Let Loose the Dogs (27 page)

Chapter Forty-nine

W
ALTER STOOD STARING OUT OF THE WINDOW
, Sally clinging to his leg, whining. Jess had been gone at least an hour. He’d tried to continue packing up some of the household utensils, but it was as if he had been infected by her lethargy, and he moved slowly although they had to catch the train at seven o’clock. He leaned his head against the cold windowpane. The trouble was, it wasn’t they who needed to vanish, it was more that they needed to lose the past. He had little confidence the move would make that much difference, but he didn’t know what else to do. He hoped that without constant reminders of what had happened, Jess would recover her spirits, that she would come back to him.

“Sally, stop whingeing. You’re getting on my nerves.”

Of course, his harsh tone only made the child cry louder, and in remorse, he swept her up into his arms.

“All right. It’s all right. There, there.”

“Where’s Momma?”

Walter used his sleeve to wipe the child’s tear-stained face.

“Let’s go find her, shall we? Maybe she’s just playing hide-and-seek with us.”

Sally looked doubtful, but he gave her no chance to start up again. He put her back down and went to get her cloak. He really didn’t know where Jess could have gone, but it felt better to move than to stay here wondering.

“Go get your boots, Sally.”

He spoke to his child in a cheery voice and tried to smile at her, but his stomach was tight with fear. He didn’t want to face his own forebodings.

“The frigging bastard.” Murdoch smashed his fist on the table. “The rotten frigging bastard.”

He hit the table over and over, bruising his hand. Suddenly the door from the cells opened and Barker came in, leading his father.

“What’s the matter?” the guard asked.

Murdoch didn’t answer him, but he reached in his pocket and took out all the money he had. It wasn’t much, less than two dollars. He stood up and walked over to him. Harry was eyeing him warily, but he didn’t say anything and went and sat down at the table. Murdoch handed the money to Barker.

“I need to speak in absolute privacy. Will you leave us alone? This is our last chance.”

“You’re not going to try to spring him, are you?”

“Not at all. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Barker stared into Murdoch’s face, puzzled by what he saw there but not quite understanding.

“All right. Ten minutes but then I have to come and check on you.”

Murdoch remembered he had another dollar in his inside pocket, and he fished that out and pushed it into the guard’s hand.

“If you make that twenty minutes, I will appreciate it.”

“I’ll come back then.”

He left, closing and locking the door behind him. Harry looked up at Murdoch.

“There’s hatred in your face, son. What has happened?”

Murdoch thrust the letter under his nose. “This is from Susanna. She’s dead, by the way. I haven’t told you yet. She wrote this. Read it.”

Harry didn’t touch the paper. “When did she die?”

“This last Tuesday. She had a tumour that she wasn’t telling anybody about. She wrote me a letter before she took her final vows, and I have just received it from the prioress. Read it.”

Harry shrugged. “You’ve forgotten I don’t know how.”

Murdoch grabbed the letter. “Then I’ll read it to you …”

“No! I don’t want to hear it. What’s done is done and forgotten.”

“It’s not. It never will be as far as I’m concerned.”

Suddenly, Harry got to his feet. “You’re just aching for a fight, aren’t you?”

“I learned from a master.”

“Then you shall have it.”

Murdoch saw the blow coming and deflected it with his left forearm. With his right fist he hit his father hard, so that Harry jerked backwards.

“You frigging bastard,” said Murdoch, and he hit him again, knocking him to the floor.

Harry lay back. His nose was dribbling blood and snot.

Murdoch came around the table and stood over the fallen man. “Did that jolt your memory? If it didn’t, maybe we can continue until it does.”

He stared down at his father. So many times he had imagined such a confrontation, but now that it had happened, the triumph was no more than ashes.

Harry took a long time to get to his feet. Murdoch braced himself for the retaliation and he was ready for it, would have welcomed it, but his father merely leaned against the wall, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. There was a red mark already appearing on his cheekbone. His flare of anger had evaporated, and he looked defeated.

“I assume you felt you had a good reason to do that.” “I do indeed.”

“Tell me what your sister wrote. I’d like to know.” “Is that so?”

Murdoch’s mouth felt sour to him, and he was ashamed of himself for losing his temper like that. He walked around to the other side of the table.

