Governing Passion (5 page)

“Oh, you know about him, then? A Mr. John
Kray.”

“I do. But I didn’t know he came here.”

“Oh, he didn’t come inside, ever. But we’d
see him hangin’ about, and Sally told me he followed her sometimes.
She wouldn’t speak to him though.”

“He wasn’t around here last night by any
chance?”

“That’s just it. He was. When I was lettin’ a
gentleman in – oh, about nine-thirty – I saw him at the corner of
the house, just lurkin’ in the snow.”

So, Cobb thought, another lie. Kray had not
been gambling all night. And Pugh had indeed lost a glove. Cobb
thanked Nell again, and left – much satisfied with his evening of
detection.

***

Cobb was at Kray’s house at nine the next morning.
Kray himself answered the door.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Mr. Kray,”
Cobb said as he entered the front room of the small cottage.

“I answered your questions yesterday,” Kray
said. He looked dreadful, a combination of hangover and grief, or
regret.

“But you didn’t answer them with the truth,
sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“You were seen skulkin’ about Madame
LaFrance’s about nine-thirty on the night of the murder.”

Kray heaved a huge sigh. “So I was. But that
was all I did. I could hear her sing, even see her, standing near
the window by the piano. Sometimes she would wander close enough
for me to see her beautiful hair. Like a halo, it was. She was an
angel.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t want you to suspect me. You knew
I’d been turned down and that I continued to follow her. I didn’t
want to be involved. I wanted to grieve quietly. I been up to see
her parents. They’ve been kind to me, despite everything.”

“You didn’t wait fer her to come out?”

Kray looked at his feet. “She surprised me by
coming out at ten o’clock. I was just getting ready to go back to
Dowd’s.”

“And you spoke with her?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“That’s the gospel truth, sir. We argued. She
told me to stop following her. I told her it was dangerous in
Devil’s Acre. If only she’d listened – ”

“So she left – on her own?”

Kray choked back a sob. “Yes, she did. I went
back to my gambling. And she was killed by some brute.”

Who might well have been you, Cobb thought.
And these tears are after the fact and fraught with remorse. Cobb
then did a strange thing. He stared down at Kray’s feet. They were
very large despite the fellow’s medium build.

“You have very large feet, Mr. Kray.”

Kray looked startled by the comment. “I do.
So what of it?”

“May I see the boots you were wearing two
nights ago?”

“If you must. But I don’t see what you’d want
to do that for.”

“Just show them to me.”

Kray went over to a mat near the door and
picked up a large pair of walking boots. Cobb took one and examined
the sole. There was a manufacturer’s logo cut into the sole, but
the design was not similar to the one he was looking for.
Nevertheless, there could be other boots – perhaps jettisoned or
burned.

“So you’re denyin’ you followed Sally Butts
and slashed her throat?”

Kray dropped the other boot. “Of course I
didn’t,” he said. “I
loved
her.”

Cobb backed out the door, thinking hard.

***

Cobb had planned to write up another report for
Chief Cyril Bagshaw – to prove that he was using his time
productively – but never got the chance. Bagshaw was waiting for
him.

“In my office, Constable,” he said, alerting
Gussie French, fussing with his pens, to the fact that trouble was
in the wind.

Cobb followed the Chief inside.

Bagshaw stood behind his desk and glared at
Cobb, still standing. “I’ve just had Bartholomew Pugh in here, sir,
and he was not a happy gentleman.”

“About the man, sir, I – ”

“I don’t want excuses, Cobb, because there
aren’t any. You had the brazen gall to disturb three respectable
gentlemen of the town in their evening of relaxation and pleasure.
And you practically accused them of murdering Sally Butts!”

“But, sir, I treated them as potential
witnesses. They were out there – ”

“You don’t get the point, do you, Cobb. These
are
gentlemen
. They must be treated as gentlemen. If we wish
to interview them, we make an appointment, we do not spring upon
them unannounced in a brothel! You embarrassed them, Cobb. For no
good reason.”

“I didn’t know their names to make an
appointment,” Cobb pleaded. “I figured they’d be there and I’d at
least find out who they were.”

