The Dalwich Desecration Page 28

  “Remind me again . . .” Colin said at once before anyone else could interject, “. . . how exactly were you planning on making your way in the city with little money and no prospects for a job?”

  “I told you, we were saving everything we could. We had been doing so for the better part of a year. We already had enough to get us there and a room for a couple of months if we chose carefully. I saved nearly every farthing I earned at the Pig and Pint, and from what Brother Clayworth gave me for looking after his books. Did you check the accounts? Did you see that I never stole a thing?!”

  “As a matter of fact”—Colin flashed a brief smile—“Mr. Pruitt did indeed check the brewery’s accounts and you are correct. He found everything quite in order.”

  “Exactly as I told you,” Edward pronounced with satisfaction as he glanced around the room at each of us, an air of defensiveness alighting his voice. “I said it all along. Mo couldn’t save as much because she had to pay Mr. Chesterton for her room. . . .”

  “Well, a course she did,” Raleigh Chesterton cut in sourly. “I ain’t runnin’ no damn workhouse. I paid ’er fair for her work and she paid me fair for her room. It’s jest business. Ain’t nothin’ to it but that.”

  Colin slid his eyes toward Mr. Chesterton and I found myself suddenly holding my breath. “Didn’t you also give a room to Miss O’Dowd and her mother when they first arrived years ago?”

  “I didn’t give ’em shite. Her mother paid me from her wages for their rooms, and when she drank more than she worked I gave Mo ‘er job and she paid me. All neat as ya please. Jest like it’s supposed ta be.”

  “Did Miss O’Dowd’s mother ever pay you with something other than money?”

  “Wot?!” Mr. Chesterton narrowed his eyes and glared back at Colin corrosively.

  “Did you ever allow her to exchange favors for their board?” he clarified ever so glibly as he stood up and started sauntering around the periphery of the room as though we were discussing laying hens. “You know . . .” he pressed easily, “. . . trade a shag for a bit off here and there . . .”

  “I didn’t have ta,” Raleigh Chesterton answered, his gaze going hard as one corner of his mouth turned up malignantly. “She were happy ta ’ave a go at it now and again fer nothin’ at all. ’At’s the way nature intended it,” he added with a snarl.

  I heard Annabelle White suck in a mortified breath and hoped she did not recognize the inference Mr. Chesterton was clearly sallying at Colin and me. It made me wonder why Colin had insisted on her being here? I couldn’t imagine that she might be involved in the murder of her friend. If anything, she seemed quite undone by Miss O’Dowd’s death—and yet I had been fooled by such perceived sentiments before.

  “And what of Maureen O’Dowd . . . ?” Colin was forging ahead before I realized what he was implying. “Did you ever presume to try and initiate the same sort of arrangement with her that you had done with her mother?”

  “How dare you!” Raleigh Chesterton roared even as I noticed Edward Honeycutt stiffen in his chair. “I loved that girl like me own daughter. Only a right bastard like you would dare ta suggest such a vile thing.” He pushed himself to his feet, the bulk of his round frame clearly meant to be an implied threat in spite of his advanced age.

  “Do sit down, Mr. Chesterton,” Colin sniffed without so much as a hint of concern in his tone. And to my surprise, Mr. Chesterton did as bidden. “I am merely asking the most obvious of questions,” Colin explained. “Your outrage is duly noted.” He spoke as though the topic was tiresome, his arms clasped behind his back as he continued to slowly pace from one end of the room to the other. Only Constable Brendle, from his central position on the bed, was able to follow Colin’s course without having to turn his head. “What about you, Miss White?” Colin abruptly paused near Annabelle White so that his body momentarily blocked her view of Mr. Chesterton. “Had you ever known Mr. Chesterton to have sought favors from your friend Miss O’Dowd?”

  “No, sir,” she answered at once, her voice higher pitched than I remembered it normally being and carrying a slight quiver.

  “And you . . . ?” Colin pursued, placing his hand on the back of her chair and leaning over her as though the two of them were enjoying an intimate conversation. “Has your Mr. Chesterton ever made such a suggestion to you?”

