by Peter Watt
Jack was up the stairs and in the corridor and he could hear the woman’s screams. There was a door open and he could see the light of a hand-held torch. Jack flung himself at the open doorway, pistol raised.
The blade came down and Louise howled as it bit into her flesh. The pain was excruciating but she had managed to twist around, which saved her spine, although she took the impact in her buttock. She was still confused and terrified, attempting to claw her way off the bed to the floor. A voice was shouting from the doorway.
‘Drop it, Lenny, or I will drop you,’ Jack screamed in the confines of the bedroom. ‘Drop the bloody knife or I will shoot you now.’
Lenny had snapped out of the trenches and realised that he was in the beam of a flashlight. He could hear Jack Firth’s commands and he knew he was an easy target. The knife slid from his hand and within a second a plain-clothes officer was on him, punching him senseless.
Jack found the light switch and turned on the bedroom light. He could see great splashes of crimson on the bedding and spreading across Louise’s nightdress. By now, two uniformed police had forced the front door and followed the sounds of commotion to the bedroom.
‘Get Mrs Macintosh to the nearest hospital.’ Jack ordered, taking her hand.
‘My baby,’ Louise moaned, fighting the pain from the stab wounds.
‘Check to see if Mrs Macintosh’s son is all right,’ Jack said to the second uniformed policeman, who reappeared a few minutes later with a crying toddler.
Louise reached up to touch her son as two burly policemen lifted her and carried her from the room.
Jack turned to Lenny, now handcuffed on the floor. ‘You have really done it now, Lenny,’ he said. ‘By the time you and I are through, you’re going to wish you had never been born.’
*
The sun was rising outside the police headquarters and the city was coming alive. But Lenny felt as if he had already died. His head lolled as he fought off badly needed sleep. The adrenaline had dissipated and left him feeling utterly exhausted. He had gone over the same questions time after time with the two police detectives sitting opposite him.
‘No good denying you were trying to kill Mrs Macintosh, Lenny,’ Jack said wearily. He, too, was exhausted and just wanted to get a signature on Lenny’s confession. ‘What I’m not clear about is why you would want to kill her.’
Lenny lifted his head and stared through bloodshot eyes at the detective. ‘If I tell you, you will get me a cup of tea and a smoke?’
‘Yeah, we can do that,’ Jack replied, standing up and stretching his tired limbs. ‘And we can get you a soft cell bed where you can have a good nap before appearing before the beak.’ Jack had sworn the police in his team to secrecy until he figured out who would want Mrs Macintosh murdered in her bed. A terrible suspicion had come to Jack that George might have been behind the plot as he had been unable to contact him.
‘So who put you up to this?’ Firth said, sitting back at the table.
‘The toff who owns the place,’ Lenny lied, hoping to throw the hated policeman off the trail for a while. ‘Seems he has a bit on the side and wanted his missus out of the way.’
Jack Firth paled. This would make matters very difficult. ‘You’re lying, Lenny,’ he snarled. ‘You decided all on your own to do away with the woman – just like you did to that working girl a few months’ back.’
Lenny stared at Jack through eyes that felt as if sand had been poured into them. ‘I thought Harry Griffiths did that one,’ he said. ‘Wasn’t that what I was supposed to say at the committal hearing?’
‘So, you’re saying that you met with a respectable member of the community and he propositioned you to murder his wife?’ Jack said, controlling his temper.
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ Lenny said.
‘Who is this bit on the side that Mr Macintosh is supposed to have?’ Jack countered and Lenny stared blankly at him.
‘Don’t know who she is,’ he said eventually. ‘Maybe you should ask him.’
Jack turned to his offsider. ‘You never heard Lenny incriminate Mr Macintosh,’ he said quietly and the detective nodded his understanding. ‘I’ll sort this out before we proceed any further. You get my meaning?’
The detective nodded again.
