“The men have an hour for their lunch. Butabout twelve-thirty that day, Burton Thurgood and me left to goupstream to repair the sluice at the weir.”
“That the tornado damaged?”
“That’s right. We’d started cuttin’ andfittin’ some new logs that mornin’, but had to stop and help cleanup the spilled grain.”
“So you was anxious to get back there?”
“We were.”
“How long were you there?”
“Oh, I couldn’t say fer sure. But there wastwo or three hours work there.”
“And you and Thurgood were together?”
“The whole time.”
Well, Cobb thought, that jibes with what JakeBroom swore to. When he got back to the office to report the rapeto Whittle, the miller had already gone. But where was Betsy fromtwelve-ten to twelve-thirty? Already in the barn beingassaulted?
“And you saw or heard nothin’ unusual whileyou was workin’ up there?”
Whittle thought about this. “No,nothin’.”
“Could you see the barn from the weir?”
“No, there’s a clump of trees between‘em.”
“All right, thank you. Now please bring inMr. Mullins.”
Joe Mullins was ushered in, and Whittle wasbanished to a bench in the storage room next door. Mullins wasabout twenty-five years of age, of medium build, fair-skinned butwell-tanned – with dark red hair slicked down. He looked nervousbut not frightened.
Cobb gave him a brief account of what mighthave happened in the barn on August the third, and noted the lookof genuine horror that crept into his face.
“Not our Betsy? Not here?”
“We have reason to believe so, but I need toknow where everybody was and what they were doin’ that noon hourand just after.”
The tornado, damaged weir and grain spill hada salutary effect on the young man’s memory. Cobb was pleased tosee that he did not view himself as a suspect during theinterrogation.
“Betsy left at her usual time. Just beforehalf-past, the boss and Burton left to fix the weir. I left aboutfive minutes later to go fer a stroll and a smoke.”
“What direction did you go in?”
“Not towards the barn, which is just north ofhere. I always go southwards down to the ravine where the creekmakes a big turn. It’s peaceful down there. And there’s a troutpool – a good one, though we’re forbidden to angle. The Baldwinskeep the trout fer themselves.”
There was no real resentment in Mullins’remark, just an acknowledgement of how things are. “So you just hada smoke?”
“My pipe, yes.”
“Did you see or hear anythin’ unusual?”
After a brief pause, Mullins said, “Notreally. Old Seamus Baldwin was down there, but he often is. He’s akeen angler.”
Cobb almost swallowed his tongue. UncleSeamus was here on that day! Not a hundred yards from thebarn. When he could get his thoughts aligned again, Cobb said, “Andhe was fishin’?”
“Come to think of it, he wasn’t. He was justwalkin’ up and down. He didn’t see me as I’d finished my pipe andgone to rest fer a bit in the grass. Then I went back up to themill and started work fer the afternoon – about five to one orso.”
Cobb thanked him and waved him to thestoreroom. Looking both worried and chagrined, Whittle obedientlywent back into the mill and called for Sol Clift.
Clift was a tall, gangly chap of some thirtyyears, nearly bald, and so thin he was almost skeletal, except forthe bands of muscle built up after some dozen years in agrist-mill. He had big puppy eyes that stared at you withoutblinking. Cobb thought he might be a little on the “slow” side.When Cobb filled him in on why he was here, the shock of theapparent rape registered sharply in his face, and the big eyeswatered.
“Not our little Betsy?” he breathed.
“It looks so, lad. Now you can help me catchthe bugger that did it by answering my questions carefully.”
Sol corroborated much of what Whittle andMullins had reported, adding that Jake Broom had left about tenminutes before one o’clock to see to the sick horse, and then hehimself had gone back into the mill.
“How far away would you say the barn was fromhere?” Cobb asked him.
“Oh, about a hundred yards or so. You couldget there from here in a minute or two.”
“Now one last thing. Mr. Whittle mentionedthat you might have seen which way Betsy went when she lefthere.”
Clift dabbed at his eyes. “I was sittin’ overthere, where I always do. I like to look out the window. That dayBetsy didn’t go straight across the road as she was supposed to.”He hung his head.
“Where would she go?”
He peered up, abashed. “I seen her go pastthe window. She smiled at me and put a finger to her lips.” Thepain of that memory was etched on his face.
“Headin’ north?”
“Yeah. Up towards the barn.”
Cobb’s heart skipped a beat. “The barn?”
“She liked to look at the horses. And theShetland pony Mr. Whittle keeps as a pet. She brung them apples andcarrots. I promised her I’d never tell on her ‘cause her fatherwouldn’t like her not goin’ straight back to Spadina. But it won’tmatter now, will it?”
“No, it won’t. But it may help me catch theculprit.”
Cobb struggled to keep his excitement incheck. His fingers trembled as he jotted down the key times andmovements: he did not want to rely exclusively on his prodigiousmemory. So far he had reliable and corroborated testimony thatBetsy Thurgood had in fact been in that barn, possibly fromtwelve-fifteen until the rape occurred. If Jake Broom left the milloffice a few minutes before one – say, ten to the hour – then hewould have reached the barn and observed the rape-in-progress justbefore one. Seamus Baldwin, who was looking more and more like theguilty party, was spotted by Joe Mullins lurking a few minutes awaynear Trout Creek shortly after the half-hour. Then Mullins driftedaway, giving Baldwin enough time to slip up through the bush to thebarn and discover Betsy feeding the horses. As her confidant atSpadina, he might know of her passion for the animals and expect tofind her near them. The rape might well have begun abouttwelve-fifty or so and been near completion when Jake Broom cameupon it. Cobb took a few minutes to complete his notes.
He also gave some thought to the men he couldsee sitting on the edge of the bench in the adjoining room. IfBroom’s account were even generally accurate, none of these menwould fit the description he gave of the rapist: the wild shock ofwhitish hair, the impression of a short, wiry man of some years.Clift was skinny and near six feet. The miller was fifty and fat.Mullins was stocky with slicked-down red hair. And Thurgood, whomhe’d already met, had black curls and a young man’s physique.Perhaps Broom himself did it. But then, why report it? No, Broom’saccount was credible and, if it came to pass, he would make acredible witness in the box.
With these thoughts, Cobb took a deep breathand called for Burton Thurgood.
If Thurgood were embarrassed by the emptythreats he had made the previous week, he had chosen not to showit. Instead, as was his wont, he chose belligerence.
“I thought you people’d caved in to thebigwigs!” he snarled as Cobb waved him to a chair. “So whaddya wantnow?”
“I want you to sit back in that chair andlisten while I tell you a story about what really happened to yourlittle girl.”
That got his attention, and with a grunt heshut up and allowed Cobb to sketch in the details of the apparentrape of his daughter in the barn a mere hundred yards from wherethey sat.
“I told you that old bastard raped her!” heshouted, rising halfway out of his seat. “But you wouldn’t listento me!”
Cobb had deliberately avoided mentioning JoeMullins’s sighting of Seamus Baldwin, but he realized of coursethat Thurgood was fixated on the old man. Certainly thecircumstantial evidence surrounding the abortion payment was notgoing to play out in Uncle Seamus’s favour.
“We don’t know who did that awful thing toyer daughter, sir. That’s why I’m here.”
“Well, I do! And I’m goin’ up to Spadina totake care of him myself, seein’ as how you’re doin’bugger-all.”