LITMIR.BIZ

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words,” Ah Ohn said. “Not much.”

      “So how is it that a man who speaks very little English has the presence of mind to shout ‘Murder’ in a language that isn’t his own tongue?”

      Ah Ohn looked confused once again.

      “Why did Mr. Mow shout in English?” Mr. Walkem repeated.

      “To make white men hear,” Ah Ohn said, finally understanding. “Ah Mow want help from constable. So he use English word.”

      “Oh,” Mr. Walkem said, looking disappointed. “Where were you when you say you saw Mr. Tremblay kneeling beside Mr. Mow?”

      “Two, maybe three doors away. Nine, ten feet. I see clearly.”

      “Did you?” said Mr. Walkem. “You saw clearly? Are you sure about that?” But before Ah Ohn could answer, the lawyer turned away. “No further questions for this witness.”

      Another Chinese man was called to testify. He didn’t speak English, so Sing Kee translated for him. His story was much the same as Ah Ohn’s. He had heard men shouting and had come out of his house to see what was happening. He had heard Ah Mow cry out. He had seen Mr. Tremblay kneeling beside the murdered man.

      The doctor who examined the body was summoned next, and he gave his report. It was long, and I couldn’t concentrate on what was being said. A shuffling and restlessness in the audience made me take notice just as a sentence describing the injury, “a wound at the scapular end of the clavicle dividing the subclavicle artery,” was read. I realized that not many in the audience understood the medical words. Most of the terms the doctor was using I knew from my days as Dr. Wilkinson’s apprentice, but even I was mystified by scapular and clavicle until Dr. Bell pointed to his own chest, showing everyone the exact spot of the injury.

      “The wound was severe,” the doctor explained. “Severe enough to probably cause instantaneous death.”

      Then Dr. Bell called my name. “Theodore Macintosh, are you in attendance?”

      Swallowing hard, I said, “Here, sir,” and stood.

      “Young man, your name has been presented by Mr. Sing Kee as a possible witness, though Mr. Walkem, appearing for the defence, informs me you’ll have nothing to add to these proceedings. Were you, in fact, present when this murder took place?”

      “No, sir.” I swallowed again. “I came later, after—”

      “I understand that you stayed with the body until Chief Constable Lindsay arrived. Is that correct?” Mr. Walkem asked, coming to the edge of the stage and peering down at me as he asked the question. In his black robes he looked like a large raven inspecting the ground, searching for something to eat.

      I tried hard not to feel like a plump and nourishing worm as I answered, “Yes, sir.”

      “And you saw my client there?” “Yes, sir.”

      “Was he near the body?”

      “No, sir. The body—uh, Mr. Mow—was on the steps in front of his restaurant. Mr. Tremblay was in the middle of the road.”

      “Were you close enough to him to see Mr. Tremblay’s face?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And was there blood on his face? On his coat? Or perhaps on his hands?”

      “No, sir. I saw no blood.”

      “Do you not find it odd that a man who has been accused of murder had not a speck of blood on him only moments after the deed was committed? How do you suppose that was possible?”

      “I don’t know—” I began.

      “Mr. Walkem,” Dr. Bell said, “I understand that you have only the best interests of your client at heart, but this is not a trial. This is merely, as I am sure you know well, a coroner’s inquest where a jury will determine the cause of death. Please save your arguments and any further questions until the trial—if, in fact, one becomes necessary.” He then turned back to me. “Unless you saw the murder happen, Theodore Macintosh, you are of no use in this inquiry. You may leave, if you wish.”

      I did wish. I wanted desperately to get back to Pa’s shop, to get away from all these gawking people. As I made my way out of the theatre, I once more felt their stares on my back.

      Just as I pushed through the big front doors I heard the coroner say, “We will now hear the testimony of Chief Constable Lindsay.”

      But I wasn’t hearing Dr. Bell’s voice. I was hearing once again the cry that had reached out to me through the cold air as, early this morning, I had made my way down the Richfield road.

      Murder! Murder!’

       Four

      The wind was still blowing, lifting the morning’s new snow from the ground and tossing it into my face. I pulled my scarf tighter as I walked to Wake Up Jake’s. I would have something to eat, I thought, perhaps even a cup of coffee— though I didn’t usually care for that bitter beverage—before I returned to Pa’s carpentry shop. I was cold again, as cold as I had been earlier that day on the Richfield road.

      As I pushed through the restaurant’s door, the rich smell of freshly baked bread made me realize I was truly hungry. I had only eaten a biscuit in the morning before leaving home, and it was now well past two o’clock.

      Hanging my hat and scarf on the stand, I found an empty table close to the wood stove. I was about to sit when a cheerful voice from behind me called out, “Ted, Ted, over here. Come and sit with us. I have someone I want you to meet.”

      I didn’t see who it was who called to me, but I didn’t have to. I knew that voice. It was Bridget’s. I strongly suspected that I didn’t want to meet the “someone” she had with her. Reluctantly I turned and slowly began to make my way to the back of the restaurant where two women sat at a small table.

      “It’s good to see you, Bridget,” I said. “And to meet you again, Miss Jenny.”

      “You two have met?” Bridget asked, puzzled. “Jenny, you didn’t tell me you’d already been introduced to Ted Maclntosh.”

      Jenny’s face turned very red. “Nae, we haven’t been properly introduced, Cousin. Though if this young man had had the courtesy to identify himself when we spoke earlier today, I would have been saved much embarrassment.”

      “Forgive me,” I said. “But there wasn’t time to—”

      “You had more than enough time to tell me who you were. There I was, blethering on about your brave deeds and you just standing there not letting on that you were you.”

      “But I-”

      “I don’t understand how—” Bridget said at the same time. But even the two of us speaking together were no match for Jenny. She went on talking as if she hadn’t heard us.

      “Had you but told me he had such red hair, then this wouldn’t have happened,” she said angrily to her cousin. “Of all the things you wrote to me in your letters, couldn’t you have mentioned, even once, his hair?”

      Bridget frowned. “His hair?”

      “Yes, his hair. Surely you could have told me that.”

      “But I don’t understand why the colour—”

      “Oh,” Jenny said impatiently, “you don’t understand, not at all. If I knew he had red hair, then I would have known that he was he. I mean, that he was him, that he was...” She turned to me. “It was rude of you nae to identify yourself, sir. Very rude.”

      I bowed. “I apologize, Miss Jenny. I didn’t mean to be discourteous. But you talked so...quickly—” and so much, I thought“—that I didn’t have time to introduce myself.”

      “Churlish.

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