Desperate Acts (12 page)

“You think one of the club members might’ve
seen me knock Duggan out?” Brodie said, perking up.

“It’s possible. You circled the block an’
waited ten minutes or more to surprise the blackmailer. By then one
or more of them gents could’ve been in the coatroom ready to
leave.”

“Most of them do go out the back way – to
avoid the taproom,” Brodie added.

“An’ may’ve seen you scuttlin’ off up the
alley – with yer silvery cane layin’ down there winkin’ in the
moonlight.”

“Then sneaked out there an’ beat Duggan to
death,” Sturges said.

Brodie looked stunned, but said nothing.

“Right,” Cobb said. “Or it coulda been some
bum or roustabout scourin’ the back alleys an’ comin’ upon Duggan,”
Cobb said. “Duggan was dressed like a gentleman, so a little
robbery might’ve been temptin’, eh? Duggan feels somebody gropin’
at his pockets, wakes up, an’ gets his head bashed in fer his
trouble.”

“Wouldn’t a thief have ripped open that
parcel?” Sturges said reluctantly.

Cobb sighed. “If he saw it, I guess. Still,
we found no wallet or purse on Duggan.”

“Well, if it was robbery,” Sturges said,
“then our chances of findin’ the culprit are slim.”

“I got my snitches,” Cobb said. “Includin’
Nestor, who’s gonna need talkin’ to.”

“Alright, then,” Sturges said. “We now got a
couple of directions to go in if we’re to find out who killed
Duggan.”

“God, I hope you can,” Brodie said. “I know I
didn’t do it.” He was beginning to have some doubts about the law
always being the law.

“Cobb, I want you off yer patrol fer a few
days. You’ll need to go back to the The Sailor’s Arms in the
mornin’ an’ snoop about. If Duggan lived with Nestor, a visit to
the stone-cottage is in order. Maybe Nestor knows who might’ve had
reason to kill his cousin.”

“Well,” Cobb said, “the bugger
was
a
blackmailer. We do know that.”

“I wish you had kept that note,” Sturges said
to Brodie.

Brodie gave Sturges a strange look. He was
regretting his failure to mention the
second
note in his
statement, the one that had come to light just minutes before
Brodie had left for the club. “I wish I had, too,” he said.

“So what do we do right now?” Cobb said.

“It’s too late to rouse Magistrate Thorpe,”
Sturges said. “Brodie, I want your word that you’ll appear promptly
at nine o’clock in James Thorpe’s chambers. I’ll present the
evidence we have in hand and outline our other lines of inquiry.
What happens then is up to him.”

“It looks as if I’ll need a lawyer,” Brodie
said.

“You will, son. And a damn good one.”

No-one in the room had any doubt as to who
that might be.

***

Brodie arrived at Briar Cottage at eight o’clock the
next morning. By eight-thirty he and Marc were walking briskly
along King Street towards the Court House. Beth had left Charlene
to mind Maggie while she headed up Sherbourne Street to see what
comfort she could bring Celia, who was understandably upset and
anxious for her brother. As they walked, Brodie filled in those
details of last night’s events that he had not had time to mention
in the cottage, where he had received Marc’s assurance that he
would be properly represented by legal counsel. Marc had stopped
short of officially agreeing to represent Brodie, in part because
he felt obligated to Robert and the Union Bill cause and in part
because he expected Brodie would not be charged on the basis of the
evidence thus far.

“So you tore up the extortion note?” Marc
said as they approached Jarvis Street.

“Wouldn’t you? It was vile and
libellous.”

“If we did have it, I could prove to James
Thorpe that this Duggan was a serious criminal and offered extreme
provocation. He did strike you in the thigh, you say?”

“Yes. But that was not the reason I struck
out. I didn’t even bother to mention it in my statement.”

“That may have been unwise. This Duggan
sounds like a dangerous character. You say that Cobb indicated,
before they released you, that Duggan was involved in a fracas last
week at The Sailor’s Arms?”

“Yes. I saw it myself, and Mrs. Budge told
Cobb about it after she saw Duggan’s body in the alley. She didn’t
know his name, though, till Nestor Peck identified him as his
cousin.”

“There’s something very strange about that.
Nestor’s been a loner for years.”

“Chief Sturges is going to send Cobb out to
talk to him, and do some further investigating.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t have to – at least as
far as you’re concerned.”

