Let Loose the Dogs (28 page)

“What truth? He did in Delaney.”

“Did he? Or was it you?”

“Horsecrap!”

“Is it? I think you were the one who encountered Delaney when you ran back into the ravine. You were enraged at what he had done to your wife. You smashed him over the head then rolled his body into the creek, hoping it would look as if he had drowned by accident …”

“No!”

“You told your wife you didn’t see any sign of Delaney, but it’s my guess she knows you’re trying to protect her. She is an honourable woman, and she cannot bear the thought of an innocent man dying for something she did. But you don’t care, do you? You’ll let both of them die as long as
you
are alive. Isn’t that the truth, Mr. Lacey?”

Tears were streaming down Lacey’s face, and he could hardly speak for his sobs. Murdoch felt like a torturer.

“Look, Mister, if you think I would do that to Jess, you have another think coming. I would die on the rack before I saved myself and not her …”

“Tell me the truth then. Did you or did you not kill John Delaney?”

“I swear I did not. I never saw him alive after he left this tavern.”

“Will you take an oath on a Bible?”

“Yes.”

Lacey caught Murdoch by the wrist. “And you? Do you swear to me that there is no possibility that Jess was responsible for the bastard’s death?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Then I will tell you the truth.”

Murdoch looked over his shoulder at Newcombe. “Can you fetch us a Bible right away?”

Chapter Fifty-one

N
EWCOMBE WENT TO THE BAR COUNTER
, reached underneath, and removed a small Bible. Murdoch handed the book to Lacey.

“Hold this in your right hand…. Do you swear that the evidence you are about to give touching the death of John Delaney shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God.”

“I do.”

“Mr. Newcombe and Constable Stanworth, take note of what Mr. Lacey says, commit it to memory. I, myself, will write it down. Please go on, sir.”

Lacey slid the Bible onto the bench beside him. “What I have to say isn’t that much different from what I’ve already told you. If the man had been in front of me, I would cheerfully have killed him with my bare hands. But he wasn’t and I didn’t.”

“What did you do?”

“Like I said, as soon as I’d got the story out of Jess, I ran down into the ravine. I expected to find Delaney’s body, and I did. He was lying across the path just up along from the bridge. I could see he was dead. I thought she had killed him. How was I to know any different given what she’d told me? I didn’t have no clear plan, but I rolled him into the creek, like you said, thinking it would look like he’d slipped in accidentally.”

“Did you kick the body? Remember, you’re under oath.”

Lacey stared at the Bible beside him as if it would jump up and bite him. Reluctantly, he said, “Yes. I put the boots to him. I was only sorry he couldn’t feel it.”

“What then?”

“I ran straight back here. Jess was in such a desperate state I knew right there and then I wasn’t going to tell her he was dead. So I said I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. I didn’t expect that Harry Murdoch would be found nearby, and that him and Delaney had had a fight.” He wiped his wet face with the back of his wrist. “She couldn’t have said anything that night; she was too upset. The next day she miscarried … our first son. By the time she’d got over that sufficient to talk about what had happened, I’d heard enough to convince her that Harry Murdoch was the culprit, and it wouldn’t matter if she gave evidence or not. She hadn’t killed Delaney, Harry had. She was terrible low after she lost the child, but I thought she was coming out of it. But the trial last week was too much, as you see.”

Murdoch turned a fresh page in his notebook. “How much time elapsed from when your wife came into the barn till you found Delaney?”

“I can’t be too sure. Everything seemed to speed up. But I ran there and back, and that’s about ten minutes or so each way.”

“A few minutes to roll the body into the creek. Roughly twenty-five minutes. Add to that at least ten minutes or more for Mrs. Lacey to get here. She must have talked to you for another ten minutes at the minimum. All told that would give us about forty-five minutes from the time Delaney fell over the fence railing to when you found him. Did you touch him? Was the body still warm?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think. He was dead, that’s all I can say.”

