Death of a Doxy

This book is dedicated to the memory of Dundee’s first policewoman, Jean Forsyth Thomson

Contents

Dedication

Beginning – Chapter 1

Historical Note

About the Author

Chris Longmuir’s Books

Chapter 1

Monday, 8 December 1919

Splotches of blood combined with other stains created a grim kaleidoscope of colour on the faded blue mattress.

He had meant to save her, not kill her. But her depravity overwhelmed him when she mocked him and laughed in his face.

Bile burned his throat and he leaned over the box sink in front of the window waiting for the pain to pass. Outside, footsteps on the landing caused him to draw back and he slid into a shadowy corner of the room, his hand tightening on the poker which he still clutched. When the sound disappeared he returned to the sink, turned the tap, bent over, and swilled water around his mouth. The burning sensation faded. He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the cool glass of the window, in the vain hope the scene behind him would disappear and everything would be the same as when he entered the room less than half an hour ago.

An image of her flashed through his mind. Innocent blue eyes; now so knowing. Hair, golden as daffodils on a spring morning, streaming behind her in the breeze; now dull and lank. Skin, translucent in the sunshine; now caked in thick face paint.

Where had that innocent young girl gone?

He opened his eyes and turned to survey the room. A dingy place containing nothing more than a rickety wardrobe, a bed, one chair, and a table holding a guttering oil lamp. The last embers of a fire glowed in the black grate of the fireplace which spilled ash over the floor. And on the mantelpiece, a candle dripped wax into a saucer.

But the thing that held his eyes more than anything else was the body which sprawled on the mattress before him, beaten and bloodied, and no longer the girl he remembered. His hand loosened on the poker which clattered onto the wooden floorboards to lie in a widening pool of blood.

Unaware he had been holding his breath, it now whispered out from between his lips, and the anger that consumed him was replaced by exhilaration rushing through his body, reviving him, exciting him.

He had saved her, although not in the way he intended. He could see now. This way was better. It was the only way to eradicate the depraved life she led. But he couldn’t leave her like this, with her clothing in disarray. No, that wouldn’t do. He would make her respectable, lay her out before her body stiffened, and arrange her dress to provide her with a modesty she hadn’t experienced for a long time.

Her limbs moved easily under his tender hands. He rolled her onto her back and straightened her legs, smoothing the dress over them. Next, he crossed her hands over her chest and arranged her blood-soaked hair around her shoulders.

Pleased with his work he rinsed her blood from the poker. Then, taking one last look at the scene in front of him, he left the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

At the bottom of the stairs, he sidled around the final corner and hurried across the backlands behind the tenement. This was an area of grass, weeds and rubbish which serviced the tenements that bordered it. The place where the tenants kept their bins and hung their washing on ropes to dry. He slipped through a close at the other side of this waste ground, opposite the building he’d left, and emerged onto the street. After taking a circuitous route and keeping to side streets he eventually reached Magdalen Green. From there it was a short walk to where the River Tay flowed to meet the North Sea. With one last look around to make sure no one observed him, he raised his arm and threw the poker into the water.

He smiled to himself as he walked homeward. His job was done.

Chapter 2

‘I’ll sort that little bitch out, see if I don’t.’ Aggie heaved herself out of the chair, staggering as the room swayed gently around her. ‘What gives her the right to insult good customers like yourself?’ She smiled at the portly, little man sitting opposite.

‘Ach. I didn’t mean it to be a complaint like. She said she wasn’t in the mood. And Rita wasn’t so bad although I’d have preferred Lily.’

‘She’s no right not to be in the mood. She’s paid good money to be in the mood.’ Aggie staggered through the door. ‘Sorting out, that’s what she needs, and I’ll soon see to that.’

Fresh air swirled around Aggie’s head as she lurched along the stone landing with only her grasp on the blisteringly cold iron rail preventing her from falling. She almost welcomed the sour warmth of the stairwell as she entered it to make her way to the next landing.

The thumping of her feet on the sticky steps leading down the spiral stair turret resounded upwards, giving her the impression she was not alone. Her head swam as she tried to focus her eyes in the darkness, and she stopped her downward progress to lean against the wall and catch her breath. She listened for a moment, but there was only the sound of her own breathing and the echo of her feet.

Several steps later she emerged from the choking closeness of the stairwell onto the second-floor landing, a stone platform similar to the one above and known locally as a plattie, which jutted out from the rear of the building to overhang the backlands below. She turned to the right.

Laughter and the low buzz of voices filtered out from the first door Aggie passed, while a curtain fluttered briefly at the window of the next flat. The last house on the landing appeared silent and empty, although she knew the girl was inside because of the faint glimmer of light showing.