***

“Wilf here brought over these sworn statements and
notes about an hour ago,” James Thorpe was saying. “I’ve had a
chance to read through them and to question the chief and the
constable about points that needed clarifying. In addition I have
in hand Dr. Withers’ report. Mr. Edwards has had ten minutes to
peruse the documents on behalf of Mr. Langford. I take it then that
we are ready to begin.”

Marc did not like the expression on the
magistrate’s face. It was the look he got when the duty he felt
bound to perform was truly painful. The interested parties were
seated before him in his comfortable chamber at the rear of the
Court House.

“We have Mr. Langford’s admission that he had
a strong motive to silence Albert Duggan, that he lost his temper
and knocked the fellow senseless. His own walking-stick was used to
club Duggan to death – two vicious blows that caved the back of his
skull in. Unless Mr. Langford is willing to retract his statement
or materially alter it, I do not see why he should not be detained
as the most probable perpetrator of the crime.”

“But, sir, as I understand it,” Marc said
quietly, “there was a fifteen- or twenty-minute gap between the
time Mr. Langford fled the scene and the arrival of Constable Cobb
there. If Mr. Langford’s statement is the truth, then someone else
could have come upon the unconscious Duggan and, for reasons yet to
be determined, picked up the abandoned walking-stick and finished
him off.”

“And why, even if they should by incredible
happenstance come upon the prone fellow, would they have reason to
kill him?”

“An attempted robbery perhaps. With Duggan
coming awake and trying to thwart it.”

“Pretty far-fetched, Marc.”

“It’s possible also that one or more of the
members of the Shakespeare Club was coming down the back stairs
during that critical twenty minutes, and got curious.”

“That’s preposterous,” Thorpe said. Although
fair-minded and strict in his judicial role, Thorpe was also a high
Tory and protective of those who mattered. “What possible contact
would any of those gentlemen, fine citizens all, have with the
likes of Duggan, a drifter from Quebec, if I’m not mistaken?”

“I’m not suggesting they were involved in any
way, sir. But they may have seen or heard something that will help
exonerate Mr. Langford. For example, if one of them, while leaving
through the cloakroom, saw Brodie strike Duggan on the cheek and
flee up the alley, without bludgeoning him, then that would be
critical testimony, would it not?”

Thorpe rubbed his chin. “I agree.” Looking
somewhat relieved, he said, “So this is what I propose to do.
Before I go to the Attorney-General, I’ll ask you, Wilf, to seek
out corroborating or exculpatory witnesses and take their
statements. Bring the results back here to me tomorrow morning at
ten o’clock. In the meantime, I’m going to have to detain Mr.
Langford at the jail until that time.”

“Surely he could be released on bond?” Marc
said.

“We’ll see about that tomorrow,” Thorpe said.
The meeting was over.

Ten minutes later, Calvin Strangway the
jailor took Brodie Langford by the arm and led him towards the
tunnel that linked the Court House and jail.

“Jesus,” Cobb said, “I don’t like the looks
of this.”

“Me neither,” Marc said.

SEVEN

Marc joined Sturges and Cobb as they walked down
Church Street towards City Hall.

“Cobb, I want you to track down any possible
witnesses today an’ report to me by seven o’clock. I’ll have Gussie
lined up to take notes or prepare affidavits.”

“Don’t worry, Sarge. There’s no way Brodie
clubbed a fella to death in cold blood. I’ll find the bugger that
did it, an’ when I do, he’ll be lucky if I don’t do the same to
him.”

“I’m heartened to see you take investigating
seriously,” Marc said to his long-time associate in such work.
“Deadly serious.”

“I’d advise you to let the hangman take care
of the killer,” Sturges said to Cobb. Then he turned to Marc. “But
if you’re gonna be Brodie’s lawyer, you can’t be headin’ out with
Cobb to do the interrogatin’. It’s now a police matter.” This last
remark was uttered with a sigh of disappointment. Sturges had
absolute faith in Marc’s ability to ferret out the most cunning of
murderers.

“That may be so, Sarge. But if Marc was to do
some of his own private investigatin’ an’ we was to bump into one
another whilst on the job, so to speak, it’d be silly to pretend we
weren’t in the same place, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, Brodie hasn’t been formally charged,”
Sturges said as they turned onto Front Street. “But I want you two
to be discreet, eh?”

