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THE NEXT MORNING, WINSTON met Miller outside the Chase residence. “We will start by walking to Chase’s office, as his cook said that was his preference. Let’s assume that he took the most direct route.”
“Sir, what are we looking for? Now that Chase is dead, I mean.”
Winston considered the constable’s question. “You’re right. We know we won’t find him alive, but learning more about his final day may help us identify who killed him.”
Miller bit his lip. “Who do you think did it?”
“I don’t think Rupert did it, despite losing a maid to Chase and being on the way to losing one to Huntington.”
“Even if Chase was also planning to leave the job Rupert had secured for him?”
Winston nodded. “Rupert felt the sting of that rejection; I saw it in his face. But I just can’t see the man killing for it.”
“Was it the final straw? Another insult from Chase?”
“Perhaps.” Winston wasn’t convinced. “But I still don’t see there was sufficient provocation.”
“What about Sharp? Surely the business Chase and Huntington were starting threatened his livelihood. Is he our killer?”
Winston scratched his chin. “The puncture wounds I saw on Huntington’s arm. Evans found similar ones on Chase.”
“Sewing needles? Or from Sharp’s cutting shears?”
“Good, Miller. Those are tools he would have readily available. But if he killed them, where did he do it? He wouldn’t risk it at his own shop.”
“What about their shop? Few people knew of it.”
“I don’t think Sharp did, either. It has no sign, and you couldn’t see in from the street.”
“Might he have followed one of them?” Miller offered.
“Possibly.” Winston nodded. “Though we didn’t see anything to suggest a death had occurred there.”
“How about Cole?” Miller asked.
“Cole has opportunity and means, but what is his motivation?”
Miller simply shrugged.
They turned from quiet Bidwell Street onto the busier Robson Street and walked east toward the main business district. Streetcars rattled by with men heading to work and a few women running errands. The only other person walking near them was a woman clutching her simple dress to avoid it dragging in the mud from the previous night’s rain. Soon the streets would be busy with women heading to select the first of the season’s fresh vegetables from local growers. Farms to the east and south sat on some of the most fertile soil in the region.
Winston and Miller stopped in at the shops dotting the street and found each shop owner pleasant and co-operative. But none provided any useful answers to their questions.
“What use is this, sir? Nobody remembers seeing Chase.” Miller kicked at dried horse droppings, scattering them across their path.
Winston skipped to avoid the dung. “Precisely. We have learned that the people Chase was most likely to encounter noticed nothing unusual. That in itself is important.” He turned back to Miller. “Come. We are near Chase’s office.”
The policemen turned the corner onto Granville Street and approached a young boy selling the latest edition of the newspaper. “Say,” Winston started, dropping a coin into the boy’s extended palm and crouching to his height. “Do you recall anything unusual last Tuesday? We’re interested in a man who worked at the building across the street.”
“The gentlemen usually arrive after nine, sir.”
Winston tucked the paper under his arm. “Anyone you haven’t seen in a while?”
The boy considered this for a moment, then offered in a stronger voice, “Well, Mr. Chase usually buys his paper and sometimes gives me a little extra. I haven’t seen him in a while.”
Winston gave him an encouraging nod. “Do you remember when you last saw him?”
“Last week. Monday? Tuesday? I’m not sure, but I remember the headline: New Park Expected Next Year.” The boy’s face fell. “Are you looking for Mr. Chase, sir? He is a kind man.”
Winston brought his head closer to the boy and lowered his voice. “Do you remember anything different when you last saw him? Did Mr. Chase seem his usual self?”
“Yes, I remember. He walked by me in the morning and walked by again about midday. He often does that, for his lunch, I guess. Only ... he didn’t come back. Not while I was here.”
“And how long are you here?”
“First edition comes by at seven, and I am here before it. The second edition comes at four. I stay until six or seven. Most everyone has left by then.”
“Thank you.” Winston handed the boy another coin, but refused a second copy of the day’s paper. He and Miller stepped away.
Winston checked his pocket watch. “Look around, Constable. Can you identify anyone else that we might want to speak to?”
Miller surveyed the street, now teeming with life. Faces looked out from the streetcars. Horses stomped and snorted, waiting while men unloaded their delivery carts. Dustmen whistled, picking up after the horses. People entered and exited the surrounding businesses. Boys dotted the pavement, offering a newspaper or a shoeshine.
“The shine boy?”
“Well suggested, Thomas. They have regular customers.”
