Читать книгу The Klondike Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Vicki Delany - Страница 44

Angus had loved every minute spent on the Creeks. Questioning the woman outside the miserable hovel scratched out of mud she called a hotel, sleeping on the naked hillside, eating five-day-old supplies. It had been wonderful and confirmed that all he wanted in life was to be an officer in the North-West Mounted Police. But here he was, once again, standing behind the box that served as a counter in the canvas tent that served as a hardware store.

If he weren’t twelve years old, he’d cry. The only thing Angus regretted about the expedition to the Creeks was that he’d missed the boxing match. By all accounts it had been a good one. Most of the men down at the waterfront were talking about it—even Mr. Mann had been there. Sergeant Lancaster had come into the store yesterday and entertained Angus, accompanied by Mr. Mann’s robust actions, with details of every punch, every feint, every duck. Big Boris Bovery had won, and maintained the honour of the Empire, but only after a hard fought battle.

Sergeant Lancaster suggested that Angus return for his lessons, starting the next day, and Mr. Mann approved.

Angus agreed, eagerly. They hadn’t had to forcibly arrest anyone up at the Creeks, or pressure a reluctant witness into submission. But if he was going to live his dream and become a member of the NWMP, Angus knew he had to learn how to defend himself.

At last, seven o’clock arrived. Time to pull the flap down over the front of the canvas tent.

“Go, Angus,” Mann said in his gruff, broken English. “I vill close.”

Angus knew he should offer to stay and help, because it was the right thing to do. But because he hated the store so much, he simply said, “See you later, sir,” and slipped into the maelstrom of Dawson on a Saturday night.

It was early still. His mother would be at the Savoy, and Mrs. Mann wouldn’t have dinner ready yet. He had things to think about, important things, confusing things, so he decided to walk through town before going home.

An unusually high number of people smiled at him or tossed him a wicked grin or stopped for a moment to talk. It seemed as if every person in Dawson, from children scarcely out of nappies to the oldest sourdough, had heard all about Angus’s disappearance.

Angus walked through the streets with his head down and his shoulders hunched. He wondered if, until the end of his days, people would be talking about him as the boy who ran off to the Creeks in a silly attempt to be a Mountie. Perhaps they would carve it on his tombstone:

Angus MacGillivray

Wanted to be a Mountie

Ha ha.

He walked across the mudflats and looked towards Front Street and the Savoy. His mother would be there, all fancy silk and lace, but warm hugs also. And Helen, with a mug of hot tinned milk and maybe a cookie or two. He looked up at the sun, still high in the sky, and sat behind a giant boulder overlooking what passed as the docks in Dawson: a soft indentation in the Yukon River, where vessels constructed of nothing more than hope tied up.

From behind his veil of gloom, Angus MacGillivray saw Ray Walker coming towards him. He started to stand. Ray was a great guy. Angus never gave up hope that his mother would some day marry Ray. Or, if not Ray, then Graham Donohue— but after what he’d overheard the other night in the cigar store, maybe Mr. Donohue should come off the list—or, best of all, Richard Sterling. Even Sergeant Lancaster seemed fond of Angus’s mother. Although Angus did have his doubts as to whether Sergeant Lancaster would be the type of father Angus had long dreamed of.

Before he could get to his feet and shout out a greeting, Ray passed the boulder and Angus heard the soft murmur of voices. Someone had joined Ray.

“They suspect ye,” Ray’s voice said.

“Rubbish. I ain’t done nothin’. I haven’t killed no one.”

“It doesn’t matter what you did or didn’t do. What matters is what the police think.”

“Where did you hear this nonsense?”

“Never you mind.” The woman’s voice collapsed upon itself. Fading, softening.

“I didn’t kill him. Do you understand, Ray? Do you care?”

The man struggled for breath. “You know I care.”

The woman almost purred. “Then we can forget all about it.” She sounded like a huge Persian cat Angus faintly remembered his mother owning when they lived in London. That cat was always washing her fur and licking her paws and stretching luxuriously—and hunting rats in the alley at night.

“The Mounties won’t leave it.”

“You’re worried about this McKnight. Don’t be. He’s a fool.”

“He’s not a fool. But even more dangerous than McKnight, there’s Sterling.”

The woman laughed, a deep, hearty laugh so convinced of its own merits Angus was willing to agree with every word she said. “Sterling’s so besotted, he’s useless.”

“Don’t underestimate Sterling. He might appear blind where she’s concerned, but nothing’ll distract him from his duty. I’m telling you, they think you did it.”

“But I didn’t!” The woman moaned. “I didn’t kill him. Sure, I was thrilled to hear he was dead, but I’d nothing to do with it. They’ll always find a woman to blame, won’t they? The bastards. Curse every last one of them. Can’t find the killer, so to save themselves, they’ll blame it on a woman.”

A mosquito landed on Angus’s arm. He swiped at it, but was too late. Blood oozed from the pinprick of a bite.

“What should I do?” the woman said with a deep sigh.

Angus peeked out from behind his rock. He should stand up and say hello, but he’d been listening for too long. Ray and Miss Irene would think he’d been eavesdropping, spying maybe.

“It might be best if you left town.”

“Leave town! I didn’t kill no one. Why should I run away? I can’t leave Dawson. I’ll never make this kind of money anywhere else.”

“This is about more than money, Irene. How much’ll you be making in the Fort Herchmer jail? Or on the gallows?”

“You wouldn’t let that happen, would you, Ray? You’d make sure they knew I didn’t have nothing to do with it?”

“Who’s going to listen to me?”

The woman’s voice dropped. “All you have to do is tell them I was with you that night. All night long.”

“But, Irene…”

“I can make it happen, Ray. A bit late, but it can still happen.”

Angus dared to lift his head above the protection of his boulder. Irene’s chubby white hands stroked the front of Ray’s shirt. She undid the top button; her fingers moved down to the next.

Ray grabbed her moving hands in one of his. “Not here.” His voice sounded exceptionally deep; he seemed to be having trouble catching his breath.

Irene laughed, low in her throat. “All the night long, Ray.”

“Christ woman, I canna…”

They broke apart as two men appeared on the deck of the nearest steamboat. The men were arguing, their heads close together, their voices raised. They paid no attention to the private drama going on under their noses: the small, fierce man and intense, frightened woman in conversation, the hidden boy listening.

“We can’t talk here,” Irene said. “But understand what I’m saying, Ray Walker. I worked too hard to get here, and I ain’t leaving Dawson, running from something I didn’t do. And as I didn’t do it, it wouldn’t hurt you none to tell them we was together.” She stretched the last word on her tongue. “Now would it?”

“But I’ve already told ’em I was with me pal till about six…”

“They’re men. They’ll understand.” The voices faded away. Angus pressed his back into the shelter of the rock. The men on the steamboat had stopped arguing and were looking at him.

Angus waved. They waved back. He got to his feet and ran to the street. Miss Irene, his mother’s best dancer, had asked Ray Walker to lie for her. To give her an alibi for the time Mr. Ireland had been murdered.

He had to tell Constable Sterling. Right away. But she said she hadn’t done it. She only wanted to avoid trouble.

The police would never convict an innocent woman. So by pretending to be somewhere she wasn’t, Irene would only confuse the investigation. Make things harder for the Mounties.

And what did Miss Irene mean that Sterling couldn’t solve the murder because he was besotted? Besotted with what? Sterling was a good officer. The best the NWMP had in the Yukon. Maybe in all of Canada.

Angus knew where his duty lay. He had to tell Constable Sterling what he’d heard. If he moved quickly, Ray wouldn’t have time to tell a lie and get himself into real trouble.