Desperate Acts (31 page)

“Constable Cobb has testified that you and
Nestor Peck, your employee, accompanied him out to the alley to
identify the body. Did you recognize the victim at that time?”

“Only as a customer. I didn’t know his name,
and Nestor never told me the fellow was his cousin,” Gillian said
in her no-nonsense manner.

“How regular a customer was he?”

“I saw him perhaps three or four times in the
taproom.”

“Was he not banished from your
establishment?” Marc said blandly.

“Milord, these questions are a long way from
pertinence,” Thornton said, almost wearily.

“I intend, Milord, to suggest that someone
else might have motive and opportunity to commit the crime.”

“Be careful, Mr. Edwards. It’s
your
client who’s on trial.”

Gillian gave Marc her patented scowl, but
answered the question. “The Wednesday before the murder, my husband
threw him out of our place – bodily.”

“What was Mr. Duggan’s transgression?”

“He had made improper advances to my barmaid,
Etta Hogg.”

“And this angered your husband, Tobias
Budge?”

“It would’ve angered any red-blooded man,”
Gillian said. “The fellow didn’t show his face again – till I saw
it there in the alley.”

“Thank you,” Marc said. “No more questions,
Milord.”

Thornton looked across the aisle at Marc,
clearly puzzled by Marc’s improper interrogation of Gillian Budge,
which he had not bothered to interrupt. But he seemed in no way
alarmed by it. Meanwhile, Marc realized that he was alerting the
barkeep to the fact that he might be targeted as a possible killer
– with outrage as the motive. But he needed to lay a foundation for
any subsequent run at him. Moreover, neither Budge nor anyone else
knew that Marc had discovered a more compelling motive, so that
trap still remained to be sprung. Moreover, by seeming to target
Budge, Marc was keeping the other four “possibles” relaxed and
unaware. Still, he continued to hope that he would not have to use
the alternative-theory defense, with all its risks and gratuitous
cruelties.

Andrew Dutton was next. He repeated the
account he had given Cobb earlier, stating that he had left the
meeting about fifteen minutes after Brodie. He described the broad
window in the cloakroom, said he had looked out, seen only
moonlight, and walked down the stairs, turned left and entered
Front Street – going straight home. What this seemingly harmless
testimony did was establish that Brodie was still hidden nearby
awaiting the arrival of Duggan. Of course, Dutton could be lying
about leaving the area immediately, especially if he had heard a
commotion in the alley just as he stepped out of the stairway. He
could have remained hidden until everyone else had gone, then
slipped out to kill Duggan, having figured out who he was from
Brodie’s encounter with him. But this possibility must be saved for
the defense on Monday.

“I have no questions, Milord,” Marc said,
“but I request permission to recall this witness later.”

“As you wish. The witness may step down.”

Horace Fullarton was the last witness of the
day. He stated that he had left the meeting no more than two or
three minutes after Dutton. He too had looked out the cloakroom
window, not at the moonlight but at an altercation in progress. Two
men were grappling, their voices raised in anger. No, he could not
hear, or did not remember, what was being said. Both men appeared
by their dress to be gentlemen, but he didn’t recognize either, as
their faces were in shadow.

“You did not recognize your own clerk and
protégé?”

“For the merest second I thought it might be
Brodie, but dismissed that thought immediately. Otherwise, I would
have gone to his aid.”

“Were the gentlemen wearing hats?”

“Yes, but they had fallen on the ground. I
could see them in a shaft of moonlight.”

Cobb had not unearthed this detail. Marc
leaned forward, apprehensive.

“Mr. Langford has very blond hair, hasn’t he?
Surely you must have noticed it, even in that shadowed alley, for
it was a very bright evening?”

Fullarton was indignant. “If I
had
,
sir, I would have gone to the lad’s assistance!”

Or, Marc mused, if Fullarton had indeed heard
the substance of the argument down there, he himself could have
hidden in the shadows and come out only after Brodie had fled.

“In addition to the two hats, did you see a
walking-stick on the ground?”

“I may have, but I merely glanced out at the
alley. Inebriated customers of the tavern, even gentlemen, often
settle their differences back there. I am not given to brawling. I
left via Front Street as quickly as I could.”