She banged on the door. ‘I know you’re in there,’ she shouted. After listening for a moment and hearing nothing, she thumped again. ‘Let me in if ye know what’s good for ye.’ She listened once more. ‘Little bitch,’ she said as she fumbled in her skirt pocket for her master keys. ‘I’ll show you who is boss of this outfit.’

The door swung open and, pushing her way inside, Aggie prepared to give Lily a tongue lashing. She opened her mouth to speak but gagged on the words. Unable to move she stood for a moment struggling to understand what lay on the bed in front of her. But her mind rejected it. The girl was playing a twisted game with her. Well, she’d show her who was boss and Lily would think twice before playing funny games again.

Aggie moved closer. Her feet slipped on something wet and she sat down with a thud. She thrust out a hand but the substance beneath her oozed between her fingers and something dripped from the girl’s hair onto the back of Aggie’s hand.

She opened her mouth again and roared at the top of her voice, ‘Murder! Bloody murder!’

Chapter 3

Kirsty Campbell hovered between sleeping and waking, slipping from one nightmare to the next until something disturbed her. The sound tipped the balance and she was fully awake. She held her breath to listen but all she could hear were the rustles of the night. The wind rattling her window frame, the ticking of her clock, and the scrape of mice behind the skirting boards.

Allowing her breath to escape she snuggled under the scratchy warmth of the grey blanket. She was letting her imagination run away with itself.

The dreams started when they took Angel away to the lunatic asylum because even though she’d saved the girl from the hangman, she’d failed her. All Kirsty had wanted was to help the girl, but she hadn’t known how to empty Angel’s mind of the horror of that night in the Howff graveyard, nor had she been able to bring the girl’s sister back. Now, Angel rocked and crooned in her locked room at the asylum while Kirsty’s dreams were plagued with nightmares.

The door to the building closed with a slight click and footsteps tapped their way up the stairs. For a moment her dreams became confused with reality and she thought it was Edward even though she knew that was impossible.

The steps halted outside her door and a fist thumped on it.

She swung her legs out of the bed onto the skin-chilling linoleum, stood up, pulled the blanket around her and felt her way out of the bedroom, across her living room and over to the door.

‘Who’s there?’ she whispered, her voice hoarse with nervousness.

‘Open up, Kirsty. It’s me, Brewster.’

‘What on earth d’you want at this time of night?’ Kirsty felt her way to the mantelpiece and fumbled for matches. After striking one, she held it to the hissing gas jet until it lit with a plop.

‘Come on, Kirsty. Open the door, I need to speak to you.’ The doorknob rattled.

Each step Kirsty took chilled her feet even more but pulling the blanket around her body and up to her chin, she hobbled across the room to open the door.

‘Damn it, Brewster. You’ll break the door off its hinges and where am I going to find the money to replace it? Certainly not from the pittance Dundee Police pay me. You should know better than to visit a lady in the middle of the night. You’ll have my reputation in tatters. What would my family think? My father would probably shoot you and he would disown me again.’

Detective Inspector Brewster paid no attention to her complaints and strode into the room. ‘In the name of the wee man, Kirsty, this place is a dump. Can’t you find anything better?’

Kirsty’s muscles tensed. ‘This flat suits me fine,’ she said. ‘Anyway is that what you came to tell me, or is there something else you wanted?’ Her voice was as brittle as the icicles that hung outside her window.

Amusement shone in his grey eyes. ‘Relax, Kirsty, you’re always getting riled up about something. Usually, it’s me, when I come to think about it.’ Looking around him, he said, ‘Where do you sit in this place?’ He bent over, scooped clothes from an armchair and threw them onto the rickety sofa.

The chair creaked when he sat on it and for a moment Kirsty thought it might collapse. ‘Well, what’s so important you have to wake me in the middle of the night?’ She pushed the garments aside and perched on the edge of the sofa but not before making sure the blanket covered her completely.

Brewster rubbed his hands on the knees of his trousers and leaned forward.

‘There’s been a murder over in the Scouringburn district and we want you to interview a suspect.’ He studied his hands. ‘She won’t talk to policemen, says they’re ruffians and rogues.’

Kirsty laughed. ‘She’s maybe not far wrong. Who is she?’

‘Oh, you’ve met this one before, and she remembers you. Says you’re that nice policewoman who finds homes for children and she doesn’t intend to talk to anyone else but you.’

Brewster looked up from his knees and Kirsty thought she detected an amused glint in his eyes. Her fingers tightened on the edge of the blanket. He was laughing at her again.

‘This woman is evidently well informed,’ she snapped. ‘Who did you say she was?’

‘There you go again, biting my head off when I mean no harm.’ His voice was soothing but the gleam of amusement had intensified and a smile lurked around the corners of his mouth.

She darted a suspicious look towards him. ‘You still haven’t told me who?’

He sighed. ‘I was saving that as a surprise but if you must know, it’s Aggie West.’

