Desperate Acts (14 page)

“It’s addressed to Albert Duggan,
Ass-choir
of Toronto,” Cobb snarled. “Somebody outta town
knew he was here, eh?”

“Let me have a closer look,” Marc said.

“Nothing inside, major.”

“Not a letter, no. But see, here, how the
flap has been cut after the seal was broken?”

“What about it?”

“I believe it’s meant to assist one in
turning the envelope inside out.” Marc demonstrated his theory.

There on the underside of a front flap,
unobservable under ordinary circumstances, was a rectangle of
scribbles: letters and numbers by the look of it.

“We may have found what we we’ve been
searching for,” Marc said.

Cobb leaned over, squinting in the dim light.
“Not another code?” he sighed, recalling an earlier
investigation.

“I don’t know. But let’s go some place where
we can examine this properly and determine its significance.”

“How about a window-seat at The Cock and
Bull?”

***

“Still looks like hen-scratchin’ to me,” Cobb said,
handing Duggan’s inside-out envelope back across the table and
taking a long pull on his ale.

“I’m not so sure,” Marc said. He had
scrutinized the note – if that’s what it was – for several minutes
before sliding it across to Cobb. “The lettering is deliberately
miniature but very precise.” He looked at it again.

PS - £10 – T10 – IT

AD - £2 – W93 – SH

HF - £3 – Th10 – CB

CC - £5 – F10 – T

TB - £2 – S93 – PB?

BL - £5 – W93? – SA?

“Let’s start with the assumption that Duggan
was not merely a blackmailer but a multiple blackmailer,” Marc
said.

“Alright. Then what?”

“At the bottom of what is obviously a list of
some kind, we find the initials BL.”

“Brodie Langford!”

“Has to be. And next to it a notation for
five pounds, the exact sum that Brodie was to bring to the alley
and leave in the ashcan.”

Cobb took back the note. “An’ the ‘W’ refers
to Wednesday. But what in hell’s ‘93’?”

“Nine-thirty. The time of the deposit. I
believe the exact time was important because, as he did with
Brodie, Duggan hid nearby until the coast was clear, then moved out
to seize his prize and scuttle off.”

“So you figure none of these poor devils knew
who had got the goods on ‘em?”

“Probably not. They appear to have paid for
his anonymous silence.”

“An’ the last letters here could be the
place?”

“‘SA’ for Sailor’s Arms, in Brodie’s case.
We’d have to guess at the others, but with Duggan dead, it hardly
matters.”

“What about the question-mark here at the
end?”

“A good guess would be that Duggan had just
targeted Brodie and was setting him up for an initial payout.”

Cobb shook his head. “But cash like that
every week? There’s five other names here! Duggan must’ve been
rollin’ in it!”

“And he’s been here since late summer,
remember.”

“But how would a deadbeat like Duggan, livin’
with the likes of Nestor Peck, ever get enough dirt on these rich
gents to wangle that kinda money outta them?”

“You’ve always maintained Nestor was the best
snitch in the city.”

“I reckon it’s possible. No wonder Nestor
took off. He must’ve been up to his gums in this business, though
he sure put on a good poor-man’s act last week in this very
room.”

“You think he’s got the proceeds of Duggan’s
crime?”

“You bet I do. An’ the toothless bugger’s
probably all the way to Buffalo by now, lookin’ to buy a set of
wooden teeth.”

“How about our trying to figure out who the
others on this list are?”

Cobb studied the list for a minute, then
smiled up at Marc, who was smiling back.

“Has to be the Shakespeareans, don’t it?”

“Yes. There’s no way it couldn’t be when each
set of initials matches five of the members: Brodie Langford,
Andrew Dutton, Horace Fullarton, Cyrus Crenshaw and Peregrine
Shuttleworth.”

“That might explain how Duggan and Peck came
up with the dirt they needed. Nestor’s been workin’ at The Sailor’s
Arms since September, cleanin’ up an’ even helpin’ upstairs
sometimes. He’s got the ear of a jackrabbit when it comes to
scuttlebutt.” He glanced again at the list. “But we got one left
over.”

“‘TB’ – Tobias Budge.”

Cobb whistled through the gaps in his teeth.
“I wonder if he knew what Duggan was up to when he tossed him out
last week?”

