MURDOCH FOLLOWED THE BEAM of his lamp up the uncarpeted stairs to the landing. Here there were two doors and at the far end a farther flight of even narrower stairs led to the third floor. A sliver of light was showing underneath the first door, but before he could knock, it opened and a woman emerged. She was dressed in a brown coat, plain enough, but enlivened by a wispy purple feather boa and a beribboned red hat. He presumed this young woman was the problematic daughter. She was young, but any prettiness she might have had was obliterated by the anger held in her mouth and eyes. She flashed him a tawdry seductive smile.
“What can I do for you? Lost your way, I’ll wager. I’ll help you find it if you like.”
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Esther Tugwell.”
The false smile vanished immediately. “You a bailiff?”
“No. My name is Murdoch, I’m a detective at number four station.”
Now he saw an all too familiar look. Fear, hostility, wariness. He met it all the time.
“What you want with my ma?”
Her tone of voice was so belligerent, Murdoch felt his own flash of temper.
“As I said, I’d like to talk to her. Are you Josephine Tugwell?”
“The same. And as I just said, what you want with us?”
“I’m investigating a murder and I’d like to ask her some questions.”
“Ha. Who the hell’s got the big bird that my mother’d know anything about it? She never leaves the house.”
In spite of her question, Murdoch thought she wasn’t surprised to see him and she did know why he was here. Then he recognized her. She was the woman in the red hat who’d taken exception to Crabtree as he came through the crowd outside the church. She must know that Charles Howard was dead.
“Didn’t I see you at Chalmers Church yesterday afternoon?”
For a split second, she considered her answer. Then she shrugged. “Your peepers do not deceive. I came over to see what the fuss was all about.”
“So you do know who got the big bird?”
“Didn’t have to be him, did it? There could be a cove doffed every hour for all I know. What’s it to do with my ma?”
“Reverend Howard was a Visitor for the House of Industry. Your mother is on his list. I understand he turned down her application for relief.”
“He did. Man with a poker up his arse, as far as I could tell. He thought I wasn’t deserving so the rest of the family could go starve. But I hope you ain’t thinking my own mother did for him cos she was miffed?”
“I have no thoughts at the moment. I’m interviewing everybody who was on Reverend Howard’s list.”
“That’s a clever thing to do. The prospect of some soft-handed toff having the say-so as to whether you eat for the next month could get a person all riled, couldn’t it?”
“Do I take that to mean you don’t have a high opinion of Reverend Howard?”
“I don’t have an opinion, high or low. He looked down his nose same as all of them.”
“Your downstairs neighbour, Mr. Hicks, thought he was a good man.”
“That’s Christian of him.”
Josie had doused herself with some kind of strong musky scent that was overpowering in the small space of the landing.
“Given what you just said, I’d like to ask you where you were yesterday afternoon, round about three-thirty,” Murdoch said.
“That’s a laugh. I was here, shivering myself to death. Why? Don’t think I went up there and stabbed the bloke so I could get blood out of a stone, do ya?” She laughed at her own joke.
She was getting on Murdoch’s nerves. “Show some respect, young woman, or I’ll bring you into the station. Besides, how did you know he’d been stabbed?”
She grinned. “You didn’t say so, if that’s what you’re getting at, but that’s what everybody was nattering about up at the church. He’d bin stabbed and the boots put to him, from what I heard.”
The door behind her opened and a thin-faced woman poked her head out.
“Josie, what’s going on? You’re disturbing Wilf.”
“Sorry, ma. I was talking to the detective here. He’s come to take you to jail.”
Mrs. Tugwell was an older, worn version of her daughter, the same narrow nose and sharp chin but without the bold, defiant expression. She looked frightened at Josie’s words.
“What for?”
Murdoch tipped his hat to her. “Your daughter is teasing you, ma’am. That’s not the reason I’m here, ma’am. I am investigating the murder of the Reverend Howard. I would like to ask you some questions.”
Esther glanced at Josie nervously and her daughter sighed impatiently.
“I ain’t never going to get out of here. You’d better let him in, Ma. Don’t worry, I’ll come too and make sure he don’t knock you about.”
Mrs. Tugwell backed into the room, Josie went in, and Murdoch was left to follow her. The air was unpleasantly close and the front windows were uncurtained and grimy. Underneath them was what seemed to be the only real chair in the place. A couple of packing boxes served as seats. Even those meagre furnishings made the room seem crowded because most of the space was taken up by the stove and the family bed. On the floor was a pallet where he could make out a boy’s sleeping form.