“
Tack-full
, ya mean?” Cobb said.

“You know you can trust me,” Marc said.

“And I do, Marc. But you’ve got to promise me
here and now that if you learn anythin’ important –
anythin’
– you’ll not hold back on us.”

“Agreed,” Marc said, “unless Brodie is
formally charged and I take him on as a client. After that, of
course, I’ll play the lawyer – by the book.”

Sturges left them to return to the police
quarters. Cobb had already decided to begin his investigative
effort at The Sailor’s Arms. Thursday morning was one of Nestor’s
regular workdays, and both the Budges were on Cobb’s list of
material witnesses. And if Duggan really did live with Nestor, the
stone-cottage beside the hatchery would need a thorough
going-over.

“I’ve got a meeting with Robert and Francis
Hincks right now,” Marc said when Cobb had revealed his plans.
“I’ll need to alert them of my possible prolonged involvement with
Brodie.”

“An’ you could corner Miss Ramsay an’ deliver
the bad news. I figure Brodie could use a little friendly company
before the day’s out.”

“I intend to do that, certainly. But this
business couldn’t have come at a worse time for me.”

“Is there a
good
time to be accused of
murder?”

“Parliament is due to open in two weeks or
so, and the new governor is relying on Robert’s crew for almost
daily advice on how to manage the dozen moderate Tories we’ve
targeted to support the Union Bill in the Assembly.”

“Without lettin’ on you’re doin’ so,” Cobb
added – to Marc’s surprise, for Cobb portrayed himself as
blissfully uninformed about the machinations of politicians, even
ones he liked and agreed with.

“Yes. We’ve been meeting secretly, at least
we hope we have.”

“Well, I’m gonna find myself at Nestor’s
cottage about eleven o’clock. If you happen to be in the
vice-inity
, you could join me in searchin’ that dark an’
depressin’ hovel.”

“I’ll be there,” Marc said. “And I’ll bring
the lantern.”

***

When Cobb arrived at The Sailor’s Arms, he was not
surprised to find it shuttered. While there were no regular or
regulated hours for public houses, most of the respectable taprooms
opened up sometime after noon on weekdays and observed the sanctity
of the Sabbath. He rapped on the thick front door with his
truncheon. It was a full minute before he heard footsteps coming
along inside, as he was certain they would. He knew how to knock
when he wanted an answer.

Gillian Budge stood in the half-open doorway
– leaning on a mop, with a bandana looped about her sandy curls.
Her green eyes were flashing. “What do
you
want, Cobb? It’s
two hours before we – ”

“You ain’t forgot about last night already,
have ya?” he said.

She adjusted the scowl on her face
sufficiently to say, “Oh, that. You haven’t caught the culprit,
then?”

“I need to ask ya some questions about what
happened, that’s all.” He regretted the somewhat pleading tone in
his voice, but Gillian Budge had that effect on people.

“Alright, if you must. C’mon inside, if you
can make your way through the rubbish and spit.”

Cobb followed her in. The taproom was cold
and dark, lit only by two candles in sconces over the bar and beams
of sunlight slanting in through the front windows at a sharp angle.
The tables and chairs were all askew, several of the latter tipped
over, one of them broken beyond repair.

“A typical
soirée
at The Sailor’s
Arms,” Gillian said, and almost smiled.

“I thought I’d find Nestor here. He told me
he comes in to help clean up on Thursday mornin’s.”

“He hasn’t showed,” she said, revisiting the
scowl. “I waited as long as I could, then I started in on this mess
myself.” She gave the mop a push and it skidded along the slate
floor until it struck a pail beside the main stairs.

“You got a husband, ain’t ya?”

She seemed amused by this remark, and gave
Cobb a rare view of the ironic glint in her very attractive green
eyes. Then she frowned and snorted, “That’s what the preacher
called him when I was foolish enough to say ‘I will.’ But he’s not
here, as usual when there’s elbow grease required.”

“Off to town, is he?”

“On a mission of mercy,” she said with
scathing sarcasm. “Our barmaid Etta took sick last night – the
third time in a week – and he’s gone to the Market to see if he can
find some girl who’d rather have her bottom pinched in here than
spend a cold day fondling pumpkin-squash.”