“Let’s suppose he was hardly even stunned by that first fall. He gets to his feet and proceeds to walk down the steps. He must have seen Mrs. Lacey going by way of the other path. Who knows, perhaps he intended to catch her at the bridge? However, when he gets to the bottom of the hill, he meets up with somebody else. That person hits him from behind, at least two blows and so hard the skull is fractured. That person disappears.”

Lacey scowled. “He didn’t go far. He was in the bushes. That person’s been convicted.”

“I don’t need to remind you, Mr. Lacey, that the verdict was reached without all the evidence being brought before the jury.”

“Don’t change the picture that much.”

“It might! Besides, that’s what our bloody justice system is all about, isn’t it? We let the jurymen hear everything, and they decide.”

Newcombe edged a little closer and Murdoch tried to calm down.

“Will the case be reopened?” asked Lacey.

“We’ll see when I take all this new information to the warden.”

“If there is a new trial, Jess will have to go on the witness stand, won’t she?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

Lacey’s face was contorted with grief. “She would have spoke up if I’d insisted. But I couldn’t bear to put her through the ordeal …”

He was interrupted by Maria Newcombe entering the room. “Excuse me, gentlemen, but Jess is asking to speak to Walter.”

He jumped up. “How is she?”

Maria smiled a little. “I do believe she will recover. Now only a minute with her. I think she is worried about Sally.”

Lacey followed Maria from the room, the blanket clutched about his shoulders.

Murdoch let out a long, deep breath. “What do you think, Vince? Is this man telling the truth?”

“I do believe he is, Will.”

“Constable Stanworth?”

The young man blushed a little with pleasure that Murdoch was consulting him.

“I found him convincing, sir.”

Suddenly, there was a soft whimper from behind the screen. Tripper appeared, a puppy dangling by its scruff from her mouth. Newcombe went over to her. “You get back in there.” His voice was fond. He picked up both dogs and replaced them in the whelping box. “Ever since we took the puppy up to the Delaney house, she keeps wanting to move the remaining litter to another place. I don’t want her to lose him. I might have to chain her up.”

Murdoch had been in the process of looking over the notes he had just taken, and he only half heard. However, at that moment, there was a shift in his mind rather as if a stereoscope card had come into focus. He went over to Newcombe and grabbed him by both arms.

“Vince, what did you just say?”

“About Tripper? Just that she’s trying to move the pups …”

“And you might have to chain her up?”

“Yes …”

Murdoch let him go. “Goddamn it, my own anger has closed my mind like one of your traps. From the beginning I assumed Harry was lying or simply did not remember. That he was guilty as charged. But what if it happened just as he said it did? He goes to the bridge, falls and hits his cheek. A bit of bad coincidence for him that Delaney clouted somebody as well. Let’s say for now, a different person. Then Harry staggers further along the path, passes out. He admitted to me that he had a hazy memory of Delaney standing over him. We assumed they’d had a barney. Harry is accustomed to barneys that he doesn’t recollect. But what if that wasn’t the case? That Delaney came across him, either on his way to the Lacey cottage or afterward. Nothing else happened. The only credence I have been able to give to my father is that he might have been too drunk to be capable of a fight. So let’s say Delaney left him where he was. Then he returned to the path, and here he encountered his murderer. Probably this is where Delaney got his scraped knuckles. However, that person picked up a heavy piece of wood and, when Delaney turned his back, hit him hard. The coroner said the blows came at a downward angle and concluded they were delivered by a tall man, hence Harry, but that doesn’t have to be the case. If I shoved you to your knees, then hit you, the blows would come from above your head. Am I right?”

Newcombe was regarding him doubtfully. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“And, Vince, all this while, Havoc was still in his box.”

“Is that important?”

“I’m beginning to think it is crucial. You see, I’ve also assumed the girl is too confused to say the truth or to know what happens. But what if that’s not the case? What if she was telling me exactly what took place.”

“Do you mean Nan?”

“I do. I can’t explain at the moment, Vince, it would take too long. Come on, I’ve got to talk to Mrs. Lacey.”

Murdoch beckoned to the constable. “There is a carriage waiting outside. I want you to go to Warden Massie at the Don Jail. Tell him you have a message from me that there is new evidence, no, say absolute evidence, that there must be a new trial. I will meet him as soon as I can. Make sure you see him eye to eye. Even if he’s in his own quarters, you must find him. Can you do that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Murdoch led the way on the double out of the taproom.

