The Widow's Demise (12 page)

What was obvious to Cobb was that Macy had
kept a very close watch on his lady friend, and that, reading
between the lines, she was quite a coquette. Could one of her male
friends – besotted with her or her money – have taken rejection
badly and decided to try out a little revenge, which had resulted
in her death? It could have been Macy or Trueman, or even this
Denfield fellow.

Cobb now pulled out the glove. Macy objected
to trying it on, but eventually relented. It fit perfectly.

“But it’s not my glove,” Macy protested.
“I’ve never seen it before. Half the men in town have a hand my
size.”

“Right you are, sir. Just tidyin’ up loose
ends.”

Cobb thanked Macy for his cooperation and
left the shop. He went immediately to Macy’s house and rapped on
the door. A pretty maid in a white cap and apron opened it.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I help
you?”

No snooty butler here, was Cobb’s
thought.

He introduced himself and said, “Would you
happen to be Gladys?”

The girl swallowed and said, “How did you
know that, sir?”

“I’ve just been speaking with your master at
his shop. I’m a policeman investigatin’ a murder – ”

“The one two night’s ago? Mr. Cardiff’s
daughter?”

“That’s the one.”

“How can I help you?”

“I had to ask Mr. Macy where he was that
evenin’ between seven and eight o’clock, and he said he was in his
study readin’. He also said that you were in the next room all the
time. Is that so?”

Gladys blushed to the roots of her red hair.
“Well, I was in the next room, doin’ some mendin’. But I’m afraid,
sir, that I dozed off. You won’t tell the master, I hope.”

“There’ll be no need fer that,” Cobb said
soothingly. “So you’re sayin’ you were asleep between seven and
eight o’clock?”

The blush deepened. “I dozed off about seven
and was woken up by the clock striking nine. Mr. Macy was in his
study then.”

“But you don’t know fer sure if he was there
between seven and eight?”

“No, sir. I’m sorry. I don’t.”

Cobb thanked her, reassured her he would keep
her secret, and left. So, he thought, Macy as well as Trueman had
no alibi for the time of the murder. The glove could have belonged
to either of them. And one or the other of them could have thrown
that acid out of frustration at the lady’s faithlessness.

Cobb decided to go straight to interview
Cecil Denfield, though he considered the married man to be less of
a suspect than the other two suitors. Still, Denfield was at the
dance, and had danced with Delores. He could also have observed
Gagnon and Delores dancing, and could therefore prove a useful
witness, if nothing else. Denfield ran an import-export business
with a warehouse on Wellington Street east, but Cobb thought he
would try the fellow at home first.

He used the bell-pull and waited.

A butler with slicked-down hair parted in the
middle answered the door. He looked down on Cobb as if from a great
height.

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective-Inspector Cobb. I’d like to
talk to Mr. Denfield.”

“A policeman?”

“That’s right, and I’m here on police
business.”

“I’ll check with the master. Please wait on
the stoop.”

As the butler turned to walk down the hall
off the foyer, Cobb stepped inside and closed the door. He sat down
on a bench nearby and waited.

The butler returned and bade Cobb follow him.
Cobb was led to a den that was overheated and stuffy. Denfield, a
bald man with sleazy eyes and the beginnings of a paunch, stood
before the fireplace in his shirtsleeves.

“You are a policeman, sir?” Denfield said
with a slightly imperious air.

“A plainclothes detective. I’m investigatin’
the death of Delores Cardiff-Jones.”

“Ah, such a shame, that. I was shocked to
hear of it. But I understood you had a culprit in custody.”

“We have, sir. I’m gatherin’ evidence fer the
trial.”

“I see. How can I help?”

“You were at the Charity Ball?”

“I was.”

At this point the door opened and a brisk
little woman with ringlets and an overly large nose entered the
room.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had company,
Cecil.”

“It’s just a policeman asking questions about
the Ball.”

The woman blanched at the word “Ball”.

“This is my wife, sir. Mrs. Audrey
Denfield.”

“Pleased to meet ya,” Cobb said, giving a
slight bow as he had seen Marc Edwards do.

“I’ll just go, then,” Audrey said.

“No, please stay, ma’am. I understand you
were at the Ball with yer husband.”

