A Pregnant Pause In Time

It was turning dark so I decided I had best turn toward home. It was a solitary trip, my friend, and partner, Holmes having come down with influenza.

I had spent a few hours reliving the past by walking about my old neighbourhood where I once practiced medicine. This was prior to throwing in my lot with Holmes, one of the U.K.’s most reputable private detectives.

I was walking towards Avion Row where there was always an unoccupied Hansom or two passing by or on occasion, one of these new motorized cabs. The cabs were starting to become popular but I didn’t care, it was just time I was home.

Directly across the street was an old bootmaker’s shop. The bootmaker was quite vocal claiming loudly that he was losing business because of these new prefabricated boots that were being sold in shoe stores rather than by the artisan who had made them. This new method didn’t come with the artisan’s reputation attached to the boot so a buyer had to choose carefully.

As I walked about the old neighbourhood no one seemed to recognize me. I was half hoping someone would come up to me and ask, aren’t you Dr. Watson, but no one did. Even the barman earlier on didn’t seem to recognize me. He resembled a young waiter who worked in the bar on what few occasions I had to visit a bar.

This night there was a mysterious, quite unusual looking woman standing in front of the bootmaker’s building. Oddly enough, she was staring at me.

That piqued my curiosity and I made note of her. She was a tall woman with long, light brown hair. Two things made her unique. Thanks to a lamppost very near where she was standing and my unusually strong eyes I saw where she had a scar on the right side of her face about two inches long and a half an inch wide. The other difference in her appearance was that she had large breasts, not inordinately so, but prominent in a standout way.

She seemed somehow to be familiar to me. Perhaps I had treated her at one time or another but my practice had been closed for what was now eighteen years or thereabouts.

I continued onward to Avion Row, when after several paces a young blonde woman, this one also with fairly prominent breasts as well; stepped out of a doorway directly into my path. Was it a coincidence, perhaps not? But this woman was also looking directly at me.

As I walked by I said, “Excuse me, Madam.”

“Oh, well, you’ll have to forgive me sir but I feel somehow that you can help me.”

“Perhaps not as much as you think.”

The young blonde said, “My first name is Alva and my last name is Puddicome. Far from an illustrious last name. The reason I mention it is my brother Ralph Puddicome has disappeared. Even the police don’t know where he is.

He had this girlfriend, Eve, who was trying to get him to join the Salvation Army. He has yet to join and I’m wondering if something foul has happened to him. His girlfriend is religious. She may have caused trouble for him.”

I asked, “Have you heard from him at all?”

“No, he used to work further down the street at Bobbing’s Laundry. It only pays the minimum despite being hard work. That’s another reason why I worry. He is tall but very skinny. He’s not quite frail but weak. He could have worked himself to death for all I know or he may be hospitalized.”

“I see.” I replied, “I don’t know much about these matters.” Whatever this particular matter might be, but I decided to play along. It might be in my best interest to do so. Of course, I remained suspicious of her motivations and how I was chosen to be of help.

I said, “I do have a friend who has done detective work but he has been afflicted with influenza. However, if you like I will ask around on my own.”

If nothing else, this way I could come to the bottom of these hard stares and see if this cleavage festooned on both women is natural or not. They could both be prostitutes. I couldn’t help but feel that there was a blood relationship between both women. However, I did make note of the fact that the blonde had black roots. As for the missing brother, I was doubtful if he had gone very far. In the meantime, he was my interest as I looked to fill a few hours. I very rarely ventured on my own, but I saw no harm coming from this matter.

The young woman said now looking away from me, “I can pay you some money if you look for Ralph, more if you’re successful.”

“No,” I replied. “I’m more of an out of work doctor. Matter of fact I used to practice near here.”

The young blonde in a spurt of anger said, “You admit to being a God-awful quack of the worst kind.”

Taken aback I said, “No, no, not at all.”

She had regained control and said, “I suppose, yes, just my imaginings that probably aren’t true.”

I could only wonder about the outburst. This woman was too hard to meltdown from her rigidity.

I soon returned to my comfortable home and the housekeeper had left water on for tea. There was also a sandwich wrapped in wax paper in case I came home hungry.

