Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

“I am Joseph Brenner,” said the taller,clean-shaven fellow, “and this is my partner, Lawrence Tallman. Howmay we be of service?”

“Good morning,” Marc said. “I am MarcusEdwards and this is – ”

“Little Brodie Langford,” Tallman said,turning his pleasant, open, moustachioed face to his partner insurprise.

“My word, so it is,” Brenner said, beaming.“We haven’t laid eyes on you, young man, since you went off to thatdreadful prep school.”

Brodie hesitated, scrutinizing the lawyers.Then he put out his hand. “I am he, sirs. But I’m afraid – ”

“Oh, you have no reason to remember us,”Brenner said. “We mostly saw you and Celia running about in theyard outside. But your dad and uncle weren’t shy when it came toboasting about you.” Suddenly the smile on his face faded.

“Please, excuse us,” Tallman said, motioningfor the visitors to sit down. “We were so happy to see you that weforgot . . .” He stared at the blotting instrument on his desk.

“Larry is trying to say how sorry we were tohear about what happened to Dick,” Brenner said. “We were inToronto when it happened.”

“Horrible . . . horrible, it was,” Tallmansaid.

“Please accept our sincere condolences,”Brenner said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Looking somewhat puzzled, Brenner said, “Butyou must have left there yourself, since you’re now here and -”

At this point Marc intervened to explain whohe was and how they had got here so soon. Then he informed thelawyers that he had been chosen to lead the official investigationinto Dick’s murder. He sat back and waited for their reaction.

Again, Brenner and Tallman looked perplexed,exchanging unhelpful glances. Finally Brenner said, “And you’vetrailed the assassin to New York?”

“We hope to find information here that willhelp us determine who the killer was,” Marc said craftily, notwishing to give anything away just yet.

“Then we will do anything we can to assistyou, won’t we, Larry?” Brenner said.

“You could start by telling me how you cameto hear about Dick’s death,” Marc said evenly.

“Of course,” Brenner said. “Larry and Iarrived in Toronto on Saturday evening. We had been asked to appearbefore the Law Society there to give testimony regarding Dick’srequest for admission to the Bar.”

“I see,” Marc said, nicely feigning ignoranceof their motives.

“We were supposed to meet the Benchers atOsgoode Hall on Monday afternoon,” Tallman said.

“But at nine-thirty or so that morning, afellow comes rushing into the hotel foyer,” Brenner said, his facetensing at the memory, “shouting loud enough for everyone to hearthat the . . . ‘fat Yankee lawyer’ had been stabbed to death in analley by some madman.”

“With the dagger still in his back and a notestuck to it – with the most dreadful word written in blood on it,”Tallman said, faltering. “Oh, Brodie, I’m sorry, I – ”

“It’s all right, sir,” Brodie said bravely,though Marc was becoming accustomed to the young man’s innerstrength and determination.

“We were shocked beyond speech,” Brennersaid.

Marc decided it was time to up the ante. “Butnot too shocked to pack your bags and scuttle down to the wharf,where you caught a steamer for Burlington.”

Again, the lawyers appeared more puzzled thanupset by the charge and its implicit reproach of theirbehaviour.

“We left, sir, because our remaining inToronto could only have done Dick’s memory and his wards’ futuremore harm than good,” Brenner said.

“Dick Dougherty was our friend,” Tallmansaid.

“Then why did you tell Archdeacon Strachan onSunday afternoon that you had come to testify about the scandalthat had driven him out of New York?” Marc said quietly.

“You have been well briefed,” Brenner said,unsmiling. “We told Dr. Strachan that we were there to swear toDick’s character as we had known it for over thirty years. We toldhim that Dick was scrupulously honest, had never been accused -despite a tumultuous career in our courts – of a financialmisdemeanour or breach of ethics or shady property dealing orpolitical shenanigans. Not once. And that in a city where themayors routinely rake in thirty thousand dollars per annum ingraft, where aldermen award each other building contracts andbusiness monopolies, and where councillors buy up, at fire-saleprices, the property of men they have ruined.”

“You are telling Brodie and me that you cameto Toronto to help get Dick admitted to the Bar?”

“Insofar as we could,” Tallman said.

“Because there was still the so-calledscandal back here to explain away?” Marc prompted.

“That’s right,” Brenner said. “We felthonour-bound to tell the Benchers exactly what we knew about it, inhopes that it would be outweighed by his lifetime of unimpeachableservice.”

“And did you outline this ‘strategy’ to Dickwhen you descended on his cottage that Sunday morning?”

Brenner allowed himself a wry smile. “As amatter of fact, that’s precisely what we did. Dick knew that someof the Benchers had been trying to get damning information abouthis past from sources here in New York. They wrote dozens ofletters, but no-one at this end would put anything on paper -including us.”

“But Joe and I talked it over,” Tallman said,“and decided that we just had to go up there and see what we coulddo for him.”

“That’s why we went to see him,” Brennerexplained. “We wanted to confer with him before we testified, ourthinking being that if we were likely to do more harm than good, wecould always skulk out of town before the event.”

“So you’re saying that Dick approved of your approach to the Benchers?”

“He did,” Brenner said. “He thought that therumours of the scandal here, the worth of which we could neitherconfirm nor deny, would remain just that, and that our detailed,positive testimony about his character and career would provecritical. He even encouraged us to accept Dr. Strachan’s invitationthat afternoon.”

“I want to come back to that point,” Marcsaid, “but tell me now, what did you do after you leftStrachan’s place?”

The slight chill in the room indicated thatMarc’s interrogation was no longer purely informational. “Why doyou ask?” Brenner said.

“I have my reasons. Would you mind telling mewithout them?”

Tallman looked at Brenner, and said, “We wentfor a walk along the shoreline, all the way out to Fort York andback.”

“We didn’t get back to The American untilnearly six o’clock.”

“And you did not meet or talk withanyone?”

“No-one.”

“Thank you,” Marc said. “That clears up thatmatter. But I am still puzzled about this business of the scandal.As you are aware, the ugly manner of Dick’s death has left therumours about his behaviour and character, and the stench fromthem, still hanging over him – and his family. Brodie and I havecome here because we think that whatever did happen here in NewYork a year and a half ago has some bearing on his murder. And evenif we cannot establish that fact, we hope in the least to take backwith us some grain of hard truth in his defense.”

Brenner and Tallman looked at each other,then at Brodie.

“It is I who needs to know the truth,” Brodiesaid, “however terrible you may think it. Marc and I have comehundreds of miles. This may be my only chance.”

“The truth is,” Tallman sighed, “that wedon’t know the truth.”

“Nobody does,” Brenner said. “Except Dick andthose who persecuted him.”

“But did you not ask him when you saw him inToronto?” Marc said.

“We did,” Tallman said.

“We began,” Brenner continued, “by tellinghim the story that was making the rounds here, and had grown hairssince its first incarnation.” Again he peered uncertainly atBrodie, noted the steely determination there, and said, “It was tous your uncle came that dreadful day to let us know he was packingup and heading for Canada. We were asked to sell the property andbe his financial watchdog in the state. He told us nothing aboutwhy he was leaving except that he had no choice.