  She looked terrified as she stared back into Colin’s face hanging scandalously close to her own, her bright brown eyes appearing almost ready to pop free of her head. “Never . . .” she gasped.

  “I ain’t sittin’ for this shite!” Raleigh Chesterton howled as he sprang back to his feet again. “I ain’t the one that’s flouncin’ around with ’is own ruddy kind.” He spun on the constable with rage in his eyes, his round face and shining pate burning to a deep crimson. “You can throw me in a cell fer as long as ya like, but I ain’t listenin’ to another feckin’ minute a this rot.”

  “You might want to rethink your logic, Mr. Chesterton,” Colin piped up before anyone else dared utter a word. “Because if you insist on being imprisoned, I will simply have these proceedings moved to the constabulary office, where you will be forced to listen and respond from inside a cell.” It was a patently absurd bluff on Colin’s part as the constable was not fit to be moved under any circumstances, and yet it was enough to give Mr. Chesterton pause. He appeared to momentarily deliberate Colin’s words before slowly lowering himself back into his seat with a churlish snarl. “All right then,” Colin said as he turned to face Edward Honeycutt. “You were obviously the person closest to Miss O’Dowd, and I will apologize now for anything I am about to say that might offend you. You must understand that I only mean to discover the identity of the fiend who took her from you.”

  The young man nodded silently but did not look back at Colin. “I know,” he mumbled under his breath, and it immediately renewed my sense of pity for him. The poor thing seemed such a sorrowful lad that I scarcely knew what to make of him anymore.

  “You are aware that your fiancée had something of a reputation at one time?” Colin started in again, his voice sounding rather perfunctory.

  “That was in the past,” Edward Honeycutt shot back, his eyes remaining downcast.

  “What about you? Were you true to her?”

  The young man’s eyes finally shot up as he glared at Colin. “I already told you I was. Ask anyone.”

  “Miss White . . . ?” Colin called out at once, never taking his eyes from Edward Honeycutt. “Did you ever witness the fine Mr. Honeycutt here trying to fiddle about with another girl after you knew him to be serious with Miss O’Dowd?” And having asked the question, he slowly turned back toward Annabelle White. “Perhaps with you . . . ?”

  Her pallid face seemed to grow even whiter as she stared back at Colin, her eyes locked on his as though he held her in a trance. “No, sir . . .” she answered as though from somewhere far away. “No, sir,” she repeated, and then her eyes flicked down and I wondered if perhaps that fact had disappointed her.

  “Very well.” Colin allowed a mirthless bit of grin to pull his lips taut as he began to circle back to the side of the room where I was seated, passing Mr. Masri and Mr. Whitsett as he came. “We have all heard Constable Brendle admit to a brief liaison with Miss O’Dowd before she began to be squired by Mr. Honeycutt . . .” Colin nodded to the constable as he came up behind the chair next to mine and stood there, leaning against it as though he had suddenly become too wearied to stand on his own. “What about you, Mr. Whitsett? Or you, Mr. Masri? Do either of you have any such similar confessions to make?”

  “No sir,” Mr. Whitsett said just as he’d done the first time Colin had asked him that question. “I was very fond of Miss O’Dowd, but she wasn’t suited to me.”

  “And what about you, Mr. Masri?” Colin slid his gaze to the olive-complected man.

  “I am a married man,” he answered simply, his eyes as black as the thick hair that covered the top of his head. “I have two children. Why would I do such a thing?�
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  Colin chuckled. It was low and brief, but none of us missed it, and I felt embarrassed for Mr. Masri for either being so naïve or for imagining Colin to be so. “If I must tell you why you would do such a thing, then I fear your children must be of an immaculate nature,” he teased. “But let us leave that improbability for a moment and turn our attentions to what we know rather than what we do not know. For it is there that we shall finally be able to uncover the facts of this case.”

  Colin straightened up and moved away from the chair, taking a slight step sideways so that he was standing right behind me. It was not something he did often, drawing me to the center of attention, and for the first time I had an inkling of what it must feel like to have him tightening the noose around someone’s neck. As an uneasy chill abruptly careened down my spine I found that I did not like it.

