The Bishop's Pawn (29 page)

“I been told – ”

“By your impeccable source.”

“ – that Reuben came here to get money offa
you, which you gave him to keep him . . . ah, quiet.”

She actually smiled, to Cobb’s
disappointment. “Your attempt at being tactful is commendable,
constable, though I doubt you’re ready for the diplomatic service.
But there is no need, I assure you. This is politics, not
diplomacy.”

“Politics?”

“Of course. My long lost cousin was not
exactly a reputable character in spite of the fact that he was
verger of St. James and a tiresome Christian. He was a known
drunkard, frequented the dives and brothels of Irishtown, and was
adept at extorting a bit of spending money out of the
high-and-mighty McDowells. I was happy to give him the occasional
guinea. He was my dead aunt’s child. I felt sorry for him. And I
damn well didn’t want him jeopardizing Mowbray’s career. Does that
shock you, constable?”

Cobb wasn’t shocked by anything the gentry
did, but he was intrigued by her use of the word “extortion.” There
was definitely a motive for murder here, but the victim was more
likely to have been the extortionist himself, not a reclusive
Yankee barrister. Still, he was on a live scent, and had no
intention of letting it go cold. “We got reason to believe, ma’am,
that Reuben Epp had someone help him kill Richard Dougherty. Reuben
couldn’t read or write, could he?”

She paused before saying, “That’s true. And
you’re wondering how that note with the obscenity scrawled on it
got into Reuben’s hands?”

“I am. We also found a lot of American money
stashed in his house – ”

“I never gave Reuben anything but English
guineas or sovereigns. He would never take folding money. But I
don’t see what – ”

“We figure someone he knew helped him with
the writin’ an’ give him fifty dollars as a bribe to stab Mr.
Dougherty to death.”

She started to rise, indignant and angry.
“You go too far, sir. I did not know Mr. Dougherty from Adam, and I
have no intention of listening to such absurd accusations!”

The door to the sitting-room was flung open
and a slim, blond gentleman strode through the opening. His sharp
blue gaze swept over Mavis and stopped dead on the incongruous
figure of Horatio Cobb – red-faced, wart a-wobble, helmet spinning
on the tips of his fingers.

“And just what the hell are you accusing my
wife of!” he screamed, as if Cobb were deaf as well as dumb.

“It’s all right, dear. Mr. Cobb was just
about to leave.” She looked over at Cobb imploringly. “Weren’t
you?”

“Well, ma’am, I did want to talk to Mr. McDow
– ”

“
I
am Mr. McDowell, you impertinent
fool! And I will not have a scruffy policeman barging into my home
unannounced and trying to intimidate my wife.” The near-albino
pallor of his skin doubled the effect of his outrage, which was
already considerable.

“But I come here on police business – ” Cobb
stammered.

“If you wish to speak to me or my wife about
police business
, whatever that may be, you will in the
future arrange for an appointment – at
our
convenience, not
yours.”

“But – ”

“I want you to take your malodorous carcase
out that door this minute, or I shall send for the Governor’s guard
and have you horse-whipped back to your hiding-hole!”

“Mowbray,
please.
There is nothing
here to be concerned about. I – ”

McDowell ignored his wife’s plea. He strode
to the door and yelled, “Hudson. Come in here!”

“Okay, okay, I’m leavin’,” Cobb muttered,
itching to give his truncheon a workout on McDowell’s skull.

“Believe me,
sirrah
, you have not
heard the last of this affair!” McDowell called after him as Cobb
scuttled down the hallway, tripped on the rug at the back door and
stumbled off the porch. He then drew himself up straight and strode
with defiant dignity to the gate, where he realized he had dropped
his helmet beside the porch steps. He slunk back to retrieve it,
drawing a baleful stare from the aforementioned Hudson, a six-foot
bruiser of a fellow occupying most of the doorway.

So much for the direct approach, Cobb thought
as he made his way reluctantly towards the police quarters – and
the chief constable.

***

Wilfrid Sturges was not in the least amused at Cobb’s
tale, even in its most favourable form.

“You see what you’ve done,” he said, glaring
at Cobb across the desk in the cubicle he called an office. “You
uncovered an important lead in this case an’ then proceeded to kill
it dead.”

