Under the Dragon’s Tail

Annie’s dressing room was even smaller than Murdoch’s own cubicle at the station. There was room for a shabby dresser, an extra cane chair, and a sagging pouf. Across one corner was strung a peacock blue chenille curtain. The tiny space was bare of clutter but from the rather lumpy hang of the curtain, Murdoch had the sense that things had been hastily stuffed away for his benefit. Annie hadn’t changed out of her stage costume but she’d covered her bosom with a grey, honeycomb shawl which she might have borrowed from her granny. She’d also removed the makeup from her face. Except for the spangled scarlet skirt that showed beneath the shawl, she looked neat and proper. She did not want to give offence.

“Please sit down. That chair isn’t as fragile as it looks.”

He took the cane chair, which swayed and creaked alarmingly.

“What can I do for you, Mr., er, I’m sorry but I’ve forgotten your name already.”

“It isn’t Charlie.”

She shrugged. “There’s too many of them to remember. Charlie suits.”

“My name’s Murdoch. William Murdoch.”

“And you’re a police officer?”

She wrinkled her forehead prettily as if the idea of police officers was bewildering.

“That’s right. Acting detective, number-four station.”

She turned to face the dresser mirror and absent-mindedly smoothed her hair back into one of her combs. She continued to look at his reflection and he was forced to address her the same way.

“I’m conducting an investigation and I thought you might be able to help.”

“If I can, of course. I like to be of help.”

Somehow she managed to make it sound lascivious.

“Did you by any chance know a Mrs. Shaw? Dolly Shaw? She lived on River Street.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed and she became still. “Never heard of her. Why d’you ask?”

“She’s dead.”

She swivelled around and met his gaze properly.

“What! When’d that happen?”

“She was found stone cold dead in her own parlour last Friday morning.”

Annie stared at him and gave a little laugh.

“Come on, Mr. Murdoch, spit it out. What happened, for God’s sake?”

“The coroner says she was suffocated.”

“Suffocated how?”

“I’m not at liberty to disclose the method of death, ma’am. But I can tell you it was not from natural causes.”

She picked up the ostrich feather fan from the dresser and began to fan herself. She did it more gracefully than Miss Louise Kenny but for similar reasons.

“If it wasn’t natural then it was unnatural. In my book, that means somebody done her in. Is that right?”

“It is.”

“Why’ve you come here? What’s it to do with me?”

“One of the neighbours was looking out his window late on Thursday night. Fellow couldn’t sleep. He says he saw a young woman enter Mrs. Shaw’s house. At about a quarter past midnight. He says that woman was you, Miss Brogan.”

“That’s a load of horse plop. I told you I’ve never heard of the woman. He’s got the wrong person. How can you believe some old gasper who’s sitting there pulling on his dick ’til he goes blind?”

“Stow the language. Mr. Golding says he recognized you because you’d had a little encounter the week previous. When you were coming into the Derby here. He was outside preaching Temperance.”

“What sort of frigging encounter?”

“He says you knocked over a Miss Yielding who was his assistant.”

Annie grinned suddenly. “I remember the man now. Ugly as a devil’s dick. Got all these lumps all over him. That’s the one, isn’t it?”

Murdoch nodded.

“He’s trying to get back at me. I didn’t push the stupid hummer over. She slipped. She wanted to stick a tract up my nose and I was startled. It wasn’t my fault. He’s making up this story to get me in trouble, the prick.”

“I asked you to watch your language.”

She sneered. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was in the presence of unstained youth.”

“Can you prove where you were then? Last Thursday night, say from ten to morning.”

“I was at home in my bed, where else? Fast asleep.”

“Do you live by yourself?”

“’Course not. My sister Millie and me doss down on Mill Street.”

“She could confirm that you were at home?”

“Of course. But believe me, that’s where I was, not murdering some bint on River Street.”

“Do you know anybody by the name of Pedlow, Mrs. Maud Pedlow?”

“No.”

“That’s odd. She says you went to visit her on Saturday.”

“I did?”

“You did. And don’t tell me she’s lying because the footman also says you were there.”

“Does he now? Well maybe he’s having it off with his missus and agrees to anything she says.”

Murdoch felt like shaking her. “Listen to me, Annie Brogan. All I have to do is take you to the station and bring them in. Of course they’ll identify you. Stop giving me a lot of queer.”

“It’s not me, it’s you. You come in here, throwing your weight around. I visit lots of people. Why are you asking me about this particular bint?”

He almost laughed. “All right, fair enough. When I was examining Dolly Shaw’s desk I found Mrs. Pedlow’s calling card. I went to question said lady just in case and discovered you’d been there previously. I thought it was quite a coincidence seeing as how you seemed to be connected with the murder victim.”

“Friggin hell,” Annie exploded. “I just told you that’s horse plop, dog pure, bull patties, whatever you want to call it. Or shall I just say shit? That is shit.”

“Cut it out, I said. You asked me why I wanted to know about you and Mrs. Pedlow and I’m telling you.”

Annie, her eyes angry and fearful, turned back to her mirror and began to rub large patches of rouge on her cheeks.

“So did she know anything, the judge’s wife?”

“Just like you, she’d never heard of Dolly Shaw.”

Suddenly Annie snapped her fingers and in a totally unconvincing display she said, “I know who you mean now. I was getting confused. Didn’t really know her name. Pedlow, that’s it. I did go to see her. It’s true. Saturday.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Do I have to tell you?”

“I’ve already said I’m investigating a murder case. Do you want me to issue a subpoena?”

She continued to paint her face. Dipping her little finger into a small pot on the dresser, she applied a blue paste to her eyelids.

“I’ve had enough of those things, thank you. It’s just that it doesn’t involve me so much as my sister, and she has a right to privacy, doesn’t she?”

“I know about her pregnancy if that’s what you’re referring to.”

She squeezed some black paint out of a tube on to a dainty brush. “Meredith told you?”

Murdoch nodded.

“The man got his tool into my sister and she’s got one on the go. He says he can’t marry her, that he’s betrothed to some other poor woman. I’ve always looked after my sister and I thought the mistress of the house might help us to make Mr. Merry Dick see the error of his ways.”