“Are you thinking, Wilf, what the rest of usare?” Withers said.
“I’m thinkin’ not just about that note, butabout that eyeball lyin’ outside the body.”
Cobb said it for the other two: “We all heardthat sermon yesterday, didn’t we? An’ less than a day later, thelawyer referred to is found with his eye plucked out.”
“And the man who called for the barbaric actjust happened to be Archdeacon Strachan,” Withers addedsolemnly.
“Who’s hopin’ to be made our bishop,” Sturgessaid.
“This is a crime we’ve got to clear upquickly and cleanly,” Withers said. “Governor Arthur will beapoplectic if any ill wind blows, even faintly, in the direction ofJohn Strachan.”
“I’m gonna send fer Marc Edwards,” Sturgessaid, “before the Governor does. I’ll have Rossiter fetch him hereright away, then go on to inform the young lad an’ his sister oftheir guardian’s death.”
“And I’ll have the body removed now to mysurgery for a more thorough examination. Tell the magistrate that awritten report should reach him by early afternoon.”
“I’ll get Wilkie, an’ we’ll begin to questionthe locals,” Cobb said. He wasn’t sure yet whether he was pleasedthat Marc would be invited to join (lead?) the investigation orirritated that the notion had come so readily to his chief.
SEVEN
Constable Rossiter, a large, taciturn man who washappiest when carrying out explicit commands, arrived at BriarCottage on Sherbourne Street before nine o’clock with the news ofDougherty’s murder. When Marc recovered from the shock of theconstable’s blunt announcement (“The Yankee lawyer’s been stabbedto death beside the jeweller’s an’ the Chief wants you to come”),he pressed for more details. But Rossiter merely repeated the lasthalf of his message (“Sarge just wants you to come”), tipped hishat to Beth, who had come up behind Marc in her kimono, and startedto walk away.
“You’re sure it’s Mr. Dougherty?”
Rossiter paused. “Ain’t too many fellas overthree hundred pounds wearin’ a gentleman’s duds,” Rossiter said.“Now I gotta go an’ tell the young ones about it.”
“Marc, you mustn’t let Mr. Rossiter breaksuch news to Brodie an’ Celia!” Beth said as she squeezed into thedoorway beside her husband.
“You’re right, darling,” Marc said, wishingBeth had not come out of the kitchen to hear Rossiter’s report.“You go on back to your chief,” he said to Rossiter, “and I’ll goto the Dougherty cottage. Tell Wilf that I’ll come to policequarters as soon as I can.”
Looking much relieved, Rossiter turned andhurried down the walk.
“I can’t believe this has happened,” Bethsaid. “Who would want to hurt Dick?”
Both Marc and Beth had got to know thecurmudgeonly barrister quite well during the McNair affair inJanuary. Beth in particular had befriended his young wards, havinghad them over for supper and gentle conversation several timessince then.
Marc sighed at Beth’s question, fightingagainst the anger rising in him, knowing that it was at least atemporary antidote to the welling sorrow. “Unfortunately, love, Ican think of a dozen or more who might have wished him dead.”
Beth insisted on coming with Marc, despitehis plea that she should neither upset herself nor strain herselfphysically.
“The horse is already hitched up,” she said.“Charlene an’ Jasper were plannin’ to go shoppin’. I’ll throw onone of my tents an’ be ready to go in three minutes.”
“But – ”
“But I’ll be better doin’ somethin’than stayin’ here alone cryin’ my eyes out.”
Ten minutes later they were on their way toBay Street.
***
Normally both Brodie and Celia would have been awayfrom home by nine-twenty – Brodie to the bank and Celia to MissTyson’s. But the failure of their guardian to return from hisconstitutional by eight o’clock had worried them. Not at first,even though his schedule was usually precise to the minute. Butonce or twice before, they knew, he had been persuaded to stop fora coffee at Baldwin House. However, he had never failed to returnbefore they left home at eight-thirty, for he insisted on hearing,over his breakfast, from their own lips what excitements orchallenges lay ahead for their day “out in the world,” just as hedemanded a full debriefing over supper. Brodie was getting ready tohead down to Baldwin’s when Marc and Beth pulled up in front of thecottage.
Marc was glad now that Rossiter had providedno details of the crime. The mere fact of Dick’s sudden demise wasshock enough for his wards. That he had been murdered (“Somevillain trying to rob him!” Brodie had cried) was not unimportant,but the loss of the man who had been in their lives since theirbirth and had taken their father’s place was the blow that cut mostkeenly. Marc was also glad that Beth had insisted on coming, forCelia collapsed into her arms and had to be helped into thekitchen, where the elderly cook joined Beth in fruitless attemptsat consoling the distraught girl.
It was then decided that Brodie would go toDr. Withers’ surgery to claim the body and learn what he could ofthe incident. Marc tried to reassure the lad that he and the policewould find the killer and bring him to justice.
“Justice won’t bring Uncle back,” Brodiesaid.
No, Marc thought, but later on, when shockturned to sorrow and quiet grieving, it would help.
“I’m takin’ Celia back to our place,” Bethsaid, brooking no dissent. “She c’n stay with us fer a few days ifshe needs to. Brodie, too, if he wants. I’ll send Charlene to Dorafer some sedatives.”
Minutes later, Marc found himselfquick-stepping down Bay Street. He was certain that the body wouldhave been removed by now and that he was likely to learn more atthe police quarters than at the scene of the crime. He could gothere later. Feeling slightly abashed that he was already thinkingmore like an investigator than a mourning friend, he swung westonto King and headed for the Court House.
***
Cobb and Wilkie left Chief Sturges and ConstableBrown to the thankless task of keeping the crowd back from thebody, and set out to interview any of the neighbouring shopkeeperswho might have been up early enough to have spotted the killerlurking about. Some of them might well be in the crowd by now, butmost would not leave their premises unattended.
“You take the shops on that side of thestreet,” Cobb said. “I’ll do this side.”
“What do I say?” Wilkie asked sleepily.
“Ask them if they saw anybodysuspicious-looking hangin’ about just before seven-thirty – anyonereally that they wouldn’t expect to see hereabouts.”
“Then what?”
“You come an’ tell me,” Cobb said. Ifthere were any lead – and that was a remote possibility – Cobbwanted to know first, before the Chief did and, he had to admit,before Marc Edwards.
“But I ain’t had my breakfast,” Wilkiecomplained.
“And that poor bastard in the alley won’thave any ever again!”
Cobb watched Ewan Wilkie trundle across thestreet and head for the little tearoom that didn’t open forbusiness until ten. Well, no matter. Cobb had an idea about wherehe should start first: Dusty Carter’s bakery, even though it wasthree doors down. Dusty was up working at five, and he was a nosyparker.
Dusty was behind the counter, drizzling icingon a tray of buns. He looked up and gave Cobb a gap-toothedgreeting.
“What’s all the commotion out there?” hesaid, licking his baby finger. “Somebody into fisticuffs this earlyon a Monday?”
“Worse,” Cobb said. “That lawyer fella fromNew York got himself stabbed to death in the alley between thejeweller’s an’ the grocer’s.”
“Ya don’t say. I woulda come out fer agander, but I had loaves in the oven,” the baker said, feeling heneeded to explain his lack of interest in such a calamitousevent.
Cobb could smell the fresh bread, and heardhis stomach rumble. He briefly told Dusty as much as he felt heought to about the grisly slaying, then said, “What I need to know,is whether you saw Mr. Dougherty go past here aboutseven-thirty?”