Desperate Acts (26 page)

“You’re gonna out an’ out accuse them?”

“I am. As they sputter their denials, I’ll
say, ‘Is it not conceivable that you had the perfect opportunity to
kill blackmailer Duggan?’ And I’ll quickly sketch out exactly how
that particular witness could have done so – using their own
earlier testimony and the scenarios that you and I have already
hypothesized.”

“But you’re bound to be
inter-ruptured
by the judge. What if he stops you early on an’ asks if you got any
proof of them bein’ blackmailed?”

“I expect he will. And I’ll produce the
envelope with the list on it, the one we found in Duggan’s
room.”

Cobb paled. “But
I
was there when we
found it. I shoulda taken the envelope to Sturges as evidence.”

“Why? First of all, it was me who guessed at
its possible significance. It looked like hen-scratching to you,
remember. And it was evidence of blackmailing, not murder. Brodie
admitted in his confession to being blackmailed by Duggan, so the
list itself was superfluous to the case against
him.
”

“But you could be accused of hidin’ it fer
yer own benefit.”

Marc smiled. “It’s all right, old friend. I
did keep my promise to Wilf. I showed him the envelope, told him
where we found it, and suggested it might be the blackmailer’s
record of his activities. He shrugged and said he was under orders
not to investigate further, and certainly was not keen to poke
needlessly about in the private lives of any worthies who might be
mentioned there.”

“Even if it meant helpin’ to find the real
killer?”

“Wilf believes Brodie is innocent but,
remember, he’s not a lawyer. With no sanction to keep on
investigating, he really didn’t see how a vague and ambiguous list
of initials and figures could be useful. And at that time I wasn’t
sure myself what we could make of it.”

“Jesus, major, I’d sure like you on my side
in any courtroom.” Cobb hesitated, then added, “But once you try
this sideways attack on the first witness, McGonigle’ll be ready
for the next one, if ya try it again, won’t he?”

“Probably. And if the trial spills over to
the next Tuesday, word about my tactics will leak out to the
witnesses as well. But that’ll give them time to stew and worry,
eh? They’ll suspect that I know their secret, and that it could
spill out at any moment during my interrogation.”

“But you ain’t gonna do no spillin’, are
ya?”

“Don’t worry. I’d never put you in a position
where you’d be vulnerable. You’ve done me and Brodie yeoman’s
service already, and taken considerable risk, seeing that you have
been warned off investigating the crime. But I had to know with
reasonable certainty that blackmail was actually being carried out
on our suspects. Otherwise my stratagem would be indefensibly
cruel, and ineffective as well.”

“So you’re gonna do all this accusin’ without
any of the secrets leakin’ out?”

“I am. There’s no need to do so, as I see
things now.”

Cobb looked very much relieved. “But we ain’t
got the goods on Budge or Dutton yet,” he pointed out.

“True. Though we’ve still got five days
before my defense begins. If we don’t succeed by then, I’ll use the
altercation between Budge and Duggan in the taproom of The Sailor’s
Arms as a pretext to develop an alternative theory of the crime
involving the barkeep. I’ll leave Dutton till last anyway, as he is
the least likely suspect, given the tight time-frame of that fatal
evening.”

“Still, the judge could find that list just a
whole lot of
spectacle-atin’.
”

“I’ll argue that it’s substantial enough to
warrant at least my asking them if they
were
being
blackmailed.” Marc smiled grimly. “He may order me to do it more
politely, mind you. But if I can make it through the first suspect,
I’ll have shown him that the sequence of events in the cloakroom
and the alley does put the eye-witnesses in the picture as
potential killers. That should be enough to warrant my continuing –
politely.”

Cobb, who had found that his buttocks had
crept almost over the edge of his chair, sat back with an
all-purpose sigh. “Who are you plannin’ to torture first? You
realize, don’t ya, you’re gonna be floggin’ an’
humble-izin’
some pretty important people? An’ only one of ‘em c’n be guilty of
murder. Ain’t that dangerous, an’ lowdown to boot?”

