Читать книгу The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Vicki Delany - Страница 23

“Can’t say as I’m sorry to see the end of that bastard,” Ray Walker said, once the men had all finished watching Fiona depart.

“Why is that, Mr. Walker?” Inspector McKnight asked.

“’Cause he was a filthy woman-beating piece of human garbage.”

“Did you kill him?”

Ray snorted. “No. And don’t you go trying to pin this on me. If I’d killed him, I wouldn’t ha’ left the body anywhere near the Savoy.”

“Ray didn’t kill anyone,” Angus shouted.

“Thank you, laddie.”

McKnight turned to Sterling. “What do we have here, Constable?”

Sterling looked up from where he knelt by the body. “A slash to the belly, sir. Looks bad, but not life-threatening, at a guess. Probably distracted him enough for the killer to move in and deliver the cut to the throat.”

McKnight knelt on Ireland’s other side.

Angus didn’t know how close he dared get. He was amazed he hadn’t been asked to leave. He edged forward until he stood at the bottom of the steps. Sterling and the inspector talked in serious voices, paying him no mind. Ray pulled up two benches, one to sit on and one to prop his feet on and looked like he was about to settle in for a welldeserved nap. He scratched at his scalp, causing a big clump of thin, greasy hair to stick out at the back of his head. Angus adored the tough little Scot, although not as much as he admired Richard Sterling. But now he was unsure if Ray Walker was worthy of his respect.

He’d arrived at Ray’s room, in a building called a boarding house, although it wasn’t anywhere near as nice as the boarding house in which he and his mother lived with the Manns, where they had home-cooked, plentiful meals, a nice warm kitchen, clean sheets and towels, and a proper outhouse. Ray rented one room in a house full of men. The place was dirty, and it smelled bad.

Angus had knocked at the door, loudly.

“Who the hell is it?” Ray had bellowed.

“Angus MacGillivray, sir. You have to come quick.”

The door opened a crack. Ray’s head popped out. His hair was tossed as if he’d been sleeping. But it was only early evening.

“Angus? What on earth? Your mother?”

“Ma’s fine, sir. But she sent me to get you. She said you have to come quick.”

“The Savoy? Not a fire?”

“No, sir. The Savoy’s fine too.”

“What then? Speak up, lad. I’m not running out into the night to accommodate some flight of fancy of your mother’s.” vRay Walker, of all people, should know that Angus’s mother had never had a moment of fancy in her life.

“Someone’s…”

“Come back to bed, Ray. I’m getting cold.” Inside the room, a woman giggled.

Ray looked behind him. “Hush, you.”

Back to Angus. “Someone’s what?”

“Dead.”

“Dead?”

“On the stage. In the Savoy. Dead. Murdered, looks like.”

“Wait right there.”

The door closed in Angus’s face. But it was a very thin door. He could hear Ray cross the room, a woman’s soft question, the light slap of hand on ample flesh, and another giggle, followed by a whispered “quiet” from Ray. Finally the door opened, and Ray came out, stuffing his shirttails into his trousers. The laces of his boots dragged along the floor.

“Let’s go.” Ray pushed past Angus and shut the door. But not before Angus had a good look at Betsy from the dance hall. She was sitting up in the narrow bed, the crumpled sheets bunched around her plump legs. Angus stared at her heavy breasts, pale pink with dark brown centres and large, hard nipples. She wiggled her fingers at him and ran her tongue across her lips.

“Not a word to your mother, you hear me, Angus. Not a word.”

“But, sir, I thought…”

“You thought nothing. Now tell me what happened, for heaven’s sake. A body—that’s all we need.” Angus mumbled something about the Savoy—the stage, blood, death—but his mind couldn’t get rid of the image of Betsy licking her plump pink lips. He knew perfectly well what Ray must have been doing with her in his room. But he was having trouble understanding why. Betsy was one of the dance hall girls. The girls who danced at the Savoy weren’t whores—women who had intimate relations with men in exchange for money. And besides, wasn’t Ray in love with Irene? That’s what his mother had told him, and she knew everything there was to know about things involving love and men and women. So if Ray was in love with Irene, why was he…doing stuff with Betsy? And they weren’t even married!

“Ray?”

“Not a word, boy. Not a word.”

* * *

Angus edged closer to the stage, afraid to attract attention, attention that might get him sent off to the care of his mother, but equally afraid of missing something important. He mounted the steps, trying not to make a sound.

Difficult, if not impossible, on the Savoy stage, constructed of cheap wood and insufficient nails. He stood behind Richard Sterling and peered over the constable’s shoulder, swallowing the bile that rose into his throat, threatening to choke him, or worse.

Sterling and McKnight were talking in low voices, as if they were mindful of showing respect to the dead. Sterling had pointed out that the wound in Ireland’s stomach wasn’t deep enough to kill. At least not right away. He would have died from it, eventually, if it had been left unattended. But not here, on the stage of the Savoy. With that wound, a healthy man could have staggered into the street looking for help. But the slice across the throat would have sent his lifeblood splashing across the stage in all directions. He wouldn’t have been able to stand up after suffering that.

