Free Under the Dragon's Tail by Maureen Jennings

know about new, sir. The old one’d do for me.”
    Murdoch left him to gather up the papers.
    “I’ll see you at the station.”
    It was true what George said. Getting out of Inspector Brackenreid’s sphere was a relief.
     
    Murdoch was eating his lunch in the stuffy room the constables used for their meals. He spat out one of the many gristly bits from the pork pie he was munching, which tasted stale. His mug of tea was bitter, the last of the common pot, and after two sips he tipped it into the slop bucket. He felt distinctly bad-tempered. The incessant flies were maddening, his celluloid collar was chafing his neck, and he’d got some grease from the pie on his almost-new Windsor tie, blue Pongee silk and a Sears catalogue special. He undid the button on his collar and loosened the tie. To hell with it. If Brackenreid came in and slapped a fine on him, he’d tell him where he could stuff it. He debated whether or not to go to the trouble of making some more tea. The water was steaming in the smoke-blackened kettle on the hob, but he’dhave to get up and he didn’t feel like it. He’d overdone the knee bends yesterday.
    The problem was he hadn’t slept well again. He’d gone to confession on Sunday, and when the priest heard about all his lustful thoughts, he’d handed out a long penance. Good thing Murdoch wasn’t telling him everything.
    The door opened and Constable Crabtree came in.
    “There’s a package for you, sir. Got the coroner’s seal. Shall I put it on your desk?”
    “No. Let’s see. Have a seat for a minute.”
    “I’ll stand if you don’t mind, sir.”
    There was a curious tone to the constable’s voice and Murdoch looked up at him.
    “You should book off early if you have to. Get a rest.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    As nobody got paid for time off, most of the men struggled into work no matter what their ailments. However, they both knew Crabtree would be excused with pay if it meant he remained fit for the tournament.
    Murdoch opened the envelope. There was a note from Johnson.
     
    Murdoch. I’ve come down with the mumps, which means I have to postpone the inquest. Given what Dr. Ogden has to say, it’s probably just as well. You’ve got some work to do. I’ve reset the inquest for this coming Friday. Should be right as rain by then. Damned painful.
    Your servant, Arthur Johnson.
     
    Curiously, Murdoch turned to the handwritten sheet which was enclosed.
     
    This is to certify that I, Julia Ogden, a legally qualified physician in the city of Toronto, did this day make a post mortem examination upon the body of a woman identified as Dolly Shaw with the following result.
    The body is that of a well-nourished woman about fifty or sixty years of age. Rigor mortis and staining well marked.
    General condition. Adiposity well developed.
    Heart in good condition.
    Liver, soft and pale, markedly fatty.
    Abdominal organs, kidneys normal in size and odour.
    The woman showed signs of having borne a child.
    There is a one-inch contusion on the occiput but it is relatively small, the dura mater beneath is not depressed or the brain ruptured. It is highly unlikely this would have been the cause of death. There was recent bruising on the shinbone of the left leg three inches below the patella. There was also a large bruise on the right forearm, five and one half inches from the wrist. This contusion had an odd criss-cross pattern, which having examined the dead woman’s outer garment, to wit a flannel robe, I decided this bruise had been incurred by pressure on the arm. Considering the discovery I made on further examination, I would now posit that this bruise was the result of some person pinning down the dead woman, probably by kneeling on her arm.
     
    Murdoch read that bit again. The doctor was sounding unnecessarily dramatic to him. However the next sentence said otherwise.
     
    I discovered traces of foreign material lodged in the nasal passages, although some had been ingested deep into the