I sat in my chair and tried to digest what had happened. The young woman somehow seemed to know me from somewhere. The older woman I’d try to trace by going through my old, dormant, medical files. That scar on the face that I made note of at the time, may help to trace her. Despite the neighbourhood both women did not seem to be in need.

The blonde young woman had said just before I left that she lived upstairs in the same building she was standing in front of. She had mentioned that she had a baby with her. Alva, as her name was, told me I need only pull the string dangling down from the second-floor window. That way a bell would sound and she would know someone was calling on her. She sounded like she didn’t like missing calls. That was more than a lot of girls of her ilk could say. But her baby stuck in my mind. She had mentioned that it was only two weeks old. Yet she didn’t strike me as a woman who had given birth recently.

I would go back soon after some think time to investigate the disappearance of the brother Ralph. I should try the police first but Holmes rarely did so when an investigation was underway and therefore I decided not to as well. Instead, I broke out thirteen cardboard cases full of old medical files collected during the years I practiced full time and also three years practicing part time. I was not that busy with Holmes those first years of our budding friendship before I moved up to his full time assistant. Shortly thereafter I closed my medical practice.

I looked through the files all-night and started again mid-morning. At twenty minutes before lunch I finally made a find.

It was then that our housekeeper walked in. She said, “You look like the winner of the sweepstakes.”

I replied, “You’re close and I hate to ask but can you make me a fresh cup of tea? I need an influx of energy. I must soon go out for a few hours.”

“I certainly will, Dr. Watson, but where perchance are you going?”

“To try and clear up a twenty year old misunderstanding, and see what else I can uncover.”

“Have your lunch first,” my housekeeper said.

According to my files and thanks to the scar I had made note of years ago, I was now aware that the older of the two women was named Odelle Puddicome. The young blonde’s last name was also Puddicome. Mother and daughter, I presumed.

The mother’s boyfriend’s name was Opal Shavi, a name that ended up in my files because apparently this Shavi had done time in an East Indian prison and also spent time in a penitentiary in Shanghai, China.

After lunch, it took twenty minutes to cover the distance from Baker Street where Holmes and I had lived for some years to the old neighbourhood and the excitement it brought.

It was time to ask questions of this Alva woman, perhaps hard questions to answer and whoever else I could find who may know something about this Puddicome bunch.

Firstly on arriving, however, I aimed directly at Bobbing’s Laundry where Alva’s brother had worked till recently. If nothing else, he would make a good alibi for a visit to this young Puddicome woman.

Mr. Bobbing spoke to me personally and he was very informative. One matter he cleared up was that this Opal Shavi was living with Odelle Puddicome almost like they were husband and wife. Bobbing went on to say that Odelle even used Shavi as her last name whenever she felt she could get away with it. Somehow the two had bonded to each other and lived together in a marriage of convenience. I led the discussion in the direction of Ralph.

Bobbing said, “To tell you a truthful story, Ralph has not gone very far. His girlfriend Eve could add on more details than I could. He had been up to something. What?, I do not know.”

“I see. About this religion of hers, could the Salvation Army be involved in anything peculiar that may have led to Ralph’s sudden disappearance.”

Bobbing replied, “I am sure he’s alright, not that his family gives a damn.”

I replied, “I know of his blonde sister, blonde for now at least. She, at our last meeting, did express great concern for her missing brother.

“Yes, and the mother is cut from the same cloth. They even look similar. If you should get a look at the mother you’ll see the same lips, and nose, and you will see there is a family resemblance. The daughter’s eyes are a dark brown and her hair naturally thanks to an Indian father, is black and thick.

“I see but what about the father who is also the husband of Odelle, husband of sorts, one could say?”.”

Mr. Bobbing replied, “Now there’s a piece of work. He’s mainly East Indian but I hear one grandparent was English. He was in trouble with the law for years till eight, ten, years ago, when he started to seriously prosper. Whatever his occupation, it has started to pay big dividends.

I don’t know what racket he’s in but one reason why Ralph could have disappeared was he was not interested in joining his father’s line of work. If Ralph knew too much, then perhaps the father had menaced him.”

I said, “I can only presume then that this Ralph must not be criminally inclined.”

