Vices of My Blood (11 page)

Chapter Eighteen

M
URDOCH AND BOTH
of the doctors Ogden sprang forward at the same time. Miss Dignam was crouched on the floor retching bile, which spilled out over her gloved hands onto the floor. Murdoch grabbed his handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Julia Ogden, who held it in front of Miss Dignam’s mouth. The stench of vomit was sharp and sour in the air.

“Court is adjourned for fifteen minutes,” called Royce.

“Jurors, you will please move to the other room, immediately. Constable, remove the lady from the courtroom and have somebody clean up that mess.” He banged with his gavel and, presumably confident that Miss Dignam was in good hands, he strode out of the room. The two doctors helped Miss Dignam to her feet and, followed by the stares of the spectators, Murdoch led the way to the outer lobby. Here they placed her on a bench. She vomited once more and this time it was the elder Dr. Ogden who volunteered his handkerchief.

“Thank you, I’m so sorry,” Miss Dignam whispered.

“Do you still feel faint?” Dr. Julia asked.

“No. I think I will be all right now. I’m so sorry to have acted like that.”

“Nonsense. It wasn’t your fault,” said Dr. Uzziel. “It’s damnably upsetting for a woman to have to testify in court, especially with such an insensitive clod running the show.”

Murdoch glanced around at the curious onlookers. He recognized one of the funeral parlour attendants, who had come to watch the inquest.

“You, Thompson. Run and fetch us a glass of water.”

“Would this help, sir?” The man reached into his inside pocket and took out a small silver flask. “I always keep this handy.”

He handed the flask to Dr. Julia, who unscrewed the top and held it out to Miss Dignam.

“Take a sip. That’s good. Now another, not too much.”

Miss Dignam shuddered and gagged but didn’t vomit the brandy back.

“One more.”

A little colour began to return to the woman’s face, but she still looked wretched. There were deep shadows under her eyes and the lids were reddened from lack of sleep.

“She should go home at once,” Julia said to Murdoch. “There is no reason for her to stay, is there?”

“She has to sign a copy of her statement. But I can bring it out here for her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Murdoch, I don’t think I could bear to … to go back in there.” Miss Dignam stuffed both soiled handkerchiefs into her reticule. “I do apologize to you, gentlemen. I will have these washed and returned to you as soon as possible.”

Murdoch could see Constable Crabtree in the door of the chapel, his helmet visible above the crush of people in the lobby. Nobody inside had moved although they were talking in low voices to each other.

“The court will reconvene in five minutes, Mr. Murdoch.”

“George, bring Miss Dignam’s statement and a pen and inkwell. She’s going to sign it here. And ask Miss Flowers if she’d join us. She’s the lady in the grey furs.”

Dr. Julia offered Miss Dignam more brandy. Seeing Thompson’s anxious expression, Murdoch tapped him on the arm.

“Don’t worry. Send your bill to the police station. You will be reimbursed.”

Crabtree soon returned with an inkwell and paper in his hand and Miss Flowers in tow. She approached her friend nervously.

“How are you feeling, Sarah?”

“Much better, thank you, May, but I am being sent home.”

“Would you mind accompanying her, ma’am?” Murdoch asked Miss Flowers.

It was obvious that May did mind. “But the inquest isn’t over yet. And I can’t leave Elias in there by himself. You know how he is.”

Suddenly, Miss Dignam reached forward and caught her by the sleeve. “Please, May. I must go to the church.”

“To Chalmers? What on earth for?”

“I want to pray.”

“Good gracious, Sarah, isn’t that being rather morbid? After all …”

She didn’t finish her sentence but Miss Dignam shook her head.

“I will be closer to Charles’s soul in Chalmers. He loved his church. I know I will be able to feel his presence there.”

It was clear what Miss Flowers thought about that.

Murdoch’s eyes met those of Dr. Uzziel’s, who indicated Miss Dignam should be indulged. He also thought it advisable to keep an eye on her.

