Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

Cobb himself walked out to Front Street. Hepulled out his pocket-watch. It was time to head up to Nestor’splace. He was not concerned about locating his long-time snitch.Whenever Nestor was frightened or upset (an almost dailyoccurrence), he headed straight for whatever hovel he occupied anddrank himself into a stupor. The main problem would be getting himconscious enough to talk straight. Certainly he was the only personwho might be able to provide the police with information about thismysterious blackmailing cousin.

***

Marc was waiting for him outside the chickenhatchery. Cobb took ten minutes to fill him in on his interviewwith Gillian Budge. While he occasionally scribbled notes – toplease the chief and his clerk – Cobb had a prodigious memory foranything he heard or saw. His children, Fabian and Delia, had thegift as well, memorizing great swatches of poetry and reciting itto him and Dora on long winter evenings.

“Well, Cobb, you’ve turned up a lot of usefulinformation in a short time. Surely we’ll be able to find onewitness out of that bunch to help Brodie’s cause.”

“I’m puttin’ my money on Budge theelder.”

“While I was at Robert’s, Horace Fullartonarrived. I had sent word to him on Brodie’s behalf. He wasextremely upset at the news, as you can imagine. He has alreadyvolunteered to act as a character witness, should Brodie becharged.”

“Did he see anythin’ last night?”

“He says not. But I couldn’t reallyinterrogate him in the middle of a political strategy meeting.”

“I see. Well, let’s give Nestor a friendlykick in the ribs an’ see if he knows more’n his own name.”

They approached the crumbling stone-cottage.No smoke curled out of its gap-toothed chimney. Cobb pushed thedoor open and stepped inside.

“Jesus, major. What a dump!”

Marc stepped up beside Cobb. The main roomwas a shambles, though it soon became clear that that was itscustomary, everyday condition. And the effect of the litter anddetritus was not improved by the murky, sallow light let in by theoil-paper window-panes. Two small, doorless chambers adjoined thebig one.

“Let’s wake the ugly bugger up,” Cobb said,not unkindly. He went into the nearest bedroom. “Ain’t in here,” hesaid. “This looks like Duggan’s room. It’s too tidy ferNestor.”

Marc was standing in the other doorway.“No-one’s in here either.”

“Damn. He must’ve gone out fer more booze.”Cobb kicked over an empty whiskey-jug beside the three-leggedkitchen table.

“I think he’s gone farther than that,” Marcsaid. “The commode has been emptied and the drawers tossed on thefloor.”

It was then that Cobb spied the sheet ofpaper on the table. He picked it up and stood close to the nearestwindow. “The bugger’s flown the coop,” he muttered. “Take a look atthis.”

Marc did so, and read:

Cob

I had to get out of towen. Yoo poleec wil

blame me for Berts deth. See he gets a

desent funeral

Yor frend

Nestor

“I know he’s frightened at what happened,” Marcsaid, “but I don’t believe he’ll have gone far.”

“I hope not. But what if Duggan really didhave money – like Nestor was tellin’ me last week? Maybe Nestorbeetled home last night, dug it out an’ took off fer Kingston orMontreal?”

“Well, let’s give this hovel a thoroughgoing-over,” Marc said. “There’re plenty of niches and mouse-holesfor hiding contraband in.”

“Good idea. And I see you brung thelantern.”

***

Twenty minutes later, soiled and disgusted, theyabandoned the search. Duggan, it seemed, fancied himself agentleman and had several coats and vests to be examined, butnothing useful was turned up. No cash was found anywhere. Oneenvelope had been retrieved from a drawer in Duggan’s commode, butthere was no letter inside.

“It’s addressed to Albert Duggan, Ass-choir of Toronto,” Cobb snarled. “Somebody outta townknew he was here, eh?”

“Let me have a closer look,” Marc said.

“Nothing inside, major.”

“Not a letter, no. But see, here, how theflap has been cut after the seal was broken?”

“What about it?”

“I believe it’s meant to assist one inturning the envelope inside out.” Marc demonstrated his theory.

There on the underside of a front flap,unobservable under ordinary circumstances, was a rectangle ofscribbles: letters and numbers by the look of it.

“We may have found what we we’ve beensearching for,” Marc said.

Cobb leaned over, squinting in the dim light.“Not another code?” he sighed, recalling an earlierinvestigation.

“I don’t know. But let’s go some place wherewe can examine this properly and determine its significance.”

“How about a window-seat at The Cock andBull?”

***

“Still looks like hen-scratchin’ to me,” Cobb said,handing Duggan’s inside-out envelope back across the table andtaking a long pull on his ale.

“I’m not so sure,” Marc said. He hadscrutinized the note – if that’s what it was – for several minutesbefore sliding it across to Cobb. “The lettering is deliberatelyminiature but very precise.” He looked at it again.

PS – £10 – T10 – IT

AD – £2 – W93 – SH

HF – £3 – Th10 – CB

CC – £5 – F10 – T

TB – £2 – S93 – PB?

BL – £5 – W93? – SA?

“Let’s start with the assumption that Dugganwas not merely a blackmailer but a multiple blackmailer,” Marcsaid.

“Alright. Then what?”

“At the bottom of what is obviously a list ofsome kind, we find the initials BL.”

“Brodie Langford!”

“Has to be. And next to it a notation forfive pounds, the exact sum that Brodie was to bring to the alleyand leave in the ashcan.”

Cobb took back the note. “An’ the ‘W’ refersto Wednesday. But what in hell’s ‘93’?”

“Nine-thirty. The time of the deposit. Ibelieve the exact time was important because, as he did withBrodie, Duggan hid nearby until the coast was clear, then moved outto seize his prize and scuttle off.”

“So you figure none of these poor devils knewwho had got the goods on ‘em?”

“Probably not. They appear to have paid forhis anonymous silence.”

“An’ the last letters here could be theplace?”

“‘SA’ for Sailor’s Arms, in Brodie’s case.We’d have to guess at the others, but with Duggan dead, it hardlymatters.”

“What about the question-mark here at theend?”

“A good guess would be that Duggan had justtargeted Brodie and was setting him up for an initial payout.”

Cobb shook his head. “But cash like thatevery week? There’s five other names here! Duggan must’ve beenrollin’ in it!”

“And he’s been here since late summer,remember.”

“But how would a deadbeat like Duggan, livin’with the likes of Nestor Peck, ever get enough dirt on these richgents to wangle that kinda money outta them?”

“You’ve always maintained Nestor was the bestsnitch in the city.”

“I reckon it’s possible. No wonder Nestortook off. He must’ve been up to his gums in this business, thoughhe sure put on a good poor-man’s act last week in this veryroom.”

“You think he’s got the proceeds of Duggan’scrime?”

“You bet I do. An’ the toothless bugger’sprobably all the way to Buffalo by now, lookin’ to buy a set ofwooden teeth.”

“How about our trying to figure out who theothers on this list are?”

Cobb studied the list for a minute, thensmiled up at Marc, who was smiling back.

“Has to be the Shakespeareans, don’t it?”

“Yes. There’s no way it couldn’t be when eachset of initials matches five of the members: Brodie Langford,Andrew Dutton, Horace Fullarton, Cyrus Crenshaw and PeregrineShuttleworth.”