“Well, sir, it ain’t quite – ”

“It’s dead, Cobb. You blundered into the home
of the most revered Tory politician in the province an’ practically
accused his wife of conspiracy in the murder of Richard Dougherty.
If I’d’ve been her husband, I’d’ve beaten you silly with yer own
truncheon!”

Cobb hung his head. The Sarge, as he called
the chief, was a man whom he held in the highest regard. He was
honest, fearless and fair. To have disappointed him was almost as
hard to swallow as screwing up the case.

“But she gave him money,” he said quietly.
“Epp was in that home many times.”

“I
know
that! An’ that’s why I’m
angry. We needed to find out, without usin’ a balpeen hammer, who
else in that house might’ve talked to Epp.”

“Well, that husband’s sure got a temper on
him,” Cobb offered. “I could still talk to him. Or maybe he’d agree
to talk to you.”

“Of course we can’t. That’s the point I been
tryin’ to drive into yer thick skull. You’ve gone an’ give the game
away. You’ve spooked him, given him fair warnin’ of what we’re up
to. He now
knows
we’re lookin’ fer a direct connection with
Epp an’ those Yankee dollars an’ that horrible note. The
missus’ll’ve told him everythin’. So, you think he’s gonna admit he
ever whispered a word to Epp or that he’s not gonna go out an’ burn
every piece of fancy paper he has – even if he’s not involved.
You’ve gone an’ stymied us!”

“But – ”

“Buttin’s about all you did up there, like a
billy-goat at a garden party!”

“She did say she give Epp money to keep him
quiet about bein’ her cousin,” Cobb persisted. “May be she decided
to – ”

Sturges glowered at him, and then a bemused,
slightly mocking look took hold of his expression. “You’re
suggestin’ that the McDowells paid Epp to murder a man they knew
nothin’ about on the off-chance he’d be caught an’ hanged – an’
thus outta their hair?”

“Now, Sarge, there’s no need to be
scar-castic.
”

Sturges heaved a big sigh. “What’s done is
done, eh. Let’s just leave it till Marc gets back from New York.
Why don’t you go an’ dictate yer notes to Gussie an’ then head back
to yer patrol. The barkeeps’ll be sendin’ out a search party.”

As if responding to a cue, Augustus French
popped his bantam rooster body into the doorway. His eyes were as
round as a cockerel’s on the trod. “I got a message for ya, sir.
Just hand-delivered by a giant fella called Hudson.” He passed a
sealed envelope across the desk to Sturges, then stood back,
waiting.

“Thanks, Gussie.”

Crestfallen, Gussie back-pedalled out of the
office.

Cobb said quickly, “That’d be Mowbray
McDowell’s bodyguard.”

Sturges sighed again, and looked wearily at
his number one constable. “It didn’t take His Highness long to
lodge a complaint,” he said, breaking the seal and removing a
thick, white sheet of notepaper. He read its contents aloud.

Chief Constable:

This is by way of a formal complaint against
Constable H. Cobb who, this very morning, entered my home on the
pretext of reporting on the progress of a minor theft at St. James,
and then proceeded to bully and badger my wife about some
fantastical connection with the recent murder on King Street. I
found the dear woman near tears when I arrived in the midst of his
unlawful, unwarranted and callous interrogation. I threw him out on
his ear. I trust that you will take appropriate disciplinary action
immediately, and inform me in writing of its scope and
consequences. Further, I shall be speaking privately with Sir
George Arthur at Government House this evening, and shall be
compelled to broach the entire, disgraceful episode with His
Excellency.

I remain, yours truly,

Mowbray McDowell, Esq., MLA

Chief Sturges sat back in his chair. “Jesus,” he
said. “Them’s the nastiest words I ever saw written in such fancy
letters.” He looked up at Cobb, expecting to observe some evidence
of remorse or anxiety, however poorly feigned. But all he saw was
puzzlement.

“Lemme see that note, if I might, Sarge,” he
said, reaching over and taking it from the chief.

“Ya don’t wanta read it again, do ya?”
Sturges said. “It won’t get any sweeter.”

But Cobb was not listening. He was standing
beside the narrow window in the chief’s office, holding McDowell’s
letter of complaint up to the light.

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

“An eagle holdin’ up an ‘M’.”

Sturges got up, took the paper from Cobb and
raised it up to the light. “You’re right. This is the same kind of
notepaper used by Epp in the murder. Brought in from New York, if I
remember.”

Cobb’s eyes were saucers. “Don’t ya see,
chief. We got the bugger by the short hairs!”

