Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

An hour later, Cobb was ushered into thestudy of Everett Stoneham, Executive Councillor and lifetime memberof the ruling Family Compact. Cobb noted the book-lined walls andfelt the carpet caressing his boots. He was never intimidated bybooks and those possessing them, however, even though he himselfread little. His father, who had just died in February, had owned asmall but cherished library, had worshipped Shakespeare, and hadpaid homage to the Bard by naming his sons Laertes and Horatio (orLarry and Harry as the boys preferred to call themselves).

Stoneham waited a good thirty seconds beforehe removed his spectacles with a bored gesture and turned partwayaround in his chair to acknowledge the visitor. He stared at Cobb’smuddy boots before scanning the rest of him – upwards.

“What do the police want with me?” he said,but there was no hint of concern in his face.

“I’m lookin’ into Mr. Dougherty’s death,”Cobb said.

“Shouldn’t you be out on your patrol preventing murder?”

“We’ve caught one of the villains, sir, butthe other one’s still abroad.”

“You mean that there’s another madman likeReuben Epp running loose in the city?” Stoneham feigned shocknicely, as he had done innumerable times when he had sat in theAssembly.

“Not exactly, sir. We got reason to think Eppwas helped to carry out the crime, by someone who wanted Mr.Dougherty out of his hair but didn’t wanta do the deedhimself.”

Stoneham now looked genuinely appalled. “Areyou accusing me of such a crime?”

So much for tact, Cobb thought. It was hardto see how tact could be managed with these bigwigs. “No, sir. Ofcourse not.”

“Then why in blazes are you here?”

Good question – alas. “Well, sir, we was toldyou threatened Mr. Dougherty at the Legislature last Saturd’yevenin’. An’ my chief just needs to make sure you weren’t inany way involved – ”

Stoneham was in the process of turning threeshades of crimson when Cobb said quickly, “Ya see, we don’t wantpeople spreadin’ nasty rumours about you, now do we?” He waspleased with this tactful ploy.

Stoneham’s dudgeon began to subside somewhat,and his cheeks faded from crimson to a not-unpleasant pink. “Well,I was rather loud in my denunciation of the degenerate thatnight. But all I intended to do was to let him know that he had nochance of being admitted to the Bar, and that his putting out hisshingle was an act of outrageous presumption.”

“That’s what we been told,” Cobb soothed.

“By that turncoat Edwards, no doubt!” Some ofthe flush returned to Stoneham’s cheeks.

“But you have to admit, sir, that the phrase‘over my dead body’ has an unfortunate ring to it.”

“Damn that meddling fool!”

“If I may say so, sir, you seem to have arather sharp temper.”

Stoneham started to respond angrily butstopped himself as he realized his response was about to prove theimpudent constable’s point. And as a superb debater in his Assemblydays, he did not relish the thought of being out-argued by anilliterate. “Only when the object of my temper is deserving of suchsharpness,” he said with practiced aplomb.

“Well, sir, I’m sure we can cross you off ourlist quickly if you’ll just answer one or two questions.”

Stoneham now looked bemused. “Only if they donot border on impertinence.”

“Of course, sir. Did you know ReubenEpp?”

“Everyone who has a pew in St. James knowsReuben Epp. The man’s been verger there for donkey’s years.”

“Did you ever chat with him?”

“Never. The fellow knew his place. I spokenot a single word to him – ever. And he did not dare approach me ormy family.”

“Were you with your family after church onSunday?”

Again Stoneham’s cheeks bulged crimson, buthe gathered himself and said, “I was here all day. My wife’scousins were visiting and we were together the entire time. You maybelieve me or check with them if you doubt the word of agentleman.”

Cobb considered the word of a gentleman to benot much more reliable than that of a horse-thief, but he said,“That won’t be necessary, sir. Thank you for yer time.”

At the door Stoneham said, “But I was right,wasn’t I? Doubtful Dick didn’t make it to the Bar. And it was over his dead body.”

***

Back on the street, Cobb remembered that he hadneglected to ask Stoneham what brand of notepaper he used andwhether he kept American money about the household. He did,however, get the names of the visiting cousins from the maid beforehe left. And she herself had declared that the card-playing (on theSabbath!) had gone on till midnight. So it didn’t look as ifStoneham was a prize suspect. That temper of his was more suited toa sudden lashing-out than to elaborate conspiracy. Still, Marc wasassuming that Epp was motivated by the Archdeacon’s sermon and thathis accomplice had subsequently taken advantage of the verger’srage to set the deadly train of events in motion. But Cobb thoughtit was possible that any conspiracy might have pre-dated the Sundaysermon. If so, then knowing Epp’s whereabouts on that day, or theaccomplice’s, was useless. Stoneham and Epp could have plotted thewhole thing weeks before.

Cobb had planned to drop in to BartholomewBurchill’s shop after lunch, but was delayed when he was called tothe Market to assist Rossiter and Wilkie. Two wagons had collidedon West Market Lane, and the drivers had decided to settle thequestion of blame through single combat. Several bystanders chose afavourite and joined the dispute. It took the three constables morethan an hour to subdue the battered gladiators, untangle theharnesses, calm down the horses, and haul five people off to jail.Cobb then had to calm himself down at The Cock and Bull.

He was just returning to police quarters todictate the report of his interview with Stoneham to Gussie Frenchwhen he was accosted on the boulevard of the Court House by animposing, and extremely vexed, woman.

“Are you Constable Cobb?” she cried, comingright up to him and placing her own elongated nose next to Cobb’sblemished snout.

“I am, madam, though the wife calls me otherthings from time to time.”

“Well, then, come with me, sir.”

“Where to?”

“I’ve come to report a crime! A dastardlycrime!”

“Well, then, we need to go inside – ”

“We need to examine the scene of the crime.Follow me.”

“C’n I have yer name, ma’am?”

“Well, if you must. I am Mavis McDowell.” Sheuttered her name as if it were her most precious possession and oneshe suffered to be admired only by those personally selected to doso.

“You been robbed, or molested?” Cobbsaid.

“Of course not! No-one would dare harm thewife of Mowbray McDowell!”

Cobb had to think for a moment before saying,“Ah . . . the fella that give the fancy speech on Saturd’y.”

But his hesitation had been noticed: “You didnot recognize the name, did you?”

“Well, ma’am, it took a minute but – ”

“It won’t take a minute next time,” she saidwithout explanation. “Now follow me to St. James.”

St. James? What now? “Ya mean thechurch?”

“Of course, I do. An outrage has beencommitted there: our Poor Box has been vandalized!”

Cobb heaved a great sigh, but trailed alongbehind Mavis McDowell as they headed the half-block east to ChurchStreet. He had trouble keeping up, for that grand dame, hatless andwithout a coat, marched along in front of him with gazelle-likestrides. She was in every respect an angular woman – long-leggedand bony-hipped – with auburn hair rigidly curbed in several severebraids. Her eyes, when they pounced upon him, were as brown andvolatile as chestnuts in a bonfire. She was a woman to be reckonedwith.