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Hansom cabs were built for two passengers and with three on board, there was little room for manoeuvre. Martha and Ethel shared a smile as Gloria, pinned between them, struggled to move her arms. Martha leaned in closer and nodded to Ethel to do the same.
The cabby’s whip snaked over the top of their compartment to flick the horse’s rear; the cab picked up speed as it rolled along Perth Road. Kirsty raised an arm and waved as they passed her walking towards the Nethergate.
Martha hadn’t wanted to leave Kirsty to walk back alone, but there had been no other option. It needed two of them to make sure Gloria reached the police station, and there was no room for a fourth person in the cab. They could have drawn lots to see who travelled and who walked but the choice was obvious. Gloria was afraid of Ethel, while Martha was the one who had been imprisoned and would be making the complaint. Nevertheless, Martha worried for Kirsty’s safety.
‘Do you think Kirsty will be all right?’ Ethel gave voice to Martha’s concerns.
‘I think so.’ Martha lacked conviction. ‘She has grown stronger since I first met her.’ She recalled the innocence she had sensed in Kirsty. Her lack of understanding that women could make their own decisions and were not held in thrall to their fathers. ‘I knew from the beginning that once she understood our purpose, she could be an asset to our cause.’
Beside them, Gloria wriggled to find more space.
‘I can’t breathe.’
‘You’ll breathe less if they hang you.’
Gloria lapsed into silence and stopped struggling and the horse continued clopping through the town until they turned and entered the police quadrangle through the archway.
‘We’ve arrived,’ Martha said.
Ethel dismounted first and waited for them to follow. Martha could see her poised to tackle Gloria if she attempted to escape.
‘Don’t even think about trying to run for it,’ Martha whispered in Gloria’s ear as she prodded her along the seat. ‘Don’t forget, she still has the knife and I rather think she might enjoy using it.’
* * *
KIRSTY PUSHED AWAY her disappointment as she watched the hansom cab speed along Perth Road. She had craved to be there when they confronted Inspector Hammond with Gloria, but it was not to be. She knew it made more sense for Martha and Ethel to be there, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling left out.
The morning’s events had been terrifying and exhilarating, making her heart thump harder than it ever had before; the drop in her spirits invoked by the normality of walking to the town ushered in, once again, her dissatisfaction with her life. With Martha and Ethel by her side, she felt like a different person. When they weren’t with her, she was reminded of the reality. Her role as a dutiful daughter; the family ties that dictated how she should act; and the subservience her father expected. But above all, it was the lack of independence and the ability to make her own decisions which frustrated her the most. Martha had introduced her to a new world in the short time they’d known each other – a world she had never imagined existed.
Reaching the Nethergate, she walked past the row of hansom cabs. The WFL office across the road was closed as a mark of respect for Constance, and Martha was at the police station. That only left Aunt Bea. Her steps quickened as she turned the corner into Reform Street. Thoughts bounced around inside her head. She didn’t want to return home to a continued existence as a submissive daughter. She wanted changes in her life, but how was she going to achieve them? Her parents would never understand. Sometimes she thought Aunt Bea understood but was she just seeing what she wanted to?
Kirsty opened the door and climbed the stairs, took a deep breath, and entered the sitting-room, expecting to see Aunt Bea in her usual spot. Instead, her mother’s voice greeted her, stopping her in her tracks.
‘Ah, there you are at last, Kirsty,’ she said. ‘I was just saying to Bea that it’s time you returned home.’
* * *
CHIEF CONSTABLE DEWAR glared at Inspector Hammond.
‘What progress have you made in this investigation? It’s time we had this killer off the streets of Dundee.’
Sweat beaded on Hammond’s brow and he resisted the temptation to run a finger around his collar. Dewar was Dundee’s procurator fiscal as well as chief constable, and he was responsible for the investigation. Hammond couldn’t remember a time when his boss had sought active involvement in a case, so the man’s fury at the failure to find the perpetrator of these murders puzzled him. Either there was a personal interest, or it must be because the last victim was more important than the others.
‘It’s been a difficult case to resolve, sir. We have three suspects but no evidence.’
‘Are they in custody?’
‘No, sir. We had one of them in custody, but we’ve had to release him. As I said, there’s a lack of evidence and two of the men have alibis for the times of the killings. The third man has evaded capture.’
‘Do they have motives?’