“Yes, I was.”

“Did either of you see a Mr. Gilles Gagnon
dancin’ with Delores Cardiff-Jones?” Cobb asked.

Denfield glanced at his wife and said, “I
did.”

Audrey nodded but did not speak.

“Did they talk while they danced? Did they
seem friendly?”

“What an odd question, Constable. As far as I
could see, they just danced, as people usually do.”

“Did they talk together afterwards?”

“Yes.” It was Audrey who spoke. “I remember
saying to Cecil that those two seemed awfully cozy.”

“Surely you exaggerate, dear.”

“I do not. Delores is a flirt, and you know
it.”

“You danced with her as well,” Cobb said to
Denfield.

“What of it? She was the hostess.”

“Were you a particular acquaintance of the
lady? A friend?”

“We knew the woman socially. That was all,”
Denfield said.

“Mere acquaintances,” Audrey said, giving her
husband a sharp glance.

“Pardon me fer askin’ this, sir, but where
were you between seven and eight o’clock on the evenin’ of the
murder?”

“What a strange question,” Audrey said.

“You don’t suppose I had anything to do with
the crime?’ Denfield said, indignant.

“We need to be sure the defense council don’t
try to throw suspicion at others who knew the victim,” Cobb
said.

“I see. Very well, then. I was home here all
evening. Isn’t that so, my dear?”

“We were together the whole time,” Audrey
said with so much conviction that Cobb was certain she was lying.
Still, it was hard to see Denfield as an outraged suitor, even if
he had perhaps been overly friendly with the flirtatious Mrs.
Cardiff-Jones. Denfield wasn’t a candidate for husbandhood or a
seeker after her fortune: he was married and well-off.

“Would you mind tryin’ on this glove?” Cobb
said suddenly.

“Why on earth?” said Denfield.

“Humour me.”

The glove slid on easily.

Cobb thanked the surprised couple and left.
He stopped at The Cock and Bull for a draught of ale, then went to
the police quarters and dictated his notes to Gussie French. But
this time he was not so lucky at avoiding the Chief, who stepped
out of his office into the anteroom and shouted, “Cobb! In here.
Now.”

Gussie smirked and Cobb followed Cyril
Bagshaw into his office.

Standing behind his desk, Bagshaw said,
“Well, Cobb, you’ve gone and done it again. You’ve ruffled the
tails of the high and mighty.”

“I have?”

“I’ve had Horace Macy in here accusing you of
treating him as a suspect for murder.”

“I was just quizzin’ him about the Charity
Ball, sir. I was lookin’ fer a motive for Gagnon.”

“You questioned him about
his
whereabouts on the night of the crime!” Bagshaw’s eyebrows shot up
and shook.

“Well, sir, I thought that Marc Edwards,
who’ll be Gagnon’s defense attorney, would try to suggest other men
with motives could’ve done the deed. I wanted to eliminate Macy as
a suspect.”

“While suggesting he was one!”

“I’m sorry he took it the wrong way.”

“Not as sorry as I am. I want you to cease
interviewing people of quality who might’ve seen something to do
with Gagnon at the Ball. You are to ruffle no more feathers.
Besides, we’ve got enough to hang Gagnon without a motive.”

“Am I off the case, then?”

“No, as long as you develop evidence against
the accused, not go on fishing expeditions that enrage the decent
citizens of the town.”

“I can do that, sir.”

“And stay away from Marc Edwards!”

Cobb left the office, duly chastised. He went
immediately to Briar Cottage to talk with Marc Edwards.

“Well, you’ve done a full day’s work,” Marc said to
Cobb as he leaned forward to light his pipe. The two friends were
in Marc’s parlour discussing Cobb’s investigation. Both men were
smoking, drawing deep, satisfying puffs. The house was otherwise
quiet. Beth, Etta and the two children had gone out for an early
evening walk.

“Well, I’ve rounded up a few suspects, that’s
fer sure.”

“And got yourself in Dutch with your
superior.”

“I can handle that okay.”

“Do you really think one of the suitors could
have done it?”

“I wouldn’t put it past ‘em. Both Trueman and
Lacy were really after the lady – and her money.”

“She was rich?”

