“Got a new chair, did you, sir?” Musgrave asked.
Murdoch stopped abruptly. He’d taken a seat behind the inspector’s desk and was enjoying testing the chair that tilted and revolved. He stopped quickly.
“Something like that,” he muttered.
The top of the desk was pristine except for a tray filled with papers, the first one marked urgent. He’d better have a look at that later. Couldn’t let down the reputation of station number four, after all. To the side of the desk was a squat walnut boxy container that he hadn’t seen before. On the top was an ivory button, which he pressed. Immediately the sides of the box sprung open, revealing rows of cigars held in by a wire frame. Murdoch hesitated. Borrowing the office was one thing, taking cigars that didn’t belong to him was another. Nobly, he closed it again.
There was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” Murdoch called, and George Crabtree entered. If he was surprised to see Murdoch sitting behind the desk, he didn’t show it.
“George, Mr. Musgrave is about to give me his formal statement. Write it down for me, will you?” Crabtree would spot any discrepancies or embellishments to what he’d already heard. “Mr. Musgrave, will you proceed? Start with your name and address please.”
The cabbie removed his tobacco plug from his mouth and wrapped it in his handkerchief, which from the look of it had been used in this way many times before.
“My name is Paul Musgrave and I live at 210 Wilton Street.”
“How long have you worked for Daniel Cooke?”
“Oh, ’bout three years now.”
“What sort of employer was Mr. Cooke?”
Musgrave slapped his hand on his knee. “As good as they come. Conscientious to a fault. He was there when we booked out and sitting waiting when we booked back in. Mind you, he kept his distance, which is only proper, in my opinion. People will take advantage if you don’t, it’s only human nature. But you always knew where you stood with him. Pay your dues and he was pleasant as could be. We rents out the cabs, you see, and we pay that no matter what. One dollar a shift, which you’ve got to make up in your fares. We keeps what we take in, but we pass over 5 per cent of that to Cooke for wear and tear, as he calls it.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Or should I say, called it, may he rest in peace. That’s why he was always on us to look at our dockets, which, as you know, the city council has strict rules about. In the first division, which is city limits, it’s fifty cents. If you go to the second division, that is to Dufferin Street West or Pape in the east, it goes up to seventy-five cents.”
Murdoch had been scribbling the figures in his notebook, and he made some quick calculations.
“If all you cabbies were getting steady business, I’d say Mr. Cooke could make a decent income even after paying for upkeep of the horses and carriages.”
“He could. And we are in a prime location. A lot of professional men in the vicinity. Not all of them keep their own carriages, or if they do, the gentleman uses it. This means the ladies like to hire us to take them shopping or on their calls and so forth. We have a lot of regulars for that reason.”
Crabtree gave a little discrete cough. “Mr. Musgrave had something else to say about the money, Mr. Murdoch.”
“Yes?”
The cabbie settled back in his chair. “In spite of what I just told you, being a cab driver is a thankless job when you get right down to it. You never can say from one day to the next what money you’re going to bring in. The best days are those when it starts off sunny but rains in the afternoon, so all the ladies get out to do their shopping, then get caught. Rainy all day long is not as good as you think because they don’t want to go out. Same with cold. But I always tries to be pleasant and cheerful and I get a lot of steady customers. Especially because the stables is right near Shuter Street, I’ll have a call a lot of times from the doctors’ nurses that Mrs. So-and-So would like me to pick her up. They often gives me a nice gratuity. Them’s the best jobs.”
Murdoch waited. He could see by Crabtree’s expression, Musgrave hadn’t got to the point yet. The constable leaned forward.
“Tell the detective about Mr. Cooke’s attitude to money.”
“Right. Well as I was saying, the cabbie’s life is an unpredictable one. Mr. Cooke was doing all right in my opinion, but lately he’s been, that is, was, quite testy. Not like him at all. He was on us about working harder and kept saying as how we had to go after fares, not just wait for them to fall into our laps. He was starting to ride us to the point of aggravation. I don’t know what had got into him. He didn’t used to be like that. Not that I’m speaking ill of the dead, you understand, he was one of the best.”
Another long pause. The cabbie was apparently studying the plant in the window.
“Go on, Musgrave. We don’t have all day,” said Crabtree, finally losing patience.
“Sorry, officer. Your aspidistra looks a bit wilted. It needs watering, I’d say.”
“Mr. Musgrave, please continue,” said Murdoch.
The cabbie nodded. “Here it is then. It’s my belief there’s been something going on with Mr. Cooke and the darkie.”
“Elijah Green?”
“Him. Mind you, I’d never utter a bad word about the man except under these circumstances. He’s been a good worker, I’d say. Makes sure the carriages are all spic and span and the horses fit, which you’ve got to have if you’re in the business…but two times this month I came in a bit later than expected and I saw him in the office with Mr. Cooke and they were having a barney. A big up-and-a-downer, by the look of it.”