“He is not, and I made note of his clear, untroubled mind. I found his conversation and insight more intelligent than average for whatever that may mean to those who may know of him.

I asked, “What if anything have the police done about this problem? I can only speculate, I am on my own. Yet perhaps they at least may know what racket this Shavi fellow is involved in that brings him such a lot of money. You have been very helpful. Is there anything else that might help me find Puddicome?”

Bobbing by nature outgoing, and backed by his successful business went on. “You may be aware of Opal Shavi’s lengthy crime record. During his four years in a Calcutta prison one of his cellmates was a Wolfgang Hitler Matti. He taught Opal about body culture as a means of changing your physique as per desired. Women included. This Wolfgang was originally from Stuttgart.”

I interrupted, “Keep going is there more to this relationship?”

“Yes. Shavi was given a short term in a prison in Shanghai, China. He was dealing in drugs and a lot of Chinese people were using drugs. That’s why such a short sentence I would say.”

While in prison he also learned how to mesmerize people with his oratorical skills and how to hypnotize willing participants. The two prisons provided him with an unusual education. He learned the tools of his current trade. He knows how to clinch a deal and get paid well. But what racket is it, I suspect prostitution but perhaps not. It may go deeper.

Since then he was arrested twice here in Britain. Once he got off, the second time he did three years. Since then he lived a pretty good lifestyle.”

I remarked, “Well, that’s about it I suppose.”

“Pretty well,” Bobbing said, “Although there is one more small detail. Over the last few years I had seen Opal Shavi speaking at different times to three pregnant women. Now it is almost like he is above the law but that may soon change.”

Bobbing had a wealth of knowledge. The criminal faction in this area respected him. He was a kind man and he kept his eyes and ears open. It wasn’t unusual for him to find a job for a needy relative of certain criminals. But he did have a loose tongue.

Now all I needed to find out was the racket these women seemed to be involved in with Opal as the ringleader. Bobbing told me that Opal was in contact with three other women besides his relatives. All women, according to Bobbing, were of ill repute. Their behaviour was far too seedy to be typical working class female behaviour; and despite no job they were dressed well enough and the young one Alva, the daughter of Odelle had her own small apartment. Something was off the mark here somewhere. It would take a good-sized effort to unravel these relationships.

After talking to Bobbing, I went directly to the apartment of Alva, the young blonde woman. This time I could see her coal black roots showing. It turned out to be more of a bedsitting room than an apartment.

When Alva met me at the door she said, “Ordinarily I wouldn’t let you in but there is someone here who wants to talk to you.”

I walked in to the sound of a shrieking baby. The room conditions were pitiful; it felt like an abusive situation. Shavi must be pocketing most of the take.

After my eyes became focused I looked at the chair near the baby’s crib. Sitting there was Odelle. Yes, I was now sure that both were blood relatives. She looked at me with a surly grimace on her face.

I said, “Hello.”

The woman I treated close to twenty years ago, had the same tell-tale scar on her face. She had wanted treatment for a sexually transmitted disease of the common variety. At that time, she was a hard-bitten woman and very argumentative.

She asked, “Do you ever think of righting the wrong you did to me?”

I asked in return, “What wrong pray tell? I’m sure whatever the prescription I gave you at the time was all you needed. There is no outright cure.”

I remembered that a few months after her first visit to my office she came back and accused me of getting her pregnant. Apparently, the baby was going to be born out of wedlock because her boyfriend didn’t believe in marriage. That could cause difficulties for this Puddicome woman. She needed a man she could fall back on. It was all just a ruse on her part and not a very clever one. Intelligence was not her gift. I did her no wrong.

As I looked about the dingy room she started in all over again.

“You ruined my name and there is our daughter. You owe me satisfaction. After I undressed, you immediately became infatuated with my cleavage. You, Doctor, took advantage of me.”

“Ludicrous,” I replied. “Quite impossible.”

She stated, “Either give me fifty pounds or I’ll go to the police.”

I declared, “They wouldn’t be at all interested.”

There was something about this woman that gave her warped views on her pregnancy a personally disturbing situation for me to be in. Coupled with the fact the ignored infant was still crying, put me on edge. It was a child that Alva obviously did not care for.