“A fortune left to her by her husband when he
died.”

“But surely they’re more likely to eliminate
one another?”

“They tried to. They were all set to fight a
duel when Wilkie and me arrived in time to break it up.”

“I see. So passions were running high?”

“But after I broke up the duel, the two of
them cozied up to each other, like they’d been friends. I don’t get
it.”

“Maybe they realized the lady was playing
them both for fools.”

“Well, it seems she was an awful flirt. She
even flirted with Cecil Denfield, a married man.”

“And you interviewed him?”

“I did. But he has no real motive. He’s well
married and has lots of dough.”

“Still, you never can tell.”

“My money’s on Macy right now. He’s a chemist
and can get all the acid he needs. And the glove fits.”

“As it did on Trueman, you say,” Marc said,
relighting his pipe. “It’s useful but only as circumstantial
evidence.” He paused and then said, “You mentioned a Constance
Brown.”

“Oh, yeah. She was Macy’s fiancée until he
jilted her in favour of the widow.”

“You think she might have blamed the other
woman?”

“It’s possible. I do intend to interview her
to see if I can tell what her feelings were, and whether she’d be
capable of throwin’ acid in a rival’s face.”

“At least she’s unlikely to complain to Chief
Bagshaw.”

Cobb smiled. “I’m through rufflin’
feathers.”

“Of course, Gilles’s story, as he told it to
me, is that he saw a man running off when he arrived on the scene.
But it was dusk and he could have been mistaken. All I need for a
vigorous defense are people to cast suspicion upon. And you’ve
given me a number so far.”

“How is Gagnon holdin’ up?”

“As well as could be expected, given the grim
circumstances and the fact that he has been wrongly accused. Louis
visits him twice a day.”

“It must be affectin’ yer election?”

“I must admit that it is. The race is neck
and neck at this time, and I put the blame on the anti-French
sentiment stirred up by Gagnon’s arrest and the intimidation
tactics of the opposition.”

“But Louis will win?”

“I hope so.” Marc knocked the ashes out of
his pipe. Cobb’s was still going.

“Well, there’s a ways to go yet,” Cobb
said.

“By the way, you mentioned you talked to
Vera, the lady’s maid. Did you approach the other servants by any
chance?”

“No, I didn’t get around to it. But Vera was
the last person to see the victim alive.”

“It’s possible one of the other servants was
looking out a front window and saw something important. Or they
might have seen the man running away around the side of the
house.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Looks like I’ll
have to make another trip to Rosewood.”

“Be careful, Cobb. And stay away from
Humphrey Cardiff. He is very much involved in this case – as you
can imagine – and he has set a trial date for a week from Monday.
So we haven’t a lot of time to build up a defense.”

“It would be nice to find the real murderer
before the trial begins.”

“I am in your hands,” Marc said.

***

Early the next day Cobb went to Constance Brown’s
place. Constance Brown herself answered his first knock. Before him
stood a plump woman in her mid-thirties. Her ginger hair was
untamed and her blue eyes were sharp and searching.

“What do you want?” she said shortly.

“I’m lookin’ fer Miss Constance Brown.”

“Well, you’ve found her. Now, what are you
selling?”

“I’m with the police. I’m not sellin’
anythin’.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I need to ask you a few questions about the
death of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones.”

The blue eyes blazed. “That tramp. Good
riddance to her.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead,” Cobb
said, shocked.

“I had nothing to do with her, dead or
alive.”

“May I come in?”

“It’ll have to be to my rooms. I only rent
here. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disturb the
landlady.”

Cobb followed her quietly down a dingy hall
with a threadbare carpet, at the end of which she opened and door
and ushered Cobb into a cramped sitting-room.

“Have a seat,” she said, sitting herself down
in a plush chair. “I can’t offer you tea as I’m only allowed to use
the kitchen at mealtimes.”

“That’s all right. I’ll just be a minute or
two.”

Constance waited patiently for Cobb to begin,
her hands folded in her lap, her blue eyes staring him down. She
seemed to Cobb to be a very self-possessed and determined
woman.

“I understand you were once engaged to Mr.
Horace Macy.”

Constance flushed at the name. “I was.
Once.”

“And the engagement was broken off?”