The following morning, Murdoch decided to pay another visit to Thomas Talbert. He had supposedly known Cooke for a long time, and he might be able to confirm what Whatling and Ferguson had said about Cooke’s predilection for gambling.
It was another lovely fresh morning and Murdoch found himself whistling as he rode down Mutual Street. Last night, just as Dr. Ogden and Professor Broske were about to leave, Charlie and Katie had returned and somehow in the introductions the news of their engagement came out. Broske insisted on celebrating but, fortunately, Charlie had a bottle of good whisky in his room and they were able to avoid the grappa in the several toasts that had followed. It was almost midnight when the doctor and her companion had finally left, Broske kissing Amy and Katie’s hands with much gusto. Murdoch noticed he even slipped in a quick kiss to his Miss Julia’s cheek. He smiled at the memory and at how pink Dr. Ogden had turned.
He leaned his wheel against the fence and opened the gate to Talbert’s front garden. He paused. All of the front-room blinds were pulled down. It was almost nine o’clock, surely it was not too early to call on the man? He checked the upper windows and there the blinds were up. A sharp pinch of alarm gripped him. Of course, it was quite possible that Talbert had fallen asleep downstairs, but where was his housekeeper? There was a quiet to the house, a feeling of something not normal that was troubling. He went up to the door and knocked. Nothing stirred. He knocked again harder and this time he turned the door handle, pushed open the door, and stepped into the hall.
“Mr. Talbert? Mr. Talbert? Detective Murdoch here.”
The unmistakable odour of death hit his nostrils.
The portières to the parlour had been drawn back and that door was wide open. He could see Talbert lying on the floor, near the fireplace. He was on his right side with his knees tucked tight to his chest.
Murdoch ran to the body and crouched down. He could see a single bullet hole in the neck just below the jaw. The bullet must have pierced the artery and there was a wide spatter of blood around the area where Talbert was lying. He was fully dressed and wearing the same light-blue smoking jacket that Murdoch had seen him in before. It was covered with blood down the left side. His wrists were tied in front of him and his arms had been drawn down over his bent legs. A poker was thrust behind his knees and over his elbows, pulling him almost into a ball. Incongruously, on top of the body was a scattering of bills, mostly five-and two-dollar notes, some of them stuck to his jacket by the blood.
Murdoch tried to lift the arms so he could get a better look at the other side, but rigor was at its height and the body was completely stiff.
Suddenly, Murdoch heard the front door open.
“Hello, Thom, I’m back,” called a female voice.
“Damn.” He jumped to his feet and ran over to the door, but he wasn’t in time to prevent Mrs. Stokely from entering the room. Seeing him, she stood stock-still at the threshold.
“Who are you?”
Murdoch managed to get himself between her and the body. “I’m Detective Murdoch, ma’am. I was here the other day. Please don’t come in here, ma’am. Let’s go out into the hall.”
She stared at him for a moment, then peered over his shoulder. The colour bleached out of her face and she suddenly looked like an old woman.
“Thom, oh my God.”
She would have run over to the body, but Murdoch anticipated her and caught her by the arms. She wasn’t screaming, but she was saying desperately over and over, “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Mrs. Stokely, you cannot come any farther. A crime has been committed. Please do as I ask.”
As gently but as firmly as he could, Murdoch eased her back through the door, pulling it closed behind him. Once in the hall, he got her into the chair by the hat stand. She was shaking from head to toe and there were flecks of saliva at the corners of her mouth. Murdoch crouched in front of her so he could meet her eyes.
She stared at him, uncomprehending. “What happened to him?”
“He has been shot.”
That elicited more agonized exclamations.
“Shot? Who did it? Who? Who in God’s name would kill a good man like Thom?”
“I don’t know yet, ma’am. I came here to talk to him and this is how I found him.”
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, but she gazed at it as if she hadn’t seen one before and the tears slid unchecked down her face.
“I should have been here. I should have. Oh why did I leave him last night, of all nights?” He could hardly make out what she was saying.
