The Dalwich Desecration Page 15

  “We will take up this topic again later,” I warned as we climbed the stairs to the constable’s rooms.

  “How I wish you had access to The British Museum library just now,” he answered back. “There is so much I can only strain to remember, and I think we would be in good stead if you could root about the reference materials for us just now.”

  “I would like nothing more at this moment,” I agreed as he rapped on the door. It pleased me that he valued my ability to sleuth amongst the stacks, but it also frustrated me as well since I would have no such opportunity.

  To my surprise it was the towering, lanky Graham Whitsett who finally pulled open the door. The poor man looked pale and full of remorse and he was unable to offer so much as the ghost of a smile as he bade us enter. “Please . . .” was all he said in a wearied and demoralized tone.

  “It’s good to see you, Mr. Whitsett,” I responded with as much bravado as the situation dared warrant. “I’m sure Constable Brendle is grateful for your assistance.”

  “I . . .” he started to say, but he seemed unable to articulate anything but his unequivocal regret and did not finish his thought.

  “How is the patient doing this evening?” Colin asked as we moved into a small seating area that was devoid of personal touches yet managed to be quite homey just the same. There was a sofa and single chair arranged before a fireplace that was puttering more than anything else, and a small bedroom and water closet was off to one side. While the space was diminutive, it was also immaculate, attesting to the fact that either the good constable was a man of cleanliness and organization, or the proprietress of the establishment took extraordinary care of her boarders.

  “He’s . . .” Poor Mr. Whitsett was apparently quite unable to alight on any fully formed thoughts.

  “Why don’t you come back here and ask for yourself?” a voice thick with opiates called out from the other room.

  “Now there’s a good sign.” Colin smiled as he led the three of us back to the bedroom. “I guess it safe to say you’ve now truly been indoctrinated into the constabulary profession.”

  Constable Brendle groaned. “I could have done without such an initiation.”

  “I am so sorry, Lachlan . . .” Mr. Whitsett mewled from behind me.

  “Now, Graham, we’ve been over this—”

  “I’ve an idea,” Colin interrupted, swinging around and casting his gaze at Mr. Whitsett through a veil of false enthusiasm. “I’m betting you’ve been fussing over the constable since we brought him back here. How about you get yourself some dinner and Mr. Pruitt and I will keep an eye on him for a while.”

  “Oh . . . I don’t know. . . .”

  “Go,” the constable insisted with a heavy sigh. “I’m only going to sleep. You can come back tomorrow and see to me then.”

  “If you think it best . . .” Mr. Whitsett answered, though it was clear that he did not.

  “Without question,” Constable Brendle replied with surprising vigor and I could only imagine how Mr. Whitsett’s mood had affected him.

  Mr. Whitsett seemed to catch the tone and gave a nod that contained something of a grimace before he snatched up his bowler, shoved it onto his head, and bid us all a hasty farewell. The instant the door clicked shut behind him the room felt relieved of its burden, though the unfortunate constable looked not one whit better. His auburn hair was matted and tangled on the pillow, which only further set off the grayish tone of his skin. Though his eyes were mostly open, they looked unable to properly focus with his lids drooping listlessly, assuring me that he was indeed under the influence of either laudanum or some other comparable opiate. His right leg was elevated atop a multitude of pillows, and there was a large bandage covering his thigh from knee to groin.

  “You look ever the worse for wear,” Colin announced with a sympathetic smile.

  “I am grateful it was not worse,” the constable answered. “The doctor tells me the bone will knit and I shall have little more than the scars left by the bullet as mementos. And”—a wry grin ghosted across his face—“apparently the endless guilt of Mr. Whitsett as well.”

  We both chuckled. “Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?”

  “You can find the man who killed Abbot Tufton and Maureen O’Dowd. I believe the laudanum will do the rest for me.”

  “You must watch out for that. . . .” I blurted without thinking. “What I mean is . . . it absolutely has its place in medicine. . . .” I tried to backtrack as artfully as I could even as Colin’s gaze slid toward me, an eyebrow arced skyward.

