Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

Which is when the blackmailer drove his kneetowards Brodie’s crotch. The blow was poorly aimed, however, andcaught him on the thigh. But it lent an alarming amount of force tothe punch that Brodie landed on the villain’s left cheek. Hebuckled under the impact, slid to the ground in a sitting position,then slumped onto his back and lay still – the half-opened parcelbeside him.

My God, I’ve killed him, was Brodie’s firstthought. Ignoring the pain in the fingers of his right hand, heknelt down and put a trembling palm on the man’s chest. It washeaving steadily up and down: he had merely been knockedunconscious. Still, the fact that Brodie had, against all theprinciples he had been taught, struck a fellow human being in angerleft him paralyzed, unable to think or act. For a minute, perhapslonger, he remained crouched over his victim, dazed andunseeing.

Finally, he was able to stand up, and lookaround. Then he did a very foolish thing. He picked up his hat, andhe ran.

Constable Cobb, to his surprise and not a littlechagrin, found himself patrolling the south-east sector of the cityon a Wednesday evening – during a week when it had been his turn totake the more relaxed day-shift. But last night Ewan Wilkie had, heclaimed, spotted a burglar slipping out of the back window of ahome on York Street, had given chase, tripped on a prowling tomcat,and turned his ankle. Both cat and burglar escaped unharmed. So itwas that one of the part-time constables had been called in to takeCobb’s regular day-shift, while the veteran Cobb replaced Wilkie.Fortunately, the first couple of hours this evening had beenpeaceful, and in one or two of the lulls Cobb had found time for aflagon of decent ale at The Cock and Bull.

He was just ambling west along WellingtonStreet when he saw someone zigzagging along the side-path towardshim. Some drunk, no doubt, beetling home before the wife’s curfew,or dander, was up. And young, too, by the slimness of figure andquickness of step. Cobb spread his feet and stood his ground. Thefellow almost crashed chest-first into him before coming to anabrupt stop.

“Jesus, what’re you doin’ out here like this,Brodie Langford?”

Brodie stepped back, bent over, and gaspeddesperately for breath.

“Somebody chasin’ you?”

Brodie straightened up. His face was crimsonand his eyes wild. “Is it you, Cobb?” he panted.

“Last time I checked my trousers it was,”Cobb said, giving Brodie the once-over. “You ain’t drunk, areya?”

“You’ve got to help me, Cobb. Please.”

Cobb glanced over Brodie’s shoulder, butcould see no-one menacing behind him.

“Then you better tell me what’s goin’on.”

“I have just assaulted a man. In the alleybehind The Sailor’s Arms.”

“What’d he do? Try an’ rob ya?”

“I punched him hard on the cheek and hecollapsed. Look at my knuckles. I may’ve broken them.”

“Was he layin’ in wait there?”

“No, no. He was trying to extort money fromme. But I had no cause to strike him. I intended to haul him downto the police quarters and have him dealt with there. But I lost mytemper, I – ”

“An’ you decked him, eh? That’s pretty muchwhat I’d’ve done, lad. No need to make a fuss about it. A villain’sa villain.”

“But I might’ve killed him.”

The young man was clearly distraught. “A tapon the cheekbone never killed nobody,” he said, helpfully, as a manof much experience in such matters.

“Would you go back there with me, Cobb? Ishould never have run off. I don’t know why I did.”

“Human nature, likely. I’ll go down thereright now, but there’s no need fer you to come. Why don’t you goalong to our quarters? The Sarge an’ Gussie, our clerk, are workin’late tonight. You can tell the chief yer version of what happened,whilst I wake the bugger up an’ drag him back there as soon as Ican.”

“Yes. Yes. I think that’s for the best. Thankyou.”

“No need to thank me, lad. It’s been a borin’night – till now.”

***

As Brodie approached the new police quarters at therear of the City Hall, he was relieved to see a light still on inthe reception area. The ten-minute walk here had given him time tocatch his breath and get a grip on his nerves. He also began tothink clearly for the first time since he had grabbed theblackmailer by the lapels. It seemed that, inexplicably, the fellowhad got wind of Diana’s indiscretion. He had, had he not, mentioneda baby girl in Montreal ? Many people knew that Dianahad come from Montreal to serve as governess to Robert Baldwin’schildren. The reference to the baby girl could have been a luckyguess, but then if it had proved a wrong guess, the entireblackmail scheme would have collapsed. The villain, whoever he was,must know something . And if Cobb succeeded in hauling himbefore the law, would he blurt out what he did know, as hehad threatened to? Would he be believed? That was a chillingthought, for it was not only a question of Diana’s suitability as awife (he loved her and had already forgiven her everything) but ofher general reputation. Bearing a child out of wedlock, althoughcommon enough, was damaging to women of the “better classes” orthose in positions of trust, like tutors or governesses. Diana’semployer was a kind and a fair man, but at the moment – in thedelicate political climate – he could not afford to have theslightest breath of scandal blow over his household. He would haveno choice but to dismiss Diana. She was devoted to those children.She would be devastated. And that, of course, was the reason he haddecided to confront the blackmailer and end the threat. But it nowappeared he had made the situation worse.

In addition to this anxiety, Brodie wasextremely upset with himself for the intemperate nature of hisoutburst in the alley and the fact that, in striking the fellow inresponse to a mere verbal threat and an ineffectual knee in thethigh, he had broken the law – by using excessive force. He hadbeen raised in a legal household. Both his father and the man whobecame his guardian were lawyers. Brodie had been taught to reverethe law, and abhor violence. In one blind, passionate moment, hehad violated both codes.

He entered the police quarters to find thechief constable, Wilfrid Sturges, sitting at a table besideAugustus French, the police clerk. They were poring over a pile ofofficial-looking papers.

“Good grief, what brings a lusty lad like youin here on a Wednesday evenin’?” Sturges said to Brodie in hisbluff, friendly manner.

“It’s a long story,” Brodie said.

“Well, then, let’s hear it, lad. Gussie hereneeds to give his nib-finger a rest, eh, Gussie?”

Gussie had not bothered to look up at theintruder. Nothing short of an earthquake under his chair coulddissuade him from finishing a sentence once he had started it. Hegrunted an indeterminate response and speeded up his nib-finger,splattering ink in three directions.

“You look like you stepped on a ghost’spetticoat,” Sturges said, pulling out a chair and motioning forBrodie to sit down opposite him. “Somethin’ happen out there? Ithought this was the night of yer Shakespeare meetin’.”

“Yes, sir. It was. But I damn near killed aman afterwards.”

“How?”

“I punched him – hard – on the leftcheek.”

Gussie’s quill pen stuttered, then movedon.

“Then you better come into the office wherewe can talk about it undisturbed.”

“Yes. Thank you. But I’d like Mr. French tocome in with us.”

“Gussie?”

“I’d like to make a formal statement aboutwhat happened half an hour ago – a sort of confession.”

“Jesus, Brodie. This sounds serious.”

“I’m afraid it is, sir.”