“Were you away from home, ma’am?”
“Yes, I, I…visit my granddaughter on Friday nights. I just got back.”
“When did you leave?”
“Leave? I don’t know. It must have been at my usual time.”
“When would that be, ma’am?”
“When? At eight o’clock, I suppose.”
“Did Mr. Talbert have any visitors?”
“No. He never did on Fridays. He…he liked to have his weekly pipe…I don’t like tobacco, you see…” Her voice trailed off.
“Did he mention anything about expecting anyone?”
“Not at all. He told me to enjoy myself, gave me a k –” She halted. “He told me to have a nice time and…and give his regards to my granddaughter. She has been recently confined, you see. Oh, how will I ever tell her?”
Murdoch straightened up. “Mrs. Stokely, do you have any brandy in the house?”
“Brandy?” She fluttered her hand. “Yes, Thom, Mr. Talbert, always kept a bottle in the kitchen. He didn’t drink himself, but sometimes offered it…offered it to his…to his visitors.”
Murdoch held out his hand. “Let’s go into the kitchen, shall we?”
Unsteadily, she got to her feet and allowed him to lead her down the hall. She was leaning heavily on his arm and he could feel the violent trembling of her body. He sat her at the kitchen table, elicited the location of the brandy, and poured her a stiff cupful.
“Take a good swallow,” he instructed her and was pleased to see a little colour return to her cheeks as she did so. She wiped her eyes and nose.
Murdoch took the chair across from her. “I know this has been a terrible shock, ma’am, but I must ask you to do something for me. I need to send for a constable. Do you think you can get to your neighbour’s house and have them go to the station?”
“Yes. I can go to Dr. Pollard’s. They have a telephone.”
“Excellent. Tell them to have the operator connect them with number four station. Say that I need three or four constables here right away. They should also send for the coroner, Dr. Ogden, and we will need the ambulance. Do you remember my name, Mrs. Stokely?”
“No, I’m sorry, the shock has driven everything quite out of my head.”
“I’m Detective Murdoch from number four station. Will you repeat that for me?”
“Murdoch from number four station. I’ll remember.” Her voice was a little stronger now.
“Very good. You are being most brave. Now, let me escort you to the door. Would you prefer to go out of the back door or the front?”
She shook her head violently. “There is a high fence between our property and theirs. What if somebody is still there?”
“I think that is most unlikely, ma’am, but let’s use the front entrance so I can watch out for you. Then I want you to remain at the doctor’s house until I come over myself. Will you promise me you will do that?”
“Yes, Mr., er, Mr. Murdoch. Oh dear, oh dear, what is to become of me?”
“Try not to think of that right now, Mrs. Stokely. The most important thing at the moment is that we get on the trail of Mr. Talbert’s killer as soon as possible. Give me your hand. That’s good. Now let me help you with your jacket.”
As obediently as a child, she slipped her arms through the sleeves. She was normally a stout, buxom woman, but it was as if she had suddenly shrivelled.
“We’ll leave your hat, shall we?”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to Mrs. Pollard’s house bare-headed.”
Murdoch handed her the hat, probably her Sunday best, of beige felt, wide-brimmed, and profusely decorated with brown taffeta ribbons and yellow feathers. She put it on and straightened up.
He offered her his arm again. “Here we go, then. Hold on tight.”
Making sure he was walking on the side nearest to the parlour, he escorted her to the front door and stood on the porch while she made her way to the large house next to them. He waited until she had knocked and been admitted, then he went back inside, bolting the door behind him. He didn’t want any more unexpected visitors.
Somehow when he returned to the sight of the dead man, the scene looked even more horrible. Seeing the position the body had been forced into, Murdoch felt a rush of anger that was also tinged with fear. Was he truly dealing with a lunatic? First a brutal whipping that had brought about the death of Daniel Cooke, now this. He could only assume the two deaths were connected.
He made the sign of the cross over the body.
“May the Lord have mercy on your soul.”