Harry righted the chair and sat down. “I’ve already told you I’m sorry for my ways. I’d give my right arm if I could go back and change the way I was to all of you, but I can’t.”

His voice was steady and sincere, but to Murdoch it was like pouring kerosene on a fire.

“Sorry isn’t enough, Harry! You can say ‘I’m sorry’ now that you’re about to be strung up, but sorry isn’t going to wipe out what you did.”

Murdoch’s voice was loud, and he glimpsed the curious face of the guard peering through the window, but Barker didn’t intervene and went back down the hall.

“Susanna says she was present the afternoon our mother died.”

He stared at his father, hoping for some sign of uneasiness, some flash of guilty recognition, but there was none.

Harry leaned forward, his hands on the chair as if his back was sore.

“Why don’t you make your point, Will.”

“My point! This is not a debate we’re having where I make a point and you can make a rebuttal…. Susanna says she saw you hit Momma, and she fell and struck her head on the stove. She was dizzy. You insisted she go to the shore because you couldn’t do without your goddamn whelks. Is it coming back to you now, Harry? You do remember how fond you were of your whelks, don’t you?”

Harry’s nose had stopped bleeding, and he was leaning on his elbows, his head in his hands.

“Well? Is it coming back to you now? She should have gone and lain down, probably should have gone to see Dr. Curtis, but you wouldn’t let her. You wanted your dinner nice and fresh.”

He saw that Harry was weeping, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Mother didn’t have any fight left in her. She obeyed as she always did. She went to the shore, and she slipped on the rocks because she was dizzy – because you had slapped her across the head. What do you have to say to that, Harry? I’d say that was tantamount to murder, wouldn’t you?”

This time there was a reaction from Harry. He drew in his breath sharply. “I … I would like to deny that ever happened, but if Susanna says that is what she saw then I believe it did. If I could give my right arm to bring Mary back, to beg her forgiveness, I would.”

“You’ve already given your right arm, I’m afraid,” jeered Murdoch. “You’d better say your left. And then maybe your legs because in my books Bertie was also a casualty. He died because Momma was gone, and he knew you hated him. He had nothing to live for. Poor, sad, sad Bertie. You should add him to your list of regrets. You didn’t directly put a knife in their hearts, but you might as well have.”

Harry gave a groan and shook his head for all the world like a tormented bear.

Murdoch went on. “You don’t remember, eh? How convenient for you. Just like you don’t recall killing John Delaney.”

His father’s face was twisted with grief. “Maybe this is retribution for what I did do, but surely that is for Our God to decide, not you or even me. I will face Him at the day of judgement, and He will decide if I am worthy of forgiveness or not. Or would you rather take that decision into your own hands?”

Suddenly, Harry seemed grey and frail, as if all of his life force had been drained away. Murdoch felt as if he himself were being torn in two. His own anger subsided, leaving not forgiveness, that was too far away, but a wrenching, unbearable sorrow. His father could weep and regret to the bottom of his soul what he had done, but it would not change what had happened. Both his mother’s and brother’s lives had been shortened because of this man. He had blighted them while they were alive, and nothing would make up for that.

The door behind him opened, and the warden entered. He saw Harry’s bloodied face.

“Goodness me, what’s happened here?”

Harry answered him quickly. “I fell and banged my head, sir.”

“Fell how?”

Murdoch interrupted. “The truth is we were fighting. I hit him.”

“You were fighting with your own father?”

“Yes, sir. I regret to say I was. I regret, not because we are related by blood, but because I am younger and fitter and it was an unequal fight.”

Massie looked from one to the other and then at the opposite door. “Where is Barker?”

As if on cue, the guard’s face peered in through the window. Seeing the warden, he came into the room immediately.

“Mr. Barker, please take Mr. Murdoch back to his cell. And tend to that bruise on his cheek. I don’t want the clergy to think we are the cause. When you’ve finished your shift, I’ll speak to you in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

Barker put his hand on Harry’s shoulder. He didn’t resist but stood up like a man sleepwalking. At the door he turned and looked at Murdoch. “I thank you for what you’ve already done for me, Will. I believe I’m ready to face my Maker. But I tell you, the punishment for my sins, my most grievous sins, is not for you to decide.”

Barker led him out. Murdoch felt as if his legs might not hold him up any longer. He could hardly breathe, as if there were a scream trapped in his chest that was holding all the air in his body.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment, Mr. Murdoch.” He became aware that Massie was standing close beside him.

