by David Hood
The suddenness of the attack and its hostility so quickly sharpened into a single word brought Squire to a halt as if he were at the tip of a spear. “Just wondering if you’re feeling ok, you look a little tired.” He wondered if he had looked as foolish as he sounded now replaying things in his head.
“You practising your concern for when you’re a mommy?” Mackay had sneered back at him. He seemed to want Squire to come at him. Squire remained still, recalling what Baxter had said about Mackay being strong as an ox, and mean. “You’re Baxter’s new fart catcher, how lovely for you. Out here, I’m in charge and I’m telling you to stand back. It looks like someone needs their hand held, I’ll let you know.” Squire had let Mackay get a few strides ahead, let his stomach unclench and some of the redness drain from his face before starting after him.
Signs of a struggle. That’s what Squire had been looking for out of the corner of his eye. Some redness or swelling that would match Perry’s story and his split lip. Mackay didn’t have a mark on him and Squire wondered if Perry had been telling the truth, that it had been Mackay in the bar. The not too faint smell of stale liquor on his breath and the match-strike temper said it likely was. And with all that, Squire had to ask himself what chance there was of him keeping Mackay from going too far. Watching him now, in a back corner with this lady abbess, the only place Squire saw Mackay going was through the curtain. If that happened he’d be more at a loss than he had been out on the street.
When Mackay finally stood up and came back toward him, his boulder head looking like it might crash through him and then the door, Squire’s stomach tightened up again, though a little of the tension fell out of his shoulders. He stepped out of the track Mackay was on, and the big man lumbered past, then Squire fell in behind. A collective sigh of relief helped push the door closed behind them, and Squire knew he had at least one thing in common with everyone inside—a healthy fear of Police Sergeant Finton Mackay.
The scene behind the second door was much the same, dim and wilted looking. The keeper was a man this time. He could have been Mackay’s brother, same barrel chest and rattlesnake charm. Mackay did have a drink this time and paid no attention to Squire in the process. Even if he had, at that point Squire was more interested in getting along than following the police manual.
Once again Squire followed Mackay out the door at a safe distance. After a block or so he dared to get shoulder to shoulder. Looking straight ahead he asked in a voice he tried to make strong enough to draw an answer without being tough enough to pick a fight, “So, you going to tell me what’s going on, or you expect me to keep pretending I’m deaf and dumb?”
“You know this case better than me,” Mackay said. “What do you think we’re doing? We’re looking for witnesses.”
“So far all you’ve done is talk to a couple of brothel keepers. What can they tell us?”
“They can tell us what we need to know.” Mackay was impatient. Squire held in.
“Which is?”
“Where to find Annie Higgenbottom.”
He expected no answer at all. He asked anyway. “Who?”
“A girl who has been working at Clarke’s lately. And before you bother asking, it’s not a matter of how I know. All that matters to you, or the chief inspector, is that Annie will talk to me, maybe help with the case, if we can find her.”
“Maybe she left town.”
Mackay shrugged, walked a few steps in silence, suddenly interested in the sidewalk. “That could be. I think she has brothers in the Boston states. That’s it, though. Most of her family is here. Mind you they don’t see eye to eye, given her…ah…profession.”
“You think she went from Clarke’s to another…” Squire almost said whorehouse, but thought better of it. He had heard Mackay curse Ellen Reardon, call her a hedge whore. In spite of that, he sensed the sergeant made distinctions and wouldn’t hear a bad word about Miss Higgenbottom. “Place of work?” Now it was Mackay looking him over from the corner of an eye. Squire couldn’t tell if Mackay was merely confirming his low opinion or if Squire might be getting some benefit of the doubt. In any case Mackay kept talking.
“Likely all of Charlie’s girls went to other keepers or they’re hiding out in boarding houses.”
“How many girls do you think were at Clarke’s that night?” Squire got another sidelong glance but Mackay didn’t bother playing dumb.
“If it was the sort of night Baxter thinks is was, likely only three or four.”
“And Clarke knows where they are.”
“Depends on how scared they are.”
“Scared of Charlie?”
“Charlie’s no saint, but he’s not the kind to hurt his girls.”
“A customer then.”
Mackay looked direct at him now. “Is that what Baxter thinks?”
Squire shook his head. “I think…We just met really…He seems angry.”
Mackay had come to a stop. He pointed at the door at the top of the stairs he was facing. “Tell you what I know. If we don’t strike some pay dirt here we’re in trouble. You can be sure word is spreading. If one of these girls really did see what happened, soon as she hears we’re looking, the race out of town will be on.”
They climbed the stairs and Mackay knocked. There was no slot with eyes darting side to side, no hesitation. The door opened wide and a trim middle-aged woman appeared. Her dark hair was pulled back, netted, and pinned into a tight bun. Her black dress began at the tip of her shoes and ended in a tight ruffle high on her neck, its sleeves were tight and came a little past the wrist into the palm of her hand. Her face was pale and plain, no powder or rouge. She looked as though she might be giving lessons in classical piano or temperance lectures. Mackay must have knocked on the wrong door. “Sergeant Mackay, Constable Squire, please come in.” She left them at the door and went through an archway into a large drawing room. Mackay waved Squire through, then closed the door.