The older Puddicome woman was coming to her senses. She wasn’t quite seething as she was before. Her facial features registered her disdain however.

She continued, “If you don’t give me satisfaction I will have my husband speak to you and he is a man of violence. It will leave you ruined.”

I replied, “Not interested.”

My working hypothesis is that Opal Shavi learned hypnotism in the penitentiary and used it on women to make it easier for him to convince these women to carry their illegitimate children. It had to be for the black market in babies. I still wasn’t fully convinced of it but it was the most obvious reason.

Odelle bellowed, “Get the hell out.” As I walked away I thought I had heard a few other choice words.

I spoke to Alva; “I will come back tomorrow hopefully with good news on your brother. Try to be alone.”

She said, “I will pay you as much as I can as I hate to give money to my own father.”

I replied, “If there ever comes a need I could prove medically that I am not your blood relative.”

I had soon hailed a hansom for home. I asked the driver to stop by a newsstand where I bought a copy of the London Daily Express.

I could use some reading to fill my evening as my lifelong friend Holmes should soon be as fit as ever.

On digesting my new information, I should break the investigative mould and ask the police for help in the case.

In the meantime, I wondered if perhaps this Alva had developed a father fixation on me. I may well be replacing her real father but I think Alva had passed that stage and instead wanted to practice violence on men.

After supper and tea, I took a second cup into the study with me. I was looking forward to enjoying the newspaper. After an hour or so and my tea all gone, I was ready to put the paper aside when I came across a small passage all of three paragraphs long.

The column was entitled, “Black Market Babies Shame.” My interest was piqued. For whatever reason my stomach was feeling hollow and I felt a bit depressed. Well, agitated anyway, I read the article, with anxiety taking hold of me.

The story read, “The only good news is the police are aware of this heinous crime and they have a few leads. It seems to be partly located in North East London, a district of the city that has fallen on hard times this past decade. The streets there are often unsafe.”

I realized that they were talking of my old neighbourhood. I left the district permanently, about 18 years ago. To add a footnote to the existentialist philosophy, this world will not end until all has been seen and done, and all have lived who were meant to live.

There was the fixation by both women on blaming me for getting Odelle Puddicome pregnant. Then there was the crying baby that judging from the smell permeating from Alva’s place was being shockingly neglected, not even the child’s diaper looked after. I had best call the police.

The police officer on the phone and I talked at some length. I was connected to him because he was one of two sergeants working on the black market for babies.

His name was Alf Meadows. I told him what I knew and that I was planning on confronting Alva with my accusation tomorrow afternoon.

He firmly stated, “I suggest you wait till early tomorrow evening about seven. We can get there by then and you may need to be supported. It is best if you wait for us.

I asked, “What makes you want to help?”

Sergeant Meadows said, “You arrived at the same conclusion we did. We did have circumstantial evidence at first but it would only take a few simple tests to strengthen the evidence to above circumstantial. Besides the two females you indicated, we know of three more and they will be rounded up by another police squad at the same time.”

I replied, “This Odelle Puddicome also accused me of being the father of her daughter. No such thing is true.”

Sergeant Meadows replied, “As for the same Puddicome, she uses Shavi for her last name when she feels it’s safe. The husband did time with a German in an Indian prison where Shavi is originally from. As a result of the British Empire connection Shavi was allowed to waltz right into England without any roadblocks. The German cellmate had a strong influence on him. His name is Wolfgang Hitler Matti. He was masterful in matters of a dark nature. He was viewed as a troublemaker by the prison authorities and was an influence on Shavi.

I asked, “About this Opal Shavi then, all in all, what insight can you offer?”

The sergeant replied, “We think he is one of the gang leaders if not in complete control. We are concerned that he is the head of the criminal ring selling the black-market babies.

Three days ago, out of the blue, strong evidence reached us. Ralph Puddicome, son of Odelle and brother to Alva Puddicome, came into police headquarters and told us everything we need to know of the entire racket; names, locations, even the names of a few people who bought the babies. The case against the women and Opal Shavi looks strong. Ralph betrayed the gang but only because they deserved it. Join us at Alva Puddicome’s address as we planned to arrive unannounced at 7:00 p.m. Then we go in. Four of us will be arriving in Daimler autocars and two more will come in on horseback and two more horses will be drawing a van that we can lock the suspects in.”

