Death on Darby's Island, page 6
Gabe opened his mouth to say something, but Ma gently placed a hand on his arm.
“The spuds ain’t cooked and the soup’s like water,” Da continued. He gave Ma a disparaging look. “Yeh tryin’ to poison me, bitch?”
Ma lowered her eyes to her plate. She seemed to shrink inside herself.
Gabe put down his fork. “Her name’s Grace,” he said evenly. “And there’s nothin’ wrong with the spuds or the soup.”
“You shut the hell up,” Da roared. “No one asked for your two cents’ worth. ’Tis none of yer goddamn business.”
The younger children stared, their eyes wide with fear. Eddie’s face crumpled like he was going to cry.
“Can I get yeh some tea, Da?” Ivy offered.
I shot my sister a grateful look. Ivy was always the peacekeeper.
Da either didn’t hear her, or chose not to answer. Turning to Gabe, he said, “Why don’t yeh make yerself useful and run up to Ryan’s? Get some lassy, some yeast cake, and a pack of tobacco.”
“Abe, let Gabe eat his meal in peace,” Ma said. “He can run up to Ryan’s after supper.”
Gabe stared hard at Da. “Got money?”
“No need. Tell Leo to put it on tick. I’ll pay up when me cheque comes.”
“Leo says we can’t have nothin’ else on tick ’til we pays what we owes,” Gabe said.
There was a long silence.
Da glared at Gabe like it was his fault. The room was so thick with tension, it felt like a stick of dynamite was about to go off.
Ivy concentrated on taking the skin off her potato.
Kate stared silently at her plate.
My throat was so tight, I could barely swallow.
“Gert Pickford dropped by today,” Ma said, breaking the silence.
Da looked up from his plate. “What did that old bag want?”
Ma let her gaze stray from Da to me. “She wants Blanche to go work for her. She’ll pay ten dollars a week, plus vegetables and preserves from her cellar.”
Da belched. “Sounds like a good deal to me.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “What about school?” I said. “Miss Foster’s going to help me prepare for the grade nine exams. She says I can go to university. She—”
“Well now, will you listen to Lady Alderdice,” Da scoffed.
The potato suddenly felt too thick to go down my throat. “I’d like to stay in school,” I said, hating the way my voice quivered. I looked at Ma. Don’t let Old AC take this away from me, I pleaded silently.
Ma gave me a pitying look, but said nothing.
Da pointed his fork at me. A piece of potato was stuck to his greying whiskers. “No more school for you,” he said. He looked at Ma. “When do Gert want her to start?”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Shaking her head, Ma looked at me from across the table. “Blanche should stay in school for a couple more years, Abe,” she said. “Her teacher says she’s very bright. Sure Mr.—”
Da banged his fist on the table, making the cups jump in their saucers. Eddie stared at him, his lower lip quivering. “Christ almighty, woman. When do Gert want Blanche to start?”
Ma swallowed. “As soon as possible. She’s got three boarders now.”
Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked rapidly. Going to work for Gert Pickford was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. I’d heard stories from servant girls who had worked for her. Gert had a sharp tongue and was impossible to please. Her kids were mean and nasty. Well, not all; Dave was nice enough, and everyone liked Coop. But I couldn’t imagine being in the same house with Juney Pickford, who made fun of my clothes.
I got up from the table, went into the pantry, and picked up the water bucket. I couldn’t stay in the house a minute longer.
Gabe followed after me, taking the bucket from my hand. We walked to the well in silence. By now, the night was so dark we had trouble finding our way. The only sounds were the roar of the ocean, the hoot of an owl, and the distant bark of a dog.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” Gabe said as he lowered the bucket into the well.
“Old AC? Not likely,” I said, feeling a wave of resentment. “What I don’t understand is why Ma told him in the first place. She could’ve told Gert no. Da didn’t have to know anything about it.”
“Don’t be mad at Ma,” Gabe said. “I don’t think she meant for any of this to happen.” He pulled up the bucket from the well. “I’m sure she was just trying to keep Old AC from going off his rocker. Probably said the first thing that popped into her head.”
Even though I knew Gabe was right, I couldn’t help feeling angry with her.
As we walked back to the house, rage for Old AC build up inside me. He received a pension from the government because he’d been wounded in the war. It was supposed to be for all of us, to buy food and clothing. Instead he drank it away. Little Eddie was so thin his ribs showed. And now Old AC wanted to take away my only chance of getting an education. The only chance I had to get away from the dirty, stinking hovel we lived in.
Chapter 11
The shrill ring of the telephone jolted Martin awake. He had been dreaming. He and Emily were young again, dancing in a park surrounded by children. Emily wore a long white dress and had roses in her hair. Martin’s hand shot out automatically. “Hello,” he murmured sleepily, impatient to get back to the dream.
“Martin? It’s Blanche. Sorry to call so early.”
“Blanche?” Martin looked at the clock on his night table, and saw it was quarter of six. Why was she calling so early? By now, the storm was in full force. Rain lashed against the windows and wind slammed into the side of the cottage.
“I just spoke with the chief, and he thought I should call you.”