“If he did, I doubt he would have tossed him
out. Still, if Budge got to thinking things over, he could have
guessed who was trying to blackmail him. And the question-mark here
indicates perhaps that Budge, like Brodie, was a recent
target.”

Cobb sat back and tried to absorb the
unexpected flow of information. And while Cobb polished off his ale
in doing so, Marc stared out the window – thinking.

“You know what we have, Cobb?”

“A lot more’n we thought we would at
breakfast.”

“Indeed.”

“You plannin’ on summin’ up,
count-seller
?”

“I am, milord,” Marc smiled. “First, we’ve
got a clear time-line. About nine-thirty Brodie leaves and sets the
trap for Duggan. He circles about and, at nine-forty-five or so, he
and Duggan meet, and exchange insults. Brodie knocks him
unconscious, checks to make sure he’s breathing, then runs north up
the alley and out to Peter Street, leaving his walking-stick where
it had fallen. Sometime between nine-forty-five and
nine-fifty-five, the four remaining members of the club leave
independently, passing the cloakroom window and exiting no more
than five yards from that ashcan – around the corner. In the
wine-cellar for much of this time we have Tobias Budge, with a
window of his own and an exit to the alley through the bay
doors.”

“Which means one of ‘em must’ve seen or heard
somethin’.”

“Oh, but I’m sure it was a lot more than
that.”

“You’re not
imp-lyin’
that – ”

“I am. We began the day hoping to identify
one or more eye-witnesses who could exonerate Brodie. But these
five potential witnesses are now
murder suspects.
”

***

Cobb ordered another ale, and waited for the newly
minted barrister to continue.

“Let’s look at their behaviour in that light,
then,” Marc said. “Dutton comes down first. I figure he’s a bit
early to have seen the encounter from the window, but let’s say as
he’s leaving the stairwell below, he hears Brodie shout as he
surprises Duggan. Or perhaps he even hears Duggan rummaging in the
ashcan and decides to peek around the corner.”

“In time to see Brodie coming down the
alley?”

“Right. He hears enough to conclude that here
is the man blackmailing him also. Perhaps he’s thinking of rushing
out and assisting – but Brodie knocks Duggan out and runs.”

“So Dutton decides to finish the job?”

“If he did, he likely waited until the others
had left.”

“Then I must’ve got there a minute or two
after the clubbin’. I know the fella was still bleedin’ when I
arrived.”

“Fullarton leaves next. He could have been at
the window at the right moment to see the altercation, though he
told me he didn’t.”

“Killers’ve been known to lie.”

“Crenshaw leaves next. And if the encounter
occurred a minute or two later than we’re surmising, he too could
have seen and heard it – and hid in the shadows until he could put
an end to the vicious and prolonged blackmail.”

“Sir
Party-grin
likely left too late
to see anythin’ but Duggan lyin’ out cold on the ground.”

“Unless he followed Crenshaw out sooner than
Mrs. Budge claims. But I agree that he is the least likely
suspect.”

“Still, he may’ve spotted Duggan earlier on
in the month but was afraid to do anythin’ violent about it. He
hears Duggan groanin’ back there as he reaches the bottom of the
stairs, goes back to take a look, spots the cane, recognizes the
villain, an’ before he knows it he’s done him in.”

Marc smiled. “You’re getting to be quite the
hypothesizer, Constable Cobb.”

“I’ll take that as a
condiment
, major.
Still, we can’t ferget tapster Budge peekin’ outta that cellar
window.”

“I haven’t. And I wish I could go with you to
help interrogate him, but I’ve got another important meeting.”

“If he’s hidin’ anythin’, I’ll weasel it
outta him.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Cobb drained his flagon. “I hate to say it,
major, but we got a problem with these names.”

“I know. You and I are sure who these
initials refer to and why, but we can’t go before James Thorpe with
such flimsy evidence as a set of initials and suggest that four
pillars of the community and the proprietor of a public house are
blackmail victims and murder suspects – certainly not in this
political climate. And one of them, Crenshaw, is a Legislative
Councillor.”

“We could put Budge forward as a suspect
based on his run-in with Duggan.”

“Possibly. Though that alone isn’t likely to
get Brodie released. What we need is some solid witness testimony
from the other four to establish that Brodie left the scene before
the bludgeoning – even if one of them is the actual killer.”

