Don Gutteridge - The Bishop's Pawn

“That’s good.” He turned to slip away, butwasn’t quick enough.

“Cobb!” Marc said with a huge grin. “I’m gladyou’ve come. Join the welcoming committee.”

“Good to see ya back, major. But I reallywanted to talk to you – alone. About Mr. Dougherty’s murder.”

“That’s fortuitous because I’ve got much totell you on the same subject.”

“I know who the accomplice was, but they sayI got no motive.”

“You do? So do I.”

“It’s that Tory speechifier, MowbrayMcDowell,” Cobb said a split second before Marc said, “MowbrayMcDowell.”

“There an echo in here?” Cobb said.

“I think you and I had better go for a walk,”Marc said, signalling his intention to Beth and Brodie.

***

“You go first,” Marc said, as they strolled downSherbourne Street towards the lake in the gathering dusk. “Justgive me the gist.”

While Cobb had a rough idea what giving thegist meant, he was not about to skimp on the details of his mostsuccessful bid at criminal investigation. He gave his mentor notonly chapter and verse but a good deal of the gloss to boot. He wasparticularly at pains to demonstrate the logical inferences he haddrawn at each phase of his relentless probing into Dick’s murderand the conspiracy behind it. Marc listened with much more thanpoliteness, and they were moving well along Front Street towardsCity Hall when Cobb finished up by saying:

“So there you have it, major. I’ve got anaccomplice but no motive, an’ the chief’s let me down terribly,callin’ me off the scent just as I got the creature treed.”

“Don’t be too hard on Wilfrid. Given what heknew at the time, he made the only choice he could. But don’t fret.I’ve got a motive for you.”

“In New York?” Cobb said. His desire to findout how Marc and Brodie could have come up with Mowbray McDowell’sname as prime suspect while sashaying about the streets of anAmerican city several hundred miles away had almost prompted him tosuggest that Marc tell his story first.

“Very much so,” Marc said, pausing to lookout over the desiccated marsh grasses, just beginning to green,towards the dewy haze that lay like a bride’s veil along the darkswelling of the lake’s surface. “Dick’s death is all about whathappened in New York, and what the would-be bishop bespoke from thearrogance of his pulpit.”

Cobb was taken aback by the vehemence andbitterness of this latter remark, but he realized that he felt muchthe same way about the machinations and pettiness he himself haddiscovered in the closed world of St. James, and the humanconsequences of its recklessness.

Marc proceeded to give Cobb a summary of whathe and Brodie had found out in New York, unglossed and unvarnished.Cobb did not interrupt, but several times Marc heard him whistlethrough the gaps in his teeth.

“Jesus Murphy,” was Cobb’s succinct responseat the conclusion of Marc’s story. “That’s some motive. We got thebugger, ain’t we?”

“Not quite. But we certainly have enough tobeard the lion in his den.”

Cobb turned, looked at his friend andinvestigative associate, and grinned: “An’ we’re only three blocksaway!”

***

Whatever song and dance Marc used to seduce Hudson atthe front door of the McDowell residence on George Street, it wasworking because the giant manservant gave him a welcoming smile,left Marc momentarily standing in the vestibule, and returnedshortly with a positive reply. To the butler’s astonishment – andchagrin (the grinding of his teeth being audible) – Cobb hadslipped out from behind a forsythia bush and popped up behind thegentleman he was leading towards the master’s study.

Mowbray McDowell greeted Marc with aready-made smile, which withered dramatically when he spied theimpudent constable.

“You told Hudson you wished to see meregarding a political matter,” he said coldly to Marc. “Do yourequire police protection to do so?”

“What we have come to discuss, sir, may verywell affect the politics of the province in the coming months,”Marc said. “I have been asked by His Excellency to pursue furtherthe investigation of Richard Dougherty’s death, in which we havegood grounds to suspect a conspiracy. Constable Cobb and I wish toask you a few questions in that regard. That is all.”

McDowell paled, though with his alabastercomplexion it was not easy to see him do so. But an anxioustightening around the eyes was clearly visible. He managed a smallsmile. “Well, then, if Sir George wishes to pursue such a matter,however frivolous it might appear to be, then I am happy tocooperate. But he mentioned no such operation to me when we lastshared a carafe of Amontillado.”

He directed Marc to a chair opposite his own.Cobb remained standing, helmet in hand. Hudson, who had alreadytaken Marc’s coat, stood outside the half-open door for a moment,then discreetly retreated. The study itself was lavishly furnishedin the French manner. An elegant escritoire took pride of placebeneath a bay window of exquisite leaded-glass. A bowl of Dutchtulips graced a swan-legged table. Several sombre paintings of theFlemish school brooded on the interior walls. Here was a man ofsubstance unashamedly proclaiming his worth.

“The reason we have come here so many daysafter the fact,” Marc began, “is that we have just recentlydiscovered that Reuben Epp, the man who did the actual stabbing ofDougherty, is a cousin of Mrs. McDowell.”

“Your henchman here has already made that alltoo clear,” McDowell said. Any initial sag in his confidence at theabrupt arrival of the police had quickly been corrected. McDowell’seyes, a translucent blue, had the capacity to contract amazingly,giving the impression of fierce concentration and cunningintelligence. Breaking through this barrier would not be a simpletask. “In addition, Cobb insulted my wife and uttered a series ofpreposterous accusations.”

“I do apologize, sir, for anyover-zealousness on the part of Constable Cobb. I assure you that Ishall be discreet and respectful of your privacy and of yourposition in the legislature.”

“Well, then, why don’t you proceed withwhatever it is you feel compelled to ask me.”

“First of all, sir, did you know your wife’scousin?”

“Not really. We were never actuallyintroduced. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. Mavis toldme of his past visits and the few shillings she had given him outof pity. She pointed him out at St. James, of course, and I mighthave seen him leaving this house one day through the backdoor.”

“So you have never spoken with him?”

“What would I have to say to such a man?”

“Did you approve of your wife giving himmoney to keep him at bay?”

The blue eyes flinched ever so slightly. “Iwouldn’t phrase her charity in such a manner. Until this sorrybusiness with the Yankee lawyer, I considered Epp harmless. Mavisthought his uncontrolled drinking might prove an embarrassment tome as a political figure, but I have real enemies to worryabout. If she wished to indulge him, that was her concern.”

“But I understand that you and Mrs. McDowellare partners in your political career.”

“We are,” he said with obvious sincerity. “Wehave no children, you know, and so we have decided to work togetherand combine our talents. Mavis is very intelligent, a talentedorganizer, and equally ambitious for the future well-being of ourtroubled province. We are committed to the cause of stoppingrepublicanism in its tracks.”

“You are conscious no doubt of theextravagances and corruption that too much freedom has unleashedamong our southern neighbours?”

“Aren’t we all? That’s why we put down therecent rebellions.”

“And you yourself would have observed suchmoral and political turpitude in places like New York City?” Marcsaid, as if he were merely nudging the dialogue along a natural,and innocent, track.