“Sir Galahad?”
“That’s the one.”
“He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Then I guess we better get back out there,”Cobb said to Wilkie. “I don’t trust any of these so-calledgentlemen.”
He and Wilkie headed out into thestill-falling snow. Cobb went directly west, along the route thatboth Pugh and Sally Butts had taken several nights ago. Wilkieturned south. Ten minutes later, Cobb was just enjoying the returnof feeling in his feet when he heard Wilkie cry out.
“Where are you, Wilkie?” he called.
After a brief pause in which there wasnothing but silence, Wilkie blew on his whistle (Chief CyrilBagshaw had insisted that all his patrolmen be equipped withwhistles to be able to alert fellow constables of their whereaboutswhen needed). Cobb moved in the direction of the sound, but therewas, of course, no direct route. But Wilkie, bless him, continuedto blow. He’s discovered the killer, was Cobb’s first thought. Andcould be in danger himself.
Cobb finally rounded a corner and saw Wilkiestanding in the middle of an alley with the whistle stuck in histeeth. The snow had stopped, and he was clearly visible. So was thebulk of the body lying at his feet.
Cobb raced up to Wilkie who was still blowingon the whistle.
“I’m here, Wilkie. You can stop thatnow!”
Wilkie, as pale as the snow around him,pointed at the ground. “I found her,” he stammered. “Anotherone.”
Cobb knelt beside the body. Fresh blood wasstill leaking into the snow, from a slashed throat. “You’re right.It’s another woman. And just killed.”
Cobb stood up and glanced farther up thealley. There, among the competing ones, were the bootprints heexpected to see. “He can’t have gotten far,” he said. “Go andinform the Chief and the coroner. I’m going after the bastard.”
He set out on the trail of the bootprints,fresh and stark in the snow, their star-pattern winking up at himlike a taunt. The trail zigzagged several times, but eventually ledto an alley that opened onto Jarvis Street to the south-east. Againas Cobb arrived there, he saw evidence of a shuffling about, as ifthe killer were waiting for the all-clear on Jarvis before steppingout. But this time, with fresh snow, the trail ought to have keptgoing. However, just as Cobb was about to move onto the street, asquall of snow erupted in his face. He saw a shadow flit into analley or side-street to the north, but a gust of wind blew snow upinto his face and he could see nothing. Not even the boot tracksthat were, like everything else, swallowed up in the maelstrom. Hewalked a block north, but the trail, if there was one, had gonecold. Cobb cursed the snow, and headed back to Devil’s Acre,retracing his own prints before they too were obliterated. He cameagain to the body. Wilkie was gone but Rossiter had come up toassist.
They looked down at the body, slumped on itsside. It was warm all right. She was wearing a fur coat and aladies’ fur hat and ladies’ button boots. Cobb was not surprised tosee the thick, blond hair under the hat.
“Looks like an older woman,” Rossiter said.“And these are fancy clothes. This is no whore.”
And that spelled trouble. If somehow arespectable woman had found her way into Devil’s Acre, then theconsequences of her death would go straight to the mayor’s office.The public outcry would be a clamour.
Rossiter bent over to have a closer look ather face, now clouded by the rapidly falling snow. “There’ssomethin’ wrong with her hair,” he said.
Cobb took a look. “It’s a wig,” he said.Then: “And this ain’t no lady. It’s Simon Whitemarsh — in ladies’clothing.”
***
Leaving Rossiter to wait for Dr. Withers, Cobbheaded straight back to the brothel.
“There’s been another murder,” he said toMadame LaFrance in the vestibule.
“Who? My girls are all safe.”
“Simon Whitemarsh, yer Galahad.”
“Oh, my!”
“He was dressed in ladies’ clothin’. Do youknow anythin’ about that business?”
“Of course, I do. Galahad was fond ofcross-dressing. He was here earlier — with the other two Cavaliers- and got all dressed up, with make-up and everything. He madequite the lady. I sold him some clothing from time to time.”
“What time did he leave?”
“About ten minutes before you and that otherconstable did.”
“What about Gawain and Lancelot?”
“They were spooked by your being here. I toldyou that you were ruining my business. They headed out right afteryou. And threatened not to come back.”
So, Cobb thought, his two chief suspects werestill in the picture. One of them could have caught up withWhitemarsh and slashed his throat, taking him for a blond woman. Hewould have to interview them again, if he were allowed back on thecase. And that was problematic as the Chief could be furious thatthe murder of a respectable gentleman (albeit a cross-dressing one)had taken place right under their noses. With a sigh, he headedback to talk to the coroner.
***
The next day the news of the ghastly murder of SimonWhitemarsh spread throughout the city. No mention was made of thefellow’s eccentric haberdashery, only the fact that he was anupstanding citizen in his prime. It was assumed that he had bymistake wandered into Devil’s Acre or that he had been partaking ofone of the gentlemanly pleasures offered there. And this was thethird murder in just over a week! Was no-one safe on the streets ofToronto? The mayor was feeling the pressure, and when he did, hemade sure his Chief Constable suffered likewise.
Cobb had his report ready for Bagshaw byearly afternoon. He was drowsy and irritable, but waited patientlywhile Bagshaw read the lurid details. (Cobb was desperate to gethome and get some sleep in case the Chief wished to continue thenight patrolling of Devil’s Acre.) Whitemarsh’s throat had been cutwith a serrated knife and he had rapidly bled to death, unable tocry out for help. The star-shaped bootprints had been presentagain, suggesting strongly that they were looking for one madkiller.
“So you think Mr. Whitemarsh was mistaken fora woman,” Bagshaw said when Cobb had seated himself in Bagshaw’soffice.
“He had a wig and was plastered with facepaint,” Cobb said. “I even sniffed some fancy perfume. And all hisclothes were ladies’.”
“I trust there’s no need for these details tocome out?”
“Well, sir, any inquest will have to know hewas the third blond victim to be murdered in the same part oftown.”
“I suppose so. But the coroner’s holding offfor now.”
“I found the bootprints again.”
“And these were in fresh snow?”
“No, but I’m sure the killer made them,sir.”
“But you lost the trail at JarvisStreet?”
“I did see someone up ahead, to the north,but lost them in the snow.”
“And so you conclude our killer is agentleman with large boots?”
“Probably, but it did occur to me that hecould be putting on oversize boots to throw us off the scent.”
“You’re giving the madman a lot of credit.And may I remind you that gentlemen are not given to such madbehaviour.”
Though they are cross-dressers occasionally,Cobb thought. But he said, “It’s the fancy pattern of thebootprints that tells me this fella is a gentleman, a gentleman whohates blond-haired women.”
“My God, Cobb, Devil’s Acre has threemiscreants for every house, and you’re still harping on yourgentlemen. Those boots could be stolen, and probably were!”
“All three murders have taken place within astone’s throw of Madame LaFrance’s. I know it’s where we oughta belookin’.”
Bagshaw folded his hands together on thedesk. “Now, Cobb, what I want to know is how a murder could happenright under the noses of three experienced constables?”
“The killer must’ve seen Wilkie and me gointo the brothel fer five minutes to warm our feet.,” Cobb saidevenly.
“You left your post!” Bagshaw quivered to theroots of his brittle hair.
“Just fer five minutes. I wanted to see whatgentlemen were in there.”
“Looking for suspects, were we? Instead ofdoing honest police work!”