IN CONTRAST TO HER FRIEND, Miss Dignam was wearing an unadorned dress of navy wool, extremely plain with old-fashioned tight sleeves. The only jewellery was a silver pendant watch. Murdoch thought he was in the presence of yet another nunlike woman, although Miss Dignam was too distraught to command much authority and he doubted that even in her normal days she would do so. She was small in stature, slight and bony, her skin suggesting that she had been drying up for a long time. However, as she offered her hand in greeting and managed a ghost of a smile, he saw that she had fine blue eyes that in her youth must have brought her many compliments.
“I am sorry to have to speak to you at this time, Miss Dignam, but I am sure you can appreciate the necessity for the police to pursue the matter of Mr. Howard’s death as soon as possible.”
“Of course. I expected you.” Her voice was soft but not without crispness. She looked at her friend. “May, I believe it would be better for me to speak to the detective alone.”
For a moment, Miss Flowers looked as if she would flat-out refuse to leave, more from prurient curiosity, Murdoch thought, than genuine concern for her friend. But rather surprisingly, Miss Dignam stood up, went over to the door, and opened it.
“Perhaps you would be so good as to look in on Elias. He’s quite upset at the news and does so need cheering up. And would you tell Walters to wait on serving us tea until I ring. Thank you, May, I am much obliged.”
“As you wish, my dear.” With something of a pout, Miss Flowers swept off with a rustle of taffeta. Miss Dignam returned to her seat by the fire.
“Please sit down, Mr. Murdoch.”
Her manners were those of a woman of polite society, but Murdoch had the impression she was barely keeping other, more passionate feelings in check. He took the chair opposite, put his hat on the floor, and removed his notebook from his pocket.
“Miss Dignam, I will have to write some notes. Do you mind if I turn up the lamp?”
“Not at all. I cannot sit in darkness for the rest of my life, can I?”
An odd remark, he thought, but he turned up the wick of the lamp and took out his fountain pen.
“Will you tell me what happened, Miss Dignam? Please don’t hurry. Any details that you remember no matter how trivial may be of great importance so I do ask you to include them.”
She stared at him blankly as if the word trivial had no place in her universe any more. There was no longer anything associated with the death of Reverend Howard that could be described in that way.
“Will you tell me exactly what happened this afternoon?” he repeated gently.
She shifted away from him so that she was staring into the fire. “In a way, there isn’t much to tell. Tuesday is the afternoon when the study group meets. We discuss a biblical text that Reverend Howard assigns us – I should say, assigned us.”
“And what was the text for this week, ma’am?”
Murdoch doubted if he really needed to know this, but he found working around the edges of the significant issue sometimes made his witnesses reveal unguarded things.
She glanced over at him nervously. “We have been studying the Song of Songs.”
“Ah yes, a magnificent piece.”
“Yes, indeed it is.” She seemed to vanish again into some interior world of her own.
“What time did you arrive at the church, ma’am?”
Another nervous glance. “I, er, I went a little earlier, it was my turn to provide refreshment and I had a seed cake, caraway seed.” She paused. “Reverend Howard was quite partial to my caraway seed cake.”
She turned her head away and wiped at her eyes. Her shoulders shuddered and Murdoch was afraid she wouldn’t be able to continue. He waited. Finally, she regained control and turned back to face him.
“I do apologize, Mr. Murdoch, but my eyes are burning dreadfully. Would you mind if I put the lamp in a different place?”
“Of course. Allow me.”
Murdoch shifted the lamp to the table behind him and lowered the wick. Miss Dignam’s face was more shadowed now. She folded her hands in her lap.
“I beg your pardon, I was distracted. As I said, I went to the church early. Our group meets at four o’clock and I must have been there at half past three.”
Another pause. She was coming to the centre of the horror now. “I went in through the front door and walked down to the pastor’s office, which is at the rear of the church.”
“Did you notice anything amiss in the church itself, Miss Dignam?”
“Nothing. It has been a gloomy day and it was rather dark in there, but no, I saw nothing out of place.”
“Do you usually enter by the front doors, ma’am?”