“You can look, Angus,” Sterling said, acknowledging the boy’s presence. “But mind you don’t touch anything.”

Angus leaned closer to get a better look, trying to take it all in. His stomach was beginning to settle.

“Had to have gotten a good amount of blood on his clothes,” Sterling said.

“Agreed,” McKnight said.

The doctor arrived in the company of Sergeant Lancaster. Breathing heavily from his exertions, Lancaster took a seat on the bench beside Ray. The doctor walked to the foot of the stage. “Dead, I’d say.”

“Really, doctor,” McKnight said. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“Don’t know why you dragged me away from my pipe,” the doctor grumbled. “The fellow’s obviously dead from a knife wound to the abdomen.”

“If you could take a closer look?” Sterling asked.

“No need.” The doctor snapped his fingers at the men who’d come in behind him. “He’s dead. I took the liberty of calling in at the funeral parlour on my way past. When you’re finished looking for clues, these men will take care of him. Drop by my office tomorrow during hours, and I’ll have the death certificate ready.” The doctor slapped his hat back on his head and started to leave, but he hesitated at the door. He walked over to Ray’s bench.

“Perhaps I should call on Mrs. MacGillivray? I understand she found the body. She might be in need of sedation. Exposure to the brutal reality of life and death can be most upsetting to the delicate female constitution.”

Ray yawned. “Right. I remember my mum. Gave birth to twelve children, buried nine o’ them, nursed my gran for months as her guts rotted inside o’ her, and then cared for my own dad when he died. Her delicate wee constitution almost cracked under the strain.”

The doctor’s chest rose, and he puffed up all over, reminding Angus of a frog the boys had watched for what seemed like hours on a summer’s day at the creek behind his school in Toronto. “I was of course referring to the fact that Mrs. MacGillivray is a lady.”

Angus held his breath, expecting that Ray would take offence at the blatant insult to his own mother. Instead, the Scotsman chuckled. “We know exactly what you were suggesting, Doc. Don’t we, lads?”

The doctor’s eyes narrowed. He struggled to think of something appropriately cutting to say.

“Thank you for your time, Doctor,” Sterling said. “An officer will be around tomorrow to get that certificate.”

“Someone should check that man’s credentials,” Sterling said as the door swung closed behind the doctor. “He wouldn’t be the first fellow to arrive in Dawson pretending to be something he isn’t.”

“I don’t think his intentions towards Mrs. MacGillivray are entirely honourable.” Sergeant Lancaster wagged a finger at Angus. “You watch out for him, young fellow. Until she marries again, it’s up to you to protect your mother’s reputation.”

“I’m fully aware of that, Sergeant,” Angus said. And he was. At school, they’d lectured the boys extensively about a man’s responsibility to his mother, a God-given responsibility, particularly important in the case of a widowed mother such as Angus’s. But it was a hard job, in a place like Dawson, with the sort of company that came into the Savoy and the fact that, as a child, he wasn’t allowed to spend much time in the dance hall.

McKnight rolled the body over, checking to see if there was anything underneath. There wasn’t and he let it fall back. The limbs were stiff, as if Jack Ireland were exerting all his control to keep them from moving.

“What’s the matter with him, Constable Sterling?” Angus whispered, forgetting in his curiosity that he should be keeping quiet.

“He’s dead, Angus,” Sterling said, not laughing.

“I mean other than that, sir. Why are his arms so stiff? It looks like he’s frozen solid.”

“Rigor mortis, son,” Inspector McKnight said, standing up with a soft grunt. “Happens in the hours after death. It wears off after a few days.”

“Rigor helps us determine how long a man’s been dead,” Sterling explained. “It starts in the head and moves down. Now, Ireland here is pretty stiff most of the way down, but his feet still have a ways to go yet.”

“So at a guess, I’d say he’s been dead anywhere from six to nine hours. No more than twelve. Constable?”

“Probably, sir. But it would have been cold in here last night. Cold delays rigor. Might be more.”

“Good point,” the inspector said.

“Pardon me, sir, but that doesn’t seem quite so clever. It’s close to six o’clock now. Me and my ma found him around five. The Savoy was full of customers at midnight, and Ma and Mr. Walker and the staff would have been here for a while after that, say until about one. Anyone would’ve noticed a dead body lying in the middle of the stage. So he couldn’t have been killed more than sixteen hours ago. Common sense tells me that.”

“That’s true, Angus,” Sterling said. “But suppose he wasn’t killed here, in the Savoy? Maybe he was killed a couple of days ago. I know everyone saw him here last night, but I’m saying suppose. And then the body was carried in here after closing?”

“I see,” Angus said.

“I’m guessing you want to be a Mountie, young man, and good for you,” McKnight said. “We could stand here all night talking about police methods and medical clues. But that’ll have to wait for another time.”

Angus beamed. He had been included in the men’s talk, not sent home under his mother’s skirts.

“His pocket watch is missing, Inspector,” Sterling said. “It was a good one?” “Looked good, but I didn’t see it close up. I think he had a diamond stickpin as well.”

“Theft?” “On the stage of the Savoy, on a Sunday night? Unlikely Ireland would have wandered in here all on his own, to be waylaid by a pickpocket.”

