Читать книгу The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Vicki Delany - Страница 42

The next morning, as I left the Savoy to do the morning banking, I saw a familiar, and unwelcome, figure marching determinedly down the street in my direction. I fled back into the saloon, waving at Not-Murray standing behind the bar and mouthing, “I’m not here”. Skirts in one hand, bag of money in the other, I galloped up the stairs and stood on the landing, listening, trying not to breathe too loudly.

“Is Mrs. MacGillivray in her office?” Sergeant Lancaster.

“Nope.” Not-Murray.

“Sure she is,” Helen said cheerfully, walking into the saloon from the gambling hall with her mop and bucket. “I caught a glimpse of her running up the stairs. Must have forgotten something.”

I’d hoped that if I was able to avoid my suitor for long enough, he would give up the pursuit. Clearly, I wasn’t to be so lucky.

I lifted my head high and drifted elegantly back down the stairs, lugging the moneybag.

“Sergeant Lancaster, what a pleasure to see you. Unfortunately I can’t stay to talk, I must get to the bank immediately.”

“I just passed the Commerce, Mrs. MacGillivray, and folk are lined up down the street a good way. No point in you hurrying. I was hoping,” he coughed lightly and looked at Helen and Not-Murray and the handful of early drinkers, all of them watching us, “you could spare me a few moments. For a private conversation about the matter that we…ah…discussed the other day. I’m right pleased to hear your son’s back, by the way. Although if you want my opinion, Inspector Starnes should have drummed Sterling out of the force for causing you such distress.”

“Thank you for the warning, but I never wait in line at the bank. If you’ll excuse me.”

“I’ll escort you. We can talk on the way.” His brass buttons and high boots were polished to a shine the like of which I hadn’t seen since leaving Vancouver.

“Very well.” I looked over my shoulder as the sergeant hastened to hold the door. Helen grinned so broadly, I wondered if she’d deliberately set Lancaster on me. Not-Murray and the customers returned to more important matters.

“Allow me, Mrs. MacGillivray.” Lancaster reached out and tried to grab the moneybag.

I tightened my grip. “Certainly not, Sergeant. The contents of this bag are my responsibility.”

We wrestled over the bag for a few seconds until Lancaster finally realized I wasn’t about to surrender it, and if he intended to take it, he would have to flatten me. At that moment I think he also understood I wasn’t going to accept his proposal either. Colour rose into his face, his shoulders slumped, and some of the shine seemed to disappear from the buttons marching neatly down the front of his red uniform jacket.

“I’ll be on my way, Mrs. MacGillivray. My proposal stands. I hope you’ll be able to consider it one day. I…uh…I admire you very much. Good morning.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” I said to his retreating back. His disappointment had been written so boldly across his face that I felt quite guilty. It was a most unusual feeling, and one I didn’t care for. I’ve always avoided guilt.

I went to the bank. Naturally, I didn’t join the lineup outside, and I concluded my business quickly.

Inspector McKnight was leaning against a cart pulled up to the side of the street, smoking a cigar. A dog, so thin that if I were so inclined I could count every rib, sniffed without much interest at the Inspector’s boots.

“A moment of your time, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

I looked carefully at my watch, more to hide my confusion and to look important than to check the hour. I had slept so long and so well last night I wasn’t planning on going home for my usual after-bank nap.

“I won’t keep you for too long.”

“My pleasure.” I smiled prettily.

He fell into step beside me. The dog followed.

“The killing of Mr. Ireland remains the primary concern of the NWMP.”

I said nothing. I hadn’t thought Inspector McKnight was accompanying me in order to pass the time of day.

“I don’t seem to be making a great deal of headway. Most murders, you may not know this, are committed by a member of the family.”

“You don’t say!” I put on my shocked-and-dismayed face.

“As Mr. Ireland had no family in Dawson, that line of investigation takes us nowhere. The next thing we do is to try and find out if the murdered man had any enemies.”

I laughed and almost tripped over the miserable dog.

“However,” McKnight said, “it would appear Mr. Ireland had nothing but enemies.”

“He wasn’t a very nice man.”

“So I understand.”

“If you have a point to make, Inspector, please make it. I’m a busy woman.” What would I do, what would I say, if he asked me about Graham? Would I have to go to jail if I lied? I couldn’t imagine myself in jail. The clothes must be simply hideous, and the food doesn’t bear thinking about. Not to mention the constant company of other women.

Ray would look after Angus, I could count on that, but who would look after Ray? I took a deep breath.

“Tell me about Irene Davidson?”

“What?”

“Irene Davidson. The dancer. She’s your most popular entertainer, I understand.”