“Why you, a police officer, were fighting with a prisoner under my care is something I will get you to explain at a later date. However, there is an urgent matter you must know about.”

Murdoch stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

“I did not want to say this in front of your father because it might cruelly raise his hopes. We have received a message over the telephone from Number Seven Station. Apparently, Walter Lacey’s wife has attempted to take her own life, and she has confessed to killing John Delaney.”

Chapter Fifty

M
ASSIE PUT HIS HAND ON
M
URDOCH’S SHOULDER.
“The woman is still alive. Her husband found her just in time and carried her to the tavern. It was the publican who insisted you be sent for. I assume he is aware of your relationship with Harry.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Mr. Murdoch, I have been a warden for a long time, and I have perhaps seen all there is to see of human depravity and human foolishness. Unfortunately, I have encountered many instances of such confessions, which always prove to be spurious. It might be very tempting for you to clutch at this as a last hope of proving your father’s innocence. But I do not advise it.”

Murdoch pressed his fingertips against his temples. He had developed a stabbing headache.

“Mr. Murdoch? What would you like to do?”

He looked up. “I have to find out what this is all about. I’ll go right away.”

“Ah, I rather thought that would be your decision. I have made my carriage available to you. It is ready in the driveway.”

“Warden Massie, if this is in fact a true confession, how shall I proceed?”

“Not to be facetious, but I’d advise, with the utmost speed. If you bring me credible proof that she was the one who killed Delaney, then I will be able to stay the execution. However” - he grimaced – “apparently her life hangs by a thread. It is highly likely she will have gone to Her Maker before you get to her.”

Spontaneously, in spite of the warden’s presence, Murdoch crossed himself.

“Dear Lord, preserve her soul.”

“Amen to that,” added Massie.

“And if she is already dead?”

“I cannot answer that question until I have heard all of the circumstances. God speed.”

The warden’s horse was young and well cared for so the coachman was able to hold a canter from the jail to the Manchester tavern, and they were there in less than thirty minutes. Murdoch replayed the confrontation with Harry over and over in his mind. The expression,
to be at the boiling point
, was virtually a literal truth about the way his body felt. The news about Jessica Lacey was a surprise. He’d gone through his list of local people in answer to “If not Harry, then who?” but he hadn’t seriously considered her a suspect. “A spurious confession” was the term the warden had used. Momentarily, Murdoch wasn’t sure if he wanted it to be genuine or not; but even in his anger, he couldn’t stomach Harry hanging for a crime he didn’t commit.

The coachman was pulling up his steaming horse in front of the tavern. They came to a halt, and he jumped down from his seat and opened the door of the carriage as smartly as if Murdoch were the warden himself.

“Shall I wait for you, sir?”

“Yes, for now.”

As Murdoch got out, the front door opened and Newcombe waved at him.

“I heard the carriage,” he said. “Come this way.”

Murdoch followed him inside. “How is she?”

“Very weak. She lost a lot of blood.”

“Will she recover?”

“The doctor is optimistic.” He ushered Murdoch into the hall. “She’s in the parlour. Walter carried her up from the ravine, and we put her in here.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“The doctor said nobody should go in, but given the circumstances, he might relent.”

“I have to, Vince. You know that.”

Murdoch was on the verge of going into the parlour no matter what the opposition, but the doctor himself emerged.

“Dr. Moore, this is Detective Murdoch. I spoke to you about him.”

The physician was a tall, thin man with what turned out to be an implacably cheerful bedside manner. He thrust out his hand and greeted Murdoch energetically.

“Yes, yes, no need to explain your astonishing circumstances; I heard the entire story, and I quite understand you will want to talk to the young woman. And so you shall, but not for too long. I have written down everything she said to me, as is the law, and she has even been able to sign the paper herself so you need not worry on that account.”

Murdoch couldn’t get a word in edgewise and had to wave his hand in a dumb show of wanting to go into the parlour.

“Give me ten more minutes, and then you can come in. She’ll be quite all right,” he continued, and he popped back into the room. Vince touched Murdoch’s sleeve.

“Why don’t you speak to Walter in the meantime? He’s in the taproom with the constable.”

“Vince, does Lacey know who I am?”

