Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

“But I ain’t no woman!” Wilkie wailed.

“You’re the slimmest of these fellows,”Bagshaw said, glancing at the others, “so you’re elected.”

“What do I gotta wear?” Wilkie said.

“I’ve brought all you’ll need from home,”Bagshaw said. He began slowly removing the contents of the laundrybag. First to come out was a large, fluffy, blond wig. Then aladies’ evening gown. Then a pair of ladies’ button boots. Then aladies’ feathered hat. And finally, a ladies’ cape.

“I’ve got my wife’s face-paint in theoffice,” Bagshaw said.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” Wilkie moaned.

“It’s time you earned your keep,” Bagshawsnapped. He had, of course, thought to humiliate Cobb by choosinghim, but Cobb’s bottle shape precluded any dress fitting him, andthe wild shock of unkempt hair would make any wig impossible tofit. Wilkie was fleshy but slimly built with small feet — alas.

“We’ll help you get ready,” Rossitergrinned.

“Use the constables’ room,” Bagshaw said.

Rossiter and Wilkie went into the constables’room with the garments.

Bagshaw turned to Brown and Cobb. “Now,gentlemen, you’re going to bear witness to how proper police workpays off. I want you, Cobb, to keep a short way behind Wilkie atall times, but discreetly. We want this killer to make his move. Ifhe does, you can yell to alert Wilkie and trap the fellow betweenthe two of you. Blow your whistle for help. I figure that twotruncheons should be able to take care of that knife. Still, youmust remember here that we’re dealing with a madman.”

“Careful! You’re gonna rip the damn thing!”It was Wilkie’s voice from the other room.

Cobb and Brown grinned.

“There’s nothing funny about any of this,”Bagshaw said. “Wilkie will be risking his life.”

A few minutes later the door of theconstables’ room opened, and a sturdy blond woman stepped gingerlyout into the anteroom. Wilkie had successfully squeezed his bulkinto the flowery gown. The wig was bold and curly upon his head,under the hat. He couldn’t get the cape fastened, so it hung on himlike two flaps. The boots, unbuttoned, pinched his toes inward andmade him walk oddly — more like a woman than a man.

“Splendid! Splendid!” Bagshaw enthused.

Wilkie staggered and was caught by Cobb.

“Now a little rouge on each cheek and we’llbe all set,” Bagshaw proclaimed.

Wilkie groaned.

***

As Wilkie meandered through the maze of Devil’sAcre, Cobb stayed close behind, flattening himself against walls tokeep as far out of sight as he dared. Brown and Rossiter werepatrolling other sections of the place — in hopes they might runinto the killer — so Cobb and Wilkie were on their own. And whileWilkie was certainly comic-looking, Cobb realized there was realdanger involved. This was the third night. The killer could be onthe prowl, and Wilkie certainly resembled a woman from even a shortdistance away.

Once, Cobb lost sight of Wilkie, and it wasonly by chance that they met face to face coming around a corner.Wilkie almost jumped out of his dress, then saw it was Cobb.

“I thought you was supposed to be behind me,”Wilkie complained.

“You’re movin’ too fast,” Cobb said.

“You’d move fast, too, if there was a maniacon yer ass.”

Cobb resumed his rear position and theycontinued.

About two hours into their patrol, neareleven o’clock, Cobb saw Wilkie make a limping right turn aboutfifteen yards ahead of him. He sped up to make sure he didn’t losetrack of his man, when out of the opposite alley the blur of afigure vanished somewhere in behind Wilkie.

This was it! Cobb raced to the corner of thealley, fumbling for his whistle. It stuck to his lips. Ahead hecould now see two figures, Wilkie and his attacker. They appearedto be locked in a deadly embrace. Cobb’s whistle sang through themoon-lit darkness. The figures broke apart, and Wilkie tumbledbackwards into a drift. Cobb dashed towards his stricken colleague.The attacker was heading for the far end of the alley. Wilkie wavedCobb after him.

Cobb’s speed was always underestimated bythose he pursued. His tube-like belly was attached to two slim,pistoning legs, and seemed even to assist his forward locomotion,once he got up a head of steam. The attacker aided Cobb by slippingas he tried to turn a corner and sliding into the snow. Cobb wasquickly upon him.

“Gotcha, ya devil!” he cried as he fell uponthe man, truncheon raised.

No serrated knife gleamed in the moonlight.The killer lay panting and passive beneath him. Cobb got up andhauled the fellow up by the scruff.

“Where’d ya hide the knife?” he yelled.

“W-what knife?” the killer said in a chokingvoice.

“Don’t mess with me, fella. Where is it?”

“I haven’t got a knife. And I didn’t donothing to have a policeman jump on me!” Some vigour was returningto the villain’s voice.

Cobb took a good look at his captive. He wasa short, paunchy man dressed in gentleman’s attire. His beaver tophat lay on the ground. He wore a cape, not a great coat. Somethingwas amiss here.

“You assaulted a police constable,” Cobb saidsternly. “We’ll go back and see what he has to say.”

Cobb dragged the man back to where Wilkie wasjust getting to his feet. He had a pained expression on hisface.

“Are you all right, Wilkie? You’re notinjured?” Cobb said.

“’Course I ain’t all right. This bastardtried to kiss me!”

***

Neither Wilkie nor Bagshaw found the kissing episodeas amusing as the rest of the constables. Bagshaw was in a blackmood the next day, and not amenable to any suggestion by Cobb thathe pursue the big-booted gentleman by going back to MadameLaFrance’s brothel and seeking out any client of above averageheight. There could not be that many tall gentlemen visitingDevil’s Acre on a given night. There were also three or four otherbrothels in there, although their clientele was decidedly down thesocial ladder. But it looked now as if — the Wilkie trap havingfailed spectacularly — Bagshaw would rely on patrols alone to catchthe killer. There would be no more traps and no more detecting forCobb, in or out of uniform.

***

It was Dora who came up with the suggestion:

“Mister Cobb, why don’t you sit down andwrite a long letter to Marc Edwards in Kingston?”

“What for?” Cobb asked.

“To tell him all about the killin’s here,that’s what. You two always made such a great team doin’ yerinvestigatin’.”

Cobb thought about the suggestion for a bit,then said, “You think he might be able to see somethin’ I missed?”There was no defensiveness in the remark; it was just a simplequestion.

“You could give him yer reports, couldn’tyou?”

“Well now, I couldn’t do that, but I couldget Gussie to copy them out and I could send the Major thecopies.”

“It’s worth a try. It sure don’t look likethis loony worries about policeman gettin’ in his way.”

“All right, Missus Cobb, I’ll do it.”

It took Gussie a day to copy out Cobb’sreports, which contained detailed accounts of all his interviewswith his own analysis and opinions appended. Gussie did not objectbecause he loved nothing better than to sit at his desk and copyout important documents. Cobb gathered all the materials together,packed them in a bundle, penned a brief covering letter, and mailedthe package off to Kingston. It was on his arrival back from thistask that he was met by Bagshaw.

“You just missed Miss Pettigrew,” he said toCobb.

“Is she all right?”

“Not entirely. She came here to report that astranger looked into her bedroom window last night. She screamedand he disappeared. But she had the wherewithal to run to thewindow in time to see a tall, dark-clothed man striding away acrossher back garden.”