  “I must start by requesting your indulgence,” Colin was saying. “Most especially from you, Miss White, for I know some of this will be distressing for you to hear. Please know I do not undertake it lightly. Be assured that you are here for a reason.”

  As I stared across the small room at her I thought she looked close to apoplectic, her ashen face giving her the appearance of being faint, and I feared she might topple over at any moment. She did not respond to Colin, but her eyes slowly drifted to the floor as her angular shoulders sank inward.

  “We know that Miss O’Dowd was last seen working at the Pig and Pint on Thursday last, finishing her shift at . . .” Colin turned his gaze on Raleigh Chesterton. “What time did she complete her duties on Thursday, Mr. Chesterton?”

  The cantankerous old man flicked his gaze over to Colin for an instant, immediately sliding it back to the constable before deigning to answer. “’Bout midnight, I suppose,” he grumbled. “Same as usual.”

  “Were you still there, Mr. Honeycutt?” Colin shifted his focus quickly.

  “No, I’d gone home a couple hours earlier. I usually help my father on Friday mornings with his deliveries.”

  “But you didn’t this past Friday. Your brother David did. Why was that?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “A fortuitous illness,” Colin remarked pointedly as he wandered over to the window beside the constable’s bed. “How much worse it would have been had you been there when her body was discovered.”

  Edward Honeycutt closed his eyes and I presumed he was either trying to keep that vision from invading his mind or to still it from having already done so. In either case, he did not otherwise move, which made me aware of the steely rigidity that had gripped Mr. Chesterton from his place next to young Edward.

  “Did you see Miss O’Dowd leave with anyone, Miss White?” Colin continued.

  “No, sir.” She shook her head and I could sense her jumpiness as though it had a texture of its own.

  “And you, Mr. Chesterton . . . ? Did you notice Miss O’Dowd with anyone at the end of her shift?”

  “I’d already gone up ta bed,” he answered dismissively. “I don’t watch over all a them tossers what works for me . . .” But I could see his sentiment suddenly stick in his throat, and for the first time he looked ashamed for what he had said.

  “Well, we certainly know that someone saw her after her shift ended that night, because at some point she was accosted and murdered.” Colin turned to Constable Brendle with a frown. “What time did you receive word from David Honeycutt that he and his father had discovered the body?”

  “Five thirty that morning. I had only just gotten up and hadn’t even gotten my tea on yet. The poor boy was pounding on my door like a madman. I knew something was wrong before I even answered it.”

  “And did you head right back with David Honeycutt?”

  “No . . .” The constable shook his head, a slight crease marring his youthful forehead. “We stopped on the way to collect Mr. Whitsett. I knew I would need his assistance.”

  “Why Mr. Whitsett and not Mr. Masri?”

  Constable Brendle seemed to color slightly as his eyes shifted to his men. “Well, Mr. Masri is married and has children. I didn’t relish waking the whole of his household with such distressing news. Graham . . . Mr. Whitsett . . . has no such ties, so I decided I would collect Mr. Masri after Mr. Whitsett and I had a chance to take a look at the scene.”

  “Would you call that standard protocol then?” Colin asked with the assurance of someone who already knows the answer.

  “Standard . . . ?” The constable faltered momentarily, blinking his eyes as though unsure exactly how to respond. “I can hardly say there is such a thing as standard protocol in the occurrence of a murder in Dalwich. Other than these two cases there has only ever been one other killing during my tenure here, and given that it was a crime of passion, the perpetrator never even left the scene of his undoing.”

  “I see.” Colin nodded as he started to meander toward Mr. Whitsett and Mr. Masri. “Tell me, Mr. Whitsett, what did you find when you arrived at the place David Honeycutt brought you to?” He paused in the vacant space between the two junior constables.

  The tall, lanky man swung his eyes down and seemed to fold into himself. “I would really rather not,” he murmured in the ghost of a voice.

  “But you must,” Colin pressed him. “You were the first to arrive at the scene with the constable, and when he left to fetch Mr. Masri, you alone were left to protect the integrity of the site. Which means you spent more time viewing it than any of us. Surely it has left an indelible impression on you that the rest of us cannot possibly attest to.”

