Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

***

Cobb spent the first half of the next morningdictating his report to Gussie French, the police clerk. Abouthalfway through, Angus Withers poked his head into the constables’room that Cobb was using as an office, and announced that he hadcompleted his examination of the body and had sent someone toinform the parents of Sally Butts’s death.

“What’d you find, doc?”

“Well, the knife used had a serrated blade,”Withers said. “I’d hazard a guess that it was some kind of skinningknife. The slash was from left to right, so if the killer wasright-handed, I’d say he came up behind the victim, grabbed her tohold her steady, and then, quick and vicious, slit her throat.”

“I found a right-handed glove near thescene,” Cobb said, taking the written report from Withers, “so ifthe killer removed it to get a firmer grip on the knife, he wascertainly right-handed.”

“There were no bruises or blood or skin underher fingernails, so she didn’t put up any sort of struggle. Shedidn’t have time, poor thing.”

“Nothin’ else of interest?”

“That’s it. I’ve jotted down the details foryou in that report.”

Cobb thanked him, and he left.

When Cobb was finished making out his ownreport, he took it next door to the Chief’s office.

Without looking up from his desk, CyrilBagshaw said curtly, “Just leave it, Cobb. I’ll call you in whenI’ve read it.”

Cobb gave a small sigh and retreated. It wasno skin off his nose if he sat in the anteroom by the pot-belliedstove and wasted his time. He had been relieved of his daily patrolin order to play detective, so detective it would be. Ten minuteslater Bagshaw called him back in.

“Why do you mention these gentlemen at MadameLaFrance’s?” he said, motioning Cobb to a chair opposite him.

“They left the premises right after SallyButts did, sir. And they went their separate ways, I was told. So Ifigure we got three men, who seemed to have an interest in thegirl, wanderin’ about Devil’s Acre in the dark.”

“Wielding skinning knives?” Bagshaw said withheavy sarcasm.

“Easily hidden in a coat pocket.”

“So you think a gentleman is capable ofacting like a common cutthroat?”

“I found a right-hand glove at the entranceto the alley.”

“I can read, Constable.”

“It was an expensive glove, a gentleman’sglove. Would you like to see it?”

“I would not. For God’s sake, Cobb, Devil’sAcre is a den of thieves and scoundrels who’d slit your throat assoon as look at you, and you’re pursuing three nameless gentlemenout for a diverting evening’s entertainment!”

“And the boots, sir?” Cobb persisted. “I’vesketched the odd pattern for you there in my report. Thatstar-shape should make them easy to identify.”

“And you think they’re gentleman’s boots? A giant gentleman at that?”

“Well, it is a fancy pattern, ain’t it?”

“You don’t even know if the footprints are the killer’s, do you?”

“They led away from the body, sir, out toChurch Street. And they were snow-filled, meanin’ they’d been madesome time before any of us got there.”

“But you say the footprints leading up to the body were all messed up by others who came after the killer- like the gambler who found her, the coroner, Wilkie and you?”

“That’s right.”

“So how do you know the killer didn’t retreatinstead of going on ahead? If it was one of the denizens of Devil’sAcre, he probably sneaked off to his hidey-hole somewhere in thatgarbage heap — not out to Church Street.”

“It’s possible, sir. But how do we accountfor them big bootprints?”

“Someone who left the place before themurder? Or just after? Someone who didn’t feel like reporting it?You see, there’s no way we can connect them definitely to themurder.”

“I suppose so, sir.”

“I do. And I must say, I’m not overlyimpressed with your detecting skills on the basis of this firstreport. Why didn’t you and Wilkie knock on doors to see if therewere any witnesses to the crime?”

“Nobody up there ever sees or hearsanythin’,” Cobb said rather defensively. “We were lucky the gamblerdecided to report finding the body, or it could’ve been days beforeshe was found or missed.”

“Well, you ought to have tried. I think youwere taken too much with boots and gloves and gentlemen.”

“I could try now, sir.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not as if Sally Butts wasa wholly respectable girl doing a wholly respectable job.”

“She was just singin’ in the whorehouse, notwhorin’.”

Bagshaw grunted an acknowledgement and said,“What do you propose to do now? With the time I’m so generouslygiving you?”

“I’m going to visit Sally Butts’s parents.It’s likely she was killed by someone who knew her, so I’ve got tolearn more about her.”

“And you’re going to leave Sir Gawain and hisfriends out of it?”

Cobb had no intention of doing so, but hesaid, “For now, sir.”

***

Cobb found the split-log cabin that housed the Buttsfamily on Newgate Street near Simcoe. He knocked on the door andwaited. A minute or so later it opened to reveal a small,middle-aged woman whose red and swollen eyes indicated a seriousbout of weeping.

“You’ve come about Sally, then?” she said ina hollow voice.

“I have, madam. I’m Constable Cobb, thedetective assigned to find your daughter’s killer.”

“We told her not to work in that evil place,”Mrs. Butts said, stepping back and letting Cobb enter the modestinterior. It was simple, neat and clean. A bald-headed man sat at atable with his sleeves rolled up and his head in his hands.

“This is Constable Cobb,” Mrs. Butts said tohim. “He’s from the police.”

“You should be in Devil’s Acre,” Butts saidwith a feeble attempt at anger. “That’s where her killer is,amongst that riff raff.”

“That’s quite possible, sir, but I’ve come toask you a few questions about yer daughter.”

Butts looked up, the anguish stark in hisface. “She was our only child,” he said.

“I’m terribly sorry fer yer loss, and sorryto intrude like this — ”

“When will we be able to have the body?”Butts said.

“Right away, I should think. The coroner hasfinished his examination.”

“Did she suffer?” Mrs. Potts said, coming tostand behind her husband. Cobb stood with his helmet in his hands.It was at times like this that he thought plainclothes madesense.

“She did not, ma’am. Death was quick andpainless.” He only half believed this, thinking of the girl lyingthere waiting helplessly for her blood to run out.

“Thank God.”

“What do you need to ask?” Butts saidwearily.

“Did yer daughter know anyone who might wishher harm?” Cobb said.

“Not unless it was someone working at thatwhorehouse,” Butts said bitterly.

“Did she have a gentleman friend?”

Mrs. Butts answered. “She was a beautifulgirl, Constable. She was born with those beautiful, blond curls.She had lots of boy friends — always.”

“But she wanted to sing,” Butts said. “And soshe ended up in that place.”

“Was she seein’ anyone recently?”

Neither Butts spoke. Mrs. Butts placed herhands on her husband’s shoulder and squeezed. He spoke at last.“There was Mr. Kray. John Kray.”

Cobb’s antennae went up. “What about this Mr.Kray?”

“Well, he was quite taken with her,” Mrs.Butts said cautiously.

“He asked her to marry him.”

“She agreed, but later turned him down.”

“I see,” Cobb said. “And did he take thisnews calmly?”

Some real anger showed in Butts’s face. “Hedid not. He kept coming around here and pestering her and us. I hadto read him the riot act.”