Dusty placed another tray of buns before him.“Sometimes I do, if I happen to be out front here. Regular as rain,he is, waddlin’ along. But today I was in back, at the oven.”
Well, Cobb thought, it had been worth a try.And he could buy a sticky bun while he was here – asconsolation.
“But I did see someone else – in the lanebehind,” Dusty said, keeping a sharp eye all the time on the streamof icing.
“You did?” Cobb said, forgetting his stomachfor a moment. “Somebody you knew?”
“Matter of fact, it was. And I thought it wasdamn strange, too.”
This could be it, Cobb thought. “Go on.”
“From the window in back, just aboutseven-thirty – I know because I was just taking out a timed batchof bread – I saw this fella kind of weavin’ his way along, keepin’to the shadows on the other side, an’ lookin’ about him all thewhile.”
“It wasn’t Nestor scoutin’ garbage?”
“No, no, I seen him comin’ along,goin’ the opposite way about fifteen minutes later. This fellawasn’t scoutin’, he was skulkin’, or else runnin’ away fromsomeone.”
“And you recognized him?”
“I did. In fact, I saw him just yesterday -in church.”
“Who?”
Dusty deliberately overshot a bun and reacheddown to smooth away the errant icing. Then he looked up and said,“It was the verger at St. James: Reuben Epp.”
Cobb got a double shock. Epp had been vergerat St. James for years – a loner and a misanthrope. And hecertainly would have heard the Archdeacon’s sermon with its closingclarion-call. Cobb wasn’t sure whether or not he ought to beelated. If Epp was involved in Dougherty’s murder, the way aheadwas fraught with dangers and pitfalls.
“I better go an’ talk to him, then,” Cobbsaid.
“He lives out at the edge of town,” Dustysaid, choosing a bun. “In a shanty on Brock Street behind thetannery.”
“I know the place.”
“Here, take a bun with you.”
***
Cobb did not immediately relay Dusty Carter’s news tohis chief. When he came out of the bakery, he saw several burly menlifting Dougherty’s body onto a wagon, with Chief Sturges, Brownand Rossiter haranguing the mob that milled around them. He did notsee Marc Edwards anywhere. Perhaps he had gone into the alley toinspect the crime scene. Anyway, he had already made up his mind.He hailed Wilkie over to him from the doorway of theconfectioner’s.
“We’re goin’ over to Brock Street. Dustyspotted Reuben Epp actin’ suspicious in the lane behind thebakery.”
“You think he done it?”
“I don’t know, but he was certainly close by,an’ might be able to tell us what he saw.”
“But Reuben’ll be at St. James by now. He hasto open the front doors at eight o’clock every day.” The AnglicanChurch was part of Wilkie’s regular patrol, and although naturallyindolent, Wilkie knew the comings and goings of his area.
“I thought he’d be at home because Dusty saidhe was headin’ west earlier.”
“Could be. But the old fella falls off thewagon sometimes, an’ the Rector’s been on his case fer bein’ latean’ sloppy. Drunk or sober, I think he’ll be around St. James bynow.”
Cobb made a decision. “All right. You go onover to Epp’s shanty. If he’s there, make sure he stays there. I’llnip across to St. James an’ see if he’s at work.”
Wilkie, bless him, did not think to questionwhether or not Cobb had been given any authority to dictate hisactivities. He turned and was about to trudge off when Cobb thoughtto ask, “ Do you know anythin’ else about Epp that I oughtaknow?”
Wilkie stopped to think. “Well, he’s a kindareligious fanatic, they tell me. When he ain’t drinkin’ an’belligerent, he’s floppin’ about on his knees an’ mumblin’prayers.”
This was an unusually lengthy thought forWilke, and Cobb was grateful. Marc had taught him that it wasalways best to know a lot about someone you were about tointerrogate or accuse – before you arrived. He felt a surgeof excitement. Like Marc, he had come – grudgingly, he was thefirst to admit – to admire Doubtful Dick Dougherty. And even thoughthe man might have done some unsavoury things back in New YorkCity, Cobb was convinced that they had not been repeated here inToronto. Celia and Brodie were proof of that. He hoped, of course,that his friend and mentor, Marc Edwards, would be pleased that hewas acting on his own, putting the master’s lessons to gooduse.
“Say, Cobb,” Wilkie said as the latter turnedto go. “You got any more of them sticky buns?”
EIGHT
Cobb reached St. James ten minutes later. He decidedto go around to the vicarage, situated behind the church proper.The front of the house faced onto Church Street, but forconvenience in the harsh winters, Archdeacon Strachan had had anenclosed walkway constructed to connect the church offices andvestry with the rear portion of the vicars’ residence. (Yearsearlier, the bishop-in-waiting had built himself a red-brickmansion on Front Street between Simcoe and York, aptly dubbed thePalace.) The main section of the vicarage was occupied by theReverend Quentin Hungerford, his wife Constance, and their fivesurviving children. The junior vicar, David Chalmers, was assignedtwo rooms in the cramped servants-quarters at the rear. Chalmers’study opened onto the draughty vestibule that led either to theback door or to the walkway and the church. Cobb hoped to find oneof the vicars at home so that he could determine whether Reuben Epphad showed up and, while he was at it, pick up any other usefulinformation that might come his way. It was what Marc would havedone, Cobb thought, rather than merely barging in and demanding tosee the fellow.
A young woman was sweeping the stoop at theback door of the vicarage.
“Missy Prue?” Cobb said, recognizing theHungerford’s servant.
“I am. An’ you’re Cobb, if I ain’t mistaken.”She flashed Cobb an impish grin that made his heart execute half asomersault.”
“Is the Reverend in?” he managed to say.
“One of ‘em is. You lookin’ fer the handsomeone or the grumpy one?”
“I’ll take either.”
Missy made an elaborate mock-curtsy andbounced back inside. A moment later she returned and said formally,“Reverend Hungerford is in his study – down the hall, through thedouble doors, an’ turn right.”
As he stepped around her, she whispered,“I’ve seen him in better moods.”
But Hungerford was waiting for his visitoroutside the study with a welcoming smile on his face. “Come along,Horatio. There’s a cozy fire in here.”
Cobb followed him in, unbuttoned hisgreatcoat, sat on the edge of a fragile-looking chair, and easedhis helmet down on the floor beside him.
Hungerford strode over to the fireplace andrubbed his hands with more vigour than Pontius Pilate before theCrucifixion. “What can I do for a member of our intrepidconstabulary?” he said heartily.
Cobb eyed him for a moment before answering.The senior vicar was of medium height, large-boned (his hands,though pale and uncallused, could have comfortably cradled ablacksmith’s hammer), craggy-faced, and alarmingly bald on top. Hecompensated for the latter infelicity by letting the rest of hishair sprout wherever it wished, while his sideburns flourishedunchecked. A middle-aged paunch was poorly disguised by his purplewaistcoat. The dark eyes, deep in their bony sockets, seemedopaque, incapable of emotion whatever else the face andbody-gestures might be communicating.
“There’s been some trouble on King Streetnear Galsworthy’s shop,” Cobb said with deliberate vagueness. “Wethink maybe your Mr. Epp might’ve been a witness to the incident -on his way to work, like.”
Again Hungerford smiled with everything buthis eyes. “I gather you don’t wish to reveal the details of the‘incident,’ as you term it?”
“It was a murder,” Cobb said. “Happened aboutseven-thirty. Somebody saw Reuben in the area about that time. I’dlike to talk to him about it.”