  “Yes.” Colin offered a thin smile. “Do try not to make an addict of yourself.” I grit my teeth, but the constable only chuckled. “And in the meantime you might find it notable that I am not in the least convinced that the same perpetrator is responsible for both of these murders.”

  “What?!” Constable Brendle jerked his head back, earning himself a wince for the effort. “You cannot mean to suggest . . .” He left the rest of his thought unspoken, but his gaze was more alert than it had been since our arrival.

  “I will explain my current state of mind, but I wonder if you would allow me a bit of information first?”

  The constable flipped his gaze between Colin and me as if trying to gauge whether there was some hidden intent on Colin’s part between his momentarily withholding information and his sudden interest in plying him with questions. Which of course, there was. “What is it you would like to know?” he finally asked.

  “You mentioned that you were one of Miss O’Dowd’s indiscretions over the last few years. I believe that was the word you used—indiscretion.” The way Colin repeated the word made it clear that he keenly remembered it to be precisely what Constable Brendle had said.

  “It’s true.”

  “Did you know Miss O’Dowd to have had many such indiscretions?”

  “Oh . . .” He heaved a wearied sigh and shook his head slightly. “You mustn’t judge Miss O’Dowd. She had an enormous heart and took great joy in her life. And hers was not always an easy one.”

  “You misunderstand,” Colin corrected at once. “I seek to make no judgments against Miss O’Dowd. I am hardly in any position to do so,” he added with something of a rogue’s grin. “I am only looking to assemble the facts around Miss O’Dowd’s life as you know them so I may discern the truth of how she came to such an end. Everything from who she was to how she behaved, as any one of these characteristics could prove to be the critical element that culminated in her murder.”

  Constable Brendle let out yet another laden sigh as he stared up at the ceiling for a minute, reminding me of how taxing our visit had to be on him. But there was little room for subtlety if we were to bring a swift end to the poor woman’s murder. “Miss O’Dowd was the type of woman who did as she pleased,” he finally answered in a voice that remained hesitant and thin through the haze of the narcotics he was taking. “She was tied to no one before she and Edward Honeycutt began to court. That was when she ended our dalliance. So yes, I believe she had her share of assignations, but they were only the flirtations of a carefree young woman.”

  “Were you angry when she put an end to your affair?”

  “Angry?” His eyes flicked back to Colin with a curious frown. “Whyever should I have been angry? We shared each other’s company from time to time. Nothing more. There was nothing for me to be angry about.”

  “Then you did not wish to have your affections be taken more seriously? Certainly communications between men and women can be so confounding at times.”

  “She and I had no such quarrel. We were friends. Nothing more. And sometimes we kept each other from being lonely.” He gave a modest shrug. “When she told me that she and Edward had begun seeing each other, I was genuinely happy for her.”

  “And were there others at the time she broke it off with you?”

  “Others?”

  “Other men helping her stave off her loneliness?” Colin pressed, and I felt myself squirm
at his artlessness.

  Constable Brendle flushed slightly and diverted his eyes, his fatigue evident. “I didn’t have any such conversations with Miss O’Dowd of that nature,” he mumbled.

  I reached out and discreetly touched Colin’s arm and he snapped his gaze to me, his eyes as filled with determination as if we were seated across from a suspect in a Scotland Yard interrogation room. “I think it’s time for us to let the constable get some rest.” I spoke quietly as I knew the young constable would protest, which is exactly what he started to do.

  “No, no . . .” Colin cut him off, a hint of disappointment nestling in behind his eyes just the same. “Mr. Pruitt is right. We have badgered you enough for one night. You must rest so you can take up your mantle again as quickly as possible.”

  “I cannot thank you gentlemen enough,” he answered wearily, his eyes desperately seeking to drift shut. “I don’t know what I would do if the two of you weren’t here.”

  “We are pleased to be of service,” Colin said with a quick smile.

  “Is there anything we can do before we go?” I asked.

