Put on the Armour of Light (17 page)

T
he
hands on the large clock at Dingwall's Jewellers said 8:59 a.m. Charles took out his own watch and noted that it was a little fast. He had left himself time to walk a little slower than normal on the aching stumps that had once been his legs. But the walk had proved beneficial and after ten minutes or so, he had been able to move quite freely. Dingwall's was a good place for watching the world go by and Charles was taking full advantage when, out of the crowd, a familiar figure emerged.

“Mr. Lauchlan. Good morning. Still no sign of young Martland yet?”

“Jessup, Good to see you.” They shook hands. “What brings you here?”

“I'm not exactly sure. Truth to tell, I'm a bit puzzled by the whole thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I got a visit from Trevor Martland last night at my apartment. Turned up at about ten. Most peculiar. It wasn't a social call, though. He wanted to retain me.”

“For himself, you mean?”

“Apparently so. He instructed me to meet him — and you — here this morning and that the three of us would go to the police station together.”

“Oh. Well, that's interesting. I suppose he's just being cautious. He is an officer of the company, after all.”

“You know what this is all about then?”

Charles grew suddenly wary. “Didn't he tell you?”

“No. He wouldn't tell me a blessed thing except that he needed the services of a lawyer urgently. Said he would have to brief me at the station — for my own safety, no less!”

“I see. Well.” Charles took his hat off and rubbed his forehead, trying to think what to do. “This is a bit awkward, Jessup. I suppose I do know more than you at this point, but we'll have to wait for Trevor to show up, I'm afraid. I can't tell you without his say so.”

“It's damnably puzzling, if you ask me. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Lauchlan. No offence meant.”

“None taken; I'm sure Trevor will make everything clear when he gets here.”

“He did say that you might need my help in relation to a family matter of his and that I was to give you whatever assistance you needed.”

“Oh? Well. Now we're both mystified.”

“I'm not too keen on mystification. Clarity is more in my line.”

At this they waited, exchanging awkward pleasantries and checking the time. Nine-ten a.m. went by and no Trevor. At 9:15 a.m. they were both getting frustrated and Charles was becoming concerned.

“I'm sure he said nine, sharp. I hope nothing untoward has happened.”

Jessup started pacing up and down, holding his hat in one hand and tapping the brim against his leg. Charles tapped his foot and chewed his bottom lip.

Jessup took his watch out of his vest pocket and checked it against the clock. “All right. Nine twenty-five. It's clear he's not coming, Lauchlan. Well, he wouldn't be the first client I've had that lost his nerve.”

“Look — I'm absolutely convinced that he intended to meet us here. I just hope nothing has happened to him.”

“Well, we're not going to solve anything by standing here. I've got to get to the office. You're in his confidence. Maybe you can find him and sort this out. Tell him I'm ready to act for him but I've got to know the facts.”

“I will. I'll let you know as soon as I find him.”

They shook hands again and Jessup started up the street, stopped and turned. “Oh. There was one other thing. Also very strange. There's a coat that he wants to give to you. He asked me to be sure to tell you. Said you've been such a help that he wants to give you this coat. He said you'd know the one he meant. No idea what I have to do with it. You don't need a lawyer to convey a coat.”

“Oh, well. Thanks. Yes, it is peculiar, isn't it?” They exchanged bemused glances and then Jessup turned on his heel.

Charles began to walk toward the church. Maybe Trevor had lost his nerve. Or maybe he just needed more time to think. And the coat. How strange that with so many other things on his mind, he should be thinking about a silly coat.
You've been such a help that he wants to give you this coat.
Charles stopped in his tracks. That sounds just like an item from a will. He saw the race again and Trevor's yellow singlet receding in the distance. He had started running again himself, not even feeling the groaning in his legs.

He went first to Stobbart and Long. No one had seen Trevor since the end of the business day last evening. He hopped on the perimeter streetcar and got out at Broadway and Carlton. He was sweating now and his apprehension was growing. He rapped the door knocker at the Martland House and the emphatic sound surprised him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Oh, Hello. Ethel, isn't it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ethel, is Trevor at home?”