  Mr. Whitsett, in spite of his towering height and thin, bony shoulders, looked nearly as diminutive in that moment as Constable Brendle reclining in his bed. “She was lying in the grass just off the north side of the road,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper and his tone as reluctant as his demeanor. “She looked like she was staring into the woods as if she were searching for something . . . or someone . . . but her face was a terrible color. Not natural . . .” He let his voice trail off.

  “Did you surmise that she had been strangled?” Colin asked, and I heard Annabelle White try to stifle a sudden intake of breath, which made Colin turn toward her. “I’m sorry, Miss White,” he said, and I knew he meant it. “You must be strong and bear with us.” He glanced back to Mr. Whitsett. “If you please . . .” he prodded.

  Graham Whitsett tilted his head the tiniest bit and appeared to give something of a shrug. “I don’t know what I thought.”

  “Did Constable Brendle make any supposition?”

  Again he appeared to hesitate. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I suppose he might have.”

  “Is it your intention to maintain your position as a junior constable, Mr. Whitsett?” And the incongruity of Colin’s question struck me as much as it did Mr. Whitsett, who finally looked up and met his gaze.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I would suggest you pay closer attention to such things.” Colin flashed the whisper of a hollow grin at him before plunging immediately ahead. “What else did you notice?”

  “Her bodice was open,” he mumbled.

  “Yes . . .” Colin shook his head as he crossed back around behind Raleigh Chesterton. “Was it open like she had been readying herself for bed perhaps?” And I had to stop myself from scowling as we all knew the answer to that question.

  “No, sir,” came Mr. Whitsett’s hushed reply. “It was ripped.”

  “Ripped,” Colin repeated, and it sounded almost cruel. “Is that what you found upon your arrival, Mr. Masri?”

  The Middle Eastern man seemed to start under Colin’s question, appearing to be inconceivably miserable at having been singled out. “Yes . . . No . . . Yes . . .” he sputtered all at once. “Constable Brendle told me it had been ripped open to her waist, but by the time I got there Mr. Whitsett had already placed his coat over the poor girl, so I did not see it myself.”

  “Yes . . .” Colin flinched at the remembrance of the scene having been thusly sullied. “Tell me again
why you did that, Mr. Whitsett?”

  “It was improper,” he answered at once. “Miss O’Dowd deserved better than that. You wouldn’t leave your sister to lie like that . . .”

  “If I had a sister,” Colin shot back at once, “I would leave her exactly as her killer had left her so I could conduct a proper investigation, which would allow me to hunt the bastard down and cut his bits off with all due haste.” He flicked his gaze to Annabelle White. “My apologies, Miss White.” The room remained silent as he slowly moved the few steps needed until he was standing just behind Edward Honeycutt. “How about you, Constable Brendle? Did you take note of anything in particular when you first saw the body?”

  “I did.” His eyes held Colin’s, his face hard, and I realized that he knew, as I now did, exactly where this was heading. “Her skirts had been shoved up in the front and she did not appear to be wearing any undergarments.”

  “You must forgive the unseemliness of this question, Miss White, but did you know your friend to be a woman who did not avail herself of bloomers?”

  “No, sir,” she said, her eyes darting about the room without settling anywhere before finally landing on the floor by the constable’s bed once more. “She were always proper.”

  “Do you remember seeing the same thing, Mr. Masri?” Colin continued as though the conversation was almost mundane.

  “Well . . .” His eyes fluttered about the room as though he was searching for the right answer. “By the time Constable Brendle got me and took me back to the scene, she was already covered by Mr. Whitsett’s coat. I didn’t see how she’d been left until after you and Mr. Pruitt arrived.”

  “Yes,” Colin grumbled. “Really, Mr. Whitsett, you were most detrimental to the solving of this crime with your puttering about.”

  “It just wasn’t right,” he defended himself morosely. “It wasn’t proper.”

  “Miss White . . .” Colin took the last few steps over to Annabelle White, placing himself directly between Edward Honeycutt and the young woman. “Did Miss O’Dowd complain to you about anyone being a nuisance to her over the last month or two?”