“What about?” Murdoch asked.
“Wish I could help you there, but I can’t. I come in the other end of the barn so I couldn’t quite hear them, but I saw Mr. Cooke grab Green by his shirt. He was mad as the devil about something.”
“What did Green do?”
“Nothing. He sort of shrugged him off, but I thought he was furious too.”
“This happened twice, you say?”
“That’s right. Once about two weeks ago and the other time was just this past Tuesday.”
“The day before Mr. Cooke died?”
“Yes. It was just after eleven at night. Like I said, I was a bit later than expected.”
“Was the earlier quarrel the same? Did Cooke grab Green?”
“Not that time. But he was yelling, I could see that. He banged his fist on the desk.”
“Did you say anything to Green?”
“Not the first time, but when he came in I sort of made a joke of it. ‘The boss found you cheating on the hay bills, did he?’”
“And?”
“Nothing. He just sort of shrugged and said something about the boss getting out of bed the wrong way. But if looks could kill, I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you today.”
“That’s it, then? That’s what you have to tell us?”
Musgrave looked distinctly aggrieved at the question. “That’s more than enough, ain’t it? The darkie is a deep one. I’m a good judge of character, you have to be if you’re a cabbie. You see all sides of human nature, and I tell you he keeps a lot hidden.”
“Did any of the other cabbies ever quarrel with Mr. Cooke? Did you yourself, for instance?”
Musgrave shrugged. “Me and him got along good. The others I couldn’t really say. Wallace is as sour as a pickle, so he and Mr. Cooke weren’t exactly chummy, but I don’t know as you’d call that a quarrel exactly. Besides, there’s always going to be the odd squabble where a man’s livelihood is concerned. Sometimes, Mr. Cooke would take a bigger cut if he thought you’d run the horse too hard or if there was any damage to the carriages. But like I said, he was a shrewd businessman. You can’t be too soft or people won’t give you any respect.”
“That happened to you, did it?”
“Once or twice.”
“You know, don’t you, that we received a complaint that the horses in the livery were being mistreated.”
For the first time, Musgrave lost some of his affability. Without the crinkly eyed smile, his face was hard. “Some interfering old so-and-so, I gather. No doubt a silly old dame who don’t understand what a cabbie’s life is like. I love my horses like they was my own children. But the truth is the more fares we get in an hour, the more money we makes. And if customers want you to scorch them down to the station so’s they’ll catch their train, I ain’t going to say no, am I? They give big bonuses, some of them doctors.”
“Mr. Cooke objected, did he? Wearing out his horses like that?”
“Not him. He knew that’s the life of a cab horse, isn’t it?”
He pulled a big steel watch out of his waistcoat pocket and stared at it. “I should get back to work. This is costing me money, you know.”
“Is the livery operational, then?”
“According to Mrs. Cooke it is.”
“You’ve talked to her, have you?”
Musgrave went still. His cold blue eyes were wary. “Yes, she was good enough to come over to my lodgings this morning. Even in the depths of her grief she is a considerate woman. She wanted to tell me what had happened.”
“I’ve heard that there is a special relationship between you and she. Is that true?”
Musgrave’s slapped his hands on his knees in anger. “Who’s been gossiping behind my back, and the poor woman a new-made widow. Who said that?”
“It doesn’t matter who said it, Mr. Musgrave. Is it true?”
“So help me God, it is not. At least not in the sense you’re implying. She’s got a good heart, has Adelaide Cooke, and to tell you the truth, her husband neglected her pitifully. You can’t do that to a woman and expect her not to get real lonesome. She liked to go to concerts and so do I, and what’s the harm in a man accompanying a lady to a concert once in a while, for God’s sake?”
“I see no harm, Mr. Musgrave, no harm at all. Unfortunately others seemed to have, er, misconstrued the situation.”
Musgrave was still fuming, but Murdoch thought it had the hue of a man who’d been found out rather than one innocent of wrongdoing.
The cabbie got to his feet. “I’m going to miss the afternoon calls if I don’t go soon. Is that all you want to ask me?”
“Not quite. We found a whip that belongs to the carriage you use. Did you know it was missing?”
“It wasn’t when I checked in last night. Cabbies are always borrowing from one another, a whip, a lantern, whatever it is they need at the time and are too lazy to replace. Why does it matter?”
“Let’s say it’s part of our investigation. But before you go, there is one more question. Can you give an account of your whereabouts between eight o’clock and half past nine on Wednesday night?”
Musgrave showed his teeth in what might pass for a smile. “That’s easy. After I signed out at about half past seven, I decided to wet my whistle at the John O’Neil on Queen Street. I was there till closing time at ten. You can ask them.”
“I will. That’s it for now, but I will probably have to talk to you again.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but I don’t see why. I’ve given you the best information you’re likely to get. It’s Elijah Green you should be talking to, not honest, decent men like me.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, Mr. Musgrave. Constable Crabtree will escort you downstairs.”