Poor Tom Is Cold

by Maureen Jennings

  At that point, Dr. Clark arrived with two burly attendants from the asylum. Fortunately, he was a sensible man and, when he saw how Peg was with Murdoch, he made no attempt to interfere. Murdoch accepted responsibility for his charge and the doctor hurried into the barn to tend to the injured men.

  As soon as Tingle had dealt with the horses, Murdoch persuaded Peg to go with the cabbie to the Kitchens’. He made her promise she wouldn’t try to run away but he knew she wouldn’t. She was still dreadfully shaken, but as far as he could see, she was quite sane. He knew that Mrs. Kitchen would take very good care of her, and if Peg needed anything, it was some motherly attention.

  That done, he went into the barn.

  Dr. Clark had just finished administering morphine to Jarius Gibb, who was propped up against the knee of one of the attendants. Sergeant Hales had brought out more lamps and the scene was bathed in light.

  “Mr. Gibb has dislocated his hip,” said Clark when he saw Murdoch. “We can take him to the hospital, momentarily.”

  “And Mr. Eakin?”

  “He cannot be moved. I fear his back is broken.”

  Frank looked dreadful. His skin was ashen and his face was already swollen, his eyelids puffed to the point of closure.

  Murdoch crouched down beside Jarius Gibb. “Can I ask you what happened, sir?”

  Jarius scowled. “I’ve already talked to the sergeant. I’m not going to repeat it.”

  “As you wish.” Murdoch stood up and pointedly beckoned to Hales, drawing him off to one side, out of earshot.

  “According to Mrs. Eakin, she was up there in the loft and Gibb climbed up and was about to shoot her. She thinks Frank saved her bacon by grabbing Gibb and they both fell. What did he tell you?”

  “He said she was the one with the gun and that he climbed the ladder so that he could talk to her. Persuade her to come down. She aimed at him. He managed to wrest the gun from her, in the process of which it went off. Then he lost his balance and fell off the ladder, taking his brother with him.”

  “Is that likely, do you think?”

  “Dog droppings, if you ask me. Look over there.” Hales pointed to a low, splintered hole in the next partition. “I’d say the gun hit the floor and discharged and I’ll wager it was him was holding it when he fell. He intended to kill the woman, I’m sure of it. When I got to the house, I saw Mrs. Eakin running into the barn. Just then Gibb came up. Said he could look after it.” Hales frowned in chagrin. “I shouldn’t have allowed him to go in but he was soft as shite. I’ve seen lunatics before and I know how riled up they get at the sight of a uniform. So I let him. But as soon as I heard him throw the bolt behind him, I knew something wasn’t right. I’d have gone after him at once but Mrs. Curran got all hysterical and I had her to deal with.”

  “There’s some kind of diary of Gibb’s that Mrs. Eakin came to get. She thinks she dropped it in here somewhere. I’ll have a look.”

  Gibb had been watching them while they talked, but he was distracted by the pain of Dr. Clark trying to immobilize his hip with a makeshift splint. Murdoch crossed in front of him and went into the tack room. A black official-looking ledger was lying in the straw. He picked it up, opened it, and glanced at the contents. He saw enough to think that Peg was right. Holding the journal, Murdoch returned to the doctor. One of the attendants had laid out the stretcher and they were about to lift Gibb onto it. He scowled at Murdoch.

  “That’s mine, I believe. May I have it?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir. Police property until this case is cleared up.”

  “What case is that, officer? You saw her. She’s insane. Can’t help herself. I won’t press charges.”

  “That’s not what I’m referring to,” said Murdoch, and he tapped the ledger. “Let’s see if this gives us some answers.”

  “Lie down, if you please, Mr. Gibb,” said one of the attendants. “We’re going to lift you.”

  Reluctantly, Jarius obeyed and the two men heaved him onto the stretcher. Although the movement must have caused him great pain, Jarius only grunted. He had expressed no concern for Frank, or Peg for that matter. He lay looking up at the ceiling but Murdoch knew there had been fear in his eyes and he was glad of it. The attendants carried him out to the ambulance.

  Murdoch turned his attention back to Frank Eakin.

  “How is he?” he asked the doctor.

  Clark shook his head for an answer. He took a small bottle out of his bag, unscrewed the top, and held the vial underneath the injured man’s nose. Frank opened his eyes, flinching. He couldn’t move his head away from the stinging smell.

  “Can you get this weight off my chest?” he whispered. “I can’t breathe.”

  Dr. Clark shook his head. “Mr. Eakin, there is no weight, you have been injured.”

