Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

“I should be able to track her movementsanyway, and pin down the time.”

“You gonna look for bootprints?” Withersasked.

“If I can find any prints,” Cobb said,glancing at the crowd. “But it snowed fer an hour last evenin’. Allthe traffic has come from the brothel side of the alley. I’ll godown the other direction. If the killer went east, I could pick upa trail.”

Cobb set off. Twenty feet past the body andthe mass of footprints left by the onlookers, he found what he wassearching for: a single set of giant bootprints. They swerved leftat the end of the alley and went farther east up a second alley. Hetracked them to where it opened onto Jarvis Street. There he bentdown and looked closely at them. The star-shaped pattern wasunmistakable. The same person had killed both young women.

The trail now went cold. Just before it did,Cobb noticed that the killer appeared to have been shuffling aboutat the end of the alley, as if waiting for the coast to clear onJarvis Street before venturing out. Cobb stepped onto Jarvis andsearched amongst the many competing sets of prints for any sign ofthe star shape. He found none. It was as if the killer had suddenlybecome invisible and vanished, or had somehow taken wing. Cobb wasthankful he didn’t believe in ghosts.

Just as he was turning back into the alley,he noticed, on the Jarvis boardwalk, an object he had overlookedbefore, half-buried in the snow. It was a white scarf. Agentleman’s silk scarf. He picked it up. On one end it had amonogram: a “P.” He put it in his pcoket. Then he went back to thescene of the crime. The coroner had left, but Wilkie was nowpresent and keeping the curious at bay.

Cobb addressed them — a cross-section heguessed, of the denizens of Devil’s Acre: gamblers, bootleggers,pimps, whores and worse. “Did anyone here see anythin’ in thenight? Or hear anythin’ unusual?”

“We wouldn’t pay it no mind if we did,” oneof the men answered. “There’s lots of strange noises in Devil’sAcre at night.”

“But we don’t go ‘round killin’ each other!”a woman shouted. “What’re the police gonna do about it, eh?”

“Oh, they don’t give a damn about us uphere,” another added. “To them we’re just riff raff.”

“We are doin’ everythin’ we can to find thekiller,” Cobb said. “But I’ve got to get a witness, don’t I? And Ineed yer cooperation.”

“I’ll wait here fer the undertaker,” Wilkiesaid, happy to be just an ordinary constable.

“In the meantime, I’ll go on down to thebrothel,” Cobb said

Nell joined him and they walked slowly backtowards Madame LaFrance’s place.

As they neared it, Cobb said, “Were you andSarie friends?”

“We was. The best. I never ever thoughtanythin’ like this could happen, even here. You might get beat upand yer money stolen, but not yer throat cut — like that.”

“Do you know where Sarie had been?”

“I’m not allowed to discuss customers. You’llhave to ask Madame LaFrance.”

“I intend to,” Cobb said.

***

Madame LaFrance brushed a single tear from her eyeand offered Cobb a cup of coffee. They were seated in a small denthat Madame obviously reserved for herself. It was comfortablyfurnished and sported a modest fireplace, in which a pleasant firewas now burning. Cobb loosened his collar and accepted thecoffee.

“Two of my girls murdered in cold blood,”Madame sighed. “I’ve been here four years and never had one of mygirls assaulted, let alone murdered. What is going on, Mr.Cobb?”

“I intend to find out, ma’am,” Cobb said,sipping his coffee. “But I need yer help.”

“How can I help?”

“You can tell me where Sarie Hickson was lastnight and explain why she was walkin’ alone through Devil’sAcre.”

Madame LaFrance put her coffee down. “I don’tsee how that can help you catch a knife-wielding fiend.”

“I need to know the time of death. When Ifind that, I’m goin’ to have several constables turn this placeupside down lookin’ fer witnesses. Someone saw or heardsomethin’.”

“Well, if you must know, Sarie was outvisiting a client. I let my girls do private sessions ingentlemen’s homes, provided I know who they are and how they’llbehave.”

“So Sarie was at a gentleman’s house,carryin’ out her duties?” Cobb felt a blush ease up his neck.

“She was scheduled for ten to twelve o’clock.She left here at nine-forty or so. I assume she left the job atmidnight, as usual.”

“The gentleman in question could tell me so,couldn’t he?”

Madame looked wary. “I don’t see any need foryou to know who he was.”

“I’m afraid I do.”

“As you know, I don’t know his real name. Thearrangements were made in the name he uses here. We have hisaddress only.”

“What was his name here?”

“Sir Lancelot.”

Gardiner Clough, thought Cobb. “That willdo,” he said.

“You can’t think a gentleman had anything todo with this?”

“Tell me, were the other two Cavaliers herelast night?”

Something like panic flitted across Madame’sface. “They were.”

“What time did they leave?”

In a voice just above a whisper, she replied,“Just past midnight.”

Cobb reached for his coat and pulled thewhite scarf from his pocket. “Do you recognize this?”

Madame looked at the scarf. “Many gentlemenhave silk scarves like that,” she said.

“But do they have a ‘P’ on them?” Cobb said,flashing the monogram.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at!”

“I’m thinkin’ that ‘P’ could stand fer Pugh,the real name of Sir Gawain.”

Madame looked as if she wished to clamp bothhands over her ears. “My gentlemen are gentlemen!” she cried, muchexercised. “Not cutthroats!”

“I picked up this scarf not two blocks fromwhere we found the body.”

“Then you’ll have to ask the owner yourquestions, won’t you?”

“I’ll do that, ma’am. Thanks fer thecoffee.”

“When can we have the body?” Madame asked. “Ifigure on burying Sarie properly, seeing as she had no real mom ordad.”

“Later today, I imagine. As soon as DocWithers gets through examin’ it.”

Madame LaFrance nodded, then turned to stareat the fire. Cobb let himself out.

***

Cobb knocked on the front door of bankerPugh’s residence. Smithers answered it.

“The tradesman’s entrance is around back,” hesaid, nose in the air.

“I’m a detective with the police,” Cobb said,liking the sound of that phrase.

“You have to use the rear entrance.”

“What I haveta do is speak with Mr. Pugh — immediately. On police business. Is he in?”

“I’ll inquire,” Smithers said. Then as if hecouldn’t help himself he added, “Sir.”

Smithers left Cobb cooling his heels for agood five minutes. He returned and said stiffly, “The master’s inthe library, and he has graciously agreed to see you.”

Cobb followed Smithers and eventually arrivedin said library. Pugh was standing by one of the shelves, fingeringa leather-bound tome.

“Well, Constable, what is it this time?” hesaid, his eye still on the book.

“There’s been another murder, sir.”

Pugh put the book down. “What do you mean, another murder?”

“Another young woman, sir. Sarie Hickson.Found not too far from the first one. Had her throat slashed. Bledto death.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, but what has it gotto do with me?”

“You were in Devil’s Acre last night. AtMadame LaFrance’s.”

“I don’t know how you found that out, butit’s none of your business. And I trust you’ll keep thatinformation to yourself.”

Ah, yes, Cobb thought. The wife was not toknow. “But you were there and left about midnight.”