Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“Brodie’s screwed,” Cobb said.

“It means that McGonigle feels he has all theevidence he needs to convict the lad.”

“Thanks to me.”

“An’ that means any more investigatin’ is outof the question.”

“I figured as much. But at least Brodie canpost bond an’ live at home – avoidin’ new-ammonia in thatdungeon.”

“I want you to start back on yer patrol firstthing in the mornin’.”

Cobb nodded. It looked as if Marc were on hisown this time. The major would have to play lawyer and investigator- with two weeks to go before the trial was to begin. Well, Cobbthought, maybe he himself would get lucky on his night-patrol nextweek and bump into the burglars. He could use the ten-dollarreward. Meanwhile, he would keep after his snitches to sniff outthe hiding-hole of Mr. Nestor Peck. It was the least he coulddo.

***

“Why’d you tell the lord ‘no’, Dad?”

“I can’t believe you did that!” Delia wasmore incredulous than her brother, but not by much.

Cobb had mentioned to Dora in passing that hehad been offered the role of Bottom by Sir Peregrine Shuttleworth,and had refused – tactfully, he claimed. That both his childrenwere within earshot he had not known until they accosted him in theparlour a little later, just as he was preparing his pipe andsettling down for an after-supper rest.

“I might’ve gotten to be a fairy, likePeaseblossom,” Delia said, half-teasing, half-serious. At thirteen,and a junior pupil at Miss Tyson’s Academy, she was no longerCobb’s little girl. Lanky, coltish in her movements, and inchingtowards womanhood, she had become, at times, strangely shy orseized by sudden tantrums. Just now, though, she seemed more likeher former, carefree, cheeky self – the one Cobb adored, andindulged.

“And I could’ve got to see the insideof Oakwood Manor,” Fabian said, ever the more practical of thepair. “I heard the ballroom’s as big as a cricket pitch.”

“There’s no way either of you hooligans’d getpast Sir Mucky Muck’s gate,” Cobb said.

“But he asked you , didn’t he?” Deliasaid. “We heard you telling Mom.”

“An’ you two shouldna been ears-droppin’ .”

“He really asked you to play Bottom ?”Fabian said, squatting on the arm of Cobb’s padded chair.

“That he did, son. I can’t deny it.”

“I remember you read me some of his speeches- when I was eight and sick with the mumps. Remember, you made melaugh when I didn’t want to.”

Cobb remembered, and was touched.

“You could’ve done it, couldn’t you?” Deliasaid.

“That wasn’t the point, luv. People like LordShuttlecock really don’t want to have anythin’ to do with ordinaryfolk like us. I expect they were stuck an’ couldn’t find anybodyelse.”

“But Lizzie Wade and I get along just fine,”Delia said. “There’s lots of snobs at Miss Tyson’s, but some ofthem’re all right once you get to know them”

“It’s the gettin’ to know ‘em that’s the hardpart.”

“But we could’ve at least come and watchedyou, Dad,” Fabian said.

Cobb sighed. “You don’t understand. Even theaudience is gonna be made up of swells an’ Family Compacters. Yougotta be invited. ”

This remark appeared to deflate theyoungsters, but before they could express their disappointmentfurther, Dora appeared in the kitchen doorway, filling it with hermotherly bulk.

“You should’ve said ‘yes,’ Cobb,” shegrinned. “It ain’t like you’d haveta do any actin’ !”

***

Cobb was just about to toss the last of the witheredcucumber vines on the bonfire when he turned to see Marc Edwardsstepping around the corner of the house. It was almost dark, andMarc had to pick his way through the remains of Cobb’s garden.

“I didn’t realize you were such a diligentgardener,” Marc said as he came up and stood beside Cobb and thesmoky blaze.

“Missus Cobb an’ the kids do most of it.”

“I can’t keep Beth out of ours. She’s still afarmer at heart.”

Cobb gave the fire a poke. “I’m real sorryabout Brodie.”

Marc put a hand on Cobb’s shoulder. “That’swhat I’ve come to talk about.”

“You figured out a way to help the lad?” Cobbsaid hopefully.

“I may have. But it’ll require your activeassistance.”

Cobb’s wart twitched. “The Sarge’s warned meoff the case, major. I go trampin’ the streets again first thing inthe mornin’.”

“I know. And you also know that I wouldn’task you to do anything improper or anything that would compromiseyou in any way.”

“But if I can’t do any real investigatin’ feryou, how c’n I help?”

“Well, I came up with an idea this afternoon,after going over all the statements, including Brodie’s.”

“Which is?”

Marc hesitated. “I’ll lay out the entirestrategy, I promise, as soon as it becomes viable. Right now,unless I can obtain some or all of the information I need to makeit work, it’s just wishful thinking.”

“I lost ya after ‘viable’.”

Marc smiled. “You recall our earlierdiscussion of the case. We had identified five possible suspects,men who had means and opportunity to kill Duggan and blame someoneelse. And there’s a good chance each of them had a motive – thesame motive.”

“Which we got no chance of provin’.”

“That’s what I thought at first. With thepolice investigation shut down, I myself could try to obtain thatproof, but without official backing and as Brodie’s counsel, Iwould have no way of compelling our suspects to open up to me.”

“They’re more interested in theirplay-actin’.”

“I hope so,” Marc said cryptically.

“Whaddya mean?” Cobb said, suddenlyleery.

“I decided that what we needed was someonewho might be in a perfect position to have casual andunguarded conversations with at least four of the suspects, duringwhich that person might pick up information about what aspects oftheir past lives they wished to keep secret, wished so badly thatthey were willing to pay off a blackmailer.”

“You gonna send somebody up to OakwoodManners to spy on ‘em? A servant maybe?”

“Better than that: a bona fide memberof their little acting troupe.”

Cobb paled.

“I’m asking you to go up to Shuttleworth’splace tomorrow and accept the baronet’s offer to play Bottom.”

Cobb dropped his poker-stick. “But I gotta goback to work. Next week I’ll be on night-patrol. I ain’t got thetime to do somethin’ like that.”

“You and Wilkie share the south-east patrol,don’t you?”

“Yup. Turnabout.”

“And Wilf Sturges doesn’t care which of youtakes which shift?”

“I guess not.”

“And Wilkie owes you a favour or two?”

“About half a dozen,” Cobb said with aresigned sigh.

“So you could arrange to take the day-patrolfor a couple of weeks – between now and the trial?”

“But what chance have I got, even if I wascrazy enough to go up there an hog-nog with the swells? Onlythe one that killed Duggan’ll know the blackmailer’s dead. Theothers could still be leavin’ their parcels in ashcans all overtown. They’ll be spooked an’ leery of me, won’t they? Not casualan’ friendly-like, that’s fer sure.”

“Now that’s thinking like an investigator,isn’t it? I thought of that, too. So I asked Francis Hincks to putthe full story of the murder on the front page of his newspaper,the Examiner , tomorrow afternoon. It will mention that Mr.Broderick Langford was apparently being blackmailed by one AlbertDuggan and allegedly retaliated by clubbing said blackmailer todeath. References to the alley, the brown-paper parcel and theashcan should leave no doubt as to the modus operandi ofthis particular blackmailer.”