  “I can’t seem to move my arms. Have you tied them down?”

  “No, we haven’t, sir.”

  A look of panic came into Frank’s eyes. “I must have hit my back on the stove. Jarius was on top of me.”

  He licked his lips. “Could I have a drink of water?”

  “I’ll get him some,” said Hales.

  “Am I dying?” Frank asked; his breath was raspy.

  Dr. Clark was a decent man and his voice was gentle when he spoke. “If you wish I can send for a minister immediately.”

  “No. I thought I heard that detective. Is he here?”

  “Yes, I am.” Murdoch knelt down, leaning in close.

  “I must talk. Tell you the truth.”

  Hales had returned with a dipper and a bowl of water. The doctor dribbled water on Frank’s mouth. Murdoch bent over again.

  “Mr. Eakin, Frank. Do you want to make an official statement?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I am sorry to say this, but for such a statement to be valid in a court of law, I must ask you if you are fully aware of your present circumstances.”

  Frank blinked. “That I’m a goner, you mean?”

  “Yes. That you realise you are dying and that what you are about to say is a true statement on your deathbed.”

  “I understand.”

  “Sergeant Hales, please write down what Mr. Eakin says.”

  Murdoch waited for the sergeant to take out his notebook and pencil. “According to Mr. Gibb, Mrs. Eakin had the shotgun and was about to fire at him. Is this true?”

  Anger seemed to give Frank strength. “No! Other way around. He’s a cold-hearted devil as ever walked on the earth and I ain’t going to die without him getting his comeuppance, same as me … He was going to shoot her. I stopped him. I couldn’t bear seeing her like that. Scared witless. I suppose you might say, the worm turned. He didn’t expect that. I grabbed his legs and we fell.” He managed to meet Murdoch’s eyes. “Is he hurt?”

  “Yes. He’s smashed his hip.”

  “Too bad it wasn’t worse. And her?”

  “She’s in good hands. She will be all right … Frank, Mrs. Eakin says Constable Wicken came to the house the night he died …”

  “Yes, he did. We’d all had a terrible barney the night before. Cooked up by Jarius, of course, and she was barricaded in the upstairs room. She’d called to Wicken from the window and he’d come to see what was the matter.”

  He gagged and yellowish spittle ran from his mouth. Clark took a sponge from his bag and wiped him.

  “Joke was, the three of us, Peter, him, and me, had been having a talk about what to do with her. Jarius kept saying as how she was a loony and should be shut away. Didn’t seem like that to me but he was pushing it. Then in comes the frog and she starts to tell him she was being poisoned …”

  “Was she?”

  “Not by me, nor Aggie, I’m sure. But I wouldn’t put anything past Jarius. He hated her from the first moment she come here. Thinks she’s going to whelp and cut him out.”

  His breath was so harsh Murdoch wondered if he could keep on. He glanced at the doctor, who put his fingers on Eakin’s pulse. He used the vial of ammonia again and
Frank continued, his words faster, as if he were trying to outrace death.

  “I could tell the frog was swayed. Told her he’d look into it. Then she said other things. About me and the horses. Fiddling. He said he wanted to see the stables. He insisted and we all marched over. When he examined the horses, he got his dander up, cos he saw what I’d been doing. Him and me had words. It made me hot. I hit him. Hard. Side of the head … He fell down.”

  Tears started to spill from under the swollen eyelids. “He was just a young fella … I didn’t mean to do for him … Will I go to hell for it?”

  Murdoch winced. “Our Father is ever merciful.”

  He wasn’t sure if Eakin even heard him but his urgency pushed him on. “Jarius took over as always. ‘You’ve killed him, Frank,’ he says, but did I? Did I? He looked bad, white as paint, but maybe he wasn’t dead, I don’t know. Jarius made us wrap him in a blanket and carry him over to the empty house. He had the key. ‘I’m doing this for your sake,’ he said, and he got Peter to prop him up. Then he shot him with his own revolver … he aimed it at the place where I’d hit him. He said it would be easy to make it look like suicide. He wrote the note and he got one of his whores to testify. The one you saw.”

  His voice died away and Dr. Clark wagged his finger at Murdoch, warning him.

  Murdoch took the sponge, wetted it, and bathed Frank’s face and mouth. That seemed to revive him sufficiently for him to continue.

  “That bastard shouldn’t get away with it. He kept saying he was protecting me but he wasn’t. It meant he had me good then, forever. He made me put the revolver in between the officer’s legs. He thought it was a good joke. I’m sorry I did that; it wasn’t right.”

