A Metropolitan Murder (12 page)

‘How are things with you, old man?' asks Tom.

‘The police have been crawling about,' he says, ‘asking questions down the railway.'

‘Really? Why's that? You been a bad boy, Bill?'

‘I ain't done nothing,' he says hastily.

‘Tom,' interjects Lizzie, ‘don't tease him. You know what it'll be. You was only just talking of it.'

Tom Hunt grins. ‘Aye, that poor girl, eh? Strangled. Weren't you, were it, Bill? Eh? That's a good'un, ain't it? Always the quiet ones, they say, Liz.'

‘No, it weren't,' replies Bill Hunt, scowling.

‘Don't take on, old man,' replies Hunt, laughing at his cousin's expense. ‘Just my little joke, that's all. Now, let me get you that drink.'

‘What do you want, Tom?'

‘Well, let's just say me and Liz are having difficulties with our accommodation.'

D
ECIMUS
W
EBB'S TRAIN
pulls in at Baker Street. He lets his sergeant go on ahead, and, in a couple of minutes, he finds himself standing by the track, past the end of the platform, next to a small wooden shed that serves as a repository for the workmen's tools. Beside him are sergeant Watkins and a dozen or so men in soot-blackened clothing – cloth or oilskins that afford no protection to their faces, which are as dirty as that of any miner. They all stand either hunched over their picks and shovels, or slouching with hands in pockets; they do not so much avoid the policeman's gaze as simply ignore it.

‘Gentlemen,' says Webb, ‘as you know, sergeant Watkins has assembled you here so I may ask you a few questions.'

A couple of the men spare him a glance, but none of them speaks. Webb, however, is unperturbed and continues to address them.

‘Firstly, how many of you saw the train last night?'

‘The last train, was it?' asks one man.

‘Yes, the last train.'

Most of the men nod, or mutter some acknowledgement. The man who spoke adds, ‘We all would have seen it. We all is ready to work, once it's gone by.'

‘And what is your work?'

‘Repairs and that. And there's the new station buildings at Farringdon, and the new line. All needs looking after, night and day.'

‘And, tell me, did you see or hear anything peculiar or unusual in relation to that last train?'

‘How do you mean?' says the same man.

‘Well, perhaps a scream or shout, or something you saw in the carriage.'

A couple of the men smile. Most of them shake their heads.

‘And what's so funny?' asks Watkins sharply.

‘No offence,' says one of the men, ‘but you ain't been in the tunnels, have you? You don't see much of anything when the train goes by, excepting dust and steam. And you wouldn't hear nothing but the wheels neither. Not if there was a brass band playing, you wouldn't hear it.'

Webb pauses, fixing his gaze on the man who spoke.

‘I see. Well then, thank you, gentlemen. If you think of anything more, please let me know. I believe that will be all for now.'

The men look surprised at the brevity of the interview, but relieved at its termination. Webb climbs the steps back on to the platform. Watkins follows him.

‘Well, that was hardly worth it,' says Watkins.

‘I had nothing more to ask them. And, besides, none seemed keen to talk.'

‘You can tell he planned it, eh?'

‘Planned?'

‘He gets the girl alone in the carriage. No-one can see a thing, no-one can hear her screaming.'

‘And what about someone in the next carriage? Would they not have heard her?'

‘Not with the noise of the train, surely?'

‘Maybe. Tell me, is my velocipede still here, sergeant?'

‘We had it taken back to the station house last night,
sir, for safety. We thought that would be best.'

‘Hmph. I had thought to ride it directly home.'

‘Home already, sir?'

‘I do not think there is much more I can do today. I need to think on it. We are missing something, I know it. Hold on, what's this?'

As he speaks, a boy rushes down the steps from the ticket hall and makes directly for the policemen.

‘Message for Inspector Webb, if you please, sir.'

‘I am he,' replies Webb.

‘Sergeant Tibbs says can you come to the station house directly, sir. Says it's urgent.'

‘How curious,' says Webb. ‘Tell me, young man, do you know what this is about?'

‘That was the message, sir,' says the boy.

‘But do you know what it pertains to, young man?'

‘There's a lady, sir. That's all I know.'

‘A lady? Well, run on and tell sergeant Tibbs that I shall be there directly; and tell him that had he not taken my velocipede into his custody, I should be there all the quicker.'

‘Sir?'

‘Never mind, here's a penny for you. Just tell him I will be there shortly.'

The boy eagerly takes the penny, and runs at full pelt past the crowd of passengers waiting on the platform.

‘So much,' says Webb, ‘for an early finish.'