The pair approached the nearest shoeshine boy. Winston offered a foot, and as the boy moved his hands across the leather, the detective began his questions.
“I think I know the man. But I wasn’t here. I was sick and didn’t work for two days last week.” He wiped the back of his hand across his nose.
“I am pleased you’re back, then. How did you keep your spot?”
The boy coughed. “No choice. Nobody else to work and feed us.” He jutted his chin toward a taller boy. “My cousin. He didn’t let anyone move in.” When the boy finished, Winston paid him and left a generous tip.
Winston looked at Miller’s shoes. “Let’s get your shoes shined, shall we?”
They walked over to the taller boy. Miller rested a foot on a box. “Are you his cousin?” he asked.
The boy grabbed a cloth and started on Miller’s shoe. “Whose?”
Winston nodded toward the younger one. “The other shine boy.”
Without interrupting the polishing, the boy glanced up. “Did he give you trouble?”
“No, far from it. He said he wasn’t here a few days ago, that you’d filled in for him.”
“’Course.”
“Did anything unusual happen when your cousin wasn’t here?”
“I was busy. Not much time for noticing.”
“I understand. It’s just that I’m looking for information about a dead man, and he might have had his shoes shined here.”
The boy dabbed polish on Miller’s shoe with his right pinky and rubbed a cloth across the top. “I wish I could help you. I spend most of my time looking at shoes, not faces. If I saw them, I might remember the man.”
The constable leaned forward, pulling his foot away. “Would you remember him if we showed you another pair he’d owned?”
The boy pulled Miller’s foot back into place. “Maybe.”
Winston paid and promised they would return with a shoe.
“A good idea, Thomas, about the shoe. Please return to the Chase residence to retrieve one.”
“Yes, sir.” Miller hesitated. “But sir, we have learned nothing.”
“Not much, no,” Winston admitted. “Let’s try inside.”
The men entered the building and wove through the office to the desks of Chase’s colleagues Blake, Warner, and Smithson. The three well-dressed men stood, faces sullen, when they saw the policemen approach.
“Gentlemen, I assume you have heard the sad news about Chase. If you do not object, my constable and I would like to ask you a few more questions.”
Smithson took a step forward. “We’re sorry to hear about him. Is his wife—” The man pursed his lips. “Tell her he’ll be missed here.”
“I’ll pass along your sentiments.” Winston made a mental note; he didn’t like to give empty assurances. “We’d like to understand how Mr. Chase spent last Tuesday, the day he disappeared.”
“The day started as any other,” said Warner. “I arrived at the office first, followed by Chase. As usual.”
“What time did you arrive, sir?” Miller had his pencil ready to take notes.
“Quarter to nine. And Chase arrived not long after that.”
“Did Chase say or do anything unusual?”
“Not that I recall. We discussed the day’s work. We had to log information for the accounts, and we had a deadline, so we agreed on the process for that.” The man paused, looking at his feet. “I’ll miss him.”
“When did Chase leave for the day?”
“Oh, just past four. Usual, as I say.” Warner ran a hand through his hair.
Miller shifted beside Winston, checking another page of his notebook. “I understood he’d left early that day, around midday.”
Blake cleared his throat. “That’s right. Chase said he had to run an errand. I did not ask what it was. None of my business.”
Winston looked at the other men. “Did any of you see Chase again here that afternoon?” The men shook their heads. “Please confirm for me, what time do you recall last seeing him?”
Each man offered a time between noon and one o’clock, consistent with the paper boy’s account.
“Do any of you frequent the Vancouver Gentlemen’s Club?”
Smithson nodded. “Yes, I’m a member. He was there that evening. I spoke to him briefly, but not about where he’d been in the afternoon.”
“Do you recall who else he spoke with?”
“He was there with Rupert, of course. I did not track him all evening. Sorry.”
There was a missing afternoon in Chase’s last day they’d need to account for. Winston pressed them further. “What did Chase share with you about his plans for the future?”
“He was rather private,” Blake offered, his colour rising. “But he needed money.” His look pleaded with Winston not to reveal their conversation at the pub. “He mentioned it once.”
Winston searched the faces of Smithson and Warner. Each man shrugged.
“And the errand he had to run. Did he give you any hint about where?”
Warner shook his head. Smithson raised his hand. “Actually, he did mention to me he was meeting a friend. Something about helping each other.”
Winston stepped forward. “Did he say where?”
Blake offered an almost imperceptible nod before shaking his head to match Smithson and Warner. “We’re really sorry he’s dead,” Blake said.