Under the Dragon’s Tail

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Henry. If Mr. Merton was sure of that, it’s not likely he’d be here trespassing on our tea time is it?”

“That’s correct, your honour. We haven’t arrested anybody yet. But this morning, I made another search of the house and I found this piece of newspaper.” He took it out of his pocket and handed it to Maud. “As you can see, ma’am, it is a photograph of your nephew’s recent reception.”

Quick as a snake, Walter intercepted the paper. “What do you think is the significance of that, Merton?”

“My name’s Murdoch, sir. Acting Detective William Murdoch. And I was hoping Mrs. Pedlow might be able to enlighten me.”

Maud’s hand was fluttering around her cheek. “I’m afraid not. It’s most strange.”

“Well, at the risk of my uncle reprimanding me for hasty conclusions,” interjected Henry, “I’d say you already have two good suspects. Who knows why they bothered to save this photograph?” He smiled. “I didn’t realize I was so celebrious. But truly, Officer, why would the daughter disappear unless she had a guilty conscience?”

Walter couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“You wouldn’t have made a good lawyer, Henry. Never assume. There are many reasons the woman might have run off. Fear for one. I’ve known many an innocent party act so guilty they might as well have placed the rope around their own necks. All from fear.”

There was something about the way he said the word that turned Murdoch’s stomach. Relish. An almost lascivious delight in his own power and the helplessness of the victims. He turned his attention back to Maud.

“I take it you can’t help with this matter, ma’am? You have never met the boy, George, or his foster brother?”

“Objection, Murdoch. She has already said she did not know the woman so she is not likely to have met the boys.”

“With respect, your honour, the one does not necessarily preclude the other.”

“Got you there, Uncle.” Henry Pedlow was still trying rather desperately to inject a note of levity into the situation. Pedlow frowned at his wife. The kindly judge demeanour had vanished like a winter sunshine.

“Come now, answer his question, Mrs. Pedlow. Did you ever meet a boy named George…what?”

“George Tucker, your honour,” Murdoch answered. “The other boy is named Alfred Locke.”

“No. Never. Not at all…I’m sorry.”

“You don’t know of them, do you, sir?” asked Murdoch.

“Have they been up in front of my bench do you mean?”

“That as well.”

“No, can’t recall. But I will ask my clerk to check the records. This is most unpleasant. Perhaps this woman Dolly Shaw was planning to harm me. You never know how warped some people’s minds can get if they feel they have suffered an injustice. The daughter is at large and might be insane for all we know.”

Pedlow looked worried and Murdoch wondered if he’d received threats before. He wouldn’t be surprised, given his notoriously harsh sentences.

“I want you to pursue this vigorously, Murdoch.”

“I have every intention, sir.”

Pedlow scrutinized him. “Have we met before? Have you ever been before my bench?”

“Yes, I have. I was a witness in the Jimmy Mashuter case.”

“I don’t recall…”

“He stole some gloves. It was wintertime and he had frostbite in four fingers. He was a child of the streets, no parents worthy of the name. You sent him to the penitentiary for three years.”

Pedlow flapped his hand in Murdoch’s direction. “I detect criticism in your voice, Mr. Murdoch, but in all my years on the bench I have been steadfastly of the opinion that firm measures in the beginning will save the criminal and society itself later transgressions.”

“The boy was placed among hardened criminals, sir. He hanged himself shortly after he arrived at the prison.”

Pedlow shrugged. “Obviously of a weak character. Wouldn’t have amounted to much.” He reached over and patted his wife’s hand. “Now don’t think too harshly of me, Mrs. Pedlow. These are the difficult decisions I face every day. You have no idea how burdensome they feel sometimes.”

Murdoch stood up abruptly. “Thank you for your time.”

Pedlow snapped his fingers at the butler, who had been watching the proceedings with frank curiosity.

“Burns, see Mr. Murdoch out if you please.”

As he stood up, Murdoch addressed Henry Pedlow. “We’ve met before, I believe, sir.”

“Where?” asked his uncle.

Henry contrived to appear embarrassed. “In truth it was at a tavern, was it not, Mr. Murdoch?”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“It didn’t seem necessary, Uncle.”

“What tavern?”

“I don’t recall. I sometimes enjoy rubbing shoulders with the working classes. Gives me a perspective on life, as it were.”

Walter considered him, clearly not conned. However, he chose not to pursue the matter. Murdoch saw the decision and knew it was not made from affection or concern for Henry. He wouldn’t invite the possibility of shit being revealed in front of the detective. Murdoch felt a decidedly unchristian desire for the entire Pedlow family to be humbled. He was actually contemplating ways and means when he realized Pedlow was talking to him.