“I tell you what, ma’am. Miss Flowers seems to want to stay until the inquest is finished. Why don’t I assign Constable Fyfer to go with you to the church? Then he can escort you to your house after that.”

“Splendid idea,” said Dr. Uzziel.

Miss Dignam gave Murdoch a feeble smile. “Thank you, sir. That would be most kind.”

“Now if you are feeling better, I should return to the courtroom,” said Dr. Julia. “I think they have returned and I have to give my testimony.”

“Thank you, doctor. I am quite all right now.”

Uzziel offered his daughter his arm.

“Make way,” he called out. “Doctor coming through.”

Miss Flowers waved her fingers at her friend but didn’t embrace her. “I must join your brother. I’ll tell him you are quite recovered. I’ll stay and tell you what transpires.”

Let’s hope the jury doesn’t accuse Miss Dignam of murder, thought Murdoch. It was in their jurisdiction to name a culprit if they felt confident of the evidence. He’d seen it happen before.

“Read this through and sign it here, if you will, ma’am,” said Crabtree.

Miss Dignam gave the statement a perfunctory glance. “I’m sure it’s quite correct,” she said and wrote her signature in a shaky hand. They heard the coroner thumping his gavel to signal the court was reconvened and the attention of the onlookers switched abruptly to what they could see in the chapel.

“I must leave you to Constable Fyfer,” said Murdoch. “I will call on you soon.”

The constable didn’t look too happy about leaving the excitement of the inquest, but ever polite, he offered his arm to the lady, who got to her feet and leaning on him heavily made her way to the door, the crowd parting before them like the Red Sea.

Murdoch followed Crabtree back into the chapel.

In case any jurors had tried to evade their civic duty by slipping away during the adjournment, the roll call was taken again and the court settled.

Dr. Ogden was the next witness and she delivered her report in what Murdoch now knew was her customary self-contained manner. One of the jurors was also a physician and when she had finished he asked several highly technical medical questions relating to the manner of the injuries to the skull, but it was obvious to Murdoch the man simply wanted to show off his own knowledge, evidently superior in his own eyes.

“And what is your opinion as to the cause of death, doctor?”

She’d already given her opinion, but she was unflustered, answered him calmly, and repeated her last sentence.

“The pastor bled to death because the weapon pierced the carotid artery.”

“I have to ask this question, doctor, even though it might seem superfluous. Could the wound to the neck have been self-inflicted? I have known the most bizarre cases of self-murder.”

“No, sir. I do not believe so and the damage to the side of the head was far too severe to have been caused by him falling down. Although the blows to the side of the face were grievous indeed, they would not themselves have caused death. Mr. Howard died from a massive hemorrhage.”

Mr. Lyon’s hand shot up. “How long before death actually occurred?”

“Given the depth of the wound, I would say it would have happened quite quickly. Perhaps a few minutes at the most.”

“Would he have been conscious long enough to confront his murderer?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is it possible then that the, um, the one eye was destroyed so that the image of the murderer could not be detected?”

“I cannot speak for the motivation of the murderer, sir, but I assure you we saw no such image in the postmortem examination.”

Lyons had a pencil in his hand and he tapped it on his teeth. “Another question, doctor, if I may? In your expert opinion, was the piercing of the artery accidental or deliberate? What I mean is, did the assailant intend to commit murder? Did he know exactly what he was doing, or was he only striking out blindly in the course of which he managed to hit that particular spot?”

“Even if the actual entry point of the knife was accidental, everything seems to indicate that there was a murderous intent. Mr. Howard was obviously kicked repeatedly when he was lying on the ground. I would say his assailant most certainly wanted to kill him.”

This comment was too much for the spectators and there was an outburst of chatter and more noisy crying from some of the women.

Crabtree called for silence, Royce rapped his gavel, and finally everybody quieted down.

“Are there any more questions for Dr. Ogden?” the coroner asked.

A tiny, rabbity man who had given his name as Moses Galt and his occupation as a buyer in Mr. Simpson’s drapery department raised his hand.