“Maybe someone wanted it to look like a theft gone wrong,” Angus suggested. “I read a story where that happened. Is there any money missing?”

“No wallet,” McKnight said.

“Ireland liked to flash his money around,” Sterling muttered. “He would have been carrying some.”

“Something to think about. You fellows can take him away now,” McKnight said to the undertaker’s assistants, standing silently in the shadows.

Angus turned his head as they hoisted the stiff body onto their makeshift stretcher. The scent of death hung heavy in the air. Angus had smelt death in the piled carcasses of the abandoned horses they trudged past on their way from Dyea to the Chilkoot Pass. But this was different. Surprisingly sweet. Whether because the body was that of a man, not a horse, or because it was fresh, or because it was being moved, he didn’t know. He held his breath and avoided looking at the dark patch and the pattern of splashes left behind.

“A half-competent doctor might have been able to find out more,” McKnight said, once the men had left with their burden. “But in this case, I doubt it. There isn’t much of a mystery around what happened here. Only about who. Sterling, you know these people. Did this Ireland fellow have any enemies?”

Ray Walker laughed.

“Pretty much everyone he met,” Sterling said, giving Walker a hard look. “I know there was trouble here last night. Trouble bad enough that if the Mounties knew about it, it might have had the Savoy closed down for a few days. You want to tell me what happened, Ray?”

“No.”

“All I have to do tomorrow morning is ask around. Mention a few words: Ireland, Walker, Irene. And everyone’ll assume I know all about it and be happy to talk till the cows come home.”

Ray examined his fingernails. Lancaster got up and found another bench on which to place his ample posterior.

“And once they start talking, who knows what people’ll say. Give some folks a listening ear, and they’ll make up all sorts of wild embellishments, just to keep you paying attention to them. Have you found that happens, Inspector?”

“All the time. And the longer a story grows, the more incredible it becomes in the telling.”

Ray wiped one hand across his brow and down the side of his face.

“You want to tell the Inspector and me what happened last night, Ray? Or do you want to make us work at getting a story that might be more than the truth?”

“Ireland.” Ray spat on the floor. “Hit Irene. In front of everyone. Attacked Fee too. Don’t worry Angus, your mum fought back. Your mum protects herself. And what’s hers. But Irene, she don’t know how to fight a man. I’m the bouncer here. Can’t have the customers beating on the dancers, can I?”

“And that was it? Nothing personal, no excessive force?”

“I did my job, Sterling. Now you go and do yours and find out who did the world a favour and rid us all of Jack frigging Ireland. But it weren’t me.”

Ray stood up. His accent had gotten so thick that even Angus was having trouble understanding what he was saying. The Scotsman’s face was as red as Angus’s mother’s best dress. The one that had been her best dress until yesterday. Blood, she had said to Mrs. Mann, can’t wash it out. Rip the dress into rags. His heart almost stopped. Where had his mother gotten enough bloodstains to ruin the dress she cherished so much? She’d said they came from a man with a crack on the head. But she had never before allowed herself to be soiled by the customers.

Coincidence? Of course. Coincidence. Ray said, “He was shown the door and tossed out into the street. Where, hopefully, he fell into a pile of warm dog shit.”

“You didn’t see Mr. Ireland being evicted?” Sterling raised one eyebrow. “Why was that?”

“My supper’s waiting,” Ray said. He was a good half foot or more shorter and fifty pounds lighter than the constable, but he gave off an aura of impressive strength as he pulled himself up to his full height. “You’re keepin’ me from it. If you’ve got something more than wild accusations, say it. Otherwise I’m going for my supper.”

“You’re free to go, Mr. Walker,” McKnight said. “But don’t leave town until you hear from us.”

“I’ve a business to run, laddies. I’m not leaving.” He kicked the bench over as he walked towards the door. It crashed to the floor, and a crack split the wood right down the middle.

“I think he intended that to be your head, Constable,” McKnight said. “I’m going back to the fort to fill out a report. Tell me what else you know about this Walker fellow on the way. It’s interesting that he wasn’t the one to throw Ireland into the street.”

“You can’t accuse Mr. Walker of this,” Angus shouted. “Ray wouldn’t kill nobody.”

“Friend of his, are you?” McKnight asked.

“Yes, I am,” Angus said.

“Your mother relies on him, does she?”

“Huh?”

“It’s much the other way around, sir,” Sterling said. “Ray Walker could exert control over any bar or whorehouse in any port in the world, but only Mrs. MacGillivray can keep this place respectable. And profitable.”

“Like her, do you, Constable?”

Sterling looked into the Inspector’s face. “I admire her, sir. Very much. A woman on her own, she’s accomplished a great deal.”

“You want to be a detective, son,” McKnight looked at Angus. “The first rule is that you don’t let your feelings get in the way of the job. Remember that. If your duty calls upon you to do so, you will find yourself arresting your grandmother. That’s a rule you also might need to remember, Constable. I suggest we start by looking for that pocket watch and stickpin.”

“Angus, put out the lamp,” Sterling said, “and go home.”