by Bettie Jane
Julia laughed out loud. “You have my eternal permission to buy me drinks. Between Jacob and the Dock Murders, I’m definitely going to need some fashionable cocktails. One more thing, if I’m truly in danger, feel free to rescue me. But don’t try to rescue me because you fear I might, someday in the future, be in danger. Deal?”
“Deal!”
“One other thing.”
Frankie looked cornered. “What?”
“You may continue to call me the great Julia Barlow.”
They both burst into laughter that she was in desperate need of.
“Why don’t you drive us?” she suggested. “We’ll start at St. Vincent’s and see what we can learn. According to Harry’s notes, there are a few nuns who may have had interaction with all of the women who went missing and were eventually murdered. I’d like to interview them to see if I can get a handle on what, if any, involvement the orphanage or its staff members may have had in all of this. That reminds me. Take a look at this last note in Harry’s notebook. There’s a name. I can’t quite make it out. Can you?”
Julia opened Harry’s notebook and showed it to Frankie.
“I see what you mean,” he said. “It is difficult to make out the writing. It looks as if the first letter is a V, but I can’t tell much beyond that.”
She peered over his shoulder at the smudged writing. “You’re right. I think that is a V. Well, that is more than I could make out on my own. You are proving to be a fascinating assistant already, Frankie. I saw Harry’s most current black notebook at the crime scene, soaking in his blood. I need to see the contents of that notebook. This must not be his most recent log. There must be additional information in the book he was carrying at the time of his murder.”
“A trip to Scotland Yard might be in order then? Do you suppose Jacob will let you see the notebook?”
“Perhaps I’ll steal it. Stealing from the police is rather fun, actually.”
She winked at him, then grew serious.
“You really are a good friend, Frankie. Let’s go, shall we.”
6
Tuesday, February 12th, 1921
St. Vincent’s Orphanage
Hampstead
London
Frankie and Julia arrived at the St. Vincent’s and found the administration offices. Still unable to find her little black notebook that was something of security blanket for her was endlessly frustrating, and the confidence that Julia usually felt with Jacob next to her continued to wane in his absence. She squared her shoulders, however, and approached the sour-faced nun who sat behind the bare, wooden desk, reading a Bible.
“Hello, my name is Julia Barlow. I wonder who I might be able to speak with regarding a former resident of this orphanage.”
The nun studied Julia’s face, set down the novel she was reading and spoke.
“Those records are confidential. Good day.” The nun returned to her Bible, thoroughly dismissing Julia with both her words and her body language.
Julia was taken aback by the immediate refusal, and Frankie gave her a wide-eyed look. No wonder Harry was frustrated and felt like they were hiding something. She recalled Scotty mentioning that Harry didn’t seem fond of the Catholics. She herself wasn’t Catholic, but she knew nuns had a reputation as harsh taskmasters.
She took a brief moment to gather her thoughts, giving Frankie a confident look. She noticed a young woman, who approached and stood shyly behind the cranky older woman. The young girl kept her eyes on the floor.
“I work for The Daily News,” Julia said, “and I’m writing a story about the Dock Murder girls. My understanding is that each of them lived here. I’d like to write a fair story and include any details or information your facility might want to add. This is an opportunity for St. Vincent’s to tell its side of the story. Are you certain there is nobody here that I can talk to?”
The nun let out a long, exasperated sigh and closed her Bible once more. She stared at Julia for a long moment, and Julia wondered if she’d decided to help.
“Mary, what do you want?” The nun spoke to the young girl behind her without taking her eyes off of Julia.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Sister Therese. Sister Gwendolyn sent me to fetch a mop bucket from you. I’m to mop the library.”
“In that cabinet.” She tipped her head toward a bank of cabinets to her left. “Get it and go about your business. Quit lurking about like a witless gossip.”
Mary dipped a polite bow and started rummaging through a cabinet. Sister Therese, apparently satisfied with that issue, now addressed Julia.
“As I said, our records are confidential. Even if I wanted to comment about who did or didn’t live here, I am unable to. You can make whatever assumptions you like for your story, but those poor girls have suffered enough. I won’t aid your negative portrayal of them in the press. If they lived here, I would have a responsibility to keep their stories confidential. There is no reason the orphanage should be put on trial.”
Julia pulled out the few files that she’d brought from Harry’s collection. She opened them on the desk in front of the woman and pointed at each one. The young woman, Mary, risked a glance at the papers and her face paled.
“Do you see these files, Sister Therese? I already know they lived here. Nicole, Rebecca, Sharon, and Louise. I have no wish to portray murder victims in a negative light. I simply want to find justice for them. It’s quite strange that they all grew up here and then were all murdered in the span of a few weeks in the same circumstances. Surely you can see that you have an obligation, a moral duty even, to help discover what led to their fate, to bring their killer to justice.”
“I have no obligation to talk to the press.” She folded her arms across her chest, and her face tightened into an even more austere look.
“What about the women, the former children who grew up here, what about them?” Julia’s anger grew, a recurring problem today. How could someone be so cold? “Don’t you want to protect others from that same end? The Dock Murderer is still on the loose. Doesn’t that matter to you at all? How could you care for children and then turn your back on them?”
