“How would I know anything about that?”
“You were at the Charity Ball the othernight?”
“I was.”
“Did you see Mr. Gagnon dance with thelady?”
Trueman’s brow furrowed. “I saw her dancingwith a Frenchman. I heard them babbling in that tongue.”
“You must have been very close to them.”
“I happened to be nearby, yes. By purecoincidence.”
“Did they look to be friendly?”
“They were dancing a reel. You can’t get toofriendly in those circumstances.”
“Did they talk afterwards?”
“As a matter of fact, they did. They werecozied up near the drinks table.” Trueman’s disinterested mannersuddenly became personal. There was venom in his response.
“Like they knew each other?”
“I really couldn’t say. I merely glanced intheir direction.”
“I would’ve thought you’d’ve kept a close eyeon the lady.”
Trueman’s moustache quivered. “And why do yousay that, sir? Are you being impertinent?”
“Rumour has it that you and the lady werevery close friends.”
“There’s no need to beat about the bush,Constable,” Trueman said with a tight little laugh. “The whole townknows I have been pursuing Mrs. Cardiff-Jones for some time. I hadplanned to marry the lady, if she would have me.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“So what are you driving at?”
“I just thought you might’ve been a littlebit jealous.”
“Pah!” Trueman snorted. “Why would I bejealous of a Frenchman Delores had just met on the dance-floor.Everybody knows she was a bit of a flirt. I was used to it. Iwasn’t bothered in the least.”
“I see. So you’re sure there was nothin’goin’ on between the two?”
“As I said, sir, I don’t see how that waspossible.”
Cobb cleared his throat. “Where were youabout seven-thirty on the night of the murder?”
Trueman blanched. “What do you mean? Am I asuspect?”
“Please, sir. Just answer the question.”
“I think you’re going beyond your authority,sir. I loved the woman, and I’d like to be left alone togrieve.”
“Gagnon’s lawyer, Marc Edwards, is fond ofpointing to other possible murderers durin’ the trial. We need tomake sure you’re not one of them.” Cobb was particularly pleasedwith this improvised rationale.
“Oh, I see. Very well, then. I was playingwhist at the Reverend Ogilvie’s that evening. From six o’clockonward. The Reverend and several others can vouch for me.”
“The Reverend will do.”
“Do you have any further questions?”
“Just one. This glove was found near thescene of the crime. Is it by chance yours?”
Trueman looked at the glove with distaste.“It is not, sir.”
“Would you mind tryin’ it on?”
“I would – ”
“Please, humour me, sir.”
“Oh, all right.”
He slipped the glove on easily.
“It’s too big,” Trueman said quickly.
“Looks fine to me,” Cobb said, retrieving theglove.
“But I don’t wear gloves that colour. Askanybody.”
Cobb smiled. “Thank you, sir. You been mosthelpful. I’ll see myself out.”
***
The Reverend Olgilvie lived only a few doors fromTrueman’s place. The Reverend was in, fortunately. He was a paleman with an extra ring around his waist and a pair of sidewhiskers. Cobb interviewed him in his office.
“How can I help you, Constable?” he said witha friendly smile.
“I’m checkin’ on an alibi by Mr. LionelTrueman. It’s in regard to the death of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones. He sayshe was here playin’ whist two nights ago. From six o’clock on.”
“Well, sir, we were certainly playing cardsthat evening, and Mr. Trueman arrived shortly before six. But hewasn’t here the whole evening.”
“Oh?”
“About six-thirty a message arrived for himfrom a friend who wished to meet him at his house. It’s just half ablock from here. He left right away. He didn’t come back tillalmost eight o’clock. But I’m sure he had nothing to do with anycrime. He’s a respectable gentleman.”
“Did he meet his friend?”
“No, the friend didn’t show up. Truemanwaited a while, then came back here.”
“I see,” Cobb said, getting up. “Thank youfer that information.”
“I trust it’ll be useful. Good luck in yourinvestigation, Constable. It was a horrendous murder, and thekiller needs to have justice done.”
Cobb made his way out to the street. So, hethought, Lionel Trueman had no alibi for the critical time ofseven-thirty, unless someone in his household remembered him thereat that time. Cobb couldn’t actually see a motive for Trueman,unless he was indeed the jealous type and had been betrayed orrebuffed by the lady. Love scorned could quickly turn to hate – andrage.
Horace Macy, the chemist, was up next. AsMacy’s shop was on King near Jarvis, Cobb took the opportunity tostop at the Police Quarters on Front Street. Gussie French, thepolice clerk was as usual sitting at his table in the receptionarea copying out a document of some sort. He glanced up at Cobb forthe half-second it took him to skip a comma, and went back to hisscribbling.
“I need you to take down some notes,Gussie.”
Gussie’s pen stopped its stuttering.
“I gotta finish this warrant, first,” hesaid.
“You c’n do that later. My notes areimportant.”
“If you insist, Detective,” Gussiesaid. Ever since Cobb had been promoted, Gussie had taken it as apersonal affront. Even though he liked to boast of his ability totake shorthand, he seemed to resent Cobb’s cavalier way withnote-making and dictation. Cobb, on his part, got even by dictatingat a pace just faster than Gussie’s pen could keep up with.
“You want me to copy yer notes and fix themup?” Gussie said.
“Oh, no, I’ll dictate them. They’re a mitemessy.”
Relying more on his prodigious memory thanthe jottings in his notebook, Cobb dictated the results of hisinterviews with Lionel Trueman and the Reverend Ogilive. Gussie’spen flew across the page. There was no time to pause for blotting.Gussie cursed under his breath, but his pride would not let himstop and complain.
When Cobb had finished, he thanked Gussie,who grunted a response, as Cobb headed out the door before theChief could corral him.
Cobb walked up to King and over to Jarvis.The chemist’s shop was a dingy little place sandwiched between twomore prominent shops. Cobb had heard that Macy’s business wasfailing, and he could well believe it as he went into its murkyinterior. A small window in the front provided the only light.Apothecary jars and wooden boxes cluttered the room. Macy himselfwas standing behind a counter at the end of the room, itself agogwith scales, spoons, bottles and boxes. Macy looked surprised tosee a potential customer enter, and he dredged up a smile.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m Detective-Constable Cobb, sir, and I’vecome to ask you a few questions about the death of Mrs.Cardiff-Jones.”
Macy’s face fell. “Damn tragedy, that. Whatsort of nut would throw acid in a woman’s face – and kill her?”
“You knew the lady?”
Macy smiled slyly. “I did.”
“How well?”
“There’s no use in me pretending otherwise,Constable; I knew her very well. My daily visits to Rosewood -although supposed to be secret – were observed it seems by half thetown. About the only one who didn’t know was her father. Whowouldn’t have approved. I have been devastated by her death.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about her father.”
“Oh? Well, what does it matter now? He’s losta daughter and I’ve lost a possible wife.”
“And her fortune,” Cobb said, leaning on thecounter.
“Now, now, sir, there’s no need for that kindof talk. I was in love with Delores, not her money.”
“Did you know that there were othersuitors?”
Macy blanched, then smiled grimly. “I foughta duel with one of them, remember? Why do you ask?”
“I was wonderin’ if the lady chose somebodyelse to be her mate.”