Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“Shuttleworth is a pompous émigré, but he’sbecome a favourite of Bishop Strachan, dining at the Palace andtithing like a spendthrift,” Hincks said. “Crenshaw is a patheticsocial-climber, but he is also a Legislative Councillor. Fullartonis an esteemed banker and usher at St. James, devoted to hiscrippled wife. Dutton’s father was once an influential member ofthe Family Compact, and he himself has weathered much tragedy inhis personal life.”

“I do realize all this – ”

“If these gentlemen are bullied and batteredin the witness-box on Monday morning and afternoon,” Dr. Baldwinsaid, “even as the debate on the attachments is proceeding a fewblocks away, we may not be able to hold the moderates to ourcause.”

“What we fear,” Hincks said, equally solemnnow, “is that the moderate Tories will hear of four of their ownbeing accused of murder by an advocate who for better or worse hasbeen working hard-in-glove with Reformers and Durhamites for thepast six months.”

“And it is quite probable that they willdecide enough is enough,” Dr. Baldwin added, “and begin circlingthe wagons. If so, then voting in favour of disabling attachmentsto the bill will prove irresistible.”

“And we don’t need to tell you that thefuture of the province hinges on the bill surviving intact,” Hinckssaid.

Suddenly Marc was finding it difficult tobreathe.

Robert looked at his young friend and protégéwith a face that was as grave and stricken as it was every year onthe anniversary of his wife’s death. “I know what we are asking ofyou, Marc. It pains me beyond measure. But I can find no otheroption if the province we love is to be made a place for ourchildren to thrive in.”

“You’re asking me to – ”

“I am. I want you to consider abandoning yourproposed defense for Brodie.”

“But the lad’s innocent!”

“I know. And we desperately want to have himacquitted,” Robert sighed. Much of the old melancholy had creptback into his face. “What we are asking, Marc, is that you findanother way to save him.”

Marc’s lips went numb. He felt as if thebook-lined walls were about to collapse inward and crush him – likethe ramparts at Gaza.

Marc was still numb when he crossed Front Street andbegan drifting westward along the broad, grassy expanse thatparalleled the shoreline of the bay and permitted the town’sworthiest ratepayers an uninterrupted view of blue water, bluersky, and the picturesque island-spit. Fishing boats withbig-bellied sails still plied the lake, and several had alreadyreturned from an early-morning excursion to sell their catch to thefishmongers, whose wooden stalls dotted the beach and whose criessang the virtues of perch or whitefish or, on a lucky day,sturgeon. Marc did not hear them as he wandered among those who hadcome down to the shore to buy their breakfast, take the “sea” air,or simply appraise the scenery from one of the many benches ortree-stumps set out for that purpose. Marc sat down on one of theseat the foot of York Street, and tried to think.

Robert’s proposal had been delivered in theform of a request, but it was no such thing. To ask someone tochoose between saving the life of one man, innocent or not, at theexpense of the well-being of all those in the province who wishedtheir children and grandchildren to have a country worth living in- was no choice at all. And Marc was not just any man; he was abarrister. He was ethically bound to offer his client the bestdefense possible – and that, with the assistance of Beth and Cobb,he had been able to do. After consulting with Robert this morning,his intention had been to go straight to the jail to bring Brodiethe good news that he now had every reasonable chance of beingacquitted, for his barrister had moved Heaven and Earth to producefive suspects with motive and opportunity – and now they hadsupporting evidence strong enough to convince a judge and jury. Butthat defense, the only viable one, was no longer an option. Somehowhe would have to stand by and watch Brodie be convicted. Somehow hewould have to find the courage to look him in the eyeafterwards.

Marc knew it was too early to catch Cobb inThe Cock and Bull, so he remained seated on the bench and waitedfor him to come down Bay Street along his regular day-patrol. Hedidn’t have to wait long. Cobb spotted him first, and crossed FrontStreet, dodging horse-carts, pack-mules and pedestrians headingtowards the Saturday market.

“Mornin’, major,” he said, coming up to thebench. “Somebody die?”

Marc motioned for Cobb to sit beside him.“No, but somebody we know is about to.”

From that cryptic remark, Marc went on totell Cobb exactly what had transpired in Francis Hincks’ library.Cobb listened with increasingly large intakes of breath and ruefulshakes of the head.

“So all the diggin’ we done to help Brodie isfer nothin’?” he said when Marc had finished.

“Yes. And I’ve got till Monday morning todevelop a new defense, and even if I manage to get my mind to work,I don’t think it’s possible to come up with one.” He grabbed Cobbby the shoulders, and shouted, “Goddammit, Cobb, it’s not right!How can we live in a country that lets innocent young men go to thegallows like lambs to the slaughter!”

“Jesus, major, I ain’t thehangman!”

Marc stopped shaking his partner and droppedhis hands disconsolately to his side. “I’m sorry, old friend.You’ve worked harder and risked more than any of us.”

“Risked the family jewels,” Cobb said.

Marc smiled weakly. “So you did.”

“I ain’t never seen you as low as this.You’re givin’ me a fright. We ain’t done yet, are we? All we gottado is get that peahead, Peck, to remember who made thedeath-threat. If you know who the killer is, you c’n callhim to the stand first an’ have a free run at him. You could evencall Nestor right off an’ scare the bejeezus outta the killerbefore he gets up there. That way, we won’t be ruinin’ anybody whodon’t deserve to be ruined, an’ there’ll be enough evidence to backyou up – so it won’t look like a political hatchet-job.”

Marc’s smile broadened. “We’ll make a lawyerout of you yet. And you’re perfectly correct in your thinking here.The problem is getting Nestor to remember that name. He has everyreason to do so, but can’t. Still, we have to try.”

“We could put him on the rack!”

“And break the few bones he still hasintact?”

“There’s other ways, ya know. Up in Irishtownthere’s a fella that does magic tricks an’ the like at thehooer-houses, an’ one of his tricks is to mesmerize customers an’make them do things even sillier than the ones they usually do inthere. They tell me he can make people remember what they thinkthey’ve forgot.”

“I doubt that Nestor is a candidate forhypnotism.”

“Alright, then I’ll head up to Nestor’s hovelan’ tear it up board by board. It could be that note is hiddensomewheres we didn’t look. Then we’d have the killer’s own writin’to bring to the judge.”

“It would certainly help to have anextortion-note with a death-threat on the back.”

“Well, then, I’ll go straight there now. An’then I’ll beetle into Irishtown an’ have a look fer themesmerizer.”

Cobb was beginning to work up some genuineexcitement, mainly to try and raise Marc’s spirits, but he noticedthat his partner had drifted into a brown study. Marc was staringout at the island as if some solution to the problem lay encryptedin the branches of its leafless trees. When he turned back to Cobb,he too was excited.

“That death-threat on the reverse side ofDuggan’s blackmail-note is the key to this whole business,” hesaid.

“But we ain’t got it – yet.”