“True, but I don’t look forward to trackin’
down them Shakespeare gents between now an’ ten o’clock tomorrow
mornin’.”

“You won’t have to. Brodie told me on the way
to the Court House this morning that the very four you need to
interview are going to be at Oakwood Manor this evening – for an
early supper and a dramatic reading of the play they’re planning to
put on in a few weeks.”

“Lemme guess:
Shakes-beard
?”

“Yes. Brodie had a part in it, and he wanted
me to tell Horace Fullarton that he couldn’t be there and that he
felt he must withdraw, regardless of the outcome of our
investigation.”

“So you want me to head out there about seven
o’clock?”

“You could interview all of them in an hour
or less. That way, we’ll have a full report to make to the
magistrate in the morning – with enough evidence, I hope, to ensure
Brodie’s release.”

“Well, that’s what I’ll do, then.” Cobb
grinned gleefully: “I’ll be as welcome out there as a polecat at a
tea party.”

EIGHT

As Gillian Budge had forewarned, Tobias Budge was in
a very ornery mood. Which suited Cobb just fine.

“What about it? Can’t a tavern-keeper spend
fifteen minutes in his own wine-cellar?” Budge snarled across the
bar at the constable who had so rudely interrupted his preparations
for opening-time.

“It’s the
par-tick-ulars
that interest
me,” Cobb said, his nostrils flaring eagerly as Budge carried on
with bleeding a fresh keg of ale from Enoch Turner’s brewery. “Yer
good wife tells me she saw you go down there just as she was takin’
a tray of drinks to the gents upstairs – a little before
nine-thirty.”

“She did, did she?”

“I got no reason not to believe her.”

Budge scowled, bending his thick black brows
into a pair of fearsome vees and repositioning the various
platelets of his face. “Some ponce of a sea-captain come in here
shortly before that an’ demanded half a dozen bottles of chateau
something or other for his crew, who’d trailed in behind him. I
told him we didn’t have any, but
herself
has to go an’ give
the game away.”

“She ordered you to go down there and dig out
a case?” Cobb prompted with some delight.

Budge’s hairy-knuckled hands gripped the edge
of the bar as if they were itching to rip it away and use it as a
club on Cobb’s noggin. “So
I
went
down
stairs an’ she
went
up
, leavin’ that dolt Peck in charge of the bar.”

“Because Etta was off sick again.”

“Etta ain’t got nothin’ to do with this!”

“So you must’ve been in a hurry?”

“It’s dark down there at the best of times. I
rummaged about with a lantern, but couldn’t find the French booze
anywheres. By now the commotion above me’s gettin’ wild, so I pop
my head out the taproom door, settle everybody down, an’ holler at
Peck. I hear Mrs. Budge comin’ back from upstairs, so I figure
she’ll take over the bar an’ keep Nestor from gettin’ injured.”

“Mrs. Budge reckons she come back down about
a quarter to ten.”

“Sounds about right. Anyways, I’m back
lookin’ for the wine an’ cursin’ that captain, when I happen to
glance out the little window at the back.”

Cobb tensed. “The one that looks out onto the
alley?”

“Yeah. And I see two pair of trousers with
legs attached – you c’n see nothin’ above the waist from where I
was – an’ from the way they were scufflin’ together, I figured I
was seein’ a couple of drunks pushin’ an’ shovin’ each other.”

“You must’ve
heard
somethin’, bein’
that close.”

“Loud voices, mad as hell – but that’s the
way drunks are, ain’t they?”

“You didn’t think to try an’ stop them?”

“Never crossed my mind. We get a dozen
dust-ups around here every week.”

“So you went back upstairs?”

“No. I knew the missus’d be livid – she’s
forever tellin’ me to get all the stuff down there put in some
order – so I went over to the other side an’ kept lookin’.”

“That would account fer the fact that yer
missus thought you didn’t come up till almost ten o’clock.”

“She has too damn many thoughts, that
woman.”

“An’ you found the wine?”

“No. I was gettin’ set to come up
empty-handed when I glance over at the window again – curious, I
guess, about the drunks. I damn near dropped the lantern.”

Cobb braced himself.

“I see a big stick – like somebody’s cane or
shillelagh – comin’ up an’ down an’ thumpin’ on somebody’s
bones.”

Cobb felt his breathing tighten. “That’s all
you could see? An’ no sounds?”