Sturges put the note on the desk. “All we
done is find somebody who uses Melton bond-paper. There could be a
dozen or two dozen more bigwigs in town usin’ it – an’ writin’ real
fancy on it. They teach ‘em to scribble like that in school.”

At this moment, though, nothing his chief
might say could dampen Cobb’s excitement. “But we got a lot more,
ain’t we? We got Reuben Epp sneakin’ over to tap his rich cousin
fer booze money and a husband who don’t want his good name
besmirched just when he’s reached the top – an’ Reuben just
happenin’ to have this Melton paper to hand an’ somebody to write
on it fer him in
curly-kewpie
letters.”

“But the McDowells don’t even know Dougherty.
Nobody does. He only come outta his cocoon in January. And if
they’d been thinkin’ of killin’ anybody, it would’ve been Epp.”

“But I now got enough to go back over there
an’ fire a few questions at that bugger, an’ even enough to get a
warrant to tear the place apart. I’m sure we’ll find them
whatchamacallit pens and a stash of Yankee banknotes.”

“Hold yer horses, Cobb. You’ll get no warrant
from a Tory magistrate like James Thorpe, honest as he is. You’ve
got no motive. You can show him a connection between Epp an’ the
McDowells, but that’s all. The notepaper would be helpful if we had
somethin’ else to tie it up with. But we don’t. You can’t ask
Thorpe to believe that using Melton bond-paper is a crime or that
they would plot the murder of a man they didn’t know an’ had no
reason to kill.”

Cobb was stunned. He had expected his chief
to back him up all the way. Was something at play here that he was
missing? “Okay,” he said carefully, “I c’n see yer point about the
search warrant. But I got a right to go an’ ask McDowell, real
tack-ful
, whether he ever knew Dougherty, don’t I? An’
whether he himself ever met Epp when he visited the missus, an’
maybe got to know him a little?”

Sturges leaned on his desk with both fists.
He looked up slowly. “If it was anybody else but Mowbray McDowell,
I’d say yes – in a blink.”

Cobb couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re not
afraid of the Governor, are ya?”

Sturges grinned ruefully. “We’re all afraid
of the Governor, Cobb. But that ain’t what I’m sayin’ here. You
know me better’n that. McDowell ain’t just any bigwig or Tory.
Right now he’s seen as the leader of the party fightin’ against
Lord Durham an’ this business of responsible government. If we go
bargin’ in makin’ wild accusations against their chosen one,
they’ll be labelled political, not legal. And
we’ll
be the
ones
accused
: of takin’ up with the Reformers an’ tryin’ to
bring down a Tory leader fer our own gain. You’ve got to realize,
ol’ chum, everythin’s political right now. We’re only the
city’s
police, not the province’s. We gotta walk on eggs
here or we’ll soon be nobody’s police.”

Cobb had sagged somewhat under the force, and
logic, of this speech, but he recovered sufficiently to ask, “So
you’re sayin’ the investigation’s got to stop? I’m to stay clear of
the McDowells?”

“That’s right. Unless you come up with more
evidence –
without direct contact
.”

“But we might only have a few more days
before the inquest is – ” Cobb stopped. Sturges was examining his
fingernails. “The inquest’s already on, ain’t it?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say. I just got word that
the coroner has set it fer ten o’clock Monday mornin’.”

“But that just gives me three days. An’ Marc
won’t be back till Saturd’y at the earliest.”

“I realize that. And I’m sorry. I really am.
But there it is.”

Politics, Cobb thought, grinding his
teeth.

***

Cobb was still seething when he reached Bay Street
and marched south towards Baldwin House. He definitely wanted a
second opinion. Robert Baldwin greeted him warmly, asked for news
about the new baby, and sat the constable in a comfortable chair
until some of the steam went out of his anger. Then he listened
respectfully to Cobb’s tale of discovery, frustration and betrayal.
And it was with considerable reluctance that he told Cobb he had to
agree with Wilfrid Sturges, on both legal and expedient grounds.
Legally, a warrant could not, and should not, be granted in the
circumstances. Practically, any forceful interrogation of Mowbray
McDowell, given the initial confrontation and its unfortunate
aftermath, was bound to be seen as a form of intimidation prompted
by supporters of the Reform cause and Lord Durham’s proposals, the
constabulary being adjudged
de facto
members of the
left-wing party.