Desperate Acts (25 page)

“Whaa was ‘at?” The male voice was
understandably slurred, but nonetheless panicky.

“A mouse! A rat! Who the fuck cares?
You
can’t stop now
!”

Lady Mad’s piercing and piteous shriek struck
Cobb’s ears like a spray of darning needles, and he rocked
backwards, dislodging several gowns and striking his skull on
something wooden and sharp. But he could have rung a cowbell in the
room and have gone unnoticed. Love is not only blind, it is often
deaf as well. For Cobb, despite the throb beginning to hum behind
his right ear, the opportunity to see for himself just who was
trapped in the throes of lust had just presented itself. He slid
the door open a full handspan.

And found that he was staring straight into
the face of the male as he rose and fell upon the spraddled and
writhing form of Lady Mad. His eyes were open, but glazed and
unseeing as his features began to contort towards the final
grimace. Still, there was no mistaking who it was: Andrew
Dutton.

Cobb sagged back into Sir P.’s gowns and
frocks. What a disappointment. He was sure it would be Fullarton,
adulterous and open to blackmail. Dutton was a widower. Public
exposure of an affair with Lady Madeleine Shuttleworth would be
more like a feather in his cap than an embarrassment. Besides, this
coupling – now winding down in a sequence of wheezes and sighs –
seemed more like an impromptu tryst than an affair. It was possible
that Lady Mad, after her spat with Sir P., had decided to take on
the handsome, elderly lawyer as mate-of-the-evening. Still, if they
had
been having a more prolonged liaison, perhaps Duggan was
blackmailing Dutton by threatening to tell Sir. P., who, cuckolded,
might very well blackball and otherwise socially cripple his wife’s
lover.

This hypothesis had barely finished working
its way through Cobb’s throbbing noggin when the sound of the
bedroom door being flung open and striking the wall beside it
stunned both Cobb and the sagging performers on the bed.

“For Christ’s sake, Maddy, what in hell are
you doing in here!”

“I should think that obvious,” Lady Mad said
sleepily, once her eyes had focussed in on Sir P. standing in the
doorway with his hands on his hips. She made no effort to close her
legs or pull down her rucked-up skirt. Meanwhile Dutton had rolled
off her as if she were afire, and was wrestling unsuccessfully with
his undershorts and trousers.

“I’m so sorry – ” he began.

“Shut up, Andy. It’s all right,” Lady Mad
said, sitting up and stretching languidly. “Isn’t it, darling?”

Sir Peregrine reddened. “I don’t give a damn
who you screw or how often, but I deeply resent your doing it in
my
room and on
my
bed!”

Lady Mad giggled girlishly. “We were aiming
for my room – weren’t we, lover? – but we didn’t quite make
it.”

Dutton, pale and trembling, looked up
pleadingly at the baronet, but was unable to get another word
out.

“I want you both on stage in five minutes!”
Sir P. barked, then wheeled and stomped away down the hall.

“Here, let me help you with those
suspenders,” Lady Mad said soothingly to Dutton.

Cobb discovered he couldn’t re-close the
wardrobe door without drawing attention to it, but did manage to
keep his body hidden away among its contents. If the lovers left
soon, he could follow them out, pick up his paint and return to the
theatre with no-one being the wiser.

“So your husband knows – ”

“We have an arrangement. There’s absolutely
nothing to worry about.”

“I damn near had a heart attack.”

“So did I. You do it very well.”

“I do?”

“Like a stallion. And a hundred times better
than that weak-kneed, whining banker out there!”

Laughing freely, the lady led her lover out
into the hall.

So, it was Fullarton after all, Cobb thought.
He had committed adultery with Lady Mad on some previous occasion,
while Dutton had almost certainly enjoyed her favours for the first
time this evening. That confirmed Fullarton as one of Duggan’s
obvious victims. At the same time, however, it let Dutton off the
hook, for the time being. Cobb would have much to report to Marc at
Briar Cottage later. Now, if only he could stop sweating, find the
green paint, and get back before anyone became overly curious about
the absence of the scene-painting weaver.

***

“You go first,” Marc said, far too excited by the
look of satisfaction on Cobb’s face to pause and light his
pipe.

“You got news, too?” Cobb said, trying to
sound enthusiastic but fearing that, somehow, his mentor had beaten
him to the prize.