Martin felt his heart speed up. He thought immediately of his son, who lived in Corner Brook with his wife and their two little girls. “Has something happened to Marty?” he asked anxiously.
“No, no,” Blanche assured him. “Your family’s fine. Well, as far as I know.” Through the telephone wires, Martin heard Blanche exhale noisily. “Martin, there’s been a murder.”
Martin sat up in bed, fully awake now. Had he heard right? “A murder,” he repeated. “Here on the island?”
“Yes,” Blanche confirmed.
“But who…?”
“Bishop Malloy. His body was discovered on the beach around two this morning.”
Martin gripped the receiver. “The archbishop? Christ, Blanche, you can’t mean that.”
“He was stabbed to death.”
“Someone stabbed the archbishop?”
“Weather’s too bad to get forensics over here,” Blanche continued. “Don’t know when the storm will pass. Still, it’s crucial to get statements from the locals.”
Martin agreed. He knew better than anyone how critical the first twenty-four hours of an investigation were.
“I’m at the hall,” Blanche continued. “I thought we could make it into temporary headquarters. I told the chief I’d carry out interviews. But it’s a big job, and well…I don’t have your experience or expertise, Martin. I know you’re on leave, but I’ll need your assistance. With this storm, it’s going to be a while before help comes.”
“Of course, I’ll do whatever I can.”
“I appreciate that, Martin. I’ll fill you in on the details when you arrive.”
Martin hung up. A cold dampness had seeped into the room and he shivered as he pulled on his clothes. He shook his head in disbelief. The archbishop was dead. Murdered. Martin scribbled a note to Linda, telling her he wouldn’t be home for lunch. That if she needed him, she could reach him at the hall.
At this early hour there was no one on the road. During the night the wind had risen, and it was gusting about a hundred knots. The force of the storm scattered fallen leaves and hurled debris against the windshield of the truck. Rain was pelting down so hard Martin could barely see the road. Twice he had to pull off to the side and wait for the rain to let up.
Martin pulled his truck up behind Blanche’s cruiser, which he found parked on the road outside the hall. He got out and started toward the building, struggling against the wind that sliced though his jacket, blowing him backward.
Blanche, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, sat on the edge of the stage smoking a cigarette. Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, stray wisps falling carelessly around her face. “Martin,” she called, getting to her feet, “thanks for coming.”
“What the hell’s going on, Blanche?” Martin asked as he approached.
Blanche snuffed out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray. “Let’s go into the kitchen.”
Martin followed her across the stage and down the four steps to the kitchen. There was a plate of store-bought biscuits on the table and he could smell coffee brewing. He removed his rain jacket and hung it on a peg before taking a seat at the table.
Blanche poured a coffee for Martin and one for herself before taking a seat across from him. “Right now the number one suspect is Jake,” she said.
“Jake Pickford?” Martin asked incredulously.
Blanche nodded. “Jake was found with the murder weapon, a hunting knife that belongs to Herb. Herb claims he lost the knife on the beach yesterday morning.”
“How do you know the knife belongs to Herb? All those knives look the same.”
“Herb’s had red paint spilled on the handle.”
“But…why would Jake do a thing like that?” Martin couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“I’m not saying he did it, Martin. But for now, he’s definitely a suspect.”
Martin rubbed his eyes. Could Jake have snapped? Gone over the edge? Everyone on the island knew Gert was making his life miserable. “Who found the body?”
“Jigger and Skid were walking along the beach late last night—drunk as usual—when one of them tripped over it. Herb got there shortly afterwards.”
“What was the time of death?”
Blanche consulted her clipboard. “Nurse Duncan examined the body just after two. She thinks the death occurred somewhere between nine-thirty and eleven o’clock last night.”
“Someone must have seen something,” Martin said. “Usually, there are people on the beach night and day.”
“The body was found out near Devil’s Rock,” Blanche said, naming an isolated stretch of beach not far from Gull’s Head. “I’ve made a list of people to interview, starting with those who were in contact with Bishop Malloy. We need to find out who had opportunity, but most of all who had a motive.”
Martin nodded his approval. Blanche was handling things. “You’ve really taken charge here,” he told her.
“Well, the case just happened to fall in my lap.”
Martin looked at her with admiration. Many of his colleagues were uneasy about having women on the force. He wished they could see Blanche now. A pro.
“Where’s the body now?” Martin asked.
“They lugged it to Delbert’s fish store.”
Martin winced. “That doesn’t help the crime scene.”
“Herb suggested they take it there,” Blanche said. “Of course at that point, no one realized the archbishop had been murdered.” She took a sip of coffee and put down the cup. “In any case, the body couldn’t be left out in this weather. I’ve locked the doors, and Peter Foley and Earle Greene are taking turns guarding the place.”
Martin nodded. “What was the archbishop doing on the beach? I thought he wasn’t supposed to arrive until today.”
“Apparently, he crossed over yesterday afternoon and went straight to the nursing home. He always visits the residents during his stay. Gert and Jake were here at the hall when he arrived.” Blanche took a bite from her biscuit, chewed, and swallowed. “Finding no one home, he went next door to Herb and Nellie’s. Patsy said he stayed about twenty minutes.”
“And Jake was found with the murder weapon?”
