Maureen JENNINGS - Except the Dying

“First off, I need to know your names.”

“Why?” asked Ettie.

“Because, miss, the body of a female person has been found in the laneway. Practically in your back garden, as you might say.”

He paused for their reaction, but there was none. No expression of any kind, except stillness. They reminded him of two cats who’d come into the yard of his lodging house last winter. Lean and tattered, with pale, wary eyes. When he’d tried to befriend the starving creatures, they had growled and spat at him and would have bitten his hand if they could.

Alice shrugged. “This weather’ll kill you, that’s for certain. Poor old dolly.”

“Who do you mean, miss?”

“The stiff mort.”

“I doubt she was a tramp, and she wasn’t old. Possibly no more than fifteen or sixteen.”

“Shame that.”

They stared at him but he didn’t say anything.

“What’s it to do with us?” Ettie said finally.

“That’s for you to tell.” He paused. “We don’t know who the girl is as yet. I’m making enquiries.”

He wanted to see if either of them would offer information that they shouldn’t have or try to mislead him in any way. Ettie spoke again.

“What kind of girl was she, then? A working girl, for instance, or a young lady?”

Alice guffawed. “Bleeding hell, Ettie. Young lady? What would a lady be doing in the lane?”

Ettie shrugged. “Takes all sorts,” she said.

Murdoch knew this exchange was entirely for his benefit. He decided to play out the line a bit longer.

“We can’t tell yet. She was mother naked.”

Alice grimaced. “Couldn’t have had much in her idea pot if she was stark in this weather.”

She was overtaken by another fit of coughing, and she grabbed a cup from the table and spat into it. Dispassionately, she studied the sputum she had deposited.

“Just phlegm.”

“What’s your last name, Alice?” Murdoch asked.

“I’m Alice Black.” She pointed at her partner. “She’s Ettie Weston.”

“Bernadette Weston,” the other woman corrected her. “They just call me Ettie.”

“Just come over did you?” he asked Alice.

She shrugged but the other woman laughed. “She’s been here since she was a nipper but you’d never know it.”

“And you?”

“I’m homegrown.”

“Do you both live here?”

“Yes. We’ve got a snug down there.” She pointed down the hall.

“You get use of the kitchen?”

Alice snorted. “Use! That’s a joke, that is. We supply the rest of this shicey household, if you ask me. We have to fetch the coal scuttle into our room at night, else it’d be empty as a cripple’s stomach by morning. Don’t notice Mr. bloody Quinn bringing in a bit of coal, do you? But he’s quick enough to come in here and warm his chilblains when we’ve got it up, isn’t he?”

“Come on, Alice, he helps us out in other ways.”

“You maybe, not me.”

“Who is this Mr. Quinn?” Murdoch interceded.

“One of the other dudders that lives here. He’s got the room next to us.”

“Who else?”

Ettie answered. “There’s two brothers upstairs. Say they’re lumberjacks. Don’t know what they’re doing here if that’s the case. Aren’t going to cut down many trees in this neighbourhood, are they? And they’re both lumpers. Bang around like horses up there.”

She looked as if she was going to continue with a diatribe against the absent brothers but Murdoch stopped her.

“What’s your occupation?”

Ettie grinned at him. In spite of her bad teeth she had an attractive face when she smiled. Youth still lingered there.

“I’m a glover. Alice the same.”

“Where do you work?”

“Here. We work from home, don’t we, Alice? We mend and clean.”

“That’s right. We specialize in men’s articles. Of the best pigskin.” She met his eyes impudently. “We fit them.”

Murdoch knew that sexual protectors were made from fine pigskin, but he didn’t take the bait. They were toying with him and the slightest sign of annoyance or embarrassment on his part would be seen as a victory they would chortle over for weeks to come.

“Who employs you?”

“Mr. Webster, the tailor. He’s over on Queen Street.”

“We’re always in demand,” added Alice. “The shops are using machines these days but we find most gentlemen still like the work done by hand, don’t we, Ettie?” She laughed. “It’s hard work, Sergeant. At the end of the day we’re spent many times over.”

“Alice, don’t be vulgar. What’ll the sergeant think?”

“I’m thinking I’ve had enough of you two. This is a serious matter I’m investigating.”

In spite of his resolve, he’d got irritated.

Alice was still laughing. It became a coughing fit that shook her scrawny body so painfully Murdoch winced.

“Bad cough you’ve got there, Alice. Have you seen a doctor?”

She thumped herself on the chest. Her face had turned almost blue with the effort to get breath. “It’s just a cold. Winter does it to you.”

Murdoch went back to his notebook.

“Do either of you know anything about this young girl, then?” He went through the description again. “Fullish figure but short. Bit shorter than you, Ettie.”

“Don’t know her, do we, Alice?”

“No.”

“Did you hear anything last night? Any cries? Shouts?”

They both shook their heads emphatically. “You were home all night?”

“Yes,” said Alice. “Tucked up in bed, good as gold.”

“No, Alice!” the younger girl spoke sharply. “He means earlier. You were at the hotel ’til almost ten.” She stared her companion down.

“I will be checking,” said Murdoch.

“See. Don’t confuse him.”

“Oh yeah. Sure I didn’t know what you meant, Constable. I did spend the early part of the evening at the John O’Neil with friends. But I was here with Ettie the rest of the night. Didn’t move.”

“What about you, Ettie?”

“In bed at eight, I was. Not a peep ’til just half an hour ago.”

“And nothing disturbed you?”

Ettie went to the stove and poked at the fire even though it was blazing merrily. She didn’t turn around. “No, not a thing.”

Alice giggled. “Come on now, Ettie. Don’t give him the queer.”

Ettie swivelled around, staring.

Alice continued. “Truth is, we was disturbed in the night. ’Bout two o’clock.” She eyed Murdoch expectantly.

He sighed. “Get on with it, Alice. What woke you?”

“Terrible cries.”

“Well? What was it?”

“Probably the Virgin Mary.”

She laughed again so heartily at her own feeble joke, she went into another coughing spell. This produced another gob of sputum, which she tried to deposit in the cup and succeeded only in catching the edge.

He looked at her sharply. There was no possibility she could know his religious affiliation, but she was teasing about something.

“Would you please explain what–”

At that moment a loud yowling cry resounded down the dark hall. Pitiful moans and howls. Not quite human, though, as if some animal were in pain. Alice and Bernadette grinned at each other.

“Jesus save us,” said Alice. “There it is again. Exact same cries as last night.”

“Sounds like a dog,” said Murdoch. “Must be hurt.”

He went into the hall. The racket seemed to be coming from the far room.

“Who lives down there?” he called to the women.

They came to the archway, arms around each other.

“Samuel Quinn,” said Alice.

“Does he own a dog?”

“He does. He’s a regular dog fancier.” She smiled but Murdoch didn’t miss the quick warning poke from Ettie.