He was nervous and did not make eyecontact.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Leroy.I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“I had no reason to kill Mr. Dunham,” Leroysaid quickly.
“You liked the man?”
Leroy hesitated, then said, “No, I didn’tcare for him. He was a mean bugger. So I can’t say I’m sorry he’sdead.”
“You were in Bernie’s dive last night?”
“I was. With Greg Manson.”
“Did you hear Jacques LeMieux making threatsagainst Dunham?”
Again, some hesitation before the response.“I heard him mumbling to himself in French. But I don’t speakFrench at all. But he really sounded very angry.”
So, Marc thought, it was only Manson’stestimony so far as to the threats made by LeMieux. LeMieux himselfdidn’t remember much. Marc would have to go to Bernie’s and try tosort this out. Without the threats, the magistrate, beyond motive,had only the hammer, and that was thin evidence indeed.
“You didn’t hear the word ‘tuer’?”
“No, sir. If I did it went over my head. Gregan’ me walked home.”
“You went straight to your ownboarding-house?”
“Yes.”
“Did your landlady or landlord hear you comein?”
“My landlady usually does. I’m afraid I madequite a noise.”
“I’ll check it out. I want all the addressesof you men before I leave this morning.”
“I’ll help if I can.”
“That’s all for now,” Marc said, releasingthe man and wincing once again at the sight of that scar. Someone’sknife had sliced open that right cheek.
***
Michel Jardin looked as if he had a permanent chipon his shoulder. He slouched over to Marc, resentment andirritation writ large in his face.
“You were upset when Mr. Dunham fired yourbrother?” Marc began.
“So what?”
They were speaking in French but the contemptwas clear in any language.
“So it gives you a reason to dislike yourforeman.”
“I didn’t need a reason like that. I hatedhim after the first day on the job. He was a very cruel man.”
“In what way?”
“He looked down on us French. He gave us thedirtiest jobs. He chewed us out for no reason at all, alwaysworrying that we weren’t working fast enough. Anything to lick theass of his boss.”
“He was anti-French?”
“He was in the English militia in therebellion. He burned barns and killed cattle and scaredchildren.”
“But he was only doing his duty, surely,”Marc said lamely, remembering his own compunction aboutbarn-burning.
“He was an animal. An English bastard.”
Marc had been present for some of thereprisals taken after the rebellion in Lower Canada, and had knownthen, as now, how difficult it was going to be for the two racesand cultures to live side by side, let alone unite in a singlestate.
“Where were you last night, say, from nineo’clock onwards?”
“You think I killed Dunham?”
“Please answer the question.”
Jardin looked across at Bert Campionsupervising the work, as if his boss might relent and allow him tosay no to Marc’s questions. But the architect had been adamant inordering his men to cooperate with Marc.
“I got home from work at eight o’clock. I hadsupper at my boarding-house. I went for a long walk around teno’clock. When I got back everyone was asleep. No-one saw me untilmorning.”
So, Jardin had no alibi, but also no realmotive other than a general dislike of his foreman, a dislikeshared by his colleagues.
“You men all used your own tools?” Marcthought to ask.
“Yes, we do. And our hammers are alldifferent.”
“Except that Jacques’ hammer has got bloodand brains on it,” Marc said.
“That means nothing,” Jardin said. “Anyonecould have used it. You people are picking on us because we’reFrench!”
“Was anything stolen last night?” Marc said,ignoring Jardin’s agitation.
The question startled Jardin, but herecovered to say, “Yes, there was. Another bundle of laths.”
So, the thief had been here. Still, itwas difficult to believe he had done it. However, it would serveLeMieux’s lawyer well if a trial ever came about. (One of Marc’sploys in the courtroom was to offer the jury alternative views ofthe crime.) And the way things were going, he himself might end upbeing that lawyer.
Marc dismissed Jardin. He got the address ofeach worker from Campion, then joined the architect for the rideback to Kingston. Marc went immediately to Robert and Hincks. Louisjoined them, and Marc briefed them on everything he had discoveredso far.
Robert was first to speak. “Marc, we’re goingto have to settle this matter quickly. We need definite proof ofLeMieux’s innocence or guilt. If the business hangs fire, up in theair, we could be in for trouble here with our negotiations. I’mgoing to go to Magistrate Wilson and get his permission for you tocontinue your investigation — officially — if you’re willing to doso.”
“Of course, I will,” Marc said, “but I’m alsoneeded here to help out with Christopher Pettigrew and HenriThériault.”
“Well, we’re not expecting a reply fromThériault for a day or two. That should give you a little time toinvestigate further.”
“All right, then, that’s settled,” Marcsaid.
“Thank you, Marc,” Louis said.
***
Marc had just finished supper when he was accostedin the lobby by Christopher Pettigrew, looking distressed.
“Why, what’s the matter?” Marc asked.
“I just received another letter from mysister,” he sighed. “She’s desperate to have me back inToronto.”
“Perhaps I could help you formulate a replyto her,” Marc offered. “She will relent when she knows what apivotal role you’re playing in the negotiations for the success ofour alliance.”
“She’s most upset at my getting married, Ifear.”
“But you’ll be living at home.”
Pettigrew shook his head. “That may be worsethan not living at home. It’s my bride she seems to be anxiousabout.”
“That’s perfectly natural. Your bride isusurping her place, as it were.”
“But I’ve told her that Miss Todd is thespitting image of her. Look, here is my fiancée’s portrait.” Hepulled out a locket, opened it and showed Marc the miniature of hisbride’s head and shoulders. She was a fair-haired beauty.
“That may not have been the wisest thing todo,” Marc suggested tactfully.
“I know that now. It enraged Christine,”Pettigrew said, then grabbed Marc by the shoulder. “Would you mindlooking at her latest letter and letting me know what you think?I’m worried sick.”
And worried they did not want this young man,this linchpin in their plans. “All right. I’d be happy to.”
“Come up to my room and I’ll show it toyou.”
They went up the stairs to Pettigrew’s room.Christopher went to his desk and picked up a letter, which hehanded to Marc. Marc read:
Birch Grove
March 11, 1841
My Dearest brother:
I found your most recent letter unsatisfactory inthe extreme. What you offer me are not reasons but excuses. Andwhat is reason even, when love and devotion are at stake? You go onand on about politics, about being absolutely required to stay onin Kingston whilst there is some faint hope that Henri Thériault,who sulks in his tent in Quebec like Achilles, may decide to heedthe calls for his presence in Kingston. Is there no-one else in allthat conglomeration of politicians and hangers-on who will sufficeexcept you?
I do not for one minute believe any suchthing. Indeed you are not staying away from me in the horrid stonetown because of Robert Baldwin and Louis LaFontaine. You cannotfool me, who have shared your company and one half of your beingfor twenty-five years. We were struck from the same ore, as closeas any two humans can hope to be. No, Christopher, I know youbetter than you know yourself. You remain in Kingston and eschewthe company of your soul-mate and fraternal friend because of MissTodd. And it is in a futile attempt to save my feelings that youconcoct this sorry tale of being needed by the Reformers to act asa go-between in their efforts to woo Thériault. But I know, withoutyour having to admit it directly or obliquely, that you have becomebesotted with Martha Todd, and in doing so have automaticallyestranged yourself from me. Even though the wedding is not untilApril, you feel compelled to pay court to this interloper, thisfair creature who places her shallow beauty between the vows wemade together as children and have sworn to keep ever since. Is herbeauty so fragile that you feel you must ever be in its presencelest it falter and fail?