Chapter Fifty-two

M
URDOCH COULDN’T RECALL SEEING ANYONE
as pale who was still among the quick. Jessica Lacey was lying on the couch, her wrists heavily bandaged. Her dark hair had come unpinned and was loose on the pillow, accentuating the whiteness of her face. However, her eyes were open, and she looked directly at him when he came over to her. Dr. Moore had sent Walter to his daughter, and Maria Newcombe was now sitting on a stool beside Jessica.

“Two minutes and no more, Mr. Murdoch,” said the doctor.

Maria indicated the empty chair next to her, and Murdoch sat down.

“Mrs. Lacey, I am a police officer…. Your husband has told me what happened the night of Delaney’s death.” He paused because she had flinched as if he had touched her with something white hot. “I must emphasise that you are entirely free from culpability in the murder. Entirely so. Mrs. Lacey, it now seems possible that Harry Murdoch is not guilty of this crime. I am trying to uncover evidence that was not disclosed at the trial.” Again he saw the flinching, not as pronounced but there. “Please do not think for a moment that your husband was responsible. I am certain he was not. However, he
did
lie to you. He did come across Delaney’s body on the path, and it was Walter who rolled the body into the creek. He was afraid to tell you, and when you became ill, decided not to rescind his story, convinced Harry Murdoch was the killer.”

Jessica closed her eyes, and Maria sat forward in alarm. However, Jess seemed only to be gathering her strength because she spoke, her voice light and brittle as a dried leaf.

“What do you want?”

“I am so sorry I have to speak of the dreadful events of that night, but I must. You don’t have to talk if that is too much for you. A nod will suffice.”

“When Delaney came to your cottage that night, did he bring his dog with him?”

She nodded and whispered, “He had come before. Flash was his introduction. Sally liked him.”

“What did he do with the dog? Was it in the house?”

Murdoch could see Maria frowning at him, not comprehending the relevance of the questions. Jessica licked her lips.

“No. It was raining and I had washed the floor. I asked him to leave the dog outside. He tied him to the fence.”

“And when you took Sally and ran down the other path, was the dog still tied up?”

“I’m not sure … yes, yes, he was. He was barking.”

Gently, Murdoch placed his hand over hers. “Thank you, Mrs. Lacey. There is only one more thing I have to ask you. Has Philip Delaney been paying his attentions to you?”

This time she didn’t answer, and her nod was almost imperceptible.

Murdoch stood up. “That is all I wanted to know. Please set your mind at rest now.”

Dr. Moore approached the couch. “I’m going to give her a sedative powder. Mrs. Newcombe, help me raise her, will you?”

Murdoch left them to their ministrations and went out into the hall. Vince was waiting for him. “What can I do to help?”

Murdoch had contemplated asking Newcombe to come with him but decided against it. His case felt as delicately balanced as a house of cards, and he couldn’t risk anything that might bring it tumbling down.

“Nothing at the moment. I’m going to talk to Mrs. Bowling again.” He smiled. “If I don’t come back before nightfall, come and find me.”

Once outside, he set off as fast as he could into the ravine. He didn’t know if anybody else knew about Jessica’s suicide attempt, and he couldn’t risk losing even a few minutes.

The cows watched him with indifference as he hurried by. The short winter afternoon was drawing in, and the candle shining in the front window of the cottage winked brightly in the gloom. Nan was sitting there, her face pressed against the glass. She saw him approaching and waved a greeting, a child’s happy greeting at seeing anybody who might relieve the tedium of the day.

He smiled and indicated she should open the door. She looked worried and shook her head. He tried again but it was obvious she wasn’t going to let him in. He went up the steps and banged hard on the door.

“Open up, Mrs. Bowling, I’m a police officer. Open up!”

He heard the bolt slide, and the door opened a crack. It wasn’t Mrs. Bowling but Nan, who peeked out.

“Nan, I must speak to your mother.”