“Then why did you, having gotten their names,
not make an appointment then and there? And apologize for
interrupting them so rudely?”

Cobb paused, lowered his voice and said,
“Pugh was lyin’ to me, sir.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He denied losin’ a glove. I found one,
remember, near the crime. And Nell, one of the girls, told me he
had earlier been askin’ after it. If it is his glove, and I’m sure
it is, then he was within a block of the crime at about the time it
was bein’ committed.”

Bagshaw paused before saying, “I see. But you
don’t know whether his lost glove, if he did lose one, matches the
one you found?”

“I’d like to find that out, sir, by goin’ to
him and askin’ him about it. I’d like him to show me the left-hand
glove he didn’t lose.”

“Well, then, we’ll do it my way, Cobb – the
proper way. I’ll send a message to his home that we would like to
interview him, at
his
convenience.”

“We?”

“Yes, Cobb.
I’m
going to do the
interviewing, to show you how to interrogate a gentleman. You’ll
come along and observe closely everything I do. I’m assuming you’re
capable of learning.”

“Just as long as we get at the truth, sir,”
Cobb said, not a little upset at the rough treatment his detecting
had received. He took the opportunity, though, to tell Bagshaw
about his visit with John Kray.

“Now that’s a more likely candidate for
murderer,” was Bagshaw’s only comment.

***

Bartholomew Pugh sent back word that he would be
pleased to meet with the chief of police at four o’clock the
following day. Cobb, with no discernible detecting to do, was sent
back on his day-patrol until a half-hour before the appointment. He
joined Bagshaw at the police quarters just after three-thirty, and
they walked together down to Front Street and over towards Brock,
where the Pugh residence, a substantial brick structure, stood
staring out at the snow-covered bay.

They were greeted by a butler who knew a
gentleman when he spotted one, and was not fooled by Bagshaw’s
gentlemanly clothes. With a series of curt nods he showed them into
a study where Pugh, portly and flushed, sat smoking a pipe and
sipping at a snifter of brandy. He stood partway up and motioned
the policemen to take a chair. He did not offer them drinks.

“That will be all, Smithers,” he said to the
butler, who looked as if he did not wish to leave his master in the
room with the visitors. “Now, sir, what can I do for you,” he said
to Bagshaw.

“As you know, I’m Cyril Bagshaw, chief
constable, and this man you’ve already met,” Bagshaw said.

Pugh glanced narrowly at Cobb. “We have,
under regrettable circumstances.”

“I do apologize again, sir, for the
unforgivable behaviour of Mr. Cobb. But he’s new at this game,
that’s all I can say on his behalf. And I take it you have arranged
for us to arrive at a – a private moment.”

Pugh smiled conspiratorially. “My good wife
is out shopping,” he said, man to man. “There’s no need for her to
know anything about Madame LaFrance’s, is there? She’s of a
delicate nature.”

“Not at all, sir. We’re most happy to oblige
you.”

“And I’ll oblige you, if I can. What is it
you need to know that Mr. Cobb didn’t discover two nights ago?”

“Well, sir, one of the inmates of the house
of pleasure told Cobb that you inquired about a lost glove.”

Pugh sat back and adjusted his belly. “I see.
So you are wondering why I denied losing a glove.”

“Something like that,” Bagshaw said.

“Well, there’s an obvious explanation, isn’t
there?”

“And what might that be?”

“The girl is lying, isn’t she?”

“That had occurred to me,” Bagshaw said
quickly.

“After all, sir, the woman is a whore. And
would you accept the word of a whore over that of a respectable
citizen?”

“Of course not. So this glove we found near
the crime scene is not yours?” Bagshaw said, holding out the glove
he had taken from Cobb.

“I’ve never seen it before in my life,” Pugh
said.

“Then you have cleared up the point nicely,
sir. Thank you for your generous cooperation.”

The policemen got up, Cobb seething but
silent. Smithers directed them to the door. Outside, Bagshaw said,
“Now that is how to conduct an interview with a gentleman, Cobb.
And how we get at the truth. Now you know you’ll have to look
elsewhere for the owner of said glove.”

“What about Pugh’s obsession with Sally
Butts?” Cobb said.