Mackay did not bother asking why this woman seemed to be expecting them or how she knew Squire’s name, questions Squire would have asked. Mackay got straight to the point. “Georgina, I need your help.”
“You’re looking for Annie.”
Mackay flashed Squire a satiric glance before he answered. Word was spreading like a brush fire. “Is she still here?”
“I told her to get on a train, even offered her some travel money.”
“She’ll be all right, Georgina. I promise.” The look he got from Georgina said she trusted Mackay, and she would go on worrying for Annie all the same.
Slowly Georgina moved aside and for the first time Squire realized there was a fourth person in the room.
Most of the time, Annie was a pretty girl. Not today. Lack of sleep and worry had taken the shine out of her eyes. Her hair was in her face. She looked run over.
Mackay took a step forward as Annie spoke. He seemed to move on instinct or as if drawn by a magnetic force. Then he halted too quickly. “You look good,” he said.
“You’re a lousy liar.”
A couple of other girls had crept up behind Annie. Their eyes were sympathetic, but they stood on their toes, ready to run if need be. Squire watched Georgina come across the room toward the nervous covey. Her walk was slow and seductive and it occurred to Squire how far off his first impression had been. Glad to be shooed away, the girls skittered down the hall whence they came. Georgina paused at Annie’s shoulder. She spoke in a soft voice. The look she gave Mackay was anything but. “You want them to leave, you come get me.” She patted Annie’s shoulder, then clapped her hands to scatter the birds a little farther.
“You should sit.” Mackay pointed to a divan on the opposite wall. Annie nodded. The house was warm. She wrapped her arms about herself as if she was very cold. The short walk seemed to take a great deal out of her. Maybe it was because her place was on the second floor or that she thought sunlight was a disinfe
ctant. If Squire were forced to guess he would say it was because Georgina had no qualms with the path money took into her pocket. Whatever the reason, the drapes on the large window were drawn back full. The light pouring in lit up the far end of the room. The frizzy ends of Annie’s wild blond hair turned orange and waved lightly on tiny currents of air. As she sat small and stiff on the divan all Squire could picture was the unfortunate women of Salem he had once read about in school. He felt a sudden stab of pity. He also didn’t want to get too near the blaze.
Mackay showed no such fear. He followed Annie and sat close enough to give her strength and not so close he might scare her any more than she already was. His delicacy was more powerful because he seemed incapable of it. The flames died down a little, or perhaps it was just Mackay’s body blocking some of the light.
Squire stood in the pale shadow across the room like a child eavesdropping on an adult conversation. Annie was slow to speak, as if her words were hard to find and fit in place. Yes, she knew who Victor Mosher was and yes, she was sure he was one of the men at Clarke’s last Friday night.
“Who else was there?” Mackay asked. His voice was light and buoyant, trying to take some of her weight.
“Martha and Sarah were with me. We’re the youngest.” She shrugged as if to say this was to be expected.
“Who was with Victor?”
“Oh…ah…I don’t know.”
“Think, Annie.”
She sighed and looked at the ceiling, seeming to get only broken images. “That man with the…He’s always…government…”
“An alderman like Victor?” Mackay asked.
“No, the other one.”
“The provincial government.”
“Yeah. They called him assemblyman…Lovett, that’s it…Samuel Lovett.”
“That’s good, Annie. Who else?” Mackay pushed.
Her eyes came down from the ceiling. She looked at Squire for only a moment then focused on Mackay. “Honest, Finny, I don’t know.”
“Just tell me what else you remember.”
“It was a card game. Me and Martha and Sarah were there just in case. Charlie told us to stay in the front parlour.”
“Did you?” Now it was Mackay that took a quick look his way. Squire couldn’t tell if he was being warned to pay attention or not to.
“Me and Martha did.” Now Annie looked away from Mackay, not out the window, only as far as its glass. “That’s where we were when Sarah screamed. We thought one of them had hurt her.” When Mackay asked where Sarah was at that moment, Annie went on, in a kind of trance, to tell how she had gone upstairs with Victor, how they had gone upstairs once or twice before. And although Sarah wouldn’t say too much, Annie was pretty sure they had met a few times in nicer places.
“So where was Sarah when she screamed?”
Annie blinked and looked down from the window pane and studied her hands. At first Squire thought she had not heard the question. Finally she said, “In the back landing, by the stairs.”
Mackey put a hand on the divan between them. “Did you see what happened?”
“No, Martha and I were too afraid to move. There was a commotion, a fight, I think. We stayed put. Then Charlie came and said something bad had happened and we had to get out.”
Annie didn’t keep a room at Clarke’s. She said Charlie was always good to them. “He would never touch our things or overcharge for board.” Still Annie preferred to keep her distance.
“You sure you didn’t see anything? You need to tell me, Annie.” For the first time Mackay sounded like a policeman.
“I was scared for Sarah, but I didn’t want to see…I had my coat right there. I ran all the way, all three blocks. I locked the door to my room and hid under the covers.”