Thornton sat down.

Marc rose. “How can you be certain that you
left only two or three minutes after Mr. Dutton? Did you check your
watch?”

“No, I did not. But Sir Peregrine was making
emendations to our play-scripts, and I had only two minor changes
to be entered. As soon as they were effected, I left.”

“But it could have been five or six
minutes?”

“Possibly.”

Marc nodded sympathetically. “Few of us keep
track of our ordinary movements through the day minute by minute,
do we?” He pretended to consult his notes. “We have heard testimony
already about Mr. Langford’s mood and disposition on that fatal
evening, sir. As his superior at the Commercial Bank, you know him
well. During the course of your ninety-minute club meeting, did he
show any signs of the so-called ‘anger’ he was supposed to be
harbouring for the blackmailer? Did he seem upset, strained,
distracted?”

“
Milord
!” Thornton almost toppled his
lectern in his haste to reach the perpendicular. “This is not Mr.
Edwards’ witness! There has been no direct testimony about the club
meeting except that concerning the times of departure and what
followed – ”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Thornton,” the judge said. “I
am in full agreement. Mr. Edwards, I am having this question struck
from the record. Mr. Fullarton appears on your own witness-list.
You may ask him anything you wish – during your
defense
, not
on cross-examination.”

Marc tried not to look too smug as he
apologized, and sat down. He would have ample opportunity to
revisit this testimony on Monday. More immediate was the fact that
Brodie’s own statement put the lad in the alley with Duggan about
fifteen or twenty minutes after he had left the clubroom, so it
didn’t really matter that Marc was unsettling the jury about the
time-line. Thornton would put it all back together in a neat
narrative in his closing argument anyway. But Marc’s strategy at
this point was to appear as if he had little defense against these
eye-witness reports – saving everything for the end-game.

Justice Powell now gavelled an end to the
afternoon session. Overall, it had not been a banner day for the
defense, but neither had it been a disaster. However, the most
daunting challenges were yet to come – with Crenshaw, Budge and
Shuttleworth due up in the morning.

***

Marc stood talking with Clement Peachey on the
esplanade in front of the Court House. Peachey offered to convey to
Robert Baldwin the details of the day’s proceedings. Robert had
been at meetings all morning and at the Legislature all afternoon.
Marc wanted desperately to meet with his mentor, but knew at this
moment that politics was for him more important than the trial. Yet
sometime before Monday, Marc would have to run his risky defense
strategy by the more experienced barrister. So far, only Brodie,
Cobb and Beth knew of its existence. Meantime, Robert had sent a
note to Peachey sketching out what had happened in the Assembly
this day.

“The equal representation clause passed –
with a considerable majority,” Peachey told Marc with evident
satisfaction. “All the bloated rhetoric produced no more than three
or four defections.”

“So that leaves the provincial debt clause
and the permanent civil list?” Marc said.

Peachey grinned. “Not quite. The temptation
to have Quebec assist us in writing off our
seventy-five-thousand-pound debt was too great. That clause passed
unanimously – by voice vote!”

“Enlightened self-interest, I’d say.”

“The debate on the civil list should peter
out tomorrow afternoon. The reactionaries are fearful that a
permanent, centralized and efficient civil service will encroach on
their local privileges and sinecures. But it will pass, provided
the coalition we’ve forged holds up as it has thus far.”

“So the entire bill could be passed by late
tomorrow?”

“Yes. But that’s not the end of it. The
Tories have dreamt up a series of amendments and, if they fail,
hope to append a number of attachments which, if approved by a
majority, will distort the bill’s intention and make it impossible
for the Governor to approve.”

“Such as?”

“That English be the sole language of record
for both houses. That the capital of the new dominion be Toronto.
That no known rebel be allowed, ever, to stand for parliament. That
the property qualification for the franchise be raised to exclude
the riff raff. There’s even a suggestion that resident aliens,
about a quarter of our current population, be denied the right to
vote or hold office.”

“Good lord. So it looks as if this thing
could drag on till Monday or Tuesday?”

“More than likely. But we’ve weathered the
storm to this point, eh?”