“Given the amount of force necessary to thrust a knife that deeply into a man’s neck, can we assume without question that the murderer could not be of the fair sex?”

This question caused another ripple through the crowd, and Dr. Ogden waited for a moment before answering.

“I would say, we can assume no such thing. Both men and women are capable of unusual strength when the blood is up, whether that is in feats of heroism or acts of blind rage. I have known a woman of quite average build lift a carriage from off the legs of her child who had been run over. It was something she could not possibly have done in normal circumstances.”

More reaction from the crowd and various nodding and exchanges. The juryman doctor called out that he had known such cases himself.

“In your learned opinion, Dr. Ogden, would the assailant have been marked with blood?” asked the journalist, who obviously was hoping for the most lurid story he could concoct.

“Perhaps less than one might think. The blood probably spurted to the side on one gush. If the murderer was directly behind Mr. Howard, he, or she, would have been able to avoid it. When the pastor fell to the ground, the blood flowed out but as he died almost immediately, it would not have pulsed and again would have been easy to avoid.”

“So the murderer could have been bloodstained or totally untouched, either one?”

“That is correct. It is impossible to say with surety.”

There were no more questions, and Royce asked Dr. Ogden to sign her statement. She did so and returned to her seat. Her father tapped her lightly on the elbow to signify his pride in her performance.

Murdoch was called next and he added to the doctor’s report by mentioning the missing watch and boots.

“You’d say a thief then, would you, detective?” asked Royce.

“That or somebody wants us to think so.”

Mr. Lyons indicated he had a question. “Dr. Ogden in her excellent testimony has told us that there is every indication that the assailant was in a mad fury. I wonder then, if a person in such a state would have the presence of mind to deliberately mislead the police. I beg your pardon, Mr. Murdoch, I have no wish to cast aspersions on your competence.”

In fact Murdoch thought the man’s question was a shrewd one and he’d thought of it himself.

“Frankly, sir, I don’t know at this point. It would have taken seconds to snatch the watch and only a minute or two at the most to pull off the boots. I could see even a person in a state of blind rage, having both time and sense to do those things with the intention of throwing suspicion elsewhere.”

“Or there could have been more than one assailant,” piped up the buyer.

“That is not out of the question.”

There were a couple more questions about his opinion on the injuries from the doctor who was still trying to discredit Dr. Ogden, but Murdoch deferred to her judgment and the juror was forced to sit back and resume twiddling with his gold watch chain.

Murdoch signed his statement and returned to his seat. The next witness was a Mrs. Emmeline Bright, who was the matron of the girls’ home on Gerrard Street. Fyfer had taken her original statement and Murdoch knew he would be disappointed not to hear her testimony, which he considered of vital importance. Murdoch was less sanguine about the reliability of eyewitnesses.

Chapter Nineteen

M
RS.
B
RIGHT WAS SURPRISINGLY YOUNG
for her position, and belied her name by her sombre, authoritative manner, which a dowager might have envied. Murdoch imagined she would be most intimidating to her young charges.

Crabtree swore her in and she gave her testimony. “I was walking along Gerrard Street going toward Jarvis. The time was exactly a quarter past one o’clock. I was on my way to visit my sister-in-law, who resides on Church Street and who has recently been delivered of her first child. I noticed a man was crossing the Gardens in the direction of Chalmers Church. He was wearing a long dark coat and a dark fedora hat. He was carrying some sort of sack over his back. He looked like a tramp.”

The officious doctor raised his hand and, getting the nod from Royce, he asked, “Was this person running or walking?”

“He was hurrying.”

Royce frowned. “May I remind the good men of the jury that Tuesday was a miserably cold day and any sensible person would be in a hurry to get indoors. We cannot make more of this witness’s testimony than is called for.”

Moses Galt indicated he had a question.

“How can you be so certain about the time of day, Mrs. Bright?”