“Yes, I had to say it out. The sergeant wouldn’t have sent for you otherwise.” He hesitated. “Do you want to hear what happened first?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen then. We’ll leave the door open, so we can see if the doctor comes out.”

They went in.

“Tch, tch!” exclaimed Newcombe, and he quickly opened up the stove and pulled out a pan of meat. “Completely forgot about it in all the excitement.”

He put the pan on the table and without being asked picked up the teapot and poured two mugs of tea. The tea had steeped so long, it almost walked into the mug, but Murdoch was glad to drink it.

“All right, tell me what happened.”

Newcombe sat down at the table. “Maria and me were having our dinner, right here, when we heard Walter calling from outside the window. I looked out and there he was with Jess in his arms. He’d carried her all the way up from the ravine. She’d cut both her wrists, and she looked nigh to death’s door. Well, we both ran out to help him, and he told us he’d found her in some hideaway near the cottage. Thank God he’d had the presence of mind to tear up his shirt and apply a tourniquet on both arms. And thank God for my Maria. She took right over. I brought Jess straight through into the parlour.” He pointed at the floor. “Look, you can see the blood spots. It was pumping out of her. Maria snatched up her towels and bound up the wrists tight. Walter looked like he was going to fall down himself, but Maria shook him into some sense and sent him back for the child, who was tagging behind him. We could hear her bawling from here. I ran off fast as I could to fetch Dr. Moore, who’s just around the corner, thank the Lord. I thought I’d see the lass dead when I got back, but she was still breathing and looking a bit better. Maria had got some brandy down her throat. Dr. Moore took over, but really Maria had done as much as could be done. He stitched up the wounds but it’s prayer now and waiting.”

“At what point did Jessica say she had killed Delaney?”

“About an hour ago. She recovered consciousness sufficiently to speak, and the doctor of course asked her why she had done such a dreadful thing to herself. She said it was because she had killed John Delaney, and an innocent man was going to be hung for it.” He patted Murdoch’s arm.

“Go on. I’m all right.”

“She said she wanted to talk to Maria alone, but my good wife was too sensible to be the sole witness. She got some paper and made the doctor write down what Jess said. Maria asked her why had she killed Delaney if ’twere true? ‘Because he tried to force himself upon me. I pushed him over the fence,’ Jess said.” Newcombe wiped his face with the back of his shirt sleeve. “All this time Walter was like a tethered wild horse. He just about burst. ‘You did not kill him. I told you that.’ Poor girl got mighty distressed at that and looked as if she was going to give up the ghost right there and then. The doctor said no more talking. He got Jess to sign the paper with what she had said; then he told me to take Walter into the other room. Which I did, although he didn’t come easy. I felt as if I was swimming in waters that was too deep for me, so I didn’t ask him any more. Dr. Moore came out and said he had to fetch his nurse, and he would go to the station and get a constable to come. I told him to have them find you and get you up here. I sat with Walter.” Newcombe screwed up his face. “I must tell you, Will, that was one of the longest hours I’ve ever spent. Neither of us spoke a word. I didn’t think it wise. I was only too happy to hand him over to Constable Stanworth. Ready?”

Murdoch nodded. They both drained the mugs of tea and went down the hall to the taproom.

Walter Lacey was seated in the ingle seat close to the fire, huddled in his chair. There was a blanket draped over his shoulders, and he was dressed only in his undershirt and trousers. He looked like a man who had been washed ashore after a shipwreck. Constable Stanworth was standing at the window. He saluted and he and Murdoch exchanged introductions.

Murdoch went over to Walter and sat down across from him in the ingle.

“Mr. Lacey. I know this is a most difficult time for you, but it is imperative I ask you some questions. I believe Mr. Newcombe has told you who I am.”

“Let me make this clear. My Jess didn’t kill that devil, although she had damn good reason to. God himself wouldn’t pass judgement on her. She just thinks she did, and it’s weighed terrible on her conscience.”

“Please tell me what happened.”

Lacey blinked. “I suppose it was about nine o’clock. Everybody but Mr. Pugh had left. I was out back washing down the pit when Jess comes running in. She’s carrying our daughter and she’s white as paint. Sally’s screeching like she’s been stabbed. I couldn’t understand Jess at first; she’s trembling so much, she could hardly talk. Then I realise what she’s telling me … that Delaney had come up to the cottage and tried to force himself on her. She says he’s had his eye on her for some time, which she’d never revealed to me before.” He clenched his fists and his eyes were so hot with rage, Murdoch could understand why his wife had kept her secret.

