Brendan arrived home later than usual. Mary-Jane saw the difference in him straight away. He smiled and as he gave her the box. She, in turn, took the fruit and put it in a bowl. The vegetables were put in the kitchen sink.
A large tin bath was sited in front of a roaring fire. Brendan stripped off his clothes and knelt in the bath. He was too large to sit. Mary-Jane took a copper kettle off the hearth and poured the heated water into a bucket. She followed the hot water with the cold. She tested it with her elbow. When it was at the right temperature, she poured it over his head and body.
He quickly lathered a block of soap and vigorously scrubbed his face, hair and then his body. Mary-Jane took the soap and washed his back, he stood up to allow access to his legs. He knelt and was rinsed off.
Mary-Jane held a blanket out and he dried himself off. Feeling refreshed, he dressed in his third-best clothes. Brendan, despite working solidly for the last twenty-five years, still had very few clothes. His third-best clothes were used for everyday use, outside work. His second-best clothes were respectable but still a little threadbare. His uniform was saved for special occasions. Mary-Jane left him to empty the bath.
Due to their financial problems, Brendan had to make do with a bread and beef dripping sandwich and a mug of tea for breakfast. It was never enough for him; he always felt hungry. He would have been ashamed had he known that Mary-Jane was giving him the lion’s share of the food.
The next morning, she took his work clothes to the communal drying area, strung a line between the two posts and began to beat them until the coal dust was removed. She left them to air.
After eating an apple, which left him still feeling hungry, he popped downstairs to borrow a newspaper from the landlord. Sitting with Mary-Jane, he read out the more salacious bits of news to her. He came across a ‘stop-press’ news item.
He read the piece quietly. Mary-Jane tugged his arm and smiled. He looked at her and said, “So sorry, dearest. ‘Murder victim found in the Puddle Dock area. Police are investigating. More news midday edition.’”
Mary-Jane collected his clothes and retrieved her line. Brendan went out in his second-best suit to try and get more work. He returned downhearted after lunch. He had a nap until he was ready to go to the coal yard.
In Wood Street police station, Detective Inspector Ezra Theobald was tasked with finding the murderer of the corpse found on the bench, in Puddle Dock. He was a veteran of the police service and relied on his instinct to catch the perpetrators of crime.
He was disdainful of the latest gadgets available to the new generation of detectives. He habitually dressed in black. He used a cane to help him walk, an injury from his army days.
At nearly six feet, he towered over his colleagues. His complexion was sallow with a thin face. His nose was the most striking feature. It was large, thin, and slightly hooked at the end. He was losing his eyesight. No one knew apart from the police doctor. He used a small magnifying glass when things were unclear. His teeth were black, a result of his regular pipe-smoking habit. He was sixty-four years old. Any talk of retirement was brutally rebuffed by him.
His one eccentricity was his hat. Unusually, he wore a workingman’s flat cap. Still dark in colour. His contemporaries preferred a homburg or bowler. He walked over to the mortuary which was attached to the station but had its own entrance.
He stood over the body. “Good morning, Doctor, do we know how he died?”
Dr Steadman carried on checking the body and did not look up.
“Definitely strangled. The body is that of a male, early fifties. He was eating an apple during the strangulation. Pieces were found in his mouth and throat.”
“Manual or ligature?”
“Without a doubt, it’s manual. Look at the bruising on his neck. It is very unusual.”
The doctor pointed at the victim’s neck; his hand was shaking.
“Why, Doctor?” The detective ignored the tremor.
“Well, he was strangled from behind. I haven’t seen that before. I’ll have more information after I have completed the autopsy.”
Theobald smiled. “Good, that means it’s unique. We just need to check if there’re any other murders using that method. Thank you doctor.”
Theobald turned away and walked to his subordinate. “Meeks, find out if anyone has been murdered by strangulation, from the back.”
“Sir?” Meeks seemed confused.
“The victim was strangled from the rear. Not the front, as would be expected. Understand?” He used his hands to demonstrate how.
“Oh, yes sir.” Sergeant Meeks ran off.
Later that afternoon, Dr Steadman was wiping his hands. DI Theobald entered the room. “What can you tell me, doctor?”
The doctor stepped back as his assistant began to sew the chest of the corpse.
“The victim was a clerical worker; his hands and palms are soft. No callouses. He has not fed well recently. I would think that he had not eaten for at least a day, maybe two. His general appearance suggests that this period of want is recent. His clothes are of reasonable quality. He may have been robbed, I could find no watch or rings. Yet there are signs. Watch chain in his pocket and marks on his fingers suggest a wedding ring.”
Theobald was looking at clothes. “So, we have a married man, maybe divorced. Been gainfully employed until recently. He has not been eating or living anywhere. I’ll have his photograph distributed. Someone should recognise him. Anything else, Doctor?”
“Yes, you’re looking for a powerful man with big hands.”
Brendan set off for work later that evening. He opened the coal yard and began to fill the bags. He lined them up when they were full. He checked the paperwork and ticked off the various orders.
He swept the yard around the filling machine. He filled one last bag. He lifted it and hid it behind a wall near the front gates. It would mean dismissal if he were caught removing it; maybe even prison if he was arrested.
He sat in the little office which was reserved for the filler. He ate a sandwich which Mary-Jane had made him. His hands were filthy with coal dust. His sandwich showed the marks of his fingers, nevertheless he continued to eat.
He opened a beer bottle and took a small swig of the contents. He hoped that it would last, at least until he had finished the rest of his work.
Every so often, he would look at the extra bag of coal. It was autumn. He could feel the cold seeping into his bones. Having spent twenty-five years in India, he was used to the heat. This season and the following months were purgatory to him.
