Don Gutteridge - The Widow's Demise

“I need you to take down some notes,Gussie.”

Gussie’s pen stopped its stuttering.

“I gotta finish this warrant, first,” hesaid.

“You c’n do that later. My notes areimportant.”

“If you insist, Detective ,” Gussiesaid. Ever since Cobb had been promoted, Gussie had taken it as apersonal affront. Even though he liked to boast of his ability totake shorthand, he seemed to resent Cobb’s cavalier way withnote-making and dictation. Cobb, on his part, got even by dictatingat a pace just faster than Gussie’s pen could keep up with.

“You want me to copy yer notes and fix themup?” Gussie said.

“Oh, no, I’ll dictate them. They’re a mitemessy.”

Relying more on his prodigious memory thanthe jottings in his notebook, Cobb dictated the results of hisinterviews with Lionel Trueman and the Reverend Ogilive. Gussie’spen flew across the page. There was no time to pause for blotting.Gussie cursed under his breath, but his pride would not let himstop and complain.

When Cobb had finished, he thanked Gussie,who grunted a response, as Cobb headed out the door before theChief could corral him.

Cobb walked up to King and over to Jarvis.The chemist’s shop was a dingy little place sandwiched between twomore prominent shops. Cobb had heard that Macy’s business wasfailing, and he could well believe it as he went into its murkyinterior. A small window in the front provided the only light.Apothecary jars and wooden boxes cluttered the room. Macy himselfwas standing behind a counter at the end of the room, itself agogwith scales, spoons, bottles and boxes. Macy looked surprised tosee a potential customer enter, and he dredged up a smile.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m Detective-Constable Cobb, sir, and I’vecome to ask you a few questions about the death of Mrs.Cardiff-Jones.”

Macy’s face fell. “Damn tragedy, that. Whatsort of nut would throw acid in a woman’s face – and kill her?”

“You knew the lady?”

Macy smiled slyly. “I did.”

“How well?”

“There’s no use in me pretending otherwise,Constable; I knew her very well. My daily visits to Rosewood -although supposed to be secret – were observed it seems by half thetown. About the only one who didn’t know was her father. Whowouldn’t have approved. I have been devastated by her death.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about her father.”

“Oh? Well, what does it matter now? He’s losta daughter and I’ve lost a possible wife.”

“And her fortune,” Cobb said, leaning on thecounter.

“Now, now, sir, there’s no need for that kindof talk. I was in love with Delores, not her money.”

“Did you know that there were othersuitors?”

Macy blanched, then smiled grimly. “I foughta duel with one of them, remember? Why do you ask?”

“I was wonderin’ if the lady chose somebodyelse to be her mate.”

Macy glowered. “You’re not thinking I had anyreason to throw acid in her face? I thought you had arrested thekiller?”

“We have a suspect, sir, but he claims he sawa third party at Rosewood on the night of the incident, and I haveto make sure our case against the fellow has no holes in it.”

“Well, the lady was about to choose me, sir,and I was at home in my study reading in the early part of theevening.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm that,sir?”

“There is. My maid Gladys was in the nextroom the whole time. You can ask her.”

“Where do you live?”

Macy told him.

“Now, sir, you can help us in another way.We’re tryin’ to find a motive fer the arrested man, Mr. GillesGagnon. And it turns out, accordin’ to him, that they only metwhile dancin’ at the Charity Ball. You, sir, were at that ball,were you not?”

“I was there, yes. And this Gilles Gagnon wasone of the two Frenchman who came in about nine o’clock.”

“Yeah. He was with Mr. Lafontaine.”

“I saw them both.”

“Mr. Gagnon danced with Mrs. Cardiff-Jones,didn’t he?”

“I believe he did.”

“You’re sure he did, aren’t you, sir, becauseyou would’ve kept a close eye on yer lady.”

“Is that unreasonable?”

Cobb ignored the question. “Did Gagnon andthe lady talk while they were dancin’?”

Macy paused to think this over. “Yes, nowthat I think back on it, I’d say they had quite a little chat.”

“They were friendly?”

“Oh, I’d say more than friendly. The fellowwas smitten with her. I saw him make moon eyes at her. And when thedance was finished, he followed her to the drinks table andcontinued to talk at her.”

“But she didn’t return his talk?”

“No. She was a proper lady, Constable. Andshe was in love with me. She had done her duty as hostess, and sherebuffed him. He went scuttling back to his friends on the otherside of the room.”

Oh, oh, thought Cobb. He would have toinclude this remark in his report, and some fancy Crown prosecutormight construe it as a motive – slim as it was – for retaliation.That is, of course, if Macy were telling the truth. His accountdidn’t exactly jibe with Trueman’s, and he could be merely tryingto show that his lady was a loyal soul and not an incorrigibleflirt.

Cobb switched tactics. “I understand you’vegot quite a temper.”

Macy glowered again. “Don’t be impertinent,sir, or I shall have to complain to your superior.”

“You were charged with assault last spring,and I caught you duellin’ the other day.”

“You know I was charged with assault becauseyou were the arresting officer.”

“It was a fight over a woman, as Iremember.”

“Yes, it was. The blackguard I struck madeinsulting remarks about my fiancée.”

“Mrs. Cardiff-Jones?”

“Of course not. I was engaged at the time toMiss Constance Brown.”

“When did you break off that engagement?”

“A month or so ago. When I became seriousabout Delores.”

“How did Miss Brown take it?”

“I don’t see what business it is of yours,but the end of our engagement was amicable. Naturally Miss Brownwas disappointed.”

“Where does Miss Brown live?”

“Surely you’re not going to bother her?”

“Only if I have to.”

“Very well, then, if it’ll satisfy you.” Macymentioned a house on Berkeley Street where Constance Brown boarded.It had occurred to Cobb that Miss Brown may have been very upset atthe broken engagement and might have decided to blame the otherwoman. It was worth checking out.

“And since you’re insistent on talking witheveryone even remotely involved with Delores,” Macy said, fiddlingwith his scales, “you shouldn’t overlook Cecil Denfield.”

“Why is that?”

“Denfield was one of Delores’s dancepartners, and I thought he was cozying up to her in an outrageousway, considering he’s a married man.”

What was obvious to Cobb was that Macy hadkept a very close watch on his lady friend, and that, readingbetween the lines, she was quite a coquette. Could one of her malefriends – besotted with her or her money – have taken rejectionbadly and decided to try out a little revenge, which had resultedin her death? It could have been Macy or Trueman, or even thisDenfield fellow.

Cobb now pulled out the glove. Macy objectedto trying it on, but eventually relented. It fit perfectly.

“But it’s not my glove,” Macy protested.“I’ve never seen it before. Half the men in town have a hand mysize.”

“Right you are, sir. Just tidyin’ up looseends.”

Cobb thanked Macy for his cooperation andleft the shop. He went immediately to Macy’s house and rapped onthe door. A pretty maid in a white cap and apron opened it.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may I helpyou?”