“Yes. Herb found Jake in Delbert’s store, huddled in a corner with the bloodied knife. Problem is, Jake can’t remember anything. Judging by the size of the lump on his head, he must have taken a bad fall.”
“Well, that would explain his memory loss.”
“There’s something else you should know,” Blanche said.
Martin glanced up at her.
“Jake got hypnotized last night.”
“Hypnotized? At that show?” Martin had seen the posters.
Blanche nodded. “While he had them under hypnosis, Prospero told his subjects they were seagulls,” she said. “When he called everyone back to the stage, Jake wasn’t with them.”
“Where’d he go?”
Blanche shrugged. “No one knows.”
“We need to have a chat with this Prospero character,” Martin said.
“I have him at the top of the list of people to interview. He and his partner are staying in a trailer on Gull’s Head.”
“Have you spoken with Jake?”
“I spoke with him briefly at the hospital while he was having his wound treated. But I thought we should interview him again. See if his memory’s returned.”
“It seems you’ve thought of everything, Blanche.” Martin was thoughtful. “You don’t suppose being under the influence of hypnosis had anything to do with Jake stabbing the bishop?”
“We don’t know for certain if it was Jake who stabbed him,” Blanche said. “The evidence is circumstantial.”
“True,” Martin agreed. He couldn’t imagine Jake Pickford harming anyone. He was a good, decent man with no prior arrests or convictions. Martin had never known Jake to lose his temper or say a bad word about anyone. But if Jake didn’t do it, who did? Martin knew all the people on the island. They were his friends and neighbours. Ninety percent of them were devoted Catholics, for heaven’s sake.
Blanche drained her cup. “I’ll need to call the glebe in Corner Brook,” she said. “Let them know about their archbishop. They shouldn’t have to hear about his murder on the news. Afterwards, we can get statements from Jigger and Skid.” She studied her notes. “I called Jigger earlier. His mother told me he was still in bed. There was no answer at Skid’s house.”
“Before you call Corner Brook, I’d like to see the body,” Martin said.
Wind tore at their clothes and drove rain into their faces as Blanche and Martin walked to the cruiser. They drove in silence until they came to a small cove with a number of stores and fish stages. Gigantic waves crashed onto the beach, and water came up to the top of the pilings. Boats tied to their moorings tossed and pitched wildly.
Despite the early hour and bad weather, a cluster of people stood outside Delbert’s store. Blanche felt a swell of sympathy as she scanned the confused and bewildered faces. Ida Mae Bennett clutched her rosary, her eyes red-rimmed. Harold Tobin had an arm around his wife, Betty, who was crying softly into a handkerchief. Mary Penny and her mother, Elaine, clung to each other, distress clear on their faces.
“Is it true?” Ida Mae asked tearfully. “I heard His Grace was murdered, that Jake Pickford went and stabbed him to death.”
“We don’t know who did it,” Blanche said. “The case is still under investigation.”
She looked from one anxious face to another. These were people who had known tragedy and sorrow. Death was no stranger, but murder of their archbishop was not something they thought they’d be faced with.
“Go home,” Martin told them as he headed toward the fish store. “There’s nothing you can do. We will take care of things.”
It was dark inside the store, and Peter Foley, the man guarding the body, had lit a second lantern. The bishop’s remains were covered with a blue tarp that smelled of fish. His feet stuck out at one end, and one of his shoes was unlaced. Blanche pulled back the tarp, taking in the open eyes, the frozen shock on his face. His hands were slender, fingernails neatly manicured. His violet robe was speckled black in places where his blood had spattered. Why am I not surprised he’s wearing his chasuble? Blanche thought. She knew the archbishop had an ego; he didn’t leave the glebe unless he was in full regalia. Bishop Tully, his predecessor, only wore his bishop attire during mass or when performing sacred functions. Bishop Malloy, however, had enjoyed all the pomp that went with his title.
“What’s this?” Martin picked up a red object lodged just beneath the bishop’s collar.
Blanche leaned forward to get a better look.
Martin frowned. “Looks like a stone from a cheap ring.”
Chapter 12
“I’m not sure if Father Donovan is available,” said the pleasant-sounding woman who answered the phone. “He may have already left for the cathedral to get ready for the eight o’clock mass. I’ll see if he’s still here.”
A minute later the priest came on the line. “Father Donovan here,” he said briskly.
“Good morning, Father. This is Constable Blanche Ste Croix with the rcmp.”
“Good morning, Constable. How can I help you?”
Blanche’s tone changed. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Father.”
“Don’t tell me there’s been another accident involving young people.”
Blanche guessed the priest was referring to an accident that had happened a couple of weeks ago when a car carrying a load of teenagers had lost control and gone careening down Humber Heights, crashing into a tree. Luckily, no one had been killed. “No, Father. It’s about your bishop, I’m afraid.”
“Phil…er…Archbishop Malloy?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say he was found dead this morning.”
“Dead? Phillip’s dead? Was it his heart?”
“No, Father. He…he was murdered.”
“Merciful Saviour!”
“His body was found on a beach on Darby’s Island early this morning,” Blanche continued. “He was stabbed to death.”