“Martha?”
Now Annie let a hand slip out of her lap onto the divan, almost touching Mackay’s, though not quite. His hand didn’t move. “I don’t kn…” Her voice caught before she could finish.
This time the glance Mackay gave him was a simple request and Squire did him the courtesy of looking away. Mackay covered Annie’s hand with his own. “But…?” he asked gently without losing his insistence.
“Next morning I heard a knock…real quiet. At first I thought it was down the hall.”
“It was Sarah?”
“I wouldn’t answer at first, she had to tell me it was her through the door.”
“Did she…” Mackay checked himself. “Keep going.”
“She was trying not to show it, still I could see she was real scared. Someone took her to the Aberdeen Hotel.”
“Who?”
Annie looked at the ceiling again then shook her head. “She didn’t say…only that the room was nice. The man came back in the morning with breakfast. Told her it was best she stay, he would come back later. She ate a little, then snuck out.”
“Came to you.”
“Uh huh.”
“To tell you what happened.”
“To check on me…be with someone she could trust.”
Mackay took his hand off hers and cleared his throat. Being patient was an effort for him. “Tell me what Sarah told you, Annie, tell me who killed Victor.”
Her eyes got wide and for the first time her voice was almost loud. “I swear to God, Finny, she didn’t say. All she told me was that Victor was dead. Stabbed, she said.”
“You want me to help you, I need the truth.”
“That’s all I know. We talked about other things to keep our minds off being scared. Next morning Sarah got up and left.”
“To go where?”
“She wouldn’t tell me.”
“Was she planning to stay in the city? Get on a train? Did she have any money?”
“I don’t know for Christ’s sake…”
Georgina reappeared. She looked reassuringly at Annie and hard at Mackay. Annie let out a long breath and relaxed her shoulders. “After Sarah left, I felt really alone and then even more afraid. I used to work for Georgina…I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”
“You did the right thing, honey,” Georgina added in a manner that made Squire think it would be terrible to have her as an enemy.
“So you’ve been here since Sunday?” Mackay asked. Annie managed a nod.
“Anybody look for you?”
“Just you two,” Georgina answered for her.
“What should I do, Finny?”
It occurred to Squire at this point that he had no idea how old Sergeant Mackay was. Older than himself, certainly. Sometimes as old as dirt it seemed. Mackay patted Annie’s hand and then stood up.
“Stay bottled up here with Georgina.” They exchanged nods. “Martha may be able to tell us something more. We know Sarah can. We’ll find them and get this mess cleared up.”
Culligan Baxter was not a betting man. He guessed even the most reckless gambler wouldn’t take a bet on what might happen. If Squire said the wrong thing, which could be just about anything, he could find himself on the seat of his pants rubbing his jaw. On the other hand, the young man was showing himself to be no fool and Baxter thought there was a toughness to him, strength Squire didn’t know he had, and if Mackay did get ugly, he might get a surprise. Watching the two men leave, Baxter thought less about them finding a way to get along, and more about what might happen if they couldn’t find a witness. He pushed that thought aside. He dug for his watch as he climbed the stairs. Twenty past ten. Saunders would have all afternoon. Baxter just needed to get his hat.
“There you are, Chief Inspector. I’ve been going in circles.” Meagher had the look of a lost toddler who had just been found. Baxter thought his relief might lift him off the ground.
“Then it’s a draw.”
“Pardon?”
“Earlier it was me who was looking for you.”
His whole body
rippled like a bed sheet in the wind and Baxter couldn’t tell if Meagher had been taken by a chill, or nerves. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry, Sir, I’m still fighting off this bug, I just can’t seem to shake it.”
“Tolliver wants a stop put to these break-ins. The mayor is getting calls.”
Meagher managed to steady himself a little. “Not break-ins really. Seems whoever is doing this just reaches in and makes off with the first thing they find on a coat rack. Or someone’s domestic help steps in off the porch for just a moment, and this character is off with a pair of freshly shined shoes.”
“I read the reports.” They had come to Baxter’s office. Meagher waited outside.
As the chief inspector came out adjusting his hat, Meagher continued. “I’ve set up additional patrols. Some likely culprits have been questioned.”
“Let it be known in the upper streets we are very interested in this. The responsible party is one of them, you can be sure. Given a little incentive, a neighbour will point us in the right direction.”
“Any progress on the Mosher case?” Baxter knew the question was just honest curiosity, not a rib, still it piqued him just a little.
“We’re talking to people.”
“But you haven’t gotten a confession?”
Baxter stiffened, and Meagher couldn’t stop his hand from coming up as if to protect himself. Baxter started to say something, then looked at Meagher as if they had never met. Before Meagher could say anything else, Baxter said, “See to this foolishness before the mayor gets another call, will you please.” As he spoke, Baxter patted the sergeant on the shoulder then stepped around him as if he were furniture. Baxter was nearly at a run by the time he reached the door.
He had been shown in by a teller. Though the man showed no reaction one way or the other, Baxter didn’t expect Saunders was glad to see him. “What can I do for you, Chief Inspector?”