  “Would you send up my landlady please?” he muttered. “She has promised to look in on me and be the keeper of my medicines. I’m afraid my leg has begun to set up quite a row.”

  “We shall fetch her at once,” I soothed. “Do try to get some rest.”

  “We’ll check back with you tomorrow and fill you in on our proceedings,” Colin assured him.

  “I would insist upon it,” he said in a tone void of any insistence. “And you must tell me why you don’t suppose these murders to be done by the same hand. I would demand to hear it now,” he managed to add even as his eyes finally closed, “but I’m afraid I wouldn’t remember what you’d told me. . . .” He chuckled hollowly.

  “I shall,” Colin agreed as we began to back out of the small room, “I shall.”

  Only after we eased the front door closed did I turn a scowl on Colin. “You cannot pepper him with so many questions and such thinly veiled accusations when he is in such a poor current state.”

  Colin scowled right back at me. “And what better time can you presume to rend the truth from a man than when he’s swimming under the wave of opiates? Given the nature of how Miss O’Dowd’s murder was obviously meant to appear an imitation of the abbot’s, then who better to perpetrate such a replication than the man who investigated the first? It is imperative to remove him from suspicion.”

  “And have you done so?” I conceded.

  He glanced over his shoulder at me with an incredulous look as we descended to the first floor to find the constable’s landlady. “Not in the least,” he replied flatly.

  CHAPTER 15

  It appeared, as with any pub in the whole of the British Isles, that Saturday night was the most popular time at the Pig and Pint. If the residents of Dalwich totaled five thousand, Raleigh Chesterton’s establishment felt crowded enough to be hosting the vast majority of them. Colin, Doyle O’Dowd, and I were sitting at a table at the very back of the pub and there were enough people hovering about in clustered groups with schooners of ale that even the floor space was at a distinct premium. And given the high-spirited volume and revelry of the throngs of people, we were finding it necessary to speak at an elevated level in order to be heard.

  “I appreciate ya buyin’ me dinner after wot ’appened,” the young man said with a sloppy grin as he knocked back a slug of ale.

  “I assure you that we all want the same conclusion,” Colin stated simply.

  “Do either of ya ’ave a younger sister?” he asked.

  “Neither of us,” Colin answered, leaving me both relieved and saddened that he had not mentioned my infant sister, Lily, whom I had lost so very long ago.

  “Then ya can’t really know what it’s like,” he stated emphatically. “Mo was too trustin’ of ever’body. I was always tellin’ ’er ’ow most people ain’t worth a fig and she shouldn’t give a ruddy shite about any of ’em, but she wouldn’t listen ta me. She thought she was clever and could take care a ’erself, but she couldn’t. And ya know what?” He stared at us keenly, his dark brown eyes almost black in the flickering gaslight. “That’s all I got left ta remember now. I shoulda made ’er come ta Mountfield so’s I could keep a watch on ’er. Maybe married ’er off ta one a me miner blokes.” He took another pull of ale and dragged a sleeve across his lips. “ ’At’s what I shoulda done.”

  “Do you really believe you could have forced her to leave Dalwich?” I asked, eager to assuage his guilt just as I had so desperately needed someone to do for me after my mother’s final rampage had left the entirety of my family dead.

  He gave me a stiff shrug and stared off into the mass of people chattering and milling about, for whom this was just another Saturday eve. “I’d ’ave liked ta try,” he muttered after a minute.

  I sipped at my soda water as I had not wanted to drink alcohol after having hurt my head, then downed a bit more of the willow bark powder Colin had gotten from the doctor to soothe my returning pain. For his part, Colin was nursing an ale with far less flourish than Doyle, which seemed not to make the least bit of difference to the young man as he waved our barmaid over to order his third pint. She was a pretty woman of middle years named Molly who had a soft, cherubic figure that assured her much notice amongst the men. Mr. Chesterton had told us she only worked Friday and Saturday nights, but I wondered if that wasn’t about to change given the death of Miss O’Dowd.

  “That Molly seems quite taken with you,” Colin remarked after she had left to fetch his order. “Has she been working with your sister for long?”