‘Billy Murphy is the boyfriend of the third victim, but the relationship broke down when she became a suffragette. As a result, he hates suffragettes. His mother attests to him being at home at the time of the murder.’
‘And the second suspect?’
‘Paul Anderson. He’s a reporter with the Dundee Courier. I’m not sure of a motive, but he’s always on the scene when a murder’s been committed.’
‘I suppose that’s a reporter’s job – being on the spot when anything newsworthy happens.’
Heat built beneath Hammond’s collar again. Had he been unfair in his judgement of the reporter because he’d taken a dislike to the man? Was his gut feeling wrong?
‘I found it suspicious, sir.’
‘What about the third suspect?’
‘Douglas Paterson, the cabby in charge of the cab which contained the body of the last victim. We think he must have left Dundee – we’ve been unable to locate him.’
‘Excuse me, sir.’ Sergeant Edwards loomed in the doorway. ‘But them suffragette ladies in the charge-room are getting impatient and demanding to see you. I informed them you were busy, but they be insistent.’
‘Tell them to come back later.’ Hammond frowned. Those damned women were determined to spoil his day.
‘I told them that, but it didn’t work.’
‘Put the ladies in one of the interview-rooms and inform them Inspector Hammond will be with them in a few minutes,’ Chief Constable Dewar snapped.
‘Yes, sir.’ The sergeant saluted, turned sharply, and marched along the corridor.
‘Do you have a reason to keep these women waiting?’ Dewar narrowed his eyes.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Hammond almost choked on his words; he wasn’t sorry at all. ‘But these women have been interfering in the investigation. Every time I turn around, they are at my back. They think they would make a better job than the police of finding the killer. It’s not normal for women to be poking their noses into police business.’
‘Then perhaps you had better talk to them and find out what they know.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Hammond suppressed the urge to thump his desk and swear. It wouldn’t do to lose his self-control in front of the chief constable. That didn’t prevent him from muttering under his breath as he strode up the corridor to the interview-rooms. Nor did it stop him from taking his anger out on Constable Buchan, when he interrupted the young bobby’s lunch and rousted him from the canteen.
* * *
MARTHA DRUMMED HER fingers on the table. The inspector had kept them waiting for over an hour before the sergeant had shown them into this room. Her patience had worn thin some considerable time ago.
The interview-room was small, with one, tiny window, high up the wall. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke and a hint of body odour. Gloria fidgeted in the chair next to her; Ethel sat, immobile, on her other side.
‘Remember, if you don’t tell the police all you know, you’re likely to hang alongside Archie.’
‘I told you before, I don’t know anything about what Archie was getting up to.’
‘But you did give him a false alibi, and you know perfectly well what he did to me.’ Martha turned her head to glare at Gloria. ‘So, that makes you an accessory. You had better say your prayers.’
The door slammed open and thudded off the wall. Hammond strode in.
‘I hope you ladies are not wasting my time.’ He glowered at them from the opposite side of the table.
Martha stiffened before speaking in the most authoritative tone she could muster. ‘I assure you we would never think of doing that.’
‘Constable, take notes.’ Hammond slumped into a chair and stared at them.
Buchan, who had followed the inspector into the room took the seat beside him, notebook at the ready.
‘Well, I don’t have all day. What have you come to tell me?’
‘First,’ Martha said, ‘I want to report a crime. I was held prisoner by the man you are seeking but have failed to find. If my friends hadn’t rescued me, you would have found my body with a sash around my neck in the same fashion as the other bodies.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘I have the two witnesses who came to my rescue. Miss Stewart, who is here in this room, and Miss Campbell, who is not present at the moment, but can be contacted. I also have this woman –’ she glanced at Gloria with contempt in her eyes ‘– who assisted the man when he detained me. I say “detained” for want of a better word . . . he tied me to a chair in his wine cellar. To be fair, I do not think she realised what he intended to do with me. But she has been a party to Constance’s murder by providing him with an alibi.’
Buchan, at the other side of the table, was writing as fast as he could. Hammond, for once, appeared speechless. After a few moments, he found his tongue.
‘The man’s name?’
‘Archie Drysdale, husband of Constance Drysdale.’
‘How do you know he was responsible for the murders?’
‘He told me. No doubt, he thought he was safe because I wouldn’t live to tell anyone what I knew. He committed all the murders to mask killing his wife, and he said I was going to be the last. That way, no one would suspect him and he could act the heartbroken husband.’