“Please continue, Mr. Lacey.”

“Delaney used the dog as a pretext. I knew he’d been bringing it around more frequently lately, but I thought it was so as Sally could play with it. But it was Jess he was after.” Again he stopped to regain some control. Newcombe and the constable hovered uneasily nearby. “She wouldn’t even tell me every which thing, but Sally witnessed it all. Delaney says he’s going to harm the child if Jess doesn’t give in. He makes like he’s going to tie Sally to the chair. But she manages to snatch her up and run outside. He follows after her, playing like a fox with a rabbit. Next thing she knew, he grabs her by the hair. But she’s got spirit, has my Jess, and she gives him a fight. She was too quick, and she got free. They had both got turned around somehow, so that he’s backed up against the rear fence. She gives him a shove as hard as she can, and he falls backward and rolls down the hill.” Lacey was starting to breathe hard as if he had been fighting himself. “According to Jess, he hit one of the trees. She hardly took notice she was so needing to escape, but she says he lay still and she thought his neck was broken. She took Sally and fast as she could ran down the other path to the tavern. I told her we had to get Maria, but that really set her off again. She didn’t want anybody to know, not even Maria. I said I’d look after everything. I ran back down to the ravine. There wasn’t a sign of the bastard, living or dead. I came back and told her that. That he must have been able to get up and walk so his neck wasn’t close to being broken, more’s the pity. She starts to calm down but makes me promise I won’t say anything or try to get revenge on Delaney. She says she would die from the shame of it. I tell you frankly, I’m beside myself but thought it best to wait and see what falls out. Maria is fetched and tends to both of them.” He paused and looked over at Newcombe. “I’m as parched as a desert, Vince. Could you pour me a drop of spirit?”

The innkeeper hurried over to the counter and poured out a shot of whiskey. Murdoch waited as patiently as he could while Lacey drank some of the liquor, shuddering as men do who haven’t had the fire in their belly for some time.

“She’s just starting to get some colour back in her cheeks when along comes Philip Delaney a-looking for his pa, and well, you know the rest of it. He and Mr. Pugh found Delaney in the creek. He was dead, may he burn in hell. One bastard killed by another.”

“Meaning Harry Murdoch?”

“That’s right. I’d be lying if I said I was sorry. Justice was done. But Jess, she … she let it plague her to the point where she’s not stable. She lost the babe she was carrying right the next day. She’s not been right since. Then she hears as the verdict is in, Harry Murdoch is convicted, and that was the last straw.”

Murdoch crouched down so he could look into the other man’s face. “Mr. Lacey, is your wife aware that the coroner himself said Delaney was killed near where he was found? He walked on his own legs down to the path. And even if that weren’t the case, even if Delaney had broken his neck in a fall, no jury in the world would blame Jess for trying to defend herself.”

“She wasn’t up to attending the trial, but I told her and told her she wasn’t responsible. She just moiled on it. Wouldn’t believe me.”

“Why didn’t you, yourself, bring this forward at the trial?” asked Murdoch.

“Are you married?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then you can’t understand.”

“I know what it’s like to love a woman. Married men don’t have the prerogative on that.”

“It’s different when it’s your wife. Getting her to talk about what happened was like taking a bandage off somebody who’s been in a forest fire. I couldn’t do that to her again and in public. It was obvious who the real killer was; there was no sense in destroying Jess and Sally any more than they’d already been destroyed.”

Murdoch took a deep breath. “Mr. Lacey, I think you are a liar. That you are a yellow coward, and that for all your professions of love, you are, in fact, intent only on saving your own skin. That you would allow an innocent man to die for a crime he didn’t commit and you would even allow your beloved wife to take her own life because she thinks she is the one responsible.”

Lacey leaped to his feet, and it was only because Newcombe got in front of him in time that he wasn’t at Murdoch’s throat. The constable had to help force him back to the bench.

“Calm down, Walter,” said Newcombe. “We’re all under pressure here.”

“He’s not. It’s not his wife who might die!”

“No, it’s not!” Murdoch shouted back. “But Harry Murdoch is my father, and there is no doubt he will die – this Monday morning at seven o’clock to be precise – unless I find out the truth.”