It was Marc’s turn to sigh. “I know it’s
harsh and certainly unjust, but it’s the only defense I’ve got,
short of exposing the real murderer. I need to throw enough doubt
on Brodie’s guilt to have him acquitted or have the jury
deadlocked. What I intend to do between now and next Monday is
decide on which of the five suspects is most likely the culprit,
and call him first. If I can break him or even have him appear
equally culpable, I may not have to embarrass the others. And I’ll
certainly feel about an inch tall if I have to ask Horace Fullarton
for a character reference for Brodie, then turn on him like a mad
hyena.”

“It’s a good thing we’re convinced Brodie’s
innocent, ain’t it?”

“I’ve never thought otherwise, not for a
split second.”

“Well, major, I’d say that what you’re
proposin’ to do is as close to play-actin’ as anythin’ we’ve got up
to at Oakwood Manners.”

“And what role do you think I’d be taking
on?”

Cobb grinned. “Doubtful Dick Dougherty
bedazzlin’ everybody within
hearshot
!”

Marc smiled at the compliment and its
perceptiveness, then looked serious. “I may
need
to be as
good as Dick was if I’m to see a find young man acquitted of a
crime he didn’t commit.”

“My money’s on you,” Cobb said, and meant
it.

FOURTEEN

When Marc arrived at the Court House, somewhat
groggy after being wakened intermittently throughout the night by a
teething Maggie and a fretful Beth, he got two surprises, neither
of them heartening. The first one concerned the witness-lists. He
handed the clerk his own roster – that included Horace Fullarton,
Andrew Dutton and Celia Langford – and received the Crown’s in
return. Subpoenas, where necessary, would go out within the hour.
As expected, the Crown proposed to call Dr. Angus Withers, Cobb,
Sturges, Gillian Budge, Dutton, Fullarton, Cyrus Crenshaw, Tobias
Budge and Sir Peregrine Shuttleworth. If called in this order, the
Crown’s tactics were crystal clear. After Dr. Withers reported on
the injuries and time of death, the two policemen would be
compelled to discuss the confession, after which the testimony of
those at The Sailor’s Arms would, minute by minute, seal Brodie’s
fate. But it was the unexpected name on the Crown’s list that gave
Marc a nasty shock: Celia Langford.

What on earth would the Crown – Alf McGonigle
to be precise – want with Celia? Brodie’s statement admitted his
receiving the blackmail note, and the note itself had been
destroyed. All Marc could think of was that, according to Brodie,
Celia had been present when the note arrived a week before the
fatal encounter took place. Perhaps McGonigle was going fishing for
something Celia might have heard Brodie say at that time, or later,
about his intentions. After all, Brodie had claimed in his
statement that he had planned to entrap the blackmailer, expose
him, and haul him off to the police quarters – but had lost his
temper and struck Duggan on the cheek. By putting the “confession”
into evidence, the Crown was taking a calculated risk: while the
eye-witness testimony jibed with Brodie’s account (except for the
battering with his walking-stick), the jury would have to be
persuaded to interpret Brodie’s truncated version as a deliberate,
self-serving attempt to save his neck. But they might not see it
that way. Under British law, a defendant like Brodie could not
testify on his own behalf, but in this instance some of the lad’s
own words and intentions
would
get admitted, and might be
believed. Unless Celia had heard him utter more incriminating ones!
Marc would have to go to her as soon as possible and find out.

The second nasty shock came just as Marc was
set to leave, when he asked casually after Alf McGonigle, and was
informed that the fellow would not be prosecuting Brodie after all.
He had been given leave to attend his dying mother up in Newmarket.
But a suitable replacement had been found by coaxing an experienced
barrister out of semi-retirement.

Marc did not need to be given the name.
“Kingsley Thornton,” he said.

“The very man,” the clerk smiled,
knowingly.

Thornton had been a renowned barrister at the
Old Bailey in England for many years before retiring to Upper
Canada to be with his extended family. Last January he had been
lured out of retirement to prosecute a local man for murder, having
been drawn to the case by the equally talented barrister he was to
face on the other side: Doubtful Dick Dougherty, Brodie’s guardian.
Although things had not gone his way, he had obviously enjoyed the
contest, and was eager to slip back into harness. Which was not
good news for either Marc or Brodie. This was to be Marc’s first
trial as a barrister. He had had superb tutors in the Baldwins and
Robert Sullivan, and an incomparable exemplar in Richard Dougherty,
but Thornton was a seasoned professional – eloquent, disarming, and
quick to exploit an opponent’s weakness. Moreover, he had been
handed an airtight case, one which left the defense with no choice
but to execute a daring, high-wire act. Marc thought he had better
deliver this disquieting news to Brodie – as soon as he had talked
to Celia.

