Chapter 3

The next morning found Morgan de Hogue standing outside the Old George, alone and wet in the miserable weather. The rain which had begun in the night had hardened into a long relentless down pour, and Morgan, his collar turned up and his hat pulled down firmly over his ears, stood under the shelter of the pub and watched the fishermen down in the harbour.
Aware of his attentions, they glanced at him from time to time, muttering darkly amongst themselves.
For a long time, his purpose on the island had been quite a mystery, but now it seemed he was in league with the Chatham magistrates, and the rumour that he was with the Admiralty had found its way amongst them. Such a man could only be on the island for one reason, and that reason affected enough of them that his popularity had all but evaporated amongst the fishermen.
None of this concerned de Hogue though. He had done his job and identified the ring leader, and he expected to be removed from the island soon. If he could solve the girl’s murder first though, he would be satisfied.
As it now stood. Morgan de Hogue was not a satisfied man. His sleep had been haunted by dreams where he had wandered through fields filled with dead sheep, their stomachs ripped open and their eyes staring stupidly at him.
He remembered the way Thatcher had lifted aside the dead girls hair and murmured, “Ah no.”
Thatcher had not known of the murder, of that he was sure. In fact, Thatcher had joined them to be the first to know who the dead girl was. This was his island. He was the king here, and he had moved to protect his interests. Most likely, Thatcher wanted to know who the murderer was just as much as Bailey and de Hogue did.
The rain continued to fall strongly.
Behind him the door opened and a small round head peered out at him.
“Can I help you Sor?” the land lord asked.
“No. I’m just waiting for Mr Bailey” he replied.
“Right Sor.” The head vanished.
At the end of the road, by the small church, the lone figure of a short fat man ran into view with his coat over his head.
“You took your time” de Hogue grumbled as Bailey ran to stand besides him.
“Ye merciful heaven, what a weather!” Bailey replied shaking his coat in vain. “Sorry I’m late. I slept over.”
De Hogue grimaced and looked aside knowing full well that Bailey had slept the long deep sleep of man devoid of imagination and thus immune to horror. Judging by Bailey’s unshaved chin and slightly blood shot eyes; alcohol had played its part as well.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t as a matter of fact” Bailey smiled sweetly. “Shall we?”
Fifteen minutes later, with a full belly, he looked slightly more acceptable. He took a long final swig of ale, belched then regarded de Hogue with detached curiosity.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“I dreamt last night” de Hogue replied.
“Really?” Bailey nodded with solemn amusement. “I hear there’s a lot of that going round.”
With a slight attempt at a smile, de Hogue nodded.
“I’ll tell you what it is” he tapped the ancient wooden table between them. “There’s more to this matter than we know!”
“Aye, well, that’s not hard is it” Bailey sniffed. “We don’t know nought yet do we?”
Outside the rain continued to pound. Over head it could be heard hammering on the roof, and outside their small glass window, with its small, lead lined, diamond shaped panels, they could see it turning Church Street into a quagmire.
“What is your plan then?” de Hogue asked.
Bailey tore his eyes from the window and rubbing his hands together theatrically, he said; “First we go and see the Chandler…”
“Mason?”
“Aye, Mason, and we ask him about his step daughter’s habits. Where he last saw her, and who her friends are. That sort of thing. And we write down a list of every person she was friends with. Then, we go and see every one on that list and ask them where they last saw her. Find out what she was up to and where she was when she died.”
He paused and looked at de Hogue, but the Admiralty man just nodded.
Bailey returned the nod. “Right then, shall we?”

As soon as they entered the dark room of the chandlery, a hush fell over the hand full of fishermen who stood amongst the maritime wares, talking to Mason. Without any pretence to subtlety they all bid the Chandler good day and sidled past Bailey and de Hogue with dark, accusing looks.
Frederick Mason was a lean, hard faced man with a look of anger written across his face. Wiping his hands on his hips, he stepped around the counter to confront the two men.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?” he asked with apparent restraint.
Bailey seemed to pause and regard the man with a look of curiosity. As if Mason was some new form of life he had just discovered. This seemed to settle the Chandler’s choler for he sighed long and hard through his nose, waiting as Bailey pursed his lips to speak.
“Mister Mason.” Bailey began, “We were wondering if you might like to answer a few questions?”
“Aye?”
“We need to know who Mary’s friends were, if she had a sweetheart for example…”
Mason frowned and turned away. Quickly he moved to the back of the room and gently closed a door there. He returned to stand behind the counter.
“What kinds of questions are these?” he hissed. “Who gives you the right to be poking your nose into our business?”
Bailey shrugged.
“I have sent a letter to Chatham magistrate’s and on to the Sheriff of Rochester to inform them both of what has taken place here, but in the mean time, I have the responsibility to act within the capacity of my office as the senior most representative of the law on this island until I am given orders to the contrary.”
“What about him?” Mason pointed at de Hogue with a jerk of his chin.
“Mister de Hogue is assisting me, that is all.” Bailey replied with a slight edge creeping into his voice, “Now are you going to answer my questions or not?”
Mason scowled, “Of course I am.”
“Very well then,” Bailey produced his scruffy note pad and a short yellow pencil. “Did she have a suitor?”
Mason glanced nervously back at the door, and lowering his voice perceptively answered; “Aye… aye she did. Young Nicholas Sedgwick, from Mill Farm. But you can do me a favour and keep that quiet”
“Why?” Bailey asked looking up from his tortured scribbling.
“Her Mam never knew of it” Mason answered unhappily. “She disapproved like, and Mary never said it.”
“So how do you know about it then?”
“Some of the lads saw them together and told me about it, but I didn’t do nought about it. I figured Mary was a bright girl. Sensible like,” his eyes appealed to Bailey who nodded sympathetically. Mason looked down at the table with the sudden blinking eyes of one about to cry and when he spoke a few moments later, his voice was thicker and Bailey’s face became totally impassive in response.
“She were a good lass! She never hurt any one. Why would some one do this to a good lass like Mary?”
He paused and in the silence, his teeth could be heard grinding together as his face worked in a sudden fit of anger.
Bailey waited, pretending to be thinking, until Mason’s eyes had cleared again.
“Who were her friends then, other than this Nicholas Sedgwick?”
“Why?” Masons eye’s narrowed.
“Well, we need to know where she was last seen. At the moment we don’t even know where she died.”
Mason nodded.
“Her best friends would be Annie Sheppard and Molly Archer, and then there’s her cousins Art and Tom Dryden, both fishermen now on their Da’s old boat. She used to speak with them a lot.”
Bailey tapped his pad with the pencil.
“Dryden? Is that Jack Dryden’s lads?”
Mason’s eyes flashed fire.
“Aye that’s right, an’ I don’ think they’ll take kindly to see you come round askin’ questions neither!”
“Nope. I don’t suppose they will” Bailey replied with every appearance of indifference. “Now, Mister Mason, I’m grateful for your time, but I have one last question… well for now at any rate.”
“Aye?”
“When was the last time you saw Mary yourself?”
“When she went to bed that night.”
“Which night?”
Mason counted on his fingers, “The night before she were found. She’d gone to bed early with a headache, she said. Around six or so. I didn’t think much of ‘cause she often had head aches.”
“Monday then.”
“Aye.”Bailey replied then with a show of gratitude and with words of condolence that sounded odd coming from his emotionless face, and the two men left the chandler in his dark and dreary store and returned to the rain sodden street.