Free Except the Dying by Maureen Jennings Page A

it.”
    “What time was that, sir?”
    “I’ve no idea. Must have been before ten.”
    “Where did you go then?”
    Shepcote’s face went even redder. “Look here! I came here as a good citizen because I thought I knew some poor dead girl. Why the hell are you questioning me like I was a candidate for St. Vincent’s?”
    Murdoch would have dearly liked to tell him to sod off but that was too dangerous a thing to do with an alderman.
    “Because I’m investigating a serious incident. At the least we’re dealing with manslaughter, at the worst, murder.”
    That shut his nab. Murdoch pulled over the postmortem report and read it aloud again.
    Shepcote tugged a large bird’s-eye handkerchief out of his inner pocket and wiped at his face. “Good God! Shows you can never tell with wenches. One in the basket! She didn’t seem like a willing tit.”
    “We can’t make assumptions, can we, sir? Connections could have been forced on her.”
    “Wouldn’t she have said something? Told her mistress?”
    “Not necessarily. She’d be afraid to lose her position.”
    The alderman stared at him for a moment in his lopsided way, then shook his head violently. “Terrible thing, terrible. But see here, Sergeant, you can count on my help. I’ll make it front-page news.”
    And it’ll sell you more papers
, thought Murdoch.
    “Thank you, Mr. Shepcote. If Dr. Rhodes confirms the identification at the morgue, I can go right over and get a description of the clothes she was wearing. It’ll help us to trace her movements. Perhaps I could bring that information to the paper later today?”
    “Of course.”
    Murdoch flipped the sheet of paper in his notebook. “And where did you go after you let off Dr. Rhodes?”
    “What? Oh, yes. I went over to my club.”
    “Which one is that, sir?”
    “The Yeoman Club on River Street. I stayed there ’til midnight or so, then went home. I suppose you’d likemy address? One hundred and twenty Berkeley Street.”
    “Did you drive the carriage yourself?”
    “I did not. Them days have long gone. I’ve got a man, George Canning. You can ask him, if you doubt my word.”
    “It’s not a matter of doubt, sir.”
    There was the sound of footsteps out in the hall and again Constable Crabtree loomed outside the curtain. “Dr. Rhodes wants to know if you’ll be much longer. The horse is getting cold.”
    “I’ll be right there.”
    Shepcote stood up to leave.
    “Just one more question, sir,” said Murdoch. “Do you have any opinion as to who might have had connections with the girl?”
    “Hardly.”
    “You’re a shrewd man, Mr. Shepcote. Did you notice anything at all? Anyone eyeing the girl? Any little glances, a brush of the hand, that sort of thing?”
    “You’re sounding like a novel, sir. Our encounter must have lasted a minute. Didn’t see her after that. But if you’re looking for a culprit, you should go talk to the Rhodeses’ stableboy. He’s a home boy and we all know they have the morals of dogs.” His voice grew louder and with a certain ring as if he were addressing eager members of the Mechanics Institute. “As a matter of fact, I’m bringing a bill to the council as soon as I can. We’ve got to limit our intake of immigrants. Thesechildren they send us are the offspring of degenerates and criminals. It’s in their blood. You only have to take one gander at that boy and you can tell. Shifty-eyed as they come!”
    “I understand the boy’s only thirteen.”
    “So what? I’ve known boys like him and younger who’ve sired naturals like rutting dogs.”
    “I’ll speak to him, sir. Thank you for coming.”
    “Yes, of course. Terrible business it is for certain. But I’ll wager a month’s salary that boy’s the culprit.”
    And I’ll wager we’ll see that in your paper tomorrow morning
, thought Murdoch.
And a lot of people will be only too ready to believe you.
    He was also struck by the fact that neither Rhodes nor Shepcote had commented on the