Some of the subpoenas had likely gone out
already, but if Celia had been an afterthought, there was a chance
he could get to her before she was served. If not, he would be
ethically bound to quiz her only on the testimony she was going to
provide the defense as a character-witness. He went straight to
Miss Tyson’s Academy on George Street, and was relieved to find
Celia sitting in the headmistress’s office poring over her French
verbs. She looked up and gave him a welcoming smile.

“Marc, come in. I’m minding the store for
half an hour. You’ve got some news about the trial? Brodie seemed
awfully down when I left him this morning.”

“I’ve got news,” Marc said evenly, and sat
down opposite her with his coat still on.

Like her brother, Celia Langford was blond to
the point of being mistaken for albino – except that the eyes were
a transparent blue instead of pink. Like her older brother, she too
was intelligent, warm-hearted and amazingly resilient, considering
the blows life had dealt her almost-eighteen years. She had lost a
mother, a father, a guardian and a country. Her brother was all she
had left.

“Take your coat off first,” she said sweetly,
not yet alarmed, “or you’ll roast in here.”

“Have you received a subpoena from the court
yet?” Marc said, his coat still on.

Celia shook her head, and looked puzzled.
“I’m testifying for Brodie, am I not?”

“You are, but your name has been appended to
the Crown’s witness-list as well, put there, I suspect, by the
newly appointed prosecutor.”

“But I’ve got nothing to say that he would be
interested in, have I?”

“Unless he plans to question you about
Brodie’s mood when the blackmail note first arrived, or something
he may have said thereafter.”

There was a flicker of anxiety in her eyes as
she replied, “He did let me see the note. It just said that the
fellow knew a secret about Diana that she would not want known, and
that Brodie was to take five pounds to that alley. But they know
this already.”

“Yes, they do. But remember that Brodie
claims in his statement to the police that he intended to confront
the scoundrel and have him arrested.”

“That’s what I gathered then, Marc. He told
me not to worry, that he would take care of things.”

“Nothing more specific?” They had gone over
this before, but Marc had to be sure there were no further remarks
that might be prodded loose by the wily Mr. Thornton.

“No. That was all. At least about that note.”
Celia blushed and looked down at her grammar textbook. “Oh, dear.
Oh, dear.”

Marc could hardly believe his ears. “What
note are you talking about?” he said as firmly as he dared.

“It’s not important, really. Brodie asked me
not to mention it.”

“Duggan sent a
second
note?”

“Yes. It was shoved under the back door, and
brought to Brodie and me in his study.”

“When?”

“We got it about a quarter of an hour before
Brodie was to leave for the Shakespeare Club on that dreadful
night.”

“But Brodie says nothing about a second note
in his statement!”

“I know, and that’s why we decided not to
mention it. You see, it was just one sentence – something like, ‘Be
there tonight or Miss Ramsay is ruined.’ That’s why Brodie simply
forgot to put it in his statement. It didn’t say anything that the
first one didn’t.”

Marc sighed, but tried not to let his alarm
show too vividly. While the note itself could be irrelevant,
Brodie’s leaving it out of his account would appear to be a
deliberate omission – a lie, in legal terms. If exposed, it could
undermine any attempt by Marc to show that the “confession” was the
truth and not a self-serving deception.

“If the Crown does discover this business,
Celia, they will certainly press you for anything you might have
heard Brodie say when he read the second note, particularly because
it came just minutes before he left for The Sailor’s Arms.”

“I understand. I’ll be careful, I
promise.”

“Did Brodie say anything that the Crown could
use against him?”

“He just said what he had the first time:
‘Don’t you worry, I’ll look after this.’ He is very protective of
me.”

While these comments were delivered in a
straightforward manner, there was an evasiveness in her expression
that was worrisome.