‘Big Aggie asked for me?’ Kirsty almost choked, and she could have sworn Brewster was enjoying himself.

‘That’s right. She wants you and no one else.’ Brewster seemed to be struggling to keep his expression solemn.

Kirsty wanted to tell him to get lost but decided to play him at his own game. ‘Well, it’s apparent I’ve misjudged Aggie. She’s obviously a woman of considerable intelligence. Now get out of here, so I can put my clothes on, and then you can take me to see her.’

The chair creaked as he stood up. ‘I could turn my back.’

‘Out.’ Kirsty pointed to the door.

He made an odd snuffling noise as he passed her but, ignoring it, she clicked the door shut behind him and turned the key in the lock.

Shrugging the blanket from her shoulders she crossed the room to the sink in front of the window. The water tap was stiff and she needed both hands to turn it. At last, the pipes shuddered and water spurted out into the enamel basin. She tried not to think how chilly it would be as she plunged her cupped hands into the water, scooping it up and over her face. The icy, coldness made her gasp, but once she rubbed her face dry with a towel, she was fully awake.

Her uniform hung on a hanger in the wardrobe in her bedroom because, despite leaving clothes littered on the back of chairs, she treated her police uniform more reverently. As one of Britain’s first policewomen and the only one attached to Dundee City Police, she took an immense pride in the uniform although she would be the first to admit it wasn’t the most attractive of attire.

It didn’t take long for her to dress despite fingers, numb with cold, which struggled to fasten her shirt and jacket buttons. Her hairbrush was missing from the table beside her bed and it took her a moment before she remembered throwing it across the room last night when the scrabbling noises got too much for her to bear. Deciding she didn’t have time to look for it, she combed her fingers through her short, auburn hair and pulled on her hat. She reckoned no one would know the difference.

When she opened the door to leave, she found Brewster sitting on the top step of the stairs with his arms resting on his legs and his hands dangling down between his knees.

‘Took your time, didn’t you?’ He grinned, giving the impression he was laughing at her again.

Kirsty ignored the comment and, after a moment, he rose and led the way down the stairs into the darkness and silence of the sleeping building. She was accustomed to feeling her way up and down but Brewster muttered and stumbled all the way down until she feared he would wake her neighbours. After the entrance door slammed behind her, she breathed freely again.

Stars pricked glittering points of brilliance into the darkened sky and the frost haze around the moon seemed to increase its silvery radiance. The pavement sparkled with the sheen of gathering ice and Kirsty slithered on the glassy surface underneath her leather-soled boots.

Air sliced into Kirsty’s lungs with a sharp pain and it was unusually silent without even a whisper of wind. Nothing moved on the street which was empty apart from an unfamiliar motor car parked in front of the door.

Brewster put his hand under her elbow and led her towards it. ‘In you go,’ he said as he opened the door, ‘before you catch your death of cold.’

Kirsty’s foot slipped on the running board forcing her to grab the framework. Her fingers throbbed with pain as they stuck to the freezing metal but she did not release her grasp until after she swung herself into the car. Snow had blown under the hooded cover sprinkling on the leather seats like a dusting of icing sugar and Kirsty wondered how long the dampness would take to seep through her thick serge skirt.

She turned her collar up and adjusted her skirt while she watched Brewster walk to the front of the car and lean over to crank the starter. After a few shudders and groans, the engine took hold with a vibrating beat. He paused a moment to listen to the throb before he let go of the starting handle and jumped into the driving seat.

Kirsty gripped the side of the car. ‘D’you know how to drive this thing?’ The coldness of the air made her voice rasp out in a hoarse croak.

‘Of course, I do. I had a good half hour’s practice yesterday.’

The car surged forward throwing Kirsty into the back of his seat.

‘Where did you get the car anyway? I’m sure your salary doesn’t run to this kind of expense.’ She was having trouble moving her lips as the wind sliced into her face.

‘A grateful client.’ Brewster turned to grin at her.

‘Watch the road,’ she screamed.

‘I am watching it,’ he said as they turned the corner into the Marketgait. There was silence for a time until he turned off into the Scouringburn.

‘What d’you mean – a grateful client? Anyway, isn’t that bribery?’

‘Not at all. The grateful client donated the car to Dundee Police Force as a way of saying thanks to us for finding his daughter. I thought it would be somewhat ungracious to refuse.’ Brewster turned and grinned at her again while the car veered off course.

‘Watch the road,’ Kirsty yelled again. ‘You’ll overturn the car.’

‘Well, I thought you’d have something to say about that instead of worrying about my driving.’

‘I’m thinking,’ she muttered. ‘Anyway, you shouldn’t have accepted it.’

‘Why not? It was a gift.’

‘Because it compromises me. Of all the people to accept a gift from you had to choose my father. I thought you’d know better.’

Her body shook with anger and when she heard him chuckling under his breath it made her even angrier.

