Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

“Looks like an older woman,” Rossiter said.“And these are fancy clothes. This is no whore.”

And that spelled trouble. If somehow arespectable woman had found her way into Devil’s Acre, then theconsequences of her death would go straight to the mayor’s office.The public outcry would be a clamour.

Rossiter bent over to have a closer look ather face, now clouded by the rapidly falling snow. “There’ssomethin’ wrong with her hair,” he said.

Cobb took a look. “It’s a wig,” he said.Then: “And this ain’t no lady. It’s Simon Whitemarsh — in ladies’clothing.”

***

Leaving Rossiter to wait for Dr. Withers, Cobbheaded straight back to the brothel.

“There’s been another murder,” he said toMadame LaFrance in the vestibule.

“Who? My girls are all safe.”

“Simon Whitemarsh, yer Galahad.”

“Oh, my!”

“He was dressed in ladies’ clothin’. Do youknow anythin’ about that business?”

“Of course, I do. Galahad was fond ofcross-dressing. He was here earlier — with the other two Cavaliers- and got all dressed up, with make-up and everything. He madequite the lady. I sold him some clothing from time to time.”

“What time did he leave?”

“About ten minutes before you and that otherconstable did.”

“What about Gawain and Lancelot?”

“They were spooked by your being here. I toldyou that you were ruining my business. They headed out right afteryou. And threatened not to come back.”

So, Cobb thought, his two chief suspects werestill in the picture. One of them could have caught up withWhitemarsh and slashed his throat, taking him for a blond woman. Hewould have to interview them again, if he were allowed back on thecase. And that was problematic as the Chief could be furious thatthe murder of a respectable gentleman (albeit a cross-dressing one)had taken place right under their noses. With a sigh, he headedback to talk to the coroner.

***

The next day the news of the ghastly murder of SimonWhitemarsh spread throughout the city. No mention was made of thefellow’s eccentric haberdashery, only the fact that he was anupstanding citizen in his prime. It was assumed that he had bymistake wandered into Devil’s Acre or that he had been partaking ofone of the gentlemanly pleasures offered there. And this was thethird murder in just over a week! Was no-one safe on the streets ofToronto? The mayor was feeling the pressure, and when he did, hemade sure his Chief Constable suffered likewise.

Cobb had his report ready for Bagshaw byearly afternoon. He was drowsy and irritable, but waited patientlywhile Bagshaw read the lurid details. (Cobb was desperate to gethome and get some sleep in case the Chief wished to continue thenight patrolling of Devil’s Acre.) Whitemarsh’s throat had been cutwith a serrated knife and he had rapidly bled to death, unable tocry out for help. The star-shaped bootprints had been presentagain, suggesting strongly that they were looking for one madkiller.

“So you think Mr. Whitemarsh was mistaken fora woman,” Bagshaw said when Cobb had seated himself in Bagshaw’soffice.

“He had a wig and was plastered with facepaint,” Cobb said. “I even sniffed some fancy perfume. And all hisclothes were ladies’.”

“I trust there’s no need for these details tocome out?”

“Well, sir, any inquest will have to know hewas the third blond victim to be murdered in the same part oftown.”

“I suppose so. But the coroner’s holding offfor now.”

“I found the bootprints again.”

“And these were in fresh snow?”

“No, but I’m sure the killer made them,sir.”

“But you lost the trail at JarvisStreet?”

“I did see someone up ahead, to the north,but lost them in the snow.”

“And so you conclude our killer is agentleman with large boots?”

“Probably, but it did occur to me that hecould be putting on oversize boots to throw us off the scent.”

“You’re giving the madman a lot of credit.And may I remind you that gentlemen are not given to such madbehaviour.”

Though they are cross-dressers occasionally,Cobb thought. But he said, “It’s the fancy pattern of thebootprints that tells me this fella is a gentleman, a gentleman whohates blond-haired women.”

“My God, Cobb, Devil’s Acre has threemiscreants for every house, and you’re still harping on yourgentlemen. Those boots could be stolen, and probably were!”

“All three murders have taken place within astone’s throw of Madame LaFrance’s. I know it’s where we oughta belookin’.”

Bagshaw folded his hands together on thedesk. “Now, Cobb, what I want to know is how a murder could happenright under the noses of three experienced constables?”

“The killer must’ve seen Wilkie and me gointo the brothel fer five minutes to warm our feet.,” Cobb saidevenly.

“You left your post!” Bagshaw quivered to theroots of his brittle hair.

“Just fer five minutes. I wanted to see whatgentlemen were in there.”

“Looking for suspects, were we? Instead ofdoing honest police work!”

“The murder must have happened just as Wilkiewas gettin’ back on his patch. The killer knew we weren’t gonnacatch him in the act.”

“And you certainly didn’t.”

“That place is such a maze, sir. If thekiller knows his way around, he could murder someone right underour noses.”

“But surely you know your way around bynow.”

“Not really. Wilkie still bumped into meearlier.”

“Are you saying my patrols are useless?”

“I’m sayin’ I think I need to investigatesome more, that’s all.”

Bagshaw sat back and grinned nastily. “WhatI’m going to do is add a fourth constable to the night-patrolthere, and have you investigate in the daytime, if you think itwill help. But I don’t want to have any complaints from gentlemenyou’ve disturbed. I’ve already got the mayor and three aldermen onmy case. Now go home and get some sleep. You’ve got a long nightand a day ahead of you.”

Cobb slunk out, exhausted and not a littlepeeved.

***

Even Dora was sympathetic.

“Why don’t that man try ploddin’ in the coldfer a night in Devil’s Acre,” she said, pouring Cobb a cup of hottea.

“He wants me to investigate,” Cobb said,sipping at the tea, “but he won’t give me any leeway. And I gottapatrol to boot.”

“You got any new leads?” Dora said.

“I’m gonna talk to Pugh and Clough again.They were both there last night.”

Dora put out a plate of biscuits. “Youremember tellin’ me about a laundry woman on Church Street, afterSally Butts was killed?”

“That’s right. She might’ve got a close lookat our killer and doesn’t know it.”

“Why don’t you try and find her?”

“But she could be anybody takin’ laundry into any of them dives or brothels.”

“There’s somebody who might know, though,isn’t there?”

“Itchy Quick,” Cobb said, and Doragrinned.

***

After a cold, fruitless night patrolling Devil’sAcre, Cobb decided to have a morning’s sleep and then go back tohis detective work. First up, about two o’clock that afternoon wasa visit to one of his old haunts, the Cock and Bull. In a farcorner, in a shadowy alcove, sat his current snitch, Itchy Quick.(Nestor Peck, his long-time snitch now had a regular job in achicken hatchery and no longer needed the occasional boost to hisincome that a little tattling would supply.) Itchy was anything butquick. His several hundred pounds saw to that. His movements wereslow as a sloth in hibernation and his thought processes onlymarginally speedier. But he spent a lot of time in taverns, cadgingpennies for a drink and selling information he picked up in histravels.