“It can wait.”

The two men were alone once again in the
parlour of Briar Cottage. The fire in the grate was a crimson glow.
Beth could be heard cooing to Maggie in the far bedroom.

“Well, major, tonight I turned over two
grubby secrets with one plunge of the plough,” Cobb said with
justifiable pride. And he proceeded in his own anecdotal way to
narrate the incredible sequence of events that took place in Sir
Peregrine Shuttleworth’s boudoir, highlighting the more salacious
portions with a perceptible reddening of the nose. He finished up
by giving his interpretation of what he saw and the possible
implications for the case.

Marc waited a moment before saying, “Splendid
work, Cobb. And I agree wholeheartedly with your conclusions. There
seems little doubt that the initials ‘P.S’ which we found on
Duggan’s checklist of victims referred to Sir Peregrine and that
the threat to him was public exposure of his cross-dressing habits,
in consequence of which he might be thought a homosexual. Either
transgression would have finished him in the eyes of the people he
was hoping to impress.”

“He wouldn’t be havin’ no more Saturd’y
suppers with His Bishopric.”

“You do have a way with words.”

“It’s too bad about Fullarton, though.
Brodie’ll be crushed.”

“It’s quite a shock to me, too. And I hope
Brodie will never need to know. Still, like you, I don’t believe
there is any other interpretation possible of Lady Madeleine’s
remark. It appears that she and her husband do not sleep together
and that the lady is driven to find physical satisfaction wherever
she can.”

“And often,” Cobb added with a rush of blood
to his snout.

“Fullarton’s reaction to Lady Madeleine
during rehearsals strongly suggests that he was feeling guilty
about an earlier liaison – fertile circumstance for a ruthless
blackmailer. We have to assume now that those were Horace
Fullarton’s initials on Duggan’s list.”

“But how do you figure a no-good stranger to
the town like Duggan could’ve dug up such dirt?”

“Unless we’re lucky enough to find Nestor, we
can only speculate.”

“There’s been no sign of him or his pal Itchy
Quick. Itchy’s hovel is as empty as his brain. Them two snitches’ve
run off with Duggan’s loot, or I’ll eat Dora’s Sunday hat.”

“And therein may lie the answer to how Duggan
got his information. Brodie told me that Fullarton spent a lot of
time up at Oakwood Manor this summer, advising the baronet on the
reconstruction of the place. The affair with Lady Madeleine
probably happened then – up there.”

“And Itchy does handiwork from time to time,
don’t he? Even a little rough gardenin’. He might’ve seen somethin’
he shouldn’t have.”

“And passed it along to Nestor.”

“But Nestor’s always been honest,” Cobb said,
puzzled. Then he smiled and added, “But dumb as a donkey ridin’
side-saddle! Duggan could’ve weaseled anythin’ he wanted outta
Nestor. He even had him believin’ he was a long-lost cousin waitin’
fer a fortune from a
de-seized
relative.”

“And I suppose Itchy could have spotted the
baronet wearing a dress, though I can’t imagine Shuttleworth being
foolish enough to parade around in his own garden.”

“You ain’t said anythin’ yet about Dutton,”
Cobb reminded Marc.

“Again, I believe you got it right. Dutton
had little to fear about being named as one of Lady Madeleine’s
conquests, if indeed he was before tonight. It’s her husband who
would be branded a cuckold, and it’s clear that the baronet doesn’t
seem to mind. Even if he did, a scoundrel like Duggan would be more
likely to go after the rich aristocrat than the retired
barrister.”

“So that means we’ve dug up secrets on only
two of the five suspects – Fullarton an’ Shuttleworth . . . unless
– ”

“Yes, I do have news on a third.”

“Budge?” Cobb said hopefully, knowing that
this was the weak spot in their strategy.

“No, alas. It’s Crenshaw.”

“He been servicin’ the lady?” Cobb said,
incredulous.

“If he has, it’s a minor indiscretion
compared to what Beth found out about the skeleton in the Crenshaw
family closet.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I haven’t told Beth yet what I’m planning
for Brodie’s defense, but she has read our notes on the case and
knows you went up to Oakwood to ferret out secrets that might have
been used by Duggan.”

“And?”

