Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

That afternoon and early evening wereunbearably long. There was nothing to do but wait – and hope thatthe messages had been read and the bait taken. Jasper came over tovisit Charlene, and Marc sat down with them and Beth to reviewtheir tentative plans for the addition to Briar Cottage in thespring (when Maggie was to be joined by a baby brother). Jasper wasparticularly excited because he had enlisted the aid of BillyMcNair, a master carpenter and friend of the Edwards. Billy andJasper would work together on the new rooms, and if Billy weresuitably impressed, he promised to take Jasper on as a partner. Inthe meantime, he would try to pass along small jobs to Jasper overthe winter.

After supper Marc tried to while away thetime reading Oliver Twist , a novel that Beth had recentlypurchased by an author she had taken a fancy to. But the wordsremained merely words on the page. Every ten minutes or so he wouldconsult his pocket-watch, and try not to think of all the thingsthat could go wrong with his plan. Maggie provided some welcomediversion when she astonished her parents by attempting to crawlacross the rug in front of the fire.

Finally, at nine o’clock, he kissed Beth,bussed the sleeping baby, and drove over to Cobb’s house. Nestorand Cobb were waiting on the stoop. No-one said a word as theytrotted along King Street towards Yonge. The scheme had been goneover thoroughly. Everyone knew his role. Nestor was pale, butlooked determined enough. Much depended upon him.

At the Court House Marc pulled the carriageup, parked it at the side of the building and tethered the horse toa post. Cobb left first, followed a minute later by Nestor, andthen Marc. With Cobb leading the way, they walked at one-minuteintervals northward up Toronto Street to Newgate, then west acrossYonge to Bay. There they turned south, keeping to the shadows, butmeeting no-one on this quiet Sabbath evening. As each neared theeast-west service lane above King, they slipped soundlessly into itand moved due east until they came to the head of the alley inwhich the exchange was to take place. This elaborate and roundaboutroute had been necessary, in Marc’s thinking, because the killermight decide to arrive well before ten o’clock in order to commanda view of the obvious entrance to the alley – from King Street.Cobb and Marc must not be seen anywhere near Nestor in advance ofthe event. And it was imperative that both of them witness theexchange of note and cash, and overhear any incriminating dialoguebetween Nestor and his “target.”

Cobb now left Marc and Nestor, and inched hisway south among the shadows of the alley, lit only by pale shaftsof moonlight here and there as they shot through the gaps betweengables and chimney-pots. Ten yards from King Street, he eased backinto an alcove and squatted down, hidden completely by shadow.Next, Nestor came down the alley, not worrying that he might beseen since the killer expected him to be here. At the halfway pointhe stopped, peered nervously about, found the apple-box he waslooking for, and sat down to wait. Just in front of him a swath ofmoonlight poured down, into which he could step and be seen whenthe time came to do so. Meanwhile, Marc crouched down, as Cobb haddone, and stayed hidden at the head of the alley, with a clear viewsouthward all the way down to King Street. They were all now inplace, their arrival unobserved. The waiting began.

***

And a long wait it was. It must have been close toten-thirty when Cobb’s legs began to cramp and the scarf at histhroat no longer kept the chill out. He shifted from side to side,to no avail. Finally he had to sit down on his haunches and stretchhis legs full out – leaving himself vulnerable. Fifteen yards away,he could hear Nestor cough and the apple-box creak. If the killerdidn’t come soon, Nestor was certain to panic and make a break forit. Cobb had just worked the cramp out of his left calf andpainfully got back up into a crouching position when he heardfootsteps. The sound, just audible, came from the King Streetentrance to the alley. The new arrival was treading slowly,stopping every few feet – probably to make sure he was alone. Cobbwanted to tilt his face up to have a look, but he dared not forfear that either the movement or the whites of his eyes would alertthe killer, and spook him. So he remained utterly still as thefellow moved past him, not five feet away, and on up towards Nestorand the apple-box. As instructed, Nestor must have now stepped upinto the light, for his voice, trembling and falsetto, could beheard saying, “You brung the money?”

Cobb raised himself up at this, and peered upthe alley. Nestor was standing in a wedge of pale moonlight, butthe killer was beside him, obscured by shadow. He was wearing abulky, calf-length overcoat and a fur cap – in an attempt todisguise himself. He could be any one of the “possibles.” Thefellow made some response to Nestor’s question, but it was low andmuted.

“I gotta see yer money before I c’n give yathe letter,” Nestor said shakily.

Cobb saw the killer’s arm move up into thelight, a package of some sort in his hand. Nestor took it and beganto fumble at its contents. “Okay. Here’s the letter ya wanted.”

The fellow snatched the envelope and began totear it open. Nestor glanced north to where Marc was hidden,expecting instant rescue. But the killer had ripped the sheet outof its envelope and was holding it up to the light.

“You bastard! This isn’t my note!”

A pair of hands seized Nestor by the throat,and began shaking him.

“ Help! Help! I’m bein’ kilt! ”

But Nestor was in no danger of beingmurdered. His attacker released him as suddenly as he had grabbedhim, and made a pass at the packet with the money in it. Nestor letgo without a struggle. With some of the banknotes spilling out, thekiller started back down the alley, picking up speed as he went.Cobb had already stepped out to block his path, and Marc could beheard sprinting hard a few yards behind him. Cobb planted his feet,stuck out his belly, and met the killer chest to chest. There was aresounding whump. Both men tumbled to the ground, winded. Cobb wasfirst to recover. He rolled over, sat up, and stared down at hisassailant, who lay on his back, fur cap askew, gasping for air.

“I don’t believe it!” Cobb cried.

And Marc, who arrived a second later, said,“I don’t believe it either.”

They were staring down into the anguishedface of Horace Fullarton.

Magistrate James Thorpe was weaned away from hissecond glass of after-dinner port and brought to the policequarters, where he found Constable Cobb, Chief Sturges, MarcEdwards, and a gentleman with a story he was eager to tell. Minuteslater, a dishevelled Augustus French arrived and quickly set up hiswriting instruments. While Gussie took notes, Horace Fullartonunburdened himself of the guilt, remorse and self-loathing that hadfollowed upon his clubbing Albert Duggan to death in the alleybehind The Sailor’s Arms. And Magistrate Thorpe, who found acriminal’s heartfelt confession almost as satisfying as bringingdown the maximum sentence on a deserving head, was so pleased withwhat he heard (while remaining shocked that a “gentleman” couldstoop thus) that he was not tempted in the least to probe furtherinto details that might have proved awkward. For example, whatpeculiar circumstances could have brought a police constable andthe counsel for an accused murderer together to arrange anentrapment that involved the victim’s cousin (having fortuitouslyresurfaced), a curious extortion-note (possibly forged?), andintimate knowledge of a blackmail scheme requiring either insiderinformation or clairvoyance? Fullarton wished to speak only of thecrime itself, however, and he gave the magistrate and the Crown allthe detail they could have wished for.