A half-hour later, and Decimus Webb enters his office in Marylebone Lane.

‘Inspector?' Philomena Sparrow turns her head and rises from her chair.

‘Indeed, but please seat yourself, ma'am,' says the inspector.

Miss Sparrow complies, watching the inspector manoeuvre round his desk to take the seat behind it; he is impeded by heaps of paper and notebooks, which lie both on its surface and scattered upon the floor around its boundaries.

‘I am afraid that I have been sitting a full hour, Inspector,' says Miss Sparrow.

‘Well,' says Webb, finally lowering himself into his chair, ‘we will keep you no longer than necessary, now that I am here. Now, I understand our good sergeant Tibbs has shown you the . . . ah . . . deceased?'

‘Really, you may say “body” Inspector. It is all the same to me.'

‘Indeed? May I? You show remarkable composure, ma'am.'

‘I am quite accustomed to death, Inspector, in my profession.'

‘You are, I understand, lady superintendent of the Holborn Refuge, is that correct?'

‘Of course it is. That is precisely what I told your sergeant two hours ago. Must I repeat everything?'

‘It is quite likely,' replies Webb, smiling. ‘And so, tell me, you believe you recognise the body?'

‘There is no question, Inspector. It is Sally Bowker, one of our girls.'

‘I see. Has she been with you long?'

‘A month or so.'

‘And has she any family? They should be told, if so.'

‘Not to my knowledge. I would need to check our records, but I believe she said she was an orphan. It is not a simple matter to check, of course. The girls have a habit of, shall we say, fabrication.'

Webb picks up a pencil from the desk and twirls it between his fingers as he talks.

‘That is a shame. And, forgive my bluntness, ma'am, but she was a
magdalene
, yes?'

‘There is no need to spare my blushes, Inspector. Yes, she was on the streets before she was reformed.'

‘Ah,' says Webb, raising his eyebrows a little, ‘you consider that she was quite reformed?'

‘She was one of our best, Inspector. You do not know, I am sure, how much a woman may be changed in a month by prayer and hard work. I cannot believe that she would have fallen from the path.'

‘But, I suppose, you cannot account for her presence on the Metropolitan Railway? One certainly might wonder what business a young girl, any young girl, might have there, if one saw her travelling so late at night. Or perhaps she was on some errand for yourself?'

‘No,' replies Miss Sparrow, hanging her head a little,

‘she broke our curfew. I regret that I cannot account for it.'

Webb smiles indulgently. ‘Nor would I ask you to, ma'am. Tell me, did, ah, Sally have any particular acquaintances who might have wished her harm?'

‘Acquaintances, Inspector? I could not say. She did not keep company with anyone outside the refuge, not to my knowledge.'

Webb does not reply to this point. ‘And there is no-one at your establishment to whom she was particularly close?'

‘No-one that I know of,' replies Miss Sparrow.

‘And you cannot tell me why anyone would want to . . . ah . . . do away with the girl?'

‘I cannot. Surely that is your job, Inspector, and to catch this lunatic, whoever he may be.'

‘Oh, indeed, ma'am. It is indeed. I am merely not convinced that it is a “lunatic”, as you put it.'

‘What other explanation is there?'

‘Oh, my dear Madam, if I knew that already the matter would be done with, and we both could be
somewhere else entirely. Perhaps, I wonder, might we visit you tomorrow,
in situ,
as it were, and discuss the matter in more detail then?'

‘Is that necessary? It will disturb my girls.'

‘I am afraid it is very necessary, ma'am.'

‘I see. If you wish. Well, if that is all for the moment, do you think I might go now? I have been away long enough already.'

‘Indeed. One moment, and I will find a constable to escort you.'

‘That would be good of you,' replies Miss Sparrow, curtly, without much hint of gratitude.

Webb gets up and makes for the door, stumbling over a stack of books as he does so.

‘I won't be a second,' he says, as he dusts down his trousers.

‘Well, sir, what do you make of that?' says Watkins, a few minutes later, when Miss Sparrow has left the building.

‘Of Miss Sparrow? An intelligent woman. She cared for the girl, I think.'

‘Tibbs said she seemed a queer old fish, sir. Prickly, he said.'

‘Have you met sergeant Tibbs' wife, Watkins?'

‘Not to speak of.'

‘Well, rest assured sergeant Tibbs is in no position to pass judgement.'

‘If you say so, sir.'

‘I do. Now, where is my blasted velocipede?'

‘Off home, sir?'

‘If I have your permission, sergeant, yes. We have had this conversation already, have we not?'

‘Take care, sir. Them roads is terribly dangerous at night, you know.'