Don Gutteridge - Desperate Acts

“He must’ve become desperate,” Beth said. “Iwonder he could carry on with his life as if things were normal. Heeven joined that silly club.”

“I thought that too. I asked him about it,and he told me that his years as a banker and steward of otherpeople’s money had conditioned him to keep his emotions in checkand always present a calm face to the world. In fact, he felt thatuntil he somehow managed to put a stop to the blackmail, he deemedit imperative that he go out of his way to appear unperturbed.”

“But he must’ve been churnin’ inside?”

“I’m sure he was. So, after the secondfailure to entrap Duggan, he took one of the extortion-notes – thefellow, as Brodie learned, liked to continually torment his victimswith weekly reminders – and scribbled a death-threat on the back ofit. He tucked it into that week’s parcel along with the banknotes,and left it in the usual place. He swore to me that he neverintended to carry out his threat. He hoped it might be enough toscare the fellow off. Luckily for him, Duggan seems to havedestroyed the returned note after foolishly showing it to Nestor.Horace admitted that the existence of the note gave him so muchconcern that he went looking for it in the stone-cottage as soon ashe learned who Duggan was and where he lived. When he didn’t findit, he felt certain Nestor had taken it with him when he fled thecity.”

“So that’s why yer plan to trap him worked soquickly?”

“Yes. Horace thought, as I hoped he would,that twenty-five pounds and Nestor’s low standing in the communitywould be enough to keep the police from his door. He leapt at theopportunity as soon as he read Nestor’s note.”

“I’d like to feel sorry for the man, I reallywould – all those years livin’ with an ailin’ wife, an’ nochildren.”

“I’m afraid that’s what caused him to giveinto Madeleine Shuttleworth’s lethal charms – they had a brief andloveless affair last summer. Ironically, Bernice Fullarton may bewasting away, but she is not weak of heart or spirit. When I wentthere last night, her sister answered the door – she’d arrived onFriday for a long visit – and took me into Bernice’s room. Bernicewas stunned by what I had to say, tactful as I was, but I couldsense the steel in her will, and her determination to support herhusband, come what may.”

Beth, who was ever wiser than Marc in affairsof the heart, shocked him by saying, “I’m sure she won’t besurprised if she does happen to learn her husband give in totemptation like that. What might surprise her more would be thefact he’d waited so long an’ did it only once.”

“Maybe she’d already guessed, eh? Anyway, Iheard her tell her sister to arrange for some transportation toconvey her to the jail today.”

Beth nuzzled her husband’s chest, whileMaggie’s sweet breathing perfumed the room.

“Will they hang him?” Beth said.

“I doubt that very much. A good lawyer willtry and argue self-defense because in his statement Fullartonclaimed that Duggan struck him first, with Brodie’s walking-stick,and he reacted by seizing the weapon and striking out blindly.”

“Sounds like a lawyer’s statement tome.”

Marc smiled, quite accustomed as he was toBeth’s gentle, and very lovable, sarcasm. “Well, Cobb did tell mehe saw Fullarton limping when he first went up to Oakwood Manor. Anexperienced barrister could make much of that.”

“But not enough to get his client off?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“There’s the wee matter of that second blowto the back of Duggan’s skull, while he was lyin’ near-dead on theground, isn’t there?”

“I see I’m not the only lawyer in thishousehold.”

Beth drew her husband’s hand across thesmooth bevel of her abdomen.

“You said a minute ago,” Marc said beforetalk itself became redundant, “that you wanted to besympathetic.”

“I did, but I can’t.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, Horace was supposed to be Brodie’sfriend. Brodie was startin’ to think of him as he did Dick or hisown father before that. I can’t understand why the man would letBrodie suffer for weeks on end, and even go on trial fer a crime hehimself committed. You saw how distressed the lad was this mornin’when he found out how he came to be acquitted. Only the joy ofDiana’s bein’ there an’ lovin’ him kept him goin’ through theday.”

“I know what you’re saying, luv. Still, I gotthe distinct impression that Brodie is prepared to forgivehim.”

“Do you think he would’ve let Brodie go tothe gallows?”

“No, I don’t. He said as much to me. In fact,he said emphatically that the days since the murder were thehardest of his life, including the days after he got the news thatBernice was slowly dying of some wasting disease the doctors didn’teven have a name for. But for all his worry and fear and despairover the crime itself and the secret he’d killed to protect, inspite of the minute-by-minute stress of trying to put a normal faceupon the world – the one thing that did not concern him wasthe thought that Brodie would be convicted. He agonized overBrodie’s suffering, but felt he was young and strong enough tosurvive a trial.”

“A trial that was headin’ straight towardsfindin’ him guilty!”

“Ah, but even after the Crown had rested itswater-tight case on Friday, he assured me he remainedunconcerned.”

“I don’t believe it. He couldn’t be that callous!”

“It was the reason he gave that Ifound most intriguing.”

“Oh,” Beth murmured, drawing his handlingeringly down, “an’ what was that?”

“He said he had complete faith in Brodie’sattorney, that somehow the clever fellow would find a way to freehim.”

Beth looked up. “An’ he was right, wasn’the?”

Nestor Peck looked gloomily about thestone-cottage. He saw nothing here to raise his spirits or give himhope, elusive as that phenomenon had always proved to be. Hisstomach was full, that was true. Dora Cobb had seen to that beforeshe wished him well and walked with him to the street in front ofher house. Cobb, too, had not been unkind, donating a suit ofclothes, giving him a pound-note from Marc Edwards (and a dollarfrom his own reserves) so that Nestor could buy food and pay hisoverdue rent.

But the main room of his home was dark anddamp and very, very empty. The mess and disarray seemed to be worsethan usual, but he couldn’t be sure because his memory had not beenworking well for some time now. He considered lighting a candle,but was afraid of what it might choose to reveal. He thought ofpoor Cousin Albert lying alone and unbefriended up in Potter’sField. He would find some way to put up a proper grave-marker.

What he needed to do right now was findhimself a drink. There would be money enough left from his meagrestore of cash to pay the rent and still allow him to buy a jug ofcheap whiskey from Swampy Sam in Irishtown. But the half-hour walkfrom Cobb’s place to the stone-cottage had exhausted him. He knewhe’d never make it to the bootlegger’s shack.

It was then that he recalled how cagey Albertthought he’d been about keeping his own whiskey supply secure. ButNestor had quickly spotted the loose floorboard in Albert’sbedroom, and had routinely helped himself to his cousin’s booze,never taking enough to arouse suspicion. On shaky legs, Nestorgroped his way to the precise spot, and was pleased to see that abeam of moonlight conveniently illuminated the cache he was aboutto plunder. Down on his hands and knees, he felt around until hegot a grip on the loose board. He tried to pull it up. It jammedpartway out of its grooves, and Nestor winced at the sliver thatsliced into his middle finger. He gave a more determined yank, andthe board popped up into his hands. Painfully, he reached down intothe black space below and, to his delight, suffered the satisfyingsensation of a cold whiskey-jug in his grip. He pulled it free ofits hiding-place. It seemed awfully light. He gave it a shake. Itwas empty.