“No, sir. Mr. Trevor went on a fishing holiday to the Winnipeg River.”

“Really? When did he leave?”

“Early this morning, sir.”

“Hmnn. Funny. Is Mrs. Martland at home?”

“No, sir. She's gone to visit friends in Portage la Prairie for a few days.”

“Ah. Yes. I see. You know, Ethel. There's just one other thing that I need to see about myself.” He swept confidently past her.

“Sir. I can't let you in! Wait — you can't come in, sir. Please!”

“Don't worry, Ethel. I'm sure I can find what I'm looking for.” Charles was going from room to room with Ethel trailing after him, complaining piteously.

“Please, sir. I don't want to get in trouble with Mr. Martland. I need this job, sir.”

“Don't you worry, Ethel. I'll find you another and that's a promise.” He started taking the stairs up two at a time. In the upstairs drawing room? No. How about down this hall. He rounded the corner and found her in a pretty, screened-in sunroom. She was startled and then looked ashamed, as if she did not belong in her own house.

“Mrs. Martland. Are you all right?”

“I'm sorry, madam. I couldn't stop him.”

“Never mind, Ethel. It's not your fault.”

“She said you were out of town?”

“Yes. A small lie. Frank told me not to see anybody.”

“Do you know where Trevor is?”

“Yes. He's gone on a fishing holiday. To the Winnipeg River. He loves fishing; it always settles his mind.”

“Did you see him go? Did he say goodbye to you?”

“No. He left too early. I was still asleep. Frank told him not to wake me.”

“It was Frank who told you where he went?”

“Yes. Mr. Lauchlan, what is this about? What are you trying to say?”

“Do you know where Trevor keeps his fishing gear?”

“Yes, but —”

“I want to see if it's gone. Where should I look?” He looked from Agnes to Ethel and back. Agnes paused, puzzled.

“Ethel, would you go to the basement storage cupboard and see if Mr. Trevor's fishing rod and bait box are gone?” Ethel bobbed and left.

“Thank you.” Charles drew a deep breath. “I've no intention of causing distress. I just need some answers. Trevor was supposed to meet me at nine this morning. Don't you think that's a little strange? To suddenly leave like that?”

“Well, yes. It was sudden. If you must know, Frank and Trevor had an argument about the business. It was quite heated. Frank told me that he wants Trevor to go to Chicago to learn the real estate business after he joins the bar. Trevor doesn't want to go. I think it may have something to do with that girl, the Skene girl. Frank thought he needed to go somewhere to cool off, have some time to think.”

“And you believe this story?”

“Of course. Why shouldn't I?”

“Look, Mrs. Martland — Agnes — I don't believe that Trevor has gone fishing and I'm concerned for your safety. Come with me now. I'll take you to Mrs. Cliffe's. You can have a bag packed in five minutes —”

There was sudden heat in her face. “Mr. Lauchlan, my husband is not a perfect man, far from it. But he would never lie to me about Trevor. He adores Trevor. He doesn't care what he does to me but he loves that boy. It's been the only thing keeping me sane. I know that he would never harm Trevor. Please go away now.”

“Madam?” Ethel had returned.

“Yes, Ethel?”

“I looked where you said. Mr. Trevor's fishing rod and his bait box and his oilskins and boots are all gone — and the old jacket that used to be Mr. Martland's.”

Agnes could not help but show her relief. “Thank you, Ethel. You can go now. You see? I'm sure that Trevor will be back in a few days and he'll work things out with his father. Trevor knows how to handle Frank. I've never found the knack.”

Charles was momentarily flummoxed. “There's something not right about this. I don't know what's happening but I do know it's dangerous for you to stay here.”

“I know you only want to help me. But please go now. It only complicates things when I have to explain to Frank.”