“She’s resting.”

“Will you wake her up then? Tell her it’s urgent.”

He almost considered pushing his way into the house, but he didn’t want to frighten the girl. Fortunately, Mrs. Bowling woke up.

“Who’s making all that din?” came her querulous voice.

This time Murdoch did push.

“Excuse me, Nan, I must come in.” She stepped back. The cottage was cold and dark, the only candle the one in the window. Mrs. Bowling was sprawled in the armchair. She half sat up when she saw him and pulled a grimy quilt up around her chest.

“What do you want?”

“Mrs. Bowling, I’m a police officer.”

“What? I thought you said you were a reporter.”

“I did say that, but in fact I’m a detective, and I am investigating the Delaney murder.”

“What? It’s over with.”

“It’s not. There is new evidence in the case.”

“What?”

“I have just come from the Manchester tavern. Earlier today, Jessica Lacey tried to take her own life.”

He paused to see her reaction.

“Poor desperate woman. I’m not a bit surprised. Miscarries take some women that way.”

“The reason she gave is that she says she is the one responsible for Delaney’s death.”

Nan had understood what he said, and she touched his sleeve.

“Has Mrs. Lacey gone to heaven?”

“No, she hasn’t, Nan. She is going to be all right.”

“Philip will be glad.”

“He likes Mrs. Lacey, does he?”

She grinned. “She is his sweetheart. He gives her squirrels.”

“Don’t listen to her,” her mother cried out. “She doesn’t have a proper mind.”

Murdoch went over to the armchair and crouched in front of Mrs. Bowling so that he was a few inches from her face. Her breath was ripe with the smell of wine.

“I’ll listen to you then. On the night Delaney died, you were here in the cottage. Nan said Philip came to the house with two dogs. One was Flash, the other was a little grey dog the colour of ashes. It belonged to Harry Murdoch. Nan couldn’t have made that up.”

“Yes, she could, but why does it matter?”

“One of them was in a box, the other was tied to a fence. Why did Philip have these dogs?”

“I didn’t see him with any dogs.”

“Yes, Momma, two dogs. Philip was crying, but I cheered him.”

“Be quiet, you minx,” said her mother. “You’ve got it wrong. It wasn’t that night at all. Mister, she can’t even tell you what day it is let alone what happened last August. Look. Nan, tell him what today is. Go on, tell him.”

“It’s Tuesday,” said Nan with a grin.

“See.”

“Yes, you’ve gone to great lengths to prove to me that Nan gets confused.”

Mrs. Bowling shrugged. “She does. You can’t count on anything.”

He wanted to grab her by the neck and shake her.

“I notice that you have some fine gifts from Mrs. Delaney.”

“What of it?”

“Did she give you them to buy silence? So you wouldn’t talk?”

“About what? I have nothing to say.”

He leaned closer. “So you don’t care that a man is about to be hung for a crime he didn’t commit? You know he is innocent. You’ve known all along he is innocent.”

“If you mean, did I know about Jessica Lacey, no I did not. Besides, any confession from her isn’t likely to be true. She’s not of sound mind. She’s been unhinged ever since she lost the babe she was carrying.”

“Do you know what was the most likely cause of that miscarriage, Mrs. Bowling?”

“Of course I don’t.”

“John Delaney, respected citizen and family man, tried to rape her. He had been after her for some time. It was not the first time he’d shown such tendencies. He was a man of lust, Mrs. Bowling.” She tried to back away from him but there was nowhere to go.

“He never showed that to me.”

“Oh, don’t give me that rubbish. Vince Newcombe found Delaney with Nan. Delaney would have had her if Vince hadn’t shown up. The helpless ones are destroyed. You told me that yourself.”

“I was talking about chickens.”

Murdoch looked over at Nan, who had sat in her chair and was rocking back and forth. She had draped her leg over the arm of the chair so that her drawers were visible. She caught his glance and smiled, and he saw again the disconcerting precocious sexuality.

Mrs. Bowling saw what her daughter was doing. “Nan, sit properly and pull your skirt down.”

