Death at Pullman by Frances McNamara Page A

proper examination by a doctor,” Detective Whitbread told him. “It was entirely improper.”
    Remembering the tension of the scene in the shed, I thought it would have been a mistake to try to stop Mrs. Foley, but I did not try to explain. Mr. MacGregor’s brow was creased with worry.
    â€œPerhaps I should tell you a little of Mrs. Foley’s story.” He moved uncomfortably but, after looking at the skeptical expression on Whitbread’s long face, he decided to continue. “Gracie is the oldest of the family. She was always forward. Outspoken, you might say. Her mother died when the littlest one in the family was born. Gracie and the two older boys—Brian and Joe—helped raise the young’uns. Her father got Gracie a job in the laundry here, but she thought she was treated unfairly and it’s not her way to keep quiet. Her father told her to keep her peace, but she wouldn’t, and when she spoke up she was laid off.
    â€œWell, she had been seeing one of lads that worked in the brickyard with Joe. Brendan Foley, he was. He was a drinker and lazy, but he talked big and he impressed the women. Well, he got laid off himself, no surprise, but then Sean found out that Gracie was with child. I think they must have planned to marry, but when Brendan got laid off he moved into the city and they had nothing to live on to get married. But Sean, he was furious. He threw Gracie out and she had to go to the city. Well, I think they got married then, but Sean still refused to talk to her and he forbade the others to keep in touch with her at all. And Brian supported his da and wouldn’t let her come to visit at all, even after she was married to Brendan and they lost the child and all.” He sighed.
    â€œSean was a good man but a hard one. When he got hurt in an accident—a packing crate fell on him—he wouldn’t let them send for her, and Brian supported him again that time. I don’t suppose he knew he would die of it. But he did. And at the funeral Brian still wouldn’t let the others even talk to her. It was terrible to watch. She was there, you see, but far away from the grave when they put him in it. And by then I heard Brendan Foley had got himself killed in a barroom. Gracie had gotten work as a laundress, though, and she stayed in the city.”
    We were all quiet as the carriage took us away from the last of the brick row houses and towards the mud flats. The shed where the body was found was off to our left and Lake Calumet beyond. Ahead of us we could see four rows of wooden shanties. These were like nothing in the rest of the clean and tidy brick town. Even those of us used to the rickety wooden tenements crowded into the slums of the West Side were appalled by these buildings that looked barely habitable. It was unusually quiet as we approached. I could see a wagon holding a wooden coffin standing beside one of the last of the shanties. Between the sounds of the hoof beats and jangling harnesses of our carriage we could hear the mournful wailing sound of pipe music floating across the mud.
    â€œThat’ll be Joe, the younger brother,” Mr. MacGregor told us. “Uilleann pipes he plays. That’s a mournful sound, then. He used to play for the dances in the Market Hall before, when his father was alive.” The little man shook his head and we all listened as we pulled to a stop before the last structure. There were people standing quietly in the yard, spilling over into the next shack, and others around a lean-to on the side that I judged must be the kitchen, such as it was.
    As the music stopped, Detective Whitbread climbed down.
    â€œMr. MacGregor, Dr. Chapman, if you will.”
    Dr. Chapman stepped down, then reached back to take his satchel from Alden. Mr. MacGregor followed, seeming reluctant. I decided to join them as they went up the two small steps into the gloom of the interior. People moved out of the way with curious