“Yes. Is that important?”
“I merely wondered if you had tried to go in by the side door and found it locked.”
“No, I, er … I like to go in to the church so I can offer a short prayer before our meeting.”
“And is that what you did today?”
Another sharp glance. “Is that relevant, detective?”
“It may be. I’m trying to get an accurate time sequence.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. No, I did not stop to pray. I had taken a little longer than usual and I didn’t want to be late so I went directly to the office.”
Murdoch braced himself for the breakdown he anticipated would occur when she had to put into words what she had seen, but Miss Dignam simply clasped her hands even more tightly together and said in a voice that had gone as bloodless and light as an autumn leaf, “The door was open and I could see Charles lying on his back on the floor. There was blood everywhere …”
“Did you go into the room?”
“Of course. I had to make sure he was indeed dead and that there was nothing I could do.”
“That was very brave of you, ma’am.”
“Was it? I don’t see it as an act of courage. If there were the slightest possibility he was still alive, I would have –” She stopped, but once again Murdoch had an eerie sense he was talking to one of the nuns he had known. Miss Dignam would have walked through fire if need be. “I could see that the injuries he had sustained were very severe. I had to leave him and I ran to fetch help. By good fortune, I encountered a constable on his beat right outside the church and directed him to the office … do I need to continue, Mr. Murdoch?”
“Just one or two more questions, Miss Dignam. Did you touch the body at all when you went into the room?”
“No.”
“The constable said that your face and hands were quite bloodied and that you had blood on your cloak.”
“Then I must have … it’s all so dreamlike, frankly. But, yes, perhaps I did touch him, to see if there was any possibility that he was alive.”
“Did you touch anything else, either on his person or in the room itself?”
Her reply was quick. “No, of course not. I had no occasion to.”
“Did you hear anything at all when you went into the church? Footsteps, for instance? A door closing? That sort of thing.”
“No, I did not. I have had some time to think about the matter. I realize Charles, er, Reverend Howard must have been killed very shortly before I arrived, but I had no awareness of anyone either in the church or the hallway.”
“You said the church was dark. The pews are all tall. It would be easy for somebody to hide there, would it not?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Murdoch made a note. “Did the minister have any enemies that you are aware of, Miss Dignam?”
Even in the shadowy light, he could see how much that question upset her.
“Absolutely not. Charles Howard was a truly good man. His eyes were as the eyes of doves, by the rivers of waters, his lips fitly set and terrible as an army with banners.”
Murdoch barely had time to register that she was quoting from the Song of Songs when she suddenly gulped in air and began to gasp, fighting for breath. She was shaken by uncontrollable sobs that were virtually soundless and the more pitiful for it. He got to his feet, not sure how to help her, and gently touched her shoulder.
“You’ve had a terrible shock, ma’am. Shall I fetch Miss Flowers?”
With a tremendous effort of will she made herself stop crying. “No, I would prefer to be alone.” She managed to suppress another shudder. “Would you be so kind as to hand me my bible, which is on the sideboard. I will take the word of our Lord as my comfort.”
He did so but she didn’t open the book immediately, waiting for him to leave.
“If you think of anything else at all, please send for me, Miss Dignam. I am at number four station on Parliament at Wilton Street.”
“Yes, I will do that. Can you let yourself out?”
He left her, wondering if he should send in the friend regardless. He didn’t need to worry. As soon as he closed the door behind him, the kitchen door opened and Miss Flowers popped her head out.
“Have you finished?”
“For now.”
“I’ll go into her.”
“She said she wanted to be by herself for a little while.”
“Nonsense. Right now, she doesn’t know what she wants.” And she swept down the hall and into the drawing room.
Murdoch let himself out of the front door. As he cycled away from the house, he was struck by a memory that had haunted him for years. “Monk” Brodie and his dog. What was the mongrel’s name? Ah yes, Paddy. A mangy stray that Brodie had adopted. Murdoch doubted if he would ever forget what had happened that cold winter night when the little dog had gone missing.
He leaned his wheel against the station wall. Why was he remembering that now?