We have, Marc thought, though for Brodie
Langford the thunder and lightning were just beginning.

***

Marc and Beth agreed not to discuss the trial over
supper. Charlene had propped Maggie in the wooden chair Jasper had
built as his gift to the baby, and then headed across to check on
Etta, who was recovering her health but not her spirits. Beth
talked about the addition to their family, expected some time next
April or early May, and once again offered suggestions about what
sort of rooms could be built onto the existing stone cottage
without diminishing its charm. Maggie appeared to be intrigued by
the discussion, contributing an occasional gurgle.

They had just about reached a consensus when
there came a single rap on the front door, after which it was flung
open by the hand of Constable Cobb.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” he panted at
Beth and Marc as they emerged from the dining-area. “But I got
news.”

“What is it?” Marc said quietly. But his
pulse was racing.

“Itchy Quick’s been spotted near his shack.
If we leave right now, we may be able to catch him there.”

And Itchy was the only one who might know
where Nestor Peck had got to.

“It’ll take me a few minutes to hitch up the
horse,” Marc said, reaching for his hat and coat.

“No need, major. I come here in a cab.”

***

The cabbie whipped his animal smartly, and they
drove north up to Duke Street, then east a block to Berkeley. Here
the going got much rougher, as north Berkeley was largely
undeveloped, the road becoming little more than a rutted path cut
through scrub-bush and swamp. Marc thought that either the wheels
would fall off the vehicle or
he
would. But Cobb kept urging
the cabbie to continue on at a breakneck speed.

“Faster, Abner! There’s a pound in it fer
ya!” he hollered up to the wide-eyed driver on the bench, then
looked over at Marc and whispered, “If ya got one handy.”

“We may not get there at a
ll
,” Marc
shouted above the din of the rattling wheels and shuddering
undercarriage. “What’s the hurry?”

“I figure them two scoundrels’ve spent all of
Duggan’s loot an’ slunk back into town. An’ we need to talk to ‘em
before they find some other hole to crawl into!”

As it turned out, they had no need to hurry,
for a quarter-mile south of Itchy’s shack, they met the fellow
himself, trundelling as briskly as his cumbersome body parts would
allow. He flagged them down from the edge of the road. His round,
fleshy face was beet-red with exertion and excitement.

“I was just comin’ ta fetch you, Cobb!” he
yelled up at the figures in the cab.

“An’ we been comin’ to find
you
, you
skedadellin’ son of a bitch!” Cobb replied. “Where the hell’ve you
been fer two weeks?”

Itchy recoiled at the slight, but it took
three or four panting breaths before he could retaliate. “I – I
been visitin’ my sick papa in Newark. Is that a crime?”

“I don’t believe ya.”

“I come to get you, Cobb, to try an help the
law, an’ all you c’n do is insult me an’ my poor papa.”

“I doubt you ever had one.”

Marc stepped down and stood between Itchy and
Cobb. “What is it you’ve got to tell us, Itchy? Do you know where
Nestor Peck is?”

“’Course I do. I found him in my kitchen when
I got back there about noon, didn’t I?”

“Ya mean when you an’ him stumbled in there,”
Cobb persisted.

Itchy kept his agitated gaze on Marc. “He’s
in a bad way, Mr. Edwards. I spent all afternoon tryin’ to help
him, but I just seem to make things worse. Please, come an’ see
what you c’n do.”

“We’ll take the cab,” Marc said. To Abner he
said, “Have you got room for me up there with you? We need to get
this man aboard. And there’ll be two pounds in it for you.”

Abner nodded enthusiastically, and Marc leapt
up beside him. Itchy climbed warily up on the leather seat and
squeezed his bulk in next to Cobb.

“Yer papa really sick?” Cobb said.

“Got the quinsy somethin’ terrible,” Itchy
said.

They started to jounce again, and no more
could be said.

***

Several bone-jarring minutes later the cab came to a
halt at a scruffy laneway that drifted into a clutch of cedars,
where Quick’s shack stood facing the world at eccentric angles.
Itchy tumbled off the seat and lumbered off down the path, with
Marc on his heels.