Murdoch moved back. “I don’t have the good fortune to have a daughter, Mrs. Bowling, but if I had and she were like Nan, I would want to protect her with every last drop of my blood and I would want to kill any man who used her that way.”

The room was too dark for him to see her expression clearly, but he sensed that what he said had made an impact.

“From the sound of it, you think I killed John Delaney. As if I could!”

“I saw you hauling a heavy pot around. You’re no weakling.”

She looked over at Nan. “Light some candles, there’s a good girl.”

The girl got off the chair eagerly. Mrs. Bowling watched her for a moment as she clumsily struck a match. “My daughter is simple-minded as you see, and there’s always some wicked enough to take advantage. She’s just a baby, but she’s learned what will get her sweets.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She is my cross to bear.”

Nan lit one of the candles then a second. She carried one over to the side table near Murdoch. For a moment she studied him in the way that very young children do.

“Is your poppa dead, too?”

“No, no, he’s not, Nan.”

“Philip is my dear friend,” she said.

Her mother sighed. “Yes, he is. Thanks be to Jesus that she does have one friend in the world.”

Murdoch felt the mood in the room shift again. The momentary softness was gone. Mrs. Bowling was as wary as a stalking cat.

“Philip has his troubles, too,” she continued. “Perhaps that is why they have become like brother and sister. My Nan relies on him, and when I am gone, God forbid, he will take care of her.”

“I see.”

“Philip’s poppa hit him on the head,” said Nan. “So he wrung his neck till he was dead.”

“That’s enough. Nobody wants to hear from you.”

Murdoch went a little closer to the girl but carefully, not wanting to frighten her.

“Nan, when Philip came here with the two dogs, did he tell you he had wrung his father’s neck?”

She nodded her head with delight. “He had a fit, and his poppa went straight up to heaven in a carriage.”

Mrs. Bowling jumped out of her chair and rushed at her daughter, her arm raised to strike. “Hold your tongue, you silly girl.”

Murdoch caught her in time. “Leave her alone. I have the authority to arrest you for interfering with a police investigation and believe me I will have no hesitation in doing so.”

“You can’t believe anything the child says.”

“Can’t I? Let’s see.”

Nan was looking increasingly anxious as the tension built in her mother, and he spoke to her gently.

“What did you mean, Nan, when you said Philip had a fit? What did he do?”

“He wrung his poppa’s neck.”

“Why did he do that?”

“His poppa was hurting Philip’s sweetheart. He was in the hideaway. We built it together, and when Momma let me play in the woods I used to stay in there for weeks and years.”

“I’ve seen it, Nan, and it is quite splendid. But how do you know Philip killed his poppa, Nan? Did he tell you?”

“Yes. He came to the door …” “Nan, for goodness …”

“Mrs. Bowling, I warned you. I shall continue this at the police station if you don’t let her continue.”

But Nan was rapidly losing her interest in the conversation, and he could see she was afraid of her mother.

“What else?” he prompted her.

She got up and went over to the dresser that was underneath the window, pulled open a drawer, and removed something. She held out her hand, palm up. In it was resting a small triangular-shaped piece of bone.

“Philip gave it to me,” she said, and she popped it into her mouth. With her lips lightly closed she blew out and emitted a thin, high whistling sound. Pleased with his response, she blew again.

“Can I see that?” he asked.

She removed the whistle from her mouth and handed it to him.

“The dogs hear it better than us. Flash was killing hundreds of rats, but Philip’s poppa stopped him.” She looked at Murdoch. “Are you going to take Philip to a dungeon because he did a bad thing?”

Her eyes had filled with tears, and her lower lip was trembling. She seemed so lost, he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he knew he couldn’t.

“I have to go and talk to him, Nan. If Philip has done something wrong, you wouldn’t want somebody else to be punished by mistake, would you?”

This was too complicated for her, however, and she began to weep in earnest.

The noise of her crying masked the creak of the door, and Murdoch wasn’t aware that anybody was behind him until he felt a violent shove that knocked him to the ground. Instinctively, he rolled over to his side.

The brass head of the walking stick that Philip Delaney was holding came down inches from his arm.