch a silver card case. “This was in his jacket, sir. I removed it for the purpose of identification.”

  Murdoch snapped open the case. The calling cards were on good stock, the printing elegant.

  Arthur Aggett, Esquire

  He showed Fenwell. “Fancy. Must have cost him a pretty penny.”

  “Was there anything else?” Murdoch asked Mogg.

  “A few coins in the right-hand pocket of his trousers and a handkerchief in the left breast pocket of the jacket. I left them there.”

  “Good.”

  Murdoch removed his own handkerchief and wrapped the case carefully before stowing it inside his coat. Since his early days as a detective forensic science had advanced considerably, and fingerprints had become an accepted tool of investigation. The card case might yield something helpful.

  He pointed down the laneway. “What’s on the other side of that wall, Constable?”

  “Just a patch of waste ground, sir.”

  “Did you find the weapon?”

  “It’s not in the immediate area but I haven’t had the opportunity to mount a serious search. I thought I should wait for you.”

  “Thank you, Constable. Stay here please. Don’t let anybody by.”

  A few curious passersby were already lingering around the motor car, trying to see what was going on.

  Murdoch nodded at Fenwell. “Let’s take a look. Keep to the side. If there are footprints, we don’t want to trample on them.” As they approached the body, the shock of fair hair, currently blood soaked, and the tweed jacket confirmed what Murdoch had feared.

  “It’s Arthur Aggett all right.”

  He was lying on his left side, close to the wall. One arm was underneath his head, the other s
tretched out in front. The right side of his head was a bloody pulp.

  “He was definitely attacked from behind,” said Murdoch. “Multiple blows, from the look of it. Delivered mostly from the right side. The fingers on that hand are smashed. He attempted to fend them off.”

  “What was he doing in the laneway? It doesn’t seem to lead anywhere. The wall is too high to climb easily.”

  Murdoch bent over the body. “I’d say this is the answer.” He pointed to the victim’s trousers. “His buttons are undone. He must have come up here to relieve himself.”

  Carefully, he fished inside the pocket. There were several coins, which he took out and spread across his own palm: a couple of five- and ten-cent pieces and a few unfamiliar small coins.

  “They look like English shillings,” said Fenwell.

  Murdoch flipped over one of the pieces. “This is a French sou. What do you make of it, Peter?”

  “There’s all sorts of foreign currency floating around nowadays. The soldiers bring it home. It’s not legitimate but some people will accept it. They just pass it along.”

  “Give me your handkerchief. I’ll take these back to the station with me.”

  Fenwell did so. “I wonder why he’s not wearing a hat or an overcoat. It was nippy out last night.”

  “According to his mother, he stepped outside only to go to the privy in the yard. His overcoat and cap are still in the house.”

  “So either he was suddenly seized with the impulse to go walking or…”

  “Or he wanted her to think the privy was the only place he was going. I’d say whoever or whatever he encountered was fairly close to where he lived.”

  “Which was?”

  “On Armoury Street. Probably just three or four minutes away.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JACK GOT TO THE CHINESE LAUNDRY as fast as he could. Not many people were out in such dreary weather, but the shop was open and he went in. In the light of day, he could see that the walls were lined with shelves, all of them crammed with clean laundry wrapped in brown-paper packages. Ghong Lee himself was seated on a high stool behind the counter, writing in a big ledger. He greeted Jack.

  “Your friend upstairs. He hurt hand. One of my sons treating it.”

  He picked up a bell from the counter and shook it. Immediately, the heavy curtains behind the counter parted and the boy, Ying, appeared.

  “Carry Mr. Jack upstairs. Step lively.”

  He lifted the gate to the counter and Jack went through.

  The rear room was hot and even steamier than it had been the night before. The two Chinamen he had met, both stripped to the waist, were standing over the huge vats of boiling water, stirring the sheets with long wooden tongs. They both gave Jack a brief nod but didn’t stop working.

  Ying led the way up the stairs and ushered Jack into the room where he’d been last night. Percy was lying on the same couch, and Jiango Lee was kneeling beside him. Percy was wearing a long, crimson silk robe, which he must have borrowed from his host. Incongruously, he was also wearing a grey woollen aviator cap that he’d brought back with him from the Front.

  Percy called out to Jack as he entered.

  “Hello, Jocko. I’m getting fixed up.”

  There was a small clay pot on the floor holding a plant with spiky leaves. Lee snapped off a piece and squeezed some of the juice onto Percy’s hand.

  “Hmm. Lovely,” murmured Percy.

  The Chinaman got to his feet and bowed toward Jack.

  “Him be all right as rain. Very soon.”

  “What happened?”

  “Him scalded hand.”

  Jack scowled at his friend. “How the hell did you do that, Perce?”

  “Apparently I plunged my hand into the boiler. It was hot.”

  “Of course it was hot, you dolt. What were you thinking?”

  “I’d say I wasn’t…thinking, I mean. I must have been trying to get a clean shirt.”

  “When did you do it?”

  “Some time last night, I believe. Woke up with much pain and a very red hand.”