“Explain what to Frank, my dear?” He was standing in the entrance to the sun-room. Neither of them had heard him coming. “Explain how I found you and Lauchlan together. How he barged into this house on false pretences? How I found the two of you, practically in my own bedroom?” His voice was level; he could have been describing what he'd had for breakfast.

But Charles was not calm. “Mr. Martland, suppose you explain something to me. Where is Trevor?”

Martland gave him a look, as if he were a horse fly. “Everywhere I go, Lauchlan, there you are. Poking into my business and now poking my wife.”

“That is an outrageous accusation —” Before he could finish he was suddenly bent double, clutching his belly and wondering why his lungs had suddenly lost the knack of breathing.

“No, Frank, please —”

“Stay out of it.” Martland grabbed hold of Charles's coat collar and dragged him out into the hallway and toward the stairway. Charles made to catch one of Martland's legs and upend him but he missed and Martland dragged him down the stairs on his knees. At the bottom of the stairs, Martland slammed him against the wall and forced Charles to look him in the eye. The mask of detachment had slipped; leaving a face filled with such a venomous mix of cruelty and exultation that Charles shut his eyes rather than see it.

“Go to the police if you like, Lauchlan. Caught you making love to my wife. Gave you a Goddamned thrashing. Threw you out of my house as any righteous husband would. A reputation for interfering with married women might pose certain difficulties for you, wouldn't you say?” Each of these sentences had been punctuated by slamming Charles against the wall.

“You'll find the police a little doubtful about your story.
Slam.
My word against yours.
Slam.
And I can back up my words.
Slam
. My wife will say what I tell her to say if she knows what's good for her.
Slam
. Here. I'm going to throw you out the back door — for the sake of my wife's reputation, not yours.” This time he concluded with the kind of left upper-cut and right cross that nothing in Charles's career as an instructor in the Boy's Boxing Club had prepared him for. The hallway lamp shattered into a thousand, million pieces, all brightly coloured; a crazed hurdy-gurdy played fast and then very slow. Happily, he was not quite conscious for the final ignominious heave down the back yard steps.

“A
re
you saying that Martland would kidnap his own son in order to prevent him revealing details of a fraud?” The chief got up from behind his desk and began to pace.

“Yes.” Charles was holding a piece of ice wrapped in a tea towel against his jaw.

“And that the younger Martland was going to, in effect, turn his father in?”

“Yes, that's pretty much it. And this adultery story is a bit of blackmail to prevent me from coming to you.”

Sergeant Setter sat hunched over beside Charles, taking notes in a tiny hand while Inspector Crossin, seated on the other side of Charles, frowned and tapped his right foot to an erratic rhythm only he could hear.

“Have you seen proof of this? Did you read the papers in that package?” The chief had narrowed his eyes.

“Well, no. I had no right to read them. I gave the package back unopened.” More frowns.

“Will Mrs. Martland corroborate your story?”

Now it was Charles's turn to frown and shift uncomfortably. “No. She believes that Trevor is off fishing. And as for the … the other, Martland will force her to lie about it.”

“And you were there with her when Martland came in.”

“Yes, but —”

“And the maid found that young Martland's fishing gear was gone.”

“Yes, but it's not hard to —”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” the chief said, and Constable Smithers poked his head around the door.

“Yes?”

“I've just talked to the ticket office at the railway station, sir.”

“And?”

“The girl on duty in the booth this morning said that a man matching the description of Trevor Martland and carrying fishing tackle bought a ticket to Rat Portage — for the seven-thirty train.”

The chief thanked Smithers, who cast a questioning look at Setter. Setter shook his head without speaking; his lips in a firm line, and Smithers withdrew. Charles felt the sand under his feet percolating away.

“Now look, Chief. Trevor Martland has evidence of a serious defalcation of funds and he was going to present that evidence to you this morning. I'm convinced that his father or someone in Martland's pay prevented him from coming here. Quite apart from anything else, I'm afraid for Trevor's safety.”

The chief walked to the window and stood looking out while the clock on the mantelpiece tick-tocked into the silence.