“And this morning when she went to Crenshaw’s
place to deliver a costume to Clementine, she found her in a
semi-drugged state. Mistaking Beth for her husband or just not
conscious enough to know where she was, she muttered aloud that her
husband’s father was not only not a hero at the Battle of
Moraviantown in 1813, he was a deserter, who was subsequently
caught, and put to death – by a firing squad, no doubt.”

Cobb whistled through his teeth. “An’ that’s
somethin’ you couldn’t paste up on the Crenshaw coat-of-arms!
Jesus, but he’d give half his candle-plant to keep the lid on
that
news.”

“I agree, though I can’t for the life of me
imagine how Duggan could have found out about something that
happened twenty-six years ago and was kept secret all that
time.”

Marc poked at the fire. The cooing noises had
subsided.

“So, major, we now got three of the five
blackmailin’ secrets. Are you gonna tell me how you’re fixin’ to
use them?”

“I promised I would, didn’t I? And even
though the trial opens on Thursday, I now have enough information,
and reason to believe it is true, to build an effective defense for
Brodie.”

“You’re thinkin’ of puttin’ the blame
elsewhere?”

Marc smiled. “That I am. Here’s what I have
in mind. Even though I don’t see the Crown’s witness-list until
tomorrow morning, I’m certain they’ll call Sir Peregrine, Crenshaw
and Tobias Budge, each of whom will testify to the damning actions
they observed in the alley as they departed the Shakespeare Club.
Fullarton is also a possible, and Dutton less likely. However, both
Fullarton and Dutton have volunteered to be character witnesses for
Brodie, who, as you know, is forbidden to testify in his own
defense. I’ve placed those two on
my
witness-list.”

“Me and the Chief are sure to be on the
Crown’s list, too.”

“I know. They’ll use you two to verify the
circumstances and substance of Brodie’s foolish confession, which
will be read into evidence to further substantiate the eye-witness
accounts. So this must be the last conversation you and I have
until after you testify, probably on Thursday. I don’t want you or
the case compromised.”

“That’s what I figured. The Thursday night
rehearsal’s been cancelled on account of most of the play-actors
likely havin’ to be in the witness-room all day Thursday. But we’re
supposed to get back at it Saturd’y. Do I haveta keep goin’?”

“I’d like you to, at least on Saturday. My
defense won’t start until Monday because Justice Powell will be
away on Friday afternoon for a special meeting at Government House
and then out of town on the weekend. I need to have our suspects at
Oakwood relaxed and unsuspicious before I begin.”

Cobb’s eyes widened. “What’re you plannin’ to
do?”

“When the eye-witnesses appear for the Crown,
I’ll cross-examine them in routine fashion, with respect and
politeness. I’ll then ask the judge for permission to recall them
later.”

“Durin’ yer defense?”

“Exactly. So, if Dutton and Fullarton are not
called by the Crown, I’ll still be able to present them as my
character-witnesses. They too will step into the witness-box
unaware of what is going to hit them broadside.”

“What the hell
are
you plannin’?”

“As soon as the witness is relaxed enough,
I’m going to say, in as abrupt and intimidating a manner as I can
muster, ‘Is it not true, sir, that, like Mr. Langford, you too were
being blackmailed every week by Albert Duggan?’ And I’ll name the
day of the week and the amount here to show them how much detail I
already know about the arrangements.”

Cobb was slack-jawed. “You might surprise
‘em, major, but they’ll deny it, won’t they?”

“I’m sure they’ll try to. But I’ll press them
hard: ‘Are you denying under oath that on X-evening you took a
bundle of X-pound notes, wrapped in brown paper, to a spot in town
designated by the blackmailer?’ Then I’ll stare the fellow right in
the face with a knowing look in my eye and say, ‘In order to keep
from public exposure a secret so embarrassing to you and your
family that you would willingly pay and pay and pay!’”

“Christ! You’re scarin’
me
!”

Marc had actually begun to add gestures and
volume to his mock performance. “Sorry about that,” he said
quickly. “But if I’m going to shake the real killer up right there
on the stand, I’ve got to be cruel and unrelenting.”

“You expect to get a confession in the
court?”

“That’s my real hope. Our killer is not a
seasoned criminal, just an ordinary citizen driven to desperation.
I could well break him in the witness-box.”

“And if ya don’t?”

“Then I’ll have thrown out to the jury as
many as three alternative versions of the crime.”