He thought of Mary-Jane, he had noticed that she was coughing again. It always happened at this time of year. As if making his mind up, he said to himself, “She needs warmth and, by God, I’ll ensure she gets it.”
The Draymen were due to arrive at four o’clock. Brendan usually finished as soon as they were loaded. He pinned the paperwork to the board and looked around the yard. Everything was in its proper place.
After the coal was loaded, he checked the yard, he noticed a coalman’s hat. It was brimless and had a long tail down the back. This was supposed to keep the coal dust from the neck. He tried it on. It was tight but he kept it anyway. Mary-Jane could alter it for him.
Brendan took a bag of coal home each week. He would use the hat as a disguise as he walked home. He hoped that those who saw him, would think he was making a delivery. The coal that he did not need was sold to his neighbours. It made a few extra shillings for medicines for Mary-Jane.
DI Theobald and Sergeant Harold Meeks had now found the murder victim. He was Ernest Hetherington, a former town clerk. He had been dismissed for the loss of some old furniture which was thrown out. It should have gone to a second-hand shop, instead it was found in his back garden, covered with an old carpet.
It was inevitable that Theobald and Meeks would arrive to interview Brendan. They were questioning all those workers who had been dismissed. Mary-Jane invited the police officers in. Theobald understood that she was dumb, but still tried to ask her questions.
At first, he thought she could not hear, so spoke loudly. She shook her head. He then passed over his notebook with a question. She shook her head again.
Theobald then said to Meeks, “It’s no use, she’s obviously an idiot.”
Mary-Jane turned her back and walked away. Theobald looked at her retreating back and said, “Where’s she going now, follow her sergeant, quickly?”
Mary-Jane walked downstairs to the pub and found Brendan. She pulled his arm and looked at Meeks. Brendan, walked toward him and said, “Something I can do for you?”
Meeks introduced himself and asked him to return to the flat. Meeks was feeling very small next to Brendan. Theobald had spent his time snooping around the flat.
Theobald and Brendan stood in front of each other. The detective was tall, but Brendan was taller; he was also bigger built.
Both detectives noticed O’Carroll’s hands. Theobald knew he had his man.
“Do you know a Mr Ernest Hetherington?” Meeks asked.
Brendan answered immediately, “Town clerk. He arranged for my long-service medal before I left the town hall employ.”
Theobald was staring hard at Brendan. He was hoping to pick up any nervousness from the suspect.
“I see,” said Meeks, “so, there was no animosity between you and him?”
“None, whatsoever. Mr Hetherington was a gentleman of the old school; unlike so many today.” Here, Brendan stared at Theobald.
Theobald asked, “Mr Hetherington dismissed you from your position as town crier, that must have irritated you?”
Mary-Jane was holding onto Brendan’s arm as he replied, “The council members dismissed me. Mr Hetherington was just their mouthpiece. I understood why the council had to let me go. I have no problems with them or any of my former colleagues.”
Theobald and Brendan were still staring at each other. Both unwilling to look away. Meeks interrupted. “Where were you on September twelve? In the early hours, say, four o’clock?”
“I was at work at the coal yard in White’s Grounds by London Bridge station. I left just before four and walked home. It usually takes forty-five minutes.”
“Anyone see you?” Theobald almost spat out the question.
Brendan smiled, “I should think so, I’m quite a big chap.”
Meeks followed up with, “Anyone in particular?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Very warm in here. Lots of coal, I see.” Theobald was looking around the room.
“I work in a coal yard. I get it cheap. I’m allowed the dregs on the floor.” Brendan now walked to the door and opened it. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Not at present,” Meeks answered.
They left the flat and Theobald called a cab. “Wood Street, cabbie.” They both got in the carriage.
“Well, sir?” Meeks asked. “He fits the description Doctor Steadman suggested, and did you notice his hands?”
Theobald lit his pipe. “I’m sure he is. But we need to get evidence. Put a tail on him. Have a word with the coal yard owners? Check his story out. If I can’t get him for murder, by Jove, I’ll have him for theft.”
A week after the police interview, Brendan was called into the office to speak to the owner of the coal yard. Mr Simkins was a blunt man in speech and manner.
“I’ve had the police in here making enquiries about you. I’ll have no truck with criminals in my employ. Explain yourself.”
Brendan stood to attention. “Sir, I’ve done nothing wrong. I was asked about my whereabouts on September twelve. I was in the coal yard fulfilling my duties. I believe the officer was upset that I could prove my presence at work. He accused me of stealing coal. I told him that I had dregs only, sir. I pay the foreman for a bag of coal, occasionally.”
Simkins called the office boy over. “Get Mr Houghton in here at once. And tell him to bring the sales receipts.” The boy ran out and returned with the foreman, Mr Houghton.
“Houghton, have you received payment from O’Carroll for coal?”
He handed over the book with the pages that showed a payment on three occasions for a hundred-weight bag of coal. The cash had been entered correctly.
Simkins dismissed Mr Houghton. He looked at Brendan. “I’ve no problem with my men purchasing coal. I do have concerns when police officers turn up at my offices. Ensure that this does not happen again. Or you will be dismissed. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Brendan replied in his best parade ground voice. He turned and left the office.
At home, Brendan told Mary-Jane of what had occurred. She held his hand. He smiled. “So dearest, what news?” She handed him the paper. They settled back as Brendan read the headlines.
One headline, on page seven read, ‘Detective Inspector Ezra Theobald confident of an arrest soon in the Hetherington murder case.’ Brendan paused for a moment.
Mary-Jane leant across and took the newspaper from him. She smiled and folded it and put it by the fire for future use. They sat in silence holding hands, both deep in thought.