The matron smiled. She’d been hoping somebody would ask this. “I was due to meet my sister-in-law at one-thirty and I was delayed because I had to admit a new girl. I looked at the clock as I was leaving. It was ten past one. The home is only a few minutes walk from Jarvis Street.”

Lyons put up his hand. “You seem quite certain the man you saw was a tramp. Other than the fact that he was carrying a sack, what else was there to identify him as such?”

Mrs. Bright fidgeted with her glove, the first sign of uncertainty she had yet shown.

“The park is a favourite spot for tramps, who often go to the churches in the area to beg for money. They are quite a plague, I might add. This man had a thick black beard and he walked the way tramps do. His clothes were not good quality.”

“Did you see him enter the church?”

“Yes,” she hesitated. “Er, that is I didn’t see him open the door, if that’s what you mean, but where else would he be going?”

Lyons would have made a good lawyer, Murdoch thought, he didn’t give the woman a chance to compose herself. “You said he walked the way tramps do. How is that, may I ask, ma’am?”

“Well, they sort of shuffle.”

“You said he was hurrying.”

“He was, but he still dragged his feet.” She frowned at Lyons, obviously not used to being questioned in this way. Murdoch wondered briefly what sort of man she had married. She would have to be a widow to be employed at the home, but she wasn’t in mourning dress so the bereavement must have happened a few years ago. She had a full, smooth face with well-shaped brows, but the hardness of her expression was not attractive. He tried to be more charitable. Perhaps she was covering profound loneliness.

There appeared to be no more questions from the jury and Royce took his large gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it.

“It’s almost dinnertime and I should begin my summing up so we can –”

The Reverend Swanzey was sitting in the row behind the jurors and suddenly he jumped to his feet. “I do apologize for the late notice, Mr. Royce, but I would like to be sworn in. I believe I have some evidence to add that could be of the utmost importance.”

He had a fleck of saliva at the corner of his mouth and he actually swayed a little so that Murdoch was afraid he might collapse. He could feel Dr. Ogden shift beside him, so she too was at the ready.

“Good gracious, sir. Why didn’t you tell the constable earlier so he could put you on my list?”

Swanzey gulped and Murdoch saw his prominent Adam’s apple move up and down.

“I beg your pardon. I realize that was remiss of me, but frankly, the frightful events drove it completely from my mind. However, after hearing Mrs. Bright’s testimony, I think perhaps it might be significant.”

“Very well. Swear him in, constable, if you please.”

Swanzey went through the ritual, seeming nervous and on edge. He sat down in the witness chair.

“Give your statement, Mr. Swanzey, and do speak up,” Royce said. “The previous witness set an excellent example.”

“Yes, sir.” Swanzey took a deep breath and when he spoke his voice was loud and resonant. There would be no difficulty hearing him at the back of the room. “It is my habit to take an afternoon constitutional as often as the demands of my work permit. I find it is an opportunity for inner contemplation and even in the most inclement weather I do so. However, on Tuesday, I decided that the raw afternoon was too much even for me and after a short walk around the Gardens I went into the greenhouse. The greenery is so soothing to the eye at this time of year.” He paused and looked about the room. Murdoch could feel how intently the spectators were listening to him. Swanzey was demonstrating the skill and pacing of a good preacher.

“It was as I was making a turn of the building when I encountered a tramp. I did not think much of it because it is not unusual for wanderers to go inside the greenhouses where they have some protection from the elements. However, this man, I now see exactly fitted the description of the man seen by our estimable matron hurrying toward the church.” There was a murmuring from the spectators. “He was of middle age, tall, and broad-shouldered with long, grizzled hair and beard. His coat, albeit ragged, was dark, and he was wearing a soft-brimmed black hat. He also had a sack of some sort, although when I met up with him, he was not carrying it but rather had set it at his feet.” He paused again.

“Did you speak to the man?” Royce asked.

“I merely bid him good afternoon. He was a rather sullen fellow and didn’t give me much of an answer. As I said, I would have thought no more about him except that I now realize he had a watch in his hand, which he had been in the process of winding when I came across him.”

