Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

“But, Chief — ”

“No buts. You’ve failed as a detective. Let’ssee if you can remember how to be a policeman.”

Cobb went out — seething. His career as adetective had been short, and not very sweet.

“A body?” Marc said to Robert in the dining-room ofthe Clarendon Hotel.

“One of the workmen apparently. Found on thesite this morning by the other workmen when they arrived.”

“On the site? You mean the Parliamentbuilding?”

“Yes. Bert Campion just passed the news alongto me.”

“An accident?”

“Afraid not. It’s definitely murder. Thefellow was pole-axed with a hammer. Died instantly.”

“But what was the man doing out there afterdark?”

“I don’t know, but he was definitely killedovernight.”

“Do you think I should offer to helpout?”

Robert thought about the matter. Marc hadhandled more than half a dozen murder investigations in the pastfive years, and had been very successful in aiding the Torontopolice. But they were not in Toronto, and there were no municipalpolice as such here in Kingston, only the magistrate and twoconstables under his watch. “We need you here with us very much,”Robert said at last.

Just then Bert Campion came into theroom.

“I’ve just been over at the magistrate’s,” hesaid breathlessly. “And there’s news.”

“About the murder?”

“They’ve just sent a constable to arrest oneof the workmen, a Quebecer named Jacques LeMieux.”

“On what grounds?” Marc asked.

“It seems that the victim was killed with hishammer.”

“Is that all the evidence?”

“No. He was heard in a dive last eveningmaking drunken death threats against the victim. One of the otherworkmen was there and told the magistrate.”

“Who was the victim?”

“Earl Dunham, the foreman.”

“Oh, dear,” Robert said. “An English-speakingworker murdered by a French-speaking one. That’s very bad newsindeed.”

“What do you mean?” said the architect.

“We’re involved in delicate negotiations herewith our French colleagues. This sort of thing could raisetensions. And I suspect it would poison the workplace out at theParliament site.”

“That’s true,” Campion said with a sigh. “Thecarpenters are due in to lay the floor of the Legislative Councilchamber next week, and half of them are French.”

“The magistrate is sure he’s got the rightman?” Robert said.

“It certainly looks bad for LeMieux,” Campionsaid.

Robert looked at Marc. “Would you mind goingover to the magistrate’s, Marc? If LeMieux is guilty, we want theproof to be incontrovertible.”

“And I could take you out to the site later,”Campion said.

“I’ll look into it,” Marc said.

***

By the time Marc reached Magistrate Wilson’s house,Jacques LeMieux had been taken to jail, protesting his innocence.“They all say they’re innocent,” was the magistrate’s summaryremark. The murder weapon and an eye-witness statement as to thenature of the threat made by LeMieux was all the proof he needed.Marc was given permission to speak to the accused in jail.

LeMieux was a wiry man of middle height withblack hair and dark, protruding brows. The eyes were brooding and,despite the surroundings, fiery and rebellious. Marc addressed himin French.

“I’m here to help you Mr. LeMieux. I am abarrister and I have carried out murder investigations before. Yousay you are innocent.”

“I am. And the only reason I’m in here isthat I am French.” The eyes smouldered.

“The claim is made that it was your hammerthat killed Mr. Dunham.”

“It could have been. We leave our tools onthe site. Anyone could have come along, picked it up and hit Dunhamon the head with it.”

“Someone who might want to throw suspicion onyou?”

“Of course.”

“You were heard making death threats againstDunham.”

“I was in Bernie’s dive last night afterwork. It’s a dump out near the hospital. I had too much to drink. Imay have said something I shouldn’t have, but I don’t remember. Iwas too pissed. I don’t even remember walking home.”

“Well, I should be able to get moreinformation about that at this Bernie’s place.”

“Bunch of low-life thieves is all you’ll findthere. English bastards.”

“If you didn’t do it, who do you think mighthave? Did Dunham have enemies?”

LeMieux snorted. “Everybody hated his guts.He was the worse kind of Englishman, cruel and arrogant. My friendMichel Jardin saw Dunham fire his brother for sticking up forhimself. Michel was very angry. But he’s no killer. And Greg Mansonwas angry because he was passed over for the foreman’s job. ButDunham treated us all badly.”

“You had no particular reason yourself forwanting to kill him?”

LeMieux looked down. “I do, and somebody hasalready told the magistrate. I expect it was Manson.”

“Why did you dislike Dunham?”

“Not dislike. Hate. Dunham was a corporal inthe militia in ‘thirty-seven.”

“And did something to you?”

“He and his troops razed my barn andterrified my family. They burnt us out.”

“Did Dunham know this?”

“Yes. But he never let on he recognized me.And me, drunk one night, spilled out the whole story to the othermen.”

“So you do have a powerful motive for wantingto kill Dunham?”

“You think I’m guilty, don’t you? Justbecause I’m French.”

“I don’t see how you can be convicted ifno-one can place you at the murder scene last night. The evidenceis all circumstantial.”

“But I’ll be put on trial?”

“Yes, if I don’t find the real killer.”

“Go after Manson. He’s a bitter man with awicked temper.”

“It could be someone else. We don’t know whatDunham was doing out there at night. He could have been meetingsomebody.”

“He’d been out there for three nights keepinga watch on our stock of laths. Someone, a kid likely, was stealingthem. A few every night.”

“I see. Then it’s possible he surprised thethief and the thief picked up the nearest weapon and struck.”

“Yes, that’s quite possible,” LeMieux saidwith some enthusiasm. “So you really think you can help me?”

“I’m going to try,” Marc said, rising. “Eventhough I’m an Englishman.”

***

Marc rode out to the scene of the crime withCampion, the architect. He didn’t expect to find anything, but hewanted to see the spot for himself and search the area for clues.Campion was very concerned about replacing his foreman and aboutthe loss of two men from his complement of five. Of course, DenisJardin, the fired brother could be brought back if he were still intown. Meanwhile, if, as Marc had informed Campion, the accused manwas bruiting it about that he was being charged solely because hewas French, then trouble could be looming when the flooringcarpenters, French and English, came in next week. Marc and Campionarrived about two o’clock and went immediately to the LegislativeCouncil chamber. The three remaining workmen were there, sitting ona pile of laths.

“I know a fellow worker has been killed,” Campionsaid, “but the work must go on. Manson, you will act as foreman forthe time being.”

The men got up reluctantly, even the newlyminted foreman. When they had begun their work attaching the lathsto the studding, Campion went over to the far side of the room andpointed at the rough flooring. Marc saw the large, darkbloodstain.

“So this is where it happened, eh?”

“He was struck from behind, the coroner said.I was here when he did his initial examination. A single violentblow. Perhaps he had dozed off and didn’t hear anyoneapproaching.”

“Then the killer was not likely the thiefwho’s been stealing the laths,” Marc said, looking around. “I takeit Dunham has been out here for the past three nights?”