Jack found George at the hospital and took him aside in a quiet corridor, out of earshot of any hospital staff.
‘The doctors have told me Louise should recover and that her pregnancy seems intact,’ George said. ‘I was told by one of the uniform policeman how you arrived to save the lives of my wife and my son life last night. I thank you for that.’
‘The man who tried to kill your wife says that you hired him,’ Jack said quietly. ‘Is that true?’
George looked horrified. ‘I may be responsible for what many might consider some despicable things in my life, but hiring someone to murder my wife is not one of them. This man of yours is obviously lying.’
Jack stared at George. ‘He says that you have someone else on the side,’ he continued. ‘Is that true?’
‘Of course,’ George snorted. ‘I have many women whose beds I go to, but my wife knows this and does not interfere.’
‘Where were you last night?’ Jack persisted.
‘I was with one of those many women,’ George answered calmly.
‘I’ll need to know who the lady is,’ Jack said. ‘In the meantime, the man I have in custody is someone you know – Lenny Johnson.’
For a moment George looked puzzled. ‘Is he the man who was to give evidence against that Harry Griffiths chap?’ he asked and Jack nodded.
‘I can’t keep this out of the papers,’ Jack said. Not that Jack wanted to keep the matter out of the newspapers as he would be seen as a heroic figure who had saved the wife of a prominent businessman. His actions would be hailed by all. ‘Questions will be asked and I will not be able to keep your name out of the enquiry – despite the fact I know Lenny is lying. My gut tells me that he is protecting someone else, and I intend to find out who. When I do, I have no doubt that whoever is behind this attempt on Mrs Macintosh will have no link to you.’
‘I cannot thank you enough,’ George said, extending his hand. ‘You know that my gratitude is worth having.’
Jack did not take his hand but stared coldly at the patrician-looking man opposite him. ‘You are not off the hook yet, and if I get any evidence that makes me doubt your innocence, I will have no choice but to investigate it.’
George dropped his hand. ‘I am sure you will do your duty but I am innocent and trust in the law to see to that.’
‘So, who were you with last night?’ Jack asked again.
‘A young lady by the name of Maude Urqhart,’ George replied and he could see a strange expression on the policeman’s face. ‘Does that have any meaning to you?’
‘Maude Urqhart,’ Jack echoed. ‘If I remember rightly, Lenny has a half-sister by that name. She used to work the streets when she was a kid.’
George paled and could feel a shiver of fear. If he’d had any hope that the murder conspiracy had no link to him, that had quickly evaporated. For the first time in his life he truly felt cornered. Maude’s link with Lenny could see him accused of trying to kill his wife. Innocent men had been hanged before. How could life throw such a cruel twist against him? The echo of an old Aboriginal curse rebounded in the dreary corridor of the hospital.
20
It was the afternoon by the time Jack Firth had finished speaking to George Macintosh, who provided the detective with Maude Urqhart’s address. Jack went to the address in the company of his faithful officer, Dick Mawdsley, and knocked vigorously on the door of the tenement house. Eventually it was opened and a middle-aged man stood glaring at the two detectives. It did not take long for Jack to realise that George had given him the run-around with the wrong address, and he returned to police HQ in a black mood. But why had Macintosh provided a wrong address? Jack pondered. He must have known that Jack would eventually ca
tch up with Maude Urqhart one way or another. Something definitely smelled fishy about the attempt on Mrs Macintosh’s life. Jack had still not crossed George off his list of prime suspects.
*
Maude was jumpy when George appeared at her front door. There had been no contact with Lenny and she was not sure if he had succeeded in their plot to kill Louise Macintosh and her child. Maude attempted to hide her strained nerves by flinging herself into George’s arms when he stepped through the doorway.
‘Oh, I’ve missed you,’ she said, kissing him on the mouth and noticing how tense he was. ‘Is something wrong, my darling?’ she asked, stepping back to look at him with a frown on her pretty face.