“Was it a silver watch?” one of the jurors called out.

“I wouldn’t swear to that, but I did remark to myself that such a fellow had a watch at all.”

“Did you notice if there was blood on him?” Lyons asked.

“No, I did not. It was quite gloomy inside and he wore dark clothes.”

Royce leaned toward the pastor. “Mr. Swanzey, I want you to consider your answer to my next question very carefully. If you do not know, say so. I don’t want any exaggeration or twisting of the facts because you think it will suit us … Now then. What time of day was it when you encountered this tramp?”

Swanzey’s Adam’s apple bobbed vigorously. “I left my lodgings on Gerrard Street shortly after three, as is my wont to do. I walked around the park as I said, then I went into the greenhouse where I walked some more. I met the man on my third perambulation, so he must have entered after I did.” He hesitated, biting on his lower lip. “I would estimate the time was approximately a quarter to four o’clock or shortly thereafter. I decided to resume my walk and I bid the fellow good day and left. As far as I know, he remained in the greenhouse. I myself proceeded across the park toward Sherbourne Street. It was later that I returned to the church and saw a crowd of people had gathered. Then, alas, I was told the sad news.”

He swallowed hard and Murdoch thought for a moment he was going to burst into tears, but he clamped his teeth and remained in control.

Royce looked over at Murdoch. “Detective, you have heard Mrs. Bright’s and Reverend Swanzey’s testimony. It is not a leap of credibility to assume the two men are one and the same. The man could easily have escaped to the greenhouse from the church after the attack on the pastor. I assume you will be doing everything in your power to find the wretch.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

As far as Murdoch was concerned the evidence was not conclusive, but there was no point in going into that now. Certainly, the tramp needed to be found.

There were no more witnesses or questions and Royce’s summation was short. He then withdrew to the rear room and Crabtree directed the jurors to the adjoining room for their deliberations. One of two people in the audience stood up and stretched, but mostly they just sat quietly, the weeping women were comforted but all the voices were low and respectful.

It was hardly more than fifteen minutes later when the jurors returned and filed back to their seats. Royce took his seat and Crabtree took a roll call again.

“Mr. Chamberlin, have you and the jury agreed on your verdict?”

“We have, sir.”

“As foreman, will you please address this court and state what conclusion the jury has reached.”

The elderly man stood up, adjusted his pince-nez, and, holding his notes in front of him, said, “We the jury here gathered today declare that on the third day of March,
1896
, between the hours of three and half past three o’clock, in the offices of Chalmers Presbyterian Church, a person or persons to the jurors aforesaid unknown, did feloniously murder the Reverend Charles Edmund Howard.”

This verdict was not a surprise to anybody and there was no reaction from the spectators.

“All of you must come forward and sign beside your seal that you agree with this verdict,” said Royce.

When that was done and they all sat down again, Royce addressed them once more.

“Gentlemen, hearken to your verdict as delivered by you. You find that Charles Edmund Howard was murdered by person or persons unknown, so say you all. The body can now be buried.”

It was Crabtree’s turn. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! You good men of Toronto who have been empanelled and sworn of the jury to inquire for our Sovereign Lady, the Queen, touching the death of Charles Edmund Howard and who have returned your verdict, may now depart hence and take your ease. God save the Queen.”

Royce gathered his papers together. “Thank you, gentlemen. You are invited to join me in a small repast at the Crown’s expense.” He banged the gavel. “I hereby declare this court adjourned.”

The reporters made as fast an exit as they could. Murdoch stood up, ready to let the crowd leave ahead of him. Two rows back, a skinny arm emerged from a heavy raccoon coat and waved at him. As the wearer of the coat was also wearing a matching fur cap, Murdoch hadn’t recognized him. Then he saw it was Mr. Hicks. Next to him was a woman who was so muffled in a woollen shawl, he hadn’t recognized her either. It was Josie Tugwell. He nodded at her, but she didn’t acknowledge him.