Mrs. Tugwell spoke softly. “That there’s our Wilf. He’s got St. Vitus’s dance, so I’ll thank you not to raise your voice. Any loud noise sets him going.”
Josie plopped on one of the boxes. “I’d offer you some tea, but we drank the last of it this morning. And I hope you ain’t hungry because the larder is empty. So you’ll just have to forgive our bad manners. We wasn’t expecting company.”
Murdoch knew quite well she was baiting him, but he felt a pang of pity. Their state was every bit as wretched as the others he’d seen. Esther fluttered around and pulled the chair closer into the room.
“Why don’t you sit here, officer.”
She sat down on the other box and Murdoch accepted the chair. The two women were lower and close to his knees, which made him feel like a schoolmaster addressing his pupils.
“Reverend Howard came here on Monday afternoon, I understand?” he spoke to Esther Tugwell although he could tell that the real authority in the family was Josie. It was she who answered.
“That’s right. He stayed for what, Ma? Ten minutes. Decided we weren’t deserving of no meal ticket and shoved off.”
“He told you right away, did he?”
“Oh yes. They have to. Gives you a chance to go somewhere else. We went to the Sisters, who at least have some charity.”
“How did you feel when the pastor told you he wasn’t going to grant your application?”
Both women looked at Murdoch in astonishment, then Josie laughed.
“How’d you think we felt? Use your noggin. Three mouths to feed, no coal even if we did have food. Wilf is sickly, as you can see. What you think? We were happy as larks.” She slapped her knee. “Wait a bleeding minute. I thought you even gave a toss. But you mean, did we want to kill the bleeder? Well I know I did. What do you say, Ma?”
Esther shrank. She was wearing a brown velvet wrapper that must have been passed on to her from a charity. It was too big and the shoulders drooped down her arms.
“He was only doing his job, Jo. He was a good man, really.”
Josie glared at her. Not said but hanging in the air was the knowledge that she was the reason they had been turned down.
“My mother’s a real Christian, Mr. Murdoch. She thinks Old Nick himself is only doing his job when he roasts sinners in hell.”
Her tone was cruel and Esther flushed. “Josie, that’s not true.” She turned to Murdoch. “We was disappointed of course we were, but like Jo just said we was able to go to the Sisters.”
“And Monday was the last time you saw Reverend Howard?”
Josie jumped in. “Of course it was, Mr. Sly Boots. He wasn’t likely to drop in for supper, was he? Yesterday was Tuesday, and Tuesday was when he was went to the Grand Silence.”
Murdoch looked at the older woman, who’d folded her hands into the sleeves of her too big dress. “Is that the truth, Mrs. Tugwell?”
She nodded. Murdoch might have pressed her but at that moment, the boy on the pallet groaned. His arm jerked out from the blanket covering him. Esther got to her feet quickly and went to him.
“He’s awake, is he? Mama’s here, lambie.” Her voice was tender when she spoke and Murdoch saw the anger flit across Josie’s face. She’d seen that tenderness lavished on her brother all her life, something she wanted and didn’t get. She jumped to her feet.
“If you’re done now, mister, I’ll be off.” She gave him an unabashed leer. “I’m meeting a friend and I’m late already.”
Murdoch didn’t think he was going to get any further and he wanted to get out of the stifling atmosphere of oppressive poverty. Wilf was making strangled noises and his arms were jerking wildly. Esther understood what he was trying to say and she fetched a mug of soup from the stove.
“Here, lambie. I saved it for you.”
Murdoch stood up.
“I’ll be going now, Mrs. Tugwell, but I may have to come back.”
“She’ll be here,” said Josie. “She never goes out. She’s always worried about brother Wilf.”
Esther straightened up and gave Murdoch a wan smile. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help, sir. I’m sorry to hear about the pastor. He seemed like a kind man.”
Josie snorted derisively. “Kind, my arse. He didn’t care if we were starving.”
Her mother sighed and turned back to helping Wilf with his soup.
Josie grabbed Murdoch by his sleeve and grinned up into his face. “Now why don’t you do me a favour, mister, and light the way down the stairs so I don’t trip and break my bleeding neck.”
Murdoch followed her from the room, leaving Mrs. Tugwell to minister to the skeleton-thin, twitching boy.