Maureen JENNINGS - Except the Dying

Quinn pulled forward the single chair in the room, removed the pair of trousers that was draped across the back and sat down. He had produced a biscuit tin from the window shelf and he opened it, revealing two currant buns and one half-eaten slice of bread. Princess opened her eyes and raised her head, recognising the possibility of food. Murdoch took one of the buns and bit into it. His teeth made no impression. Quinn grinned.

“Better dip it into your char to soften it up a bit. Here.”

He poured some tea, thick and black, into one of the mugs, added two spoonsful of sugar and a splash of milk and offered it to Murdoch. Princess sat up on her hind legs and begged. She let out one demanding yelp. Quinn broke off a piece of his bun and gave it to her. Murdoch followed suit.

“Alice called her the Virgin Mary,” he said.

Quinn grinned nervously. “Did she now?”

Murdoch sipped at the hot tea, almost burning his tongue. Quinn drank some of his, not looking at him. Murdoch gave the end of his bun to Princess.

“All right, to business, then.”

He told Quinn about the dead girl.

The man put down his cup. “Why, that’s terrible, that is. Just terrible. Young, you say?”

“No more than sixteen.”

The candle and the fire cast so many shadows it was hard to read his expression completely, but as far as Murdoch could tell, Quinn was genuinely shocked.

“How did she die?”

“We don’t know ’til we get the postmortem examination.”

Quinn shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m trying to find out if anybody heard or saw anything last night. Between ten and midnight particularly.”

“I wasn’t here, myself. Like I said, I’m a baker. I have to work from ten-thirty to seven. I’ve not long got home, as a matter of fact.” He indicated his nightshirt. “I sleep during the day.”

“Do you usually leave by the back door?”

“Eh? Oh, er, no. By the front. To Wilton Street. She was in the laneway, you say? I wouldn’t have seen her at all.”

“Don’t you have to relieve the dogs before you go to work?”

“Yes, that’s right. I did that. Yes, I did take them out but it was earlier. Weren’t no dead body there then, I promise you.”

Murdoch made a note. “Can you be precise as to the time?”

“Yes, I can. I was thinking I’d better start getting ready for work. Looked at the clock. Ten minutes before ten. ‘Come on, Princess,’ I says, ‘let’s go for a bit of a stroll.’ So we did. Didn’t see nothing, like I said.” Suddenly he slapped his thigh. “No, what am I thinking? I saw Alice coming home.” He winked and tapped the side of his nose. “As she would put it, she was hickey as a lambskin.”

Murdoch wrote that down. It confirmed the time Alice had given.

“Where do you work, Mr. Quinn?”

“The Union Hotel on King Street. I do all their dinner rolls for them. And the pies and tarts. Very tasty, if I say so myself. You can’t tell from that one, it’s a bit stale. Drop by for breakfast one of these days. I’ll serve you a Bath bun like you’ve never had. Melt in your mouth.”

“Thanks, I might do that.” Murdoch wiped at his sweaty face. “I’d better get going. I’ve got to talk to a lot of people.”

“Wonder what the poor girl was doing in the laneway at that time of night. Not to mention it was colder than Beelzebub’s bottom. Was she a, er, lady of the night?”

“I don’t think so. Course it’s hard to tell with no clothes. She was naked.”

“Sweet Jesus, you don’t say. How did that happen?”

“They were stolen, most likely. Which is a serious offence in the eye of the law.” He put away his notebook and stood up. “By the way, didn’t you take Prince Albert out last night?”

“What?”

“You know, to relieve himself. He must have needed to go as well. You just mentioned taking out Princess.”

“Oh, no … Fact is I just got him this morning. From me pal.”

“He must be quite a swell to own such a nobby dog. Bloodlines and all that.”

Quinn tugged at his sidewhiskers. “Oh, no. This dog ain’t worth a dime. Who’d pay money for a funny-looking tiddler like him?” He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Fact is, the fellow, this pal of mine, is going on his honeymoon. Didn’t want to leave the little fellow with his mother ’cause she doesn’t see so good. What the heck! I felt sorry for the man. And I do like dogs, as you can probably tell. Said I’d take care of him ’til he got back.”

The words had come tumbling out and now he stopped, eyeing Murdoch. His full cheeks glistened in the firelight.

Murdoch went to the door.

“If anything else comes to you, drop in at the station and give us a report. Do you know where we are?”

“Sure. The corner of Parliament and Wilton.”

“That’s it.”

“I will. For certain I will. Terrible pity.” Quinn ran his fingers through his already dishevelled dark hair. “Best of luck.”

Murdoch stepped out into the hall, which seemed wondrously refreshing after the furnace of Quinn’s room. He headed back toward the kitchen. The man might be a likeable fellow, but his guilty conscience was as thick in the air as the smell of the dogs.

Sunday, February 10

DONALDA RHODES WOKE ABRUPTLY, forcing herself into consciousness away from the terror of her dream. It is the same nightmare over and over. She is walking by the river that flowed at the bottom of the field where she grew up. She is accompanied by another woman. Usually this woman is her dear friend Marianne, but this time it is Harriet Shepcote. Owen, a child still in skirts, is skipping ahead of them. Suddenly he falls and disappears. She runs over and sees that he has tumbled down an old well. She can see him at the bottom, hear him crying. She struggles to reach him but cannot. “Help me, Harriet,” she cries, but the young woman only stands frozen in fear. As Donalda looks into the dark mouth of the well she sees that it is no longer her son crouched there but a little girl with long dark hair. She is sobbing and her anguish enters Donalda’s own body.

She pulled herself into a sitting position. What time was it? Her bedroom was dark, the curtains drawn and the fire gone to a few dull embers in the grate. She fumbled on the bedside table for the box of matches, struck one and lit the lamp. She felt almost ashamed. She was behaving like a frightened child in the nursery.

She got out of bed and put on her velvet wrapper and slippers. The mantel clock said a quarter past nine. She went over to the window and pulled back the curtains. Outside, the street was empty, the bare maples charcoal etchings against the grey sky. Fine snow danced by the window. She leaned her forehead against the cold pane and her breath made a patch of mist in front of her.

There was a discreet tapping at the door and Edith Foy entered, manoeuvring the breakfast tea trolley.

“Good morning, Mrs. Rhodes.”

“Good morning.”

Edith wheeled the trolley to the fireplace, where there was a bowlegged Chinese table and a plush-covered armchair.

“I hope you slept well, madam.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Shall I build up the fire?”

“If you please.”

Donalda poured herself a cup of tea from the silver pot and added a slice of lemon and a piece of sugar. There was a bread roll and a dish of stewed compote on the tray for her breakfast.

“Is Master Owen awake?”

“Not as yet, madam. Shall I have Foy call him?”

“No, I’ll do it. But you can start drawing his bath.”

She sipped at her tea, enjoying the warmth of the cup in her hands. “Where is Theresa? Is she still unwell?”