  “Few years. But she’s got five young kids, which is sayin’ somethin’ since ’er ’usband is at sea most a the year,” he answered cheekily.

  “Oh . . .” Colin shook his head and chuckled. “I must be mistaken then.”

  “You ain’t,” Doyle answered with a proud sniff. “We ’ave it off every couple a months when I’m around. She gets lonely, ya know? So I do wot I can,” he laughed. “It’s jest a spot a fun. It don’t mean nothin’.”

  “And your sister . . . ?” Colin asked quite suddenly, seemingly apropos of nothing. I cringed as I held my breath and waited to see whether Doyle was going to launch himself across the table at Colin.

  True to form, Doyle’s brow caved in. “Wot?”

  “What did your sister do when she got lonely?” Colin pressed with sublime innocence.

  “Wot kinda balmy question is that?”

  “It is nothing of the kind!” Colin defended. “I am trying to ascertain the murderer of your sister, Doyle. In order to do so, I must learn everything I can about her in spite of your determination to continuously paint her with the brush of a vestal virgin. And while Edward Honeycutt appears to be the only man she was truly in love with, you seem prepared to disembowel him with your bare hands. Now why don’t you start telling me the same truth about your sister that you are so willing to share about Molly.”

  “Eh . . . ?” We all three turned to find Molly standing there, her brown hair curled up in a frazzled bun as she slammed another pint in front of Doyle. “Wot’s ’at you’re sharin’ ’bout me?” she asked, her hackles raised as she stabbed her fists onto her hips.

  “It weren’t nothin’.” Doyle waved her off. “I’m tellin’ ’em about your feckin’ kids.”

  She scowled at him as her name was hollered from somewhere off in the mêlée behind her. “That better be all you tell ’em. I ain’t the one done nothin’ here. I loved Mo. So don’t you be sharin’ shite about me.” She poked Doyle’s shoulder with a finger before disappearing back into the crowd.

  He snickered. “She’s full a sport, ’at one.”

  “I really don’t care about her,” Colin said, his voice going flat as his gaze bore into the side of Doyle’s face.

  I could tell by the shadow that crossed behind Doyle’s eyes that he not only understood what Colin was driving at, but didn’t particularly appreciate it, either
. “Mo were me only family, ya know,” he pointed out needlessly.

  “Which is precisely why you need to start talking to us. Telling us the truth. Justice is the only vengeance you can bring to her death now.”

  Doyle O’Dowd heaved a pained sigh and took a long pull of his ale before sweeping a hand through his wavy black hair. “She ’ad a big ’eart, ya know? She liked people. She liked ta ’ave a good time and laugh. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. Nothin’ at all.” He gazed off a moment and I wondered if he was reconsidering the validity of his words. “After our mum brought us ’ere ta Dalwich, it weren’t easy for Mo. She were barely more than a toddler, and our mum liked the inside of a whiskey bottle a ’ell of a lot more than she liked either one a us. After a couple a years I knew I ’ad ta get a job or we was gonna starve ta death. ’At’s when I went ta Mountfield ta work at the mines. I did odd jobs fer a while, but soon’s I was old enough they gave me a pick and sent me inside.” He shook his head as though trying to jostle the memories free. “ ’At’s all I know. ’Cept leavin’ Mo behind with our mum. . . .” His brow furrowed. “Didn’t take ’er long ta start gettin’ into trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Why’s ’at matter?”

  “It could matter a great deal,” Colin insisted.

  Doyle glared off with an expression of pique, his lips pressed tightly together even as his eyebrows crumpled further. I thought it good fortune that Molly arrived at our table at just that moment with a dinner plate in each hand and a third balanced on her left forearm. “I got two fish and chips for the London chaps,” she announced as she set the plates in front of Colin and me. “And one shepherd’s pie for the cheeky bugger from the ruddy mines,” she said as she swept the third plate from her arm and slid it in front of Doyle. “Now mind yer manners,” she said with a snort before heading away.