“She was practically a whore,” Bagshaw said
sharply. “Why would a gentleman treat her as anything other?”

Cobb seethed all the way to the police
quarters, but no more was said about Bagshaw’s lesson in
interrogation.

In the office, Bagshaw had some further
advice for his apprentice. “Now, Cobb, if I were you, I’d be busy
getting more evidence against John Kray, a real suspect in this
case. Get a warrant and search that house of his for a pair of
boots and a missing glove. And a skinning knife.”

At this point they were interrupted by the
arrival of Ewan Wilkie, looking pale around the gills.

“What is it, Wilkie?” Cobb said. “What’s
happened?”

“We’ve got another body. In an alley near the
brothel.”

“When was it found?” Bagsahw said.

“Just now, sir. It’s a girl. But she was
murdered sometime last night. The body was stiff and cold.”

So much for Mr. Kray, Cobb thought.

FOUR

Marc Edwards finished his breakfast and headed for
the meeting-room, in actuality a private dining-room of the
Clarendon Hotel, where he was staying here in Kingston with his
associates, Robert Baldwin and Francis Hincks. Louis LaFontaine was
scheduled to join them this morning, walking down from the inn on
Brock Street, where the French delegation from Quebec was residing.
Marc had been in Kingston for the last three days, having been
summoned here by Robert to assist him and Hincks with their
correspondence and policy discussions. The principal topic was, of
course, the alliance being forged between the moderate Reformers of
Upper Canada (now Canada West) and the moderate French
rouge
party of Lower Canada (now Canada East). The union of the two
provinces was now a proclaimed reality. Governor Poulett Thomson,
Lord Sydenham, had made it official in February of this year, 1841.
Elections across both sections of the new Province of Canada were
scheduled for April, the resulting Parliament to meet in the newly
designated capital of Kingston.

Most of the discussions thus far had focussed
on a riding by riding analysis of the prospects of various
candidates who would be sympathetic to the alliance cause and who
stood a chance of being elected. A number of nominations were still
up for grabs, and both Robert Baldwin and Louis LaFontaine were
happy to use their influence to ensure favourable selections. This
in turn generated a lot of letter-writing, and so Marc had been
called in to assist Hincks and, occasionally, the French team (as
Marc’s French was exceptional). Marc was also available as a
translator or interpreter, although Louis himself spoke passable
English and understood even more.

Robert and Hincks were waiting for Marc,
having risen earlier and taken breakfast in their rooms. Marc knew
he should be thinking about the upcoming discussion, but his mind
was upon his wife Beth and their two children, Maggie and Marcus
Junior. He hated leaving them behind in Toronto, and he realized
now that he would be needed here for weeks, not days. Little Marcus
was almost one and was starting to crawl all over Briar Cottage.
And his babble-talk was approaching speech of some kind. But duty
called, and Marc had rarely been able to resist its demands.
Perhaps it was his years as an army officer. More probably it was
due to his profound belief that the future of the new Canada lay in
the achievement of a responsible form of government in which the
executive was fully accountable to the elected Legislative
Assembly.

“Good morning, Marc,” Robert said, waving
Marc to a seat at the table in the middle of the room. “We just got
here ourselves. We’re expecting Louis shortly.”

“Louis is bringing us the latest news on the
status of our alliance,” Hincks said with his usual enthusiastic
grin.

In contrast to Hincks, Robert Baldwin was an
ordinary looking man, one who did not command the attention of a
room until he spoke. And even then his voice was soft and rarely
raised in anger or enthusiasm. He was now in his mid-thirties and
of medium height and build. His most arresting feature was his
bold, intelligent eyes under their dark, almost brooding brows.
Hincks was a fair-haired Irishman with regular features and a ready
smile to accompany his forceful manner of speech and his ready
wit.

“I think we can expect in excess of
forty-five from among our group and Louis’ supporters,” Robert
said. “And we’ve already got you on the Executive Council,” Hincks
said to Robert.

Robert looked over at Marc. “And I’ve got to
give you a proper explanation of why I agreed to enter a cabinet
with Tories like William Draper, and you’ve been tactful enough not
to ask.”