  Again the tears spilled out and down his cheeks.

  “Funny, ain’t it. Papa’s up there not able to move and I’m down here in the same way. Like father, like son. What a laugh. Well, at least he can say I’m following in his footsteps now.”

  There was a sob that couldn’t get past the paralysed walls of his chest and Murdoch could see the light was leaving his eyes.

  “I think you’ve got all you need, Mr. Murdoch,” said the doctor. “His sister should pay her last respects now.”

  Murdoch stood up. He wanted to say something to the dying man, something that might ease his soul into the next life, but even as he looked down at him, he saw it was too late.

  Dr. Clark put the back of his hand under Frank’s nose to check for breath. After a moment, he shook his head.

  “He’s gone.”

  He lifted Frank’s wrist to confirm there was no pulse and then laid the dead man’s hands across his chest. “Sergeant, will you be so good as to bring in Mrs. Curran and her husband.”

  Hales put away his notebook and with a nod at Murdoch he left. The patrol sergeant was a man vindicated.

  “We’ll need to send for a coroner and gather a jury,” continued Clark.

  “I’ll see to that.”

  There was no more to be done here, and Murdoch thought Augusta was owed some privacy in her grief. He’d wait until she had finished before he spoke to Peter Curran.

  He went outside to the yard. After the brightness of the barn, the night seemed dark. He took a deep breath, shivering in the cold air. A horse whinnied softly nearby. Tingle had brought two of the horses out of the barn and they were tethered to the hitching post. Murdoch went over to them. The mare turned her head to look at him and he patted her neck.

  “What a piece of work we men are, my girl. But you don’t care, do you? You just want some mash and a warm stall.” She tossed her head.

  As for him, he felt sick at heart with the awareness of how much pain human beings were capable of inflicting on each other. He, too, wanted to get home as soon as he could. He needed some evidence that love could have as much power as hatred.

  Acknowledgements

  There are always so many people who help along the way in the process of writing a novel. I would like to thank Cindy Boht, who helped me with the horse material; Dr. Jerome Chen, who was my generous resource person; my brilliant dentist, Dr. Stephen Forgacs, who checked my facts and also sent me over to the archives of the Toronto School of Dentistry, where Dr. Dale and I literally climbed over old dentist chairs so she could show me the wonderful collection of dentures; and Larry and Eileen Richard, who kindly instructed me in the finer points of Catholicism. I am grateful that Dr. Geoffery Rheaume made his doctoral thesis on the history of the Queen Street Mental Health Facility available. It gave me invaluable material. I am particularly indebted to Cheryl Freedman, who read the book in manuscript form and gave me extremely helpful feedback. As always, I am grateful to my agent, Teresa Chris, and my editor, Ruth Cavin, for their patience and perspicacity.

  MAUREEN JENNINGS’s first novel in the Detective Murdoch series, Except the Dying, was published to rave reviews and shortlisted for both the Arthur Ellis and the Anthony first novel awards. The influential Drood Review picked Poor Tom Is Cold as one of its favourite mysteries of 2001. Let Loose the Dogs was shortlisted for the 2004 Anthony Award for best historical mystery. Night’s Child was shortlisted for the Arthur Ellis Award, the Bruce Alexander Historical Mystery Award, the Barry Award, and the Macavity Historical Mystery Award. And A Journeyman to Grief was nominated for the Arthur Ellis Award. Three of the Detective Murdoch novels have been adapted for television, and a Granada International television series, The Murdoch Mysteries, based on the characters from the novels, shown on CityTV and UKTV.

  COPYRIGHT © 2001 BY MAUREEN JENNINGS

  First published by St. Martin’s Press, 2001

  First McClelland & Stewart mass market paperback edition, 2002

  This trade paperback edition, 2010

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.

  LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES OF CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

  Jennings, Maureen

  Poor Tom is cold / Maureen Jennings.

  (A Detective Murdoch mystery)

  Originally publ.: New York : T. Dunne Books/St. Martin’s

  Minotaur, 2001

  eISBN: 978-0-7710-4322-2

  I. Title. II. Series: Jennings, Maureen. Detective Murdoch mystery.

  PS8569.E562P66 2010 C813′.54 C2009-906982-2

  We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and that of the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation’s Ontario Book Initiative. We further acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.

  Published simultaneously in the United States of America by McClelland & Stewart Ltd., P.O. Box 1030, Plattsburgh, New York 12901

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CONTROL NUMBER: 2009942547

  McClelland & Stewart Ltd.

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