I stopped walking. The dog also stopped. “Why are you asking about Irene?”

“I’ve been told she was involved with Ireland.” “Well, yes. But that was nothing. One night. Heavens, this is Dawson.”

“There are marriages in Dawson that don’t last much longer.”

I chuckled, assuming he had made a joke. He hadn’t. “Miss Davidson left Friday night with Jack Ireland. She came to work on Saturday bruised and sore. I’ve been told that on the Saturday night before his death, Ireland was physically abusive to her in the dance hall of the Savoy, and that you intervened and banned Ireland from your place. Is all of that correct?”

“Well, yes. He’d roughed Irene up. But I can assure you that women don’t murder a man for hitting them. Although we’d be safer if they did.”

“I will ignore that comment, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

“Ignore it if you want. I don’t know why you’re telling me what I already know.”

“I’m hoping you can remember something you mightn’t have mentioned. Something about the behaviour of Miss Davidson or Mr. Ireland Saturday night.”

“I noticed that Mr. Ireland behaved like the common boor he was. And I noticed that Irene was frightened and upset and happy to see the back of him.”

“Did you see Miss Davidson leave the Savoy after closing on Saturday?”

The traffic of the streets swirled around us. Most passers-by were paying a good deal more attention to us than they should. Black clouds, pregnant with rain, hung over the hills on the far side of the Yukon River. A mosquito buzzed around my ear and I swiped at it. Of all the hardships in the Yukon, the bugs have got to be the worst. They made one almost long for winter.

I hadn’t seen Irene leave. I thought Ruby had taken care of her; I hadn’t asked. “Well, no. I’m sure Ruby saw her back to her lodgings.”

“That would be Ruby Weller, a dancer at the Savoy?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Weller claims that Miss Davidson insisted she was able to manage by herself, so Miss Weller left her in your office.”

“Miss Davidson had gone when I locked up. I always check my office last.”

“Are you sure she wasn’t there? Perhaps you just didn’t see her.”

“What are you getting at, Inspector? I’ve told you what I saw that night. And it isn’t a night I will easily forget.”

“No one seems to be able to confirm Miss Davidson’s movements after the doctor and Miss Weller left her.”

“It was late. It was a Sunday morning. She went home.”

“Her landlady had a toothache. She couldn’t sleep, so she sat up all night in the kitchen, which I can verify has an excellent view of the front door. Apparently Miss Davidson didn’t return to her lodgings at least before the landlady left in the morning to seek relief.”

“Unfortunately, Inspector, as we have both pointed out, this is Dawson. Unmarried women sometimes have admirers, and they might behave inappropriately, as much as you or I might be shocked by such goings on.”

He took a sharp breath. “Don’t play me for a fool, Mrs. MacGillivray.” The dog whined at the change in tone.

“I am doing nothing of the sort, Inspector. I am telling you that nothing you’ve told me this morning has any influence on my interpretation of the events of last Saturday night.” The dog cocked one half-missing ear at me. “But I will tell you that I have, unfortunately, seen too many women beaten and abused by men they thought were their protectors. And not one of them has taken the law into her own hands.” Well, not after the first occurrence anyway. “And that’s all I’m prepared to say to you on the matter.” I lifted my skirts and swept past him.

“You’ll talk to me when the law demands it of you, Mrs. MacGillivray.”

I turned around and faced him, so angry I was almost shaking. “I suggest you feed that dog. For some reason he seems fond of you.”

I meant what I’d said, and not about the dog, either. Women didn’t kill their abusers after one attack. I would swear that Irene had nothing to do with Ireland’s death. But what if she were accused? Would I turn Graham over to the police to save Irene?

I would have to. What a mess. At least McKnight hadn’t accused me of having anything to do with it. From his point of view, I might be considered to have a motive. Ireland had been heard by the entire bar to threaten me. But McKnight earlier acknowledged that I wouldn’t endanger my business by killing someone on the premises and leaving the dead body there to be found. Hadn’t he?

Indeed he had. My head hurt, and here I’d started the day in such good humour. I decided I would simply not think about it again. Everything would settle down. The Mounties would never find out who killed Jack Ireland—they were certainly not under any pressure from the townspeople to solve the case—I could ignore my moral dilemma, and life would soon return to normal.

Whatever passed as normal in Dawson, Yukon Territory. A filthy old drunk leered in my face, groping for my breast. “Let’s have a squeeze, sweetie.” He smelled of cheap whisky, cheaper cigars, rotten teeth and unwashed clothes.

I stiff-armed him off the boardwalk without breaking my stride.