‘You can confirm this?’ Hammond turned to Gloria.
‘Yes,’ she said, her voice low. ‘But I didn’t know about the murders. I swear, I didn’t.’
‘You have a note of all that, constable?’ Hammond leaned back in his chair.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right, then. Miss Stewart and Miss Fairweather, you may go. As for you, Miss Wallace, I will require to detain you while I investigate this further.’
‘Does that mean you believe us?’ Martha demanded.
‘I didn’t say that. What I said, was that I will need to investigate your claims.’
* * *
HALF AN HOUR LATER, Hammond, pleased with his handling of Gloria’s interrogation, left the interview-room and strode towards his office. She hadn’t taken long to tell him everything he needed to know, though he’d had to apply some pressure.
‘Attend to the paperwork and get her locked up,’ he’d instructed Buchan. ‘Then report to me in my office.’
No doubt Buchan was, at this moment, escorting a tearful Gloria to the women’s cells underneath the police station.
The staccato sound of Hammond’s footsteps echoed through the building, heralding a warning to any bobbies in the duty-room that it was time for them to look busy. Cigarette smoke tainted the air as he passed along the corridor to his own office.
Pushing the door open, he was met by the sight of Dewar sitting at the desk, reading the case files. If anyone else apart from the chief constable had been in his chair, going through his files, Hammond would have given them short shrift. Instead, he bit his lip to prevent any caustic remarks escaping.
‘Sir,’ he said before Dewar castigated him again. ‘We’ve had a breakthrough. My constable is escorting a female suspect to the cells as I speak.’
‘A woman, you say? I wasn’t expecting that.’
‘She’s the killer’s accomplice, sir. She’s confessed and given us his name.’
‘Well, man – get on with it. Which one of these is the murderer?’ Dewar gestured to the files.
‘None of them, sir. Our killer is the husband of the last victim, Constance Drysdale. He’s currently attending her funeral.’
Silence descended on the room. The chief constable scratched his chin while he thought.
‘You realise this will have to be handled carefully,’ he said, after a moment. ‘Archie Drysdale is a man of substance. We cannot afford any mistakes.’
‘Yes, sir. That’s why I intend to seek an arrest warrant from the court before detaining him.’
‘Good thinking,’ Dewar said.
‘I’ll need access to my desk to complete the application, sir.’ Hammond suppressed a smile as he watched the chief constable vacate his chair.
‘Keep me informed,’ Dewar said, as he left the room.
‘Yes, sir.’
Hammond busied himself with the paperwork, which he planned to present to the sheriff to request the warrant. He smiled to himself as he wrote. The case was solved, and he had a killer to bring into custody.
* * *
THE SHERIFF HAD NEEDED little persuading to issue the arrest warrant, and it now nestled in Inspector Hammond’s breast pocket. Meanwhile, Buchan had done a good job in rustling up some bobbies glad to escape the boredom of the beat. A squad had been dispatched by the time Hammond returned from the court, and a police wagon awaited his return.
The wagon rattled its way to the cemetery, while Hammond fidgeted and tapped his fingers on the wooden seat. If the funeral was over, they would miss their chance of an easy arrest. With Drysdale’s resources, he would have no trouble fleeing Dundee.
Bursting out of the van, Hammond strode through the cemetery gates, passing several mourners on the way. More people, dressed in customary black, were clustered on a knoll in the graveyard. Followed by Buchan, he strode over the grass to join them. They had almost reached the group when the grief-stricken young man throwing a rose into the grave looked up. An expression of alarm crossed his face. The inspector instinctively broke into a jog. The young man took several steps backwards and Hammond thought he was going to run.
‘Hoi!’ he shouted. ‘Drysdale. We want a word with you.’
The young man hesitated then ran, dodging between the headstones in his flight. On his approach to the cemetery gates, he changed direction when he saw the police constables clustered there.
The inspector was out of breath by this time, so he stopped and waited while the assembled bobbies chased their quarry through the graveyard. It didn’t take long before they bundled Archie into the police wagon.
‘Good lad,’ he said to a breathless Buchan on his return.
Buchan grinned and handed him a sword and its sheath.
‘Took this sword-stick off him,’ he said. ‘He was brandishing it at us when we caught him. Do you think it might be the weapon he used on his wife?’
‘Good lad,’ Hammond repeated. The sword-stick, combined with Gloria’s confession, would be enough to make sure the man kept a date with the hangman.