Finally he turned around. “It comes down to this, Lauchlan. I can't order a fraud and kidnapping investigation against one of the most prominent men in town without something more solid than what you've just told me. It's as flimsy as a grass hut in a hurricane. You can see that, can't you?”

Setter, who was hunched even lower over his notes now, jerked his head up as if it were pulled by a string and opened his mouth. And then closed it when he saw Crossin scowling at him.

“I don't have proof in my hands,” said Charles, “but if you'll only look into it, a young man's life may —”

“Well, as for young Martland, I don't doubt he's had some differences with his father. Most sons do. But his father said he's gone fishing to cool off and that's apparently where he's gone. I don't think we want police mixing in a family matter.”

“Look, I agree that from your point of view this may seem preposterous —”

“I think, with time, it will seem that way to you, too.” The chief came around his desk and sat down on it in front of Charles. “You've taken quite a beating. I feel sore just looking at you. It's hard to think clearly at those times. But we're all men here and Agnes Martland is a beautiful woman. Easy to lose your head. Go home. Soak your bruises in Epsom salts. And as for the assault, I can't allow you to risk your reputation in open court. In these things we have some —
ahem
— discretion.” He held out his hand and Charles realized that the interview was now over.

He said nothing but rose stiffly from his chair and handed the towel, now dripping, to Setter and thanked him for it. The way things had gone, he hadn't even had a chance to talk about his suspicions about what really happened to Asseltine. Why hadn't Setter said anything about that? Surely he of all people could see that there might well be a connection between the fraud and Asseltine's death. He tried to catch the sergeant's eye, but Setter was looking down at the sodden towel and doing something funny with his jaw muscles. No help from that quarter. Charles mumbled a farewell and left the office.

The chief returned to the window, scratching the back of his head. Crossin shambled to his feet and Setter followed suit.

“Poor man took quite a hiding. He certainly didn't make that part of it up,” said Crossin.

“Damn it, Crossin! I can't open an investigation into every lunatic story that walks in this door. I won't expose this department to ridicule. Martland may cut it a little fine sometimes — what man of business doesn't from time to time? — but he's done good things in this city and I won't meddle with him on the word of someone who may just be smearing him to save his own neck.”

“Quite agree, sir. But somehow Lauchlan doesn't strike me as that type.”

“And — for God's sake, sir!” Setter burst out, “shouldn't we at least do some —”

“Some further work on the Bank of Hamilton robbery,” Crossin cut in, grabbing Setter by the arm and pulling him toward the door. “Yes, indeed, Sergeant. That's just what we'll do, and let the chief get back to more pressing matters.”

He shoved Setter out the door in front of him, strode through it himself and with an acknowledgement to the chief pulled the door shut.

“The man's a —” But before Setter could finish, Crossin propelled him into the bathroom across the hall. Constable Hickley was just buttoning his fly at the urinal.

“Out!” said Crossin and Hickley, grabbing his helmet, ran for the door.

Crossin bolted the door and turned back to Setter. “Now,” he said, straining to keep his voice low. “Don't be so hard on the chief because he's being over cautious.”

“Over cautious! He's blind! Or worse.”

“Chief's got to answer to the mayor same as I have to answer to the chief. It's a damn ticklish dance we're doing —”

“But —”

“And the last thing we need is to provoke him into giving us a direct order not to investigate further.”

“But, don't you see, we have to look into what Lauchlan said today —”

“I didn't hear that.”

“I said —”

“No, you see. I've got this hearing problem. Comes and goes. Damndest thing.”

Setter couldn't figure out why Crossin was poking him in the chest insistently while he was saying this. “What are you —”

“Really. Mrs. Crossin wants me to have it seen to. So you'd best not say anything else that I'm not going to hear.” Crossin raised his eyebrows in an interrogative fashion and gave a final poke to Setter's chest.

“Oh, I see,” Setter said, exhaling with relief. “I think I understand. About your hearing problem, that is.”

Crossin nodded and smiled.