‘I’ve just come from the hospital where my wife is recovering from an attack on her only hours ago at our home,’ he said slowly.
‘Oh, how terrible,’ Maude cried. ‘Is she hurt badly?’
‘She will recover – so I have been told by the doctors,’ George said, taking Maude’s hand and leading her upstairs to the bedroom. ‘I know it’s a terrible thing to say, but had the attempt succeeded, then you and I could have been together forever. You know, I even suspected that you sent the assassin.’
Maude blushed and bowed her head. ‘Do you really mean that?’ she asked softly. ‘That if your wife had died, then we would be together?’
George reached the bedroom and led Maude inside, turning to begin stripping away her clothing. ‘You know that I love you more than anything else in this world,’ George said smoothly as Maude’s clothes fell to the floor, revealing her young, smooth body to him. ‘But I would need a gesture from you to prove your love for me – something that we could keep between ourselves, as a reminder of our everlasting love for each other.’
Tears welled in Maude’s eyes as she let George push her naked body onto the bed. ‘You know I would do anything for you, my darling,’ she replied, gazing up at George who was still clothed. ‘Just ask me.’
George leaned back, straddling her small body. ‘I want you to write a letter saying how you planned to have my wife murdered. By doing that you will have proved to me just how much your love means, and then we will be together when I divorce my wife.’
Maude sat up and embraced George. ‘If that’s all it takes, I’ll do it,’ she replied. ‘But why would you want me to write such a letter?’
George removed himself from the bed and stood over Maude. ‘To do such a risky thing would prove you truly love me,’ he said. ‘No one would ever see the letter, of course, but I’m testing you, my little darling, and if you cannot write the letter then I know you do not love me.’
Confused thoughts swirled in the young girl’s head. What she was doing was admitting to her part in a plot to kill a woman, and that was a dangerous, even deadly thing to do. But, on the other hand, she knew that George was a ruthless man and if she failed the test he would not hesitate to replace her. ‘I have paper and pen, but I’m not a good letter writer,’ she said eventually.
‘It doesn’t have to be perfect, and as soon as you have written it I will take the letter and destroy it in front of you.’
Maude thought for a moment. It was just a test; what harm could come from it if George intended to destroy the incriminating letter. ‘What should I write?’ she asked.
‘I can help you there,’ George said, running his hand down her breasts and to her thighs. ‘Write that you and your half-brother planned to kill my wife.’
‘How did you know that my brother is involved?’ she asked in alarm. ‘Has something happened to him?’
‘No, no,’ George reassured. ‘The police have him, but he didn’t kill Louise, so he can’t be charged with murder,’ he said. ‘I’ll pay for the best legal defence in Sydney to represent your brother – anonymously, of course – so you have nothing to fear on that matter. Just go ahead with the letter and everything you want will be yours.’
Maude took the pad of paper and pen from her bedside cabinet. She dipped the nib into a bottle of ink and began writing painstakingly slowly in a childish hand.
‘How do I spell “murder”?’ Maude asked.
‘It does not matter if you misspell words,’ he said, glancing over her shoulder and stroking her nipples. ‘Just write what I have told you and we can put the matter behind us.’
Maude looked up at George and smiled weakly. ‘If this is what I have to do . . .’ she said and returned to her laborious task of spelling out that she and her brother had planned to kill Louise, and that they had acted alone. As she did so she dreamed about life in the luxurious mansion overlooking Sydney Harbour. Eventually she finished, filling the page with her simple words, and handed the confession to George.
‘Good,’ he said, scanning the letter. ‘All you have to do is sign it, and I can keep my part of the bargain.’
Maude smiled nervously. She hated to admit it but she was harbouring the slightest suspicion about George’s motives and was starting to regret this self-incriminating act she was committing in the name of love. Still, she didn’t have much choice now; she was backed into a corner. She took the letter and signed her name, then passed the document back to George.
