Don Gutteridge - Bloody Relations

That was it. Not a lot, but Marc found himself unable to care very much. The interview with Alasdair Hepburn had left him angry, confused, and ultimately drained of emotion. He knew he ought to feel at least some sense of triumph in that Michael Badger-on the strength of the key he was carrying and the motive supplied by Mrs. Burgess (with intent to rob possibly thrown in)-would be fingered for the murder. There would be no trial, nor any need for anyone to know or care who the aristocratic stranger was. Handford Ellice could be released to accompany Lord and Lady Durham back to Quebec tomorrow. Sure, rumours would circulate and fester, though Marc doubted whether Hepburn himself would be the source: that spiteful sword could prove to be double-edged. But a public scandal would definitely be averted. Still, Marc did not feel in the least triumphant.

He decided to leave a note for Chief Sturges explaining why he had taken the letter from Badger’s body and admitting reluctantly that it had turned out to be innocent and unrelated to either murder. He took a step towards the door of the chief’s office.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I was you,” Gussie cautioned.

“I thought you said Sturges was out.”

“He is. But there’s a female in there, waitin’.”

Marc had no choice but to conduct one more interview. He opened the door carefully and sat with Una for a moment before asking her to tell him about her brother.

“Michael was ten years younger than me,” Una Badger explained. She dabbed at her eyes with Marc’s handkerchief. “Our mother died when he was six, so it was me who raised him and looked out for him. I knew him, Mr. Edwards, as a mother knows her own child. I knew his good points and his bad ones-and he had plenty of both.”

Una confirmed the essential details of Hepburn’s story. Badger did have some sort of arrangement with his employer to help him hold on to his earnings. While she did not know for sure, she assumed the note she had taken from Michael and delivered to Hepburn on Tuesday was connected with that arrangement. And, yes, Mr. Hepburn had been very kind to Michael, despite his gruff manner and quick temper. He had tried to dissuade him from his gambling and binge drinking, but had always taken him back regardless and given him work. In fact, a makeshift bunkhouse had been set up in one of the unused barns at the back of the property so that he would always have a place to sleep, day or night. But he had not used it to hide out on Tuesday or yesterday. She had checked it many times.

“So your brother would have confided in you?” Marc said.

“About some things, yes.”

“Mr. Hepburn told me that he noticed some change in Michael after the new year.”

“That’s so. Michael came and told me that he was twenty-five and it was time for him to do something decent with his life. He talked about going away to the States, far from his cronies and the habits he couldn’t seem to break.”

“For which he would need to earn money and not gamble it away.”

“Yes. And he tried, Mr. Edwards. Only God and I know how hard he tried. And now he’s dead, shot by those terrible men-”

She sobbed into Marc’s hanky.

“I’m sorry, but it all seems so unfair. He stopped drinking, he really did. Mr. Hepburn gave him work making shelves and cupboards for his new library. I tried to talk him out of being a bruiser in Irishtown, but he said the money was too good and, besides, he liked being there. When he come here on Tuesday, I knew something horrible had happened to him, but I thought, He’s going to get away now because he has to: not to our cousins in Port Sarnia but all the way across the border where he’ll be safe from his demons and be happy.”

Marc reached across the chief’s desk and laid a hand gently on hers. “But we were told that Michael had run up more gambling debts in recent weeks. He may have been saving his money at home, but he was issuing paper promises up at the Tinker’s Dam.”

Una merely nodded. Then through a screen of tears, she said, “I knew he couldn’t stay away from that place as long as he lived in the city and as long as he had ready cash from that madam woman. But I swear, Mr. Edwards, it was only two or three binges: most of the time since January he was sober and working-for Mr. Hepburn or in Irishtown.”

“Unfortunately, he had a serious falling out with Mrs. Burgess on Monday. He owed her a lot of money. We found on him a key to a secret door in the brothel, and you and Mr. Hepburn have confirmed that he came for money ostensibly to leave town. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the police are going to name him as the murderer of Sarah McConkey.”

The shock of this revelation registered on Una Badger’s face and was slowly absorbed. Then she straightened her back and stared directly into Marc’s eyes.

“Mr. Edwards, Michael Badger was a gentle man. He never swatted a fly if he could avoid it. I know. I watched him grow up. As a boy, he was big and awkward with a stook of orange hair that stuck up every which way. He was teased something terrible. But he never struck back, even though he was twice as strong as his tormentors. Do you know what he did?”

“Please tell me.”

“He would pick up the closest one, give him a bear hug until he said uncle, then tip him upside down and quietly shake him until the other boys laughed. Then he dropped him and laughed with them. They soon got to like Michael. He had his faults, but people liked him. And he was fun to be with. He could talk the ear off a donkey!” Her face lit up momentarily at the memory of what was past and would not return.

“Still,” Marc said hesitantly, “he became a bruiser in a brothel.”

“But don’t you see, sir, if he couldn’t sweet-talk a drunken sailor out of being belligerent, why, he’d just give him a bear hug and flip him topsy-turvy.”

“And Madame Renée didn’t entertain too many sailors?”

Una smiled. “Michael called her customers ‘pillow-puffs.’ His only worry was that he would meet one of them on the street and get in Dutch for recognizing him.”

Had Badger possibly encountered Hepburn at Madame Renée’s? Was that the reason for Hepburn’s “friendliness” towards him? Or was it a simple and deadly case of blackmail? What did it matter now anyway? Badger was gone and Hepburn was too clever to be implicated in either crime.

Una Badger suddenly grasped both of Marc’s hands. “Michael couldn’t have hurt any of those girls, not a hair on their heads. He liked them. He treated them like younger sisters. He took them little presents. He wouldn’t let any of the men be insulting to them. And he never touched them in that. . that other way.”

“But-”

“Mr. Edwards, you’ve got to tell the police and the magistrate that my brother couldn’t kill anyone!”

Una Badger had left to go up to Dr. Withers’s surgery to claim her brother’s body. Marc’s head was spinning too much for him to be able to compose a note for Wilfrid Sturges, but he did not need to, for the chief himself soon arrived. Marc rattled off a highly edited and barely coherent explanation of why he had bearded Alasdair Hepburn in his home, but his embarrassment was scarcely noticed. The chief was a happy and relieved man and cared not that a prominent citizen may have been needlessly bullied.

“Stop worryin’, Marc. We’ve all done our duty and then some. We’ll have this whole business wrapped up by noon tomorrow. We’ll make a sweep of the rot around the Tinker’s Dam, but it’s not likely we’ll ever find out who done us a favour by poppin’ off Mr. Badger. Still, we can safely go up and tell His Lordy-ship that his nephew’s off the hook.”

Marc nodded numbly.