I asked, “Getting back to Ralph what made him do it?” The Sergeant replied, “He said that he hoped God made note of it. The police, in the meantime have offered a reward so he will end up with a good deal of cash. God can be slow in acting.”

“My Lord as it were, talk about a break,” I declared.

The sergeant Alf Meadows said in reply, “I have been delighted ever since. He is a decent enough young fellow.” I had a quiet evening and went up to check on the detectives progress. It should not be long. He was even eating better. The next day passed quickly.

Soon it was 6:30 p.m. and I hailed a hansom. I gave him the directions very carefully. I arrived at six-fifty and waited patiently for the police. They were scheduled to show up at about seven p.m. It was an important case so they should be prompt.

It was now two minutes to seven and still no police. I heard the second-floor window open. It was Alva. She said, “Have you been there long?”

“No, just a couple of minutes.”

“Why not tell me Dr. Watson?”

“I was afraid your mother might be with you.”

Alva replied, “No, she’s not due for another half an hour. I’d really like news on Ralph of any kind.”

“On asking,” “I replied, “everyone seems to feel he is fine.”

“I do not see why you do not come up then. I’m going out as soon as mother arrives and we will be gone for a while.”

I replied, “I see.” I looked at my watch and it was just at seven. I added, “Yes, I suppose I will come up.” If I had to I would collar her myself.

She came down and opened the door. Then she went up.

I decided to take one more chance. I took out the clipping I had culled from the newspaper on the black-market babies and placed it in the doorjamb just above the keyhole. The police, if they did find it, would know it was I. How late were they going to be? Alva’s mother was due here soon. If she came first, my life would be in great danger.

As soon as I went upstairs and was let in to her bedsitting room I could see the baby without any blanket on him. It wasn’t that cold, but still inappropriate.

I was going to launch into my fictionalized Ralph story when she started in on her fixation that was me as her biological father. I think somehow I fit a close enough psychological description of her idea of a father. But then her mind was deranged. My denial of any shared ancestry left her hating me.

I looked at her sitting on the bed made up with cheap blankets and I wondered what next was to happen. Still, no police. Did I get the time right? Hopefully!

She said, “So I am not good enough for you then?”

I replied, “You are mistaken and I am not your father.”

She remarked, “I don’t really care, father or otherwise, I loathe you. And you no doubt in your conceit thought I loved you and must have you as my father. As you can see you are wrong.” Then she pulled out a revolver from her bag that she had left lying on the bed where she sat. The gun was pointed directly at me. It looked like an American made colt revolver. She had somehow procured one.

I said, “Why don’t you hear me out. I know you are a wronged woman. I have no doubt that your father Opal Shavi must have done you harm.” If only she would transfer her anger to where it belonged. It was the only weapon I had.

I was suspicious that Opal Shavi had molested her. That way she could have turned to strange violent behaviour. Even children were included.

But my death was only moments away when I heard voices in the hall outside her door. I heard the welcome sound of police boots stomping on her hallway floor. A voice from the hallway shouted, “Open up, police!”

I was not sure what would happen next but she threw the gun to the floor, opened the window and was part way out. The police burst through the door with one blow, she could not move. Apparently, she had snagged her sweater on a nail sticking out of the windowsill. In addition, her large cleavage kept her stuck in the small window frame. The arrest was soon made and I was quite relieved.

The other women and Odelle were soon rounded up as was Opal and Opal’s assistant, known to the police but not to me. The reason for the delay was one of the police cars had malfunctioned but was soon revived.

I was given a lift down to the police station where I saw the four women being locked in the same cell and the same treatment for the two men. Odelle had not been pregnant in some time and kept both children. She was shown to another cell and was charged with being a material witness. After a chat then came “an against” regulations drink or two after which a young constable drove me right to my door. It was nice to be home.

Holmes would be fully recovered in a day or two and I was quite pleased with the story I would be able to share. The lowly assistant to the great Sherlock Holmes was a capable sleuth in his own right.