  Percy blew on his skin.

  “Good stuff. Chinamen make good medicine.” He reached for the opium pipe that was lying on the bed beside him.

  Jack caught hold of his arm. “Wait a minute, for Lord’s sake. Do that later.”

  Jiango picked up the plant.

  “I leave you now. More this night.”

  Jack waited until he’d left the room, then he pulled a chair close to the couch and sat down.

  “All right, tell me what the hell’s going on, Percy. You rang me and said, ‘Jack, I think I’ve killed somebody.’ What do you mean, you think you killed somebody?”

  “When I woke up this morning, I had an image of a man lying on the ground. He was dead. Very bloody. I thought I must have been the one who killed him.”

  Jack groaned and put his head in his hands. “Come on, Percy. You were having a nightmare. I know what that’s like. You don’t even know you’re dreaming at first.”

  Percy’s eyes met Jack’s. “Are you sure that’s what it was?”

  “Of course. And you got me out of bed for this?”

  “I was scared, Jocko. It seemed so real. I thought I remembered hitting somebody. And I had blood on my coat and on my hands.”

  “Where? Let me see.”

  “I can’t. My clothes ended up in the boiler.”

  “My clothes you mean. That suit is probably ruined.”

  “Sorry, Jack. You’d better speak to Mr. Lee.”

  He pushed the aviator cap away from his forehead. The scar was livid.

  “So? What’s the verdict? Did I kill somebody or didn’t I?”

  Jack hesitated for a moment. “The war messes with our minds, Perce. It’s hard to keep things straight.”

  “That’s only saying the half of it, Jocko. Sometimes I think we’ll never go back to being the way we used to be.”

  “It’ll take time, but we will.”

  Percy closed his eyes. “Everything’s so foggy in my mind. Maybe you can tell me what happened last night.”

  “If I can. It’s not that much clearer in my mind. I do know we started off playing a few rounds of fan-tan. At least, I did. Then you said you were bored and you wanted to go out.”

  “Okay so far. I was getting fed up with fan-tan.”

  “We left here and went to a blind pig. Up on Chestnut Street. One of the fellows on the train told us about it, don’t you remember?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he did. There were some blokes in the establishment who were playing Crown and Anchor so we joined in. We also bought some liquor. Don’t ask me what it was. Worse than Chinese firewater, as I recall. Do you remember that?”

  “Vaguely. It’s all blurred together with the fan-tan game. They were cheating us. Not the Chinamen, the ones we met at the blind pig.”

  “I don’t know they were. We were both so ape drunk that I don’t think we were playing properly. You started to argue with one of the players. One thing led to another, I suppose. Got pretty heated.”

  “What were we arguing about?”

  “The usual. Why were the soldiers being left high and dry over there? Did we need conscription?”

  “Were they French Canadians?”

  “No. Just fellows who’d got exemptions.”

  “Slackers, you mean.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Did we come to blows?”

  “You tried to but you weren’t that steady on your feet. I thought discretion was the better part of valour and I got you out of there.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then it gets really foggy for me too. But I do know you wanted to settle matters, as you put it. You wouldn’t calm down.”

  “Sorry. I don’t remember any of this.”

  “Somehow or other we managed to get back here to your digs.”

  “Did you put me to bed?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. I just remember leaving y
ou on the doorstep.”

  “Thanks a lot, pal.”

  “Oh, come on, Perce. We’ve slept in worse conditions. You survived.”

  Percy closed his eyes. After a moment he said softly, “You know what? I really and truly don’t think it’s worth it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Going on.”

  As he was leaving, Jack checked with Ghong Lee. Had Percy returned last night with blood on him? The Chinaman shook his head. “I not aware of such thing. He put all clothes into boiler. We removed them soon and cleaned properly. They are in the wardrobe. Like new.”

  “Did he have blood on his hands?”

  “I not see. His hand scalded. My son heal him with Chinese plant.”

  Jack slapped him on the shoulder. “We could use you people at the Front. We need a few healers.”

  Lee shrugged. “Thank you, sir, for compliment. I hope you not mind if I do not offer my services. Not likely they be accepted.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “YOU ARE TELLING ME, Detective, that my son was murdered?”

  Mrs. Aggett had gone so still she didn’t seem to be breathing.

  “I’m afraid it appears that way, madam.”

  “I don’t understand. Why? By whom?”

  “I can’t say at the moment. We have not yet found the assailant.”

  “You said he was in a laneway?”

  “Yes. The entrance is off Chestnut Street. He was at the far end.”

  “I don’t mean to sound like a parrot, Detective, but I don’t understand. What was Arthur doing in a laneway?”

  “Most likely he was obeying a call of nature. By the look of things, his assailant came up behind him. We found some coins in his pocket that were not Canadian. Two English shillings and a French sou. Do you know why he had them in his possession?”

  Mrs. Aggett looked at him blankly. “I have no idea. He certainly did not show them to me.”

  Murdoch caught Madge’s eye. She stepped forward.

  “Can I get you some tea, Mrs. Aggett?”