Sister Therese pushed her chair back and stood, the lines around her mouth intensifying and her cold gaze boring into Julia.
“How dare you come here and make baseless accusations. Of course I care about the children who grew up here. It isn’t for you to decide my level of affection for these children.”
She seemed to remember suddenly that Mary was still behind the desk, opening and closing cabinet doors.
“Oh, for goodness sake, Mary.” Sister Therese walked across the small space and opened a tall cabinet to pull out a mop bucket, shoving it toward Mary. “Take this to Sister Gwendolyn.”
“Yes, Sister Therese.” Mary scurried away, risking a glance back at Julia. She looked frightened, and Julia’s blood felt like it was lava in her veins.
“Miss Barlow, please leave. I’ll not give you any information or any more of my time.”
Julia glared at her, gathered up her files and handed them to Frankie.
“Come along, Frankie. We’ll have to find another way.”
Julia, with Frankie on her heels, stormed through the halls of the orphanage toward the exit.
“What an awful woman. How could she be sitting on information that might save lives and refuse to offer aid?”
“She is a cranky old battle-axe then, isn’t she?” Frankie agreed. “Don’t worry, Julia. You’re right about one thing. We will find another way.”
Out of the corner of Julia’s eye, she saw a motion. The girl, Mary, stood at the end of a hallway, just before the exit doors. She motioned for Julia to follow her and then disappeared around the corner.
“Did you see that, Frankie? The girl?”
He nodded. “I did. Shall we follow her?”
“I will. You take these files outside and wait for me. That one seems to scare easy. I’ll meet you outside.”
He opened his mouth to argue, saw
the warning look on Julia’s face and closed it again.
“I’m not in danger,” she told him. “Don’t try to protect me until I am. That was our deal, right, Frankie?”
He nodded. “Yes, that was our deal. Don’t be long. This place gives me the creeps. I would hate to have lived here as a child.”
They split up. Frankie went outside, and Julia raced down the hall toward where she’d last seen Mary.
Mary was waiting for her around the corner.
“Miss, what you were saying’ about those girls and this place…I want to help.”
“Do you know something? Did you know the women who were murdered, the ones from my files? I saw you peek at them.”
She shook her head, looking guilty.
“It’s all right. I’m not upset that you looked at the files, dear.”
“I didn’t know them myself, Miss, but I’ve heard others talk about them when they think nobody is around. They are called the Dock Girls, aren’t they?”
Julia nodded and waited for Mary to proceed.
“There’s another woman that I heard them talking about. Her name is Brenda. She’s gone missing. I overheard Mr. Smith talking about her being an honorary Dock Girl. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know who can help. The Sisters here—they aren’t very kind.”
Julia’s mind was racing. The Sisters here seemed absolutely awful. Brenda, an honorary Dock Girl. Julia mulled that name over. She was fairly certain that Brenda was the first name of one of the persons of interest in Harry’s files.
“I noticed. Tell me about this Mr. Smith who mentioned Brenda?”
“I don’t think he is a very good man, Miss. He hasn’t hurt me. I don’t think I am quite his type. He bothers the blonde, thin girls, and I’m chubby. Everyone is afraid of him. I’m glad I’m chubby and he doesn’t notice me.”
Julia fought the urge to sick up at this.
“He works here?”
“Yes. He is a groundskeeper. The girls that he hurts, he always takes them to his gardening shed behind the St. Mary’s church house. Nobody talks about what happens there, but nobody that goes in the shed with Mr. Smith ever wants to go back.”
Smith was a common last name. She was going to need more information if she was going to track him down. She felt instantly protective of Mary and the other girls and already knew she wouldn’t rest until this man was stopped.
“Have you ever heard anyone use his first name, Mary?”
She thought for a second. “I think it is Walter.”
“Mary, you’ve done very well. Why don’t you scoot along now before someone sees you talking to me. I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’ll see what I can discover for myself about Mr. Smith. You don’t need to worry. I won’t mention your name at all. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure your safety, do you understand?”
“Thank you, Miss.”
She turned to go, but Julia stopped her.
“Mary? Call me Julia. How old are you?”
“I’m thirteen, Miss Julia.”
“You are very brave, Mary. I’ll come back and see you sometime soon. Will that be all right with you?”
Marcy curtsied and a blush rose in her cheeks. “That would be wonderful, Miss Julia. I don’t get many visitors.”
“Very well. Run along then so you aren’t caught with me. I doubt they’d appreciate your helping me very much.”
Once Mary was out of sight, Julia jogged through the halls and outside to where Frankie was waiting for her by her vehicle.
“Did the girl have something helpful to say?”
“Yes, in fact. She mentioned there is a groundskeeper working here by the name of Walter Smith. All the girls are afraid of him. Some of them, it seems he has a particular type—a type not dissimilar to the Dock Girl profile—are taken out to his shed, and then they never speak of what’s happened. All of them are afraid to go back, and nobody wants to be alone with Mr. Smith. I’d like to get my hands on this Walter Smith and teach him a lesson.”
“How frightening for those girls,” Frankie said. “I should like to help you ensure this disgusting creature is stopped as well.”