‘Now we seal our love the best way I know,’ George leered, placing the letter on the bedside cabinet.
‘Aren’t you going to get rid of the letter now?’ Maude asked.
‘As soon as we have finished doing what you do best,’ he said, climbing onto the bed and unbuttoning his pants. ‘Just lie down on your stomach.’
Maude obeyed. She could feel his rasping breath on the back of her neck and felt his strong grip of her hair as he pulled back her head. But then she felt something else – a sharp stinging pain in her right arm.
‘What is it?’ she asked in alarm. She tried to roll over but he held her down.
‘It is nothing,’ George said and his voice was coming from far away. ‘Just go to sleep.’
Maude felt a huge wave of euphoria and sighed as the darkness came to her.
George eased himself off the bed and pulled up his trousers. The syringe was still deep in Maude’s arm and the dosage of heroin was enough to kill three people. He leaned forward to see if she was still breathing, and noted with satisfaction that her sleep was becoming deeper by the minute. Soon enough she would stop sleeping – and die.
He looked around the bedroom. The confession was on the bedside cabinet, near Maude’s body, and it was not likely that anyone other than the police would be visiting her now. It was strange, George thought as he tidied himself to leave. This was the first time he had killed someone with his own hand, and he liked the feeling very much. It gave him an enormous sense of power; it was thrilling, almost ecstatic, and now he had done it once, he wanted to do it again.
A furious Jack Firth confronted George in his office the next day about the wrong address, and George responded by saying that it was his fault because he had been so distressed that he had given the wrong address.
Jack stormed from George’s office and for the rest of the day George felt as if he was holding his breath. It was only a matter of time before the detective inspector stormed back through the office door when he found Maude’s body. George contemplated whether he should go to the hospital to visit his wife or retire to his club until the next meeting with Jack Firth. He decided on the club so he could have a stiff drink to settle his nerves.
As it was Jack did not visit until the next day.
George had the secretary usher the policeman into his office and closed the door.
‘We found her – just as you knew we would,’ Jack growled, not bothering to remove his hat. ‘We found the suicide note, and my only question to you is, when did you visit Lenny’s sister last?’
George stood up from behind his desk and went to the window. He felt uncomfortable having the policeman staring down at him with his expression of contempt. ‘I believe the last time I saw Miss Urqhart was the night my wife was attacked,’ George replied, clasping his hands behind his back. ‘I am shocked
to hear that Maude has taken her life, but I am not surprised. She had such a miserable upbringing and I suppose no woman likes to think that she will spend the rest of her life earning a living on her back – yet what other option was open to the poor girl?’
‘So, she was a drug user,’ Jack said. ‘I’m surprised that you would tolerate such a thing.’
George turned to the detective. ‘I accepted the poor girl’s wretched past and did not judge her,’ he said sanctimoniously. ‘I suppose I should do the right thing and arrange a decent burial for her.’
‘I know you killed her, George,’ Jack said. ‘But I also know I could never prove it in light of the letter and your position in this town. Let’s just say that we’re square, and now we both go our own way.’
‘I think that is impossible,’ George countered. ‘We know too much about each other’s frailties and I suspect that you like my money too much to break our arrangement. You can rest assured that I am far too smart to make any mistakes that might embarrass either of us. I have it in my power to have you promoted to superintendent. So I expect you to steer the investigation into my wife’s assault in the direction of a misguided young woman plotting to kill her lover’s wife, because that is really what happened.’
‘I can accept that,’ Jack said, removing his hat and turning it round and round in his hands. ‘But the death of your mistress is another matter.’
‘She died from an overdose,’ George shrugged. ‘What more can we say?’
‘I didn’t tell you that she died from an overdose,’ Jack said. ‘How could you know?’
‘You mentioned her drug use, and I presumed that is how she killed herself,’ George answered quickly. ‘We move on, and I trust in your influence to keep any mention of the link between myself and Miss Urqhart from the newspapers.’