‘You’re a fool, a damned fool, and if you weren’t my superior officer I’d hit you.’ The words were out before she could stop them and she waited for the anticipated reprimand. But Brewster gave no indication he’d heard.

She subsided into an angry silence.

Chapter 4

Kirsty prised her fingers off the top of the car door when it shuddered to a halt in the narrow cobbled road.

She looked up at the dark face of the tenement. From memory, the four-storey stone building contained many flats although in Scotland no one ever referred to living in a flat or an apartment. The occupants thought of their homes as houses irrespective of their size or situation. Kirsty, having lived for many years in England found this strange and in her own mind, she always thought of these houses as flats.

These tenements were unlike anything Kirsty had seen before coming to Dundee. Doors to the ground floor houses faced the street. The upper ones were entered from the rear through a close which was a narrow entry passage carved through the middle of the building. A circular stair, encased in a tower which jutted from the back of the tenement, led to the upper houses on three different levels. Each level had an open-air stone landing, bordered by an iron railing. Local people referred to these landings as platties which Kirsty thought might be short for platforms because that was what they resembled.

Kirsty turned to face Brewster. ‘I thought Big Aggie was in a cell?’

‘Don’t you want to look at the scene of the crime first?’ He got out of the car. ‘Come on. We don’t have all night.’

It was obvious Brewster wasn’t going to help her out of the car. Not that she would want that anyway, she told herself as she slithered on the running board before joining him on the pavement.

The opening of the close, which cut a black channel through the middle of the building, loomed in front of her and she entered its cave-like mouth. Darkness enveloped her, suffocating in its intensity, while menace hovered in the air around her, setting her nerves on edge. She just wanted to feel the wall in order to make sure she was still in an ordinary tenement close instead of some black, endless vacuum, but she’d done that once before and imagined the slime on her fingers for weeks after. Brewster walked in front of her and she was glad of his tuneless whistle, for it signified she was not alone.

A change of smell and a subtle variation in the intensity of the darkness told Kirsty she had emerged into the rodent-infested backlands that lay behind every tenement in Dundee. A jungle of lank grass, wash-houses, coal sheds and dustbin recesses where cats roamed nightly in search of their prey. Something more sinister could, even now, be moving from close to close and from tenement to tenement, searching for an escape into the night.

‘He could be anywhere,’ Brewster said as if he sensed her thoughts. ‘A labyrinth of closes lead out onto at least four different streets. That’s why Aggie chose this type of building to run her business. It makes sure her clients retain their anonymity. After all, most men don’t want to be recognized visiting a doxy.’

‘No doubt the doxy, as you call her, deserved all she got, while some poor misguided man is scuttling around, out there in the dark, terrified out of his wits.’

She glared at Brewster’s back as he disappeared into the yawning mouth of the stairwell.

Kirsty had a lot of sympathy for the prostitutes but little time for the men who made their services necessary, and she certainly didn’t agree with the common belief it was the girls’ fault for leading the men into temptation.

The foul stench in the stairwell was worse than either the close or the back green and Kirsty tried to suspend her breathing for the length of time it took to climb the stairs. Something furry brushed against her legs and she hoped it was a cat but it carried on its silent way and she knew it was not. She clamped her mouth tightly closed and although her mind screamed no sound passed her lips.

At the top of the second flight, a shadow flitted over the grey oblong that indicated the way out from the stairwell and she collided with Brewster as he stopped. ‘What is it?’ she hissed.

He ignored her as he called up to the shape. ‘Is that you, constable?’

‘Aye, sir. The doctor went in a while ago. I told him you’d be coming but he wouldn’t wait although he said I was to watch out for you. Charlie’s guarding the door to keep the girls from going inside. We tried to get them to go back to their own rooms but they wouldn’t budge.’

Brewster patted the constable on the shoulder as he passed him. ‘That’s all right, Jock. I’m sure the doctor is aware of the procedures by this time.’ His breath, a white vapour floating in the night air, hung suspended before him like an eerie ectoplasm escaping from his body. ‘Come on, Kirsty,’ he said without turning around. ‘Time to inspect the crime scene.’

The constable bent forward to peer at her as she emerged from the gloom of the stairwell. Kirsty was a curiosity to the majority of the police force who had not yet become accustomed to a woman in their ranks, but she had her own way of dealing with them. However, on this occasion there was no point in staring him down, so she kept her eyes fixed on the middle of Brewster’s back as she pushed her way past the constable.

Faint light shone through the windows of the first two flats and the curtains twitched as invisible hands pulled them aside, signifying the watching eyes Kirsty could sense but not see. The sound of her feet, clattering on the icy surface of the stone landing, bounced upwards into the stillness of the night while the iron rails at their side glistened frostily in the moonlight as they walked and slithered to the furthest