Julia nodded, now seated inside her auto. “You can drive again, Frankie. I need to think.”
He slid behind the wheel but didn’t start the auto, waiting instead as if he knew Julia needed to talk out her thoughts.
“Mary mentioned that she overheard Mr. Smith talking about the murders,” Julia said, “and he spoke of another woman, Brenda. Mary told me that he said Brenda was an honorary Dock Girl.”
“Do you think it is the same Brenda in the files?”
“I suppose I do. Unfortunately. Let me see those files.”
Frankie dug them out of the satchel and handed them to Julia. As she sorted through them, she read the names to Frankie.
“Rebecca, Nicole, Sharon, Louise. The dead girls. The next file is for Brenda McFee. According to Harry’s notes, she was a similar height, weight, hair color, as the others. However, she is significantly older than the four who were killed. The Dock Girls were all between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Brenda is twenty-four. Maybe that was close enough?”
Frankie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Julia continued. “The files the police have, they also mention Brenda as a person of interest in the Dock Murder investigation. I think we need to find Brenda. If it is the same one, perhaps she’ll have more information about Mr. Walter Smith.”
“Shall I go investigate Mr. Smith’s gardening shed, since we are already here?”
Julia’s eyebrows rose. “That’s not a bad idea, Frankie. Let me think about it.”
She considered for a moment. “Let’s come back after dark. I don’t believe we’ll get a modicum of assistance from anyone here, so we’ll come back later and see what we can turn up.” She sighed. “Did you know Mary is only thirteen? Terribly young to be so afraid. I could murder Sister Therese with my own bare hands, I do believe. How could she not protect these girls from whatever is happening to them here? I’ll get to the bottom of it, even if it’s not related at all to the Dock Murders or Harry’s murder. It’s not right for children to live in such circumstances.”
“You have such a big heart, Julia. I think if you could, you’d try to put right every injustice that happens in the world.”
He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll help you. Whoever Mr. Smith is, whatever he’s doing to these girls, I won’t rest until we stop him.” He stopped, as though caught by a powerful realization. “Julia, Harry’s black book. The V that we saw…it could have been a W!”
“Oh, that would be telling, now wouldn’t it? I do love you, dear friend,” Julia said. “You continue to amaze me with your assistant skills.”
They both found amusement in her constant reference to him being her assistant. He was only a friend keeping her company, but it added a bit of levity to their current predicament.
He smiled and started the auto. “Where to next, boss?”
She laughed out loud and thanked her lucky stars for Frankie’s presence in her life today.
“Let’s go to Scotland Yard headquarters. If Jacob won’t talk to me, I’ll find someone who will. I need to know if they have any records for Walter Smith or if I can somehow find an address or contact information for Brenda McFee. I’m afraid she may be in real danger, more danger even than these girls.”
The reality of Brenda McFee becoming another one of the Dock Girls was all too clear in her mind as they drove across town. Her complicated emotions about Jacob churned in the pit of her stomach, and she slammed her hand on the door, speaking more to the universe than to Frankie.
“If Jacob even thinks of giving me a hard time about this, I’ll make sure he lives to regret it. Faster, Frankie. Drive faster.”
7
Tuesday, February 12th, 1921
Scotland Yard Headquarters
London
Julia stormed into Jacob’s office, ready to do battle. H
e was sitting at his desk and when he saw her approaching, he visibly tensed and his brow furrowed.
“Inspector Gibbs, I need to see the files that Mr. Abernathy let me look at this morning.” She wouldn’t give him the credit for having allowed her to examine the files in the first place.
No. No credit for him at all.
“Would you mind telling me what is it that you are looking for?”
He looked past Julia to Frankie, who stood behind her, and nodded his head in greeting.
“Frankie, it’s good to see you again.”
“Inspector,” Frankie replied with a neutral tone.
“There is a person of interest in your files on the Dock Murder,” Julia said, bringing his attention back to her. “I have reason to believe that she is possibly missing and in danger.”
“And the woman’s name?”
Julia hesitated, then relented. “Brenda McFee. May I see the files? I’d also like to see if you have any information on one Walter Smith,” she rushed on before he could answer, “a groundskeeper at St. Vincent’s. I also need to see what background information you have on Harry Jones. I’m looking for anything I can find about his life. It might be the Dock Murderer who shot him, but it might not be. I need to consider all possibilities.”
He stared at her for a moment, mixed emotions played across his face. She expected him to refuse and readied for battle.
“I’ll get the files.”
He left and she stared after him, then at Frankie, who shrugged. Jacob returned after a couple of minutes.
He set the papers on the desk, and she immediately began sifting through them, discarding the ones that were irrelevant to her in the moment.
“Where did you learn of Brenda potentially being missing, Julia?”
“At the orphanage. I spoke with a very frightened young girl who overheard the groundskeeper referencing Brenda as an honorary Dock Girl. This Walter Smith apparently has a nasty habit of forcing young girls of a very specific type, not unlike the physical profile of the Dock Girls, to his gardening shed and doing heaven knows what to them. Frankie, get Harry’s file on Brenda. I’d like to compare.” She said all of this without looking up from the files she was sorting.