Cobb knew that he should take the news straight to Chief Sturges. The name that Nestor Peck had given him was prominent enough to warrant the kind of special treatment that only a chief constable or attorney-general or even a lieutenant-governor could negotiate. On the other hand, he had been given a name and a relationship – that was all. Surely it was logical for him to pursue the matter to the point where its significance to the murder case became moot; after all, a cousin could be merely a cousin, couldn’t it?
Deep down, though, Cobb knew full well that he was driven by his desire to solve the murder on his own, before the major got back from New York on Saturday or Sunday. There was also the matter of method. While Marc was a subtle and tactful interrogator with an intuitive grasp of human motive and behaviour, Cobb fancied that his own more direct approach, coupled with his vast knowledge of city-life and his network of snitches on the ground, was more likely to pay dividends. For example, his bold decision to stake out the church, taking advantage of Missy Prue’s attraction to him, had not only put the kibosh on the unchristian shenanigans of Constance Hungerford and saved David Chalmers from possible ruin, it had led inexorably to Nestor Peck’s startling revelation.
Now all he had to do was confront the cousin and shake the truth out of her tree!
***
To his surprise Cobb was shown immediately into Mavis McDowell’s sitting-room by a plump maid with a permanent blush.
“Oh, do come in, Constable Cobb,” Mavis said, putting aside a sheaf of official-looking papers, rising from her brocaded settee, and smiling at him expectantly. “You’ve come to bring me news, I believe.”
Taken aback by this effusive greeting, Cobb mumbled his reply: “Well, sort of, ma’am.” His helmet was in his hands, searching for a spot to settle, while the spikes of his hair reared up alarmingly.
“I have been so worried about the thefts from the Poor Box,” she continued. “Mrs. Hungerford has been very understanding, but as treasurer of the Ladies Auxiliary I feel personally responsible.”
Cobb was quick to respond. “Then you’ll be glad to know that the robber was caught – this very mornin’.”
“That is wonderful news. I must say that I am impressed by the diligence of your constabulary. I shall be sure to inform Mr. McDowell of your success in this matter. You see, he is of the old school. He feels that the system of constables directed by squire-magistrates appointed from amongst the better classes is more efficient and safer from corruption than a municipal police force under the wing of ordinary aldermen. I shall enjoy disabusing him.” She reached out and touched his sleeve. “And I do want to apologize for the abruptness of my manner the last time we met. I was somewhat . . . distraught when I found the box empty.”
Cobb’s nose was purpling, for more than one reason. Now that he was here and face to face with this tall and elegant woman with her diligently braided hair and large, probing eyes, he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He didn’t know whether he was overawed, intimidated or disarmed by the touch of brittle vulnerability he detected in her eyes and her posture.
“Who was the culprit?” she asked.
“Oh, just some vagabond, ma’am. He won’t be robbin’ anybody else fer a long time.”
“Ah, I see.” She smiled and added, “Would you like some tea?”
“No, thanks, ma’am. Ya see, I’ve come about somethin’ else, somethin’ serious an’ . . . well . . . delicate.”
“You have?” she said, stepping back but showing no real concern. After all, she was the wife of a very important politician and used to petitioners of every ilk.
At this critical moment in Cobb’s effort to redirect the interrogation, however, they were distracted by the maid stumbling in the hallway and righting herself against the sash of the open door.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, ma’am. I was just takin’ this – ”
“It’s all right, Muriel. But I hope you weren’t going off to the back shed with that waste basket?”
Muriel’s blush threatened to burst her plump cheeks. “Oh. I did forget, ma’am. I’ll take it to the sewin’ room, as usual.”
Mavis waved her away with an indulgent smile, watched her close the door discreetly, then turned back to Cobb, still unconcerned. “Now is there something you wish from me or Mr. McDowell?” she said with a note of disappointment in her voice.
“Oh, it ain’t like that, ma’am. I ain’t come fer a reward or a favour.” He seized his helmet by the brim and squeezed. “It’s a police matter.”
She smiled uncertainly, but said, “Then you had better sit down and tell me about it. I am not one of those wives who sits in her sewing-room embroidering pillows: Mowbray and I are partners in the enterprise of politics. I am privy to his thoughts and his efforts in the legislature. I managed his election campaign. If there is a ‘police matter,’ as you say, which concerns the McDowells, then please give me the pertinent details – all of them.”
Cobb sat opposite her on the edge of a chair that appeared to be designed to repel any would-be occupant. He swallowed hard and said, “Well, ma’am, I been told, by an un-peckable source, that you an’ Reuben Epp are cousins.”
She didn’t blink, but she stayed very still before saying, “We were cousins. Reuben was my mother’s sister’s son.” She gave him a bold stare and added, “Born out of wedlock. Ran away from home at eleven.”
“I see,” Cobb said, though he wasn’t sure he did. Her candour had caught him off-guard. “You’re tellin’ me, then, that you ain’t seen him since then?”
“I am. That is, until I moved here in October to set up this house in anticipation of my husband’s arrival.”
“Ahh.”
“Is that a meaningful ‘ah’ or a puzzled one?”
“I been told – ”
“By your impeccable source.”
“ – that Reuben came here to get money offa you, which you gave him to keep him . . . ah, quiet.”
She actually smiled, to Cobb’s disappointment. “Your attempt at being tactful is commendable, constable, though I doubt you’re ready for the diplomatic service. But there is no need, I assure you. This is politics, not diplomacy.”
“Politics?”
“Of course. My long lost cousin was not exactly a reputable character in spite of the fact that he was verger of St. James and a tiresome Christian. He was a known drunkard, frequented the dives and brothels of Irishtown, and was adept at extorting a bit of spending money out of the high-and-mighty McDowells. I was happy to give him the occasional guinea. He was my dead aunt’s child. I felt sorry for him. And I damn well didn’t want him jeopardizing Mowbray’s career. Does that shock you, constable?”
Cobb wasn’t shocked by anything the gentry did, but he was intrigued by her use of the word “extortion.” There was definitely a motive for murder here, but the victim was more likely to have been the extortionist himself, not a reclusive Yankee barrister. Still, he was on a live scent, and had no intention of letting it go cold. “We got reason to believe, ma’am, that Reuben Epp had someone help him kill Richard Dougherty. Reuben couldn’t read or write, could he?”
She paused before saying, “That’s true. And you’re wondering how that note with the obscenity scrawled on it got into Reuben’s hands?”
“I am. We also found a lot of American money stashed in his house – ”
“I never gave Reuben anything but English guineas or sovereigns. He would never take folding money. But I don’t see what – ”
“We figure someone he knew helped him with the writin’ an’ give him fifty dollars as a bribe to stab Mr. Dougherty to death.”
She started to rise, indignant and angry. “You go too far, sir. I did not know Mr. Dougherty from Adam, and I have no intention of listening to such absurd accusations!”
The door to the sitting-room was flung open and a slim, blond gentleman strode through the opening. His sharp blue gaze swept over Mavis and stopped dead on the incongruous figure of Horatio Cobb – red-faced, wart a-wobble, helmet spinning on the tips of his fingers.
“And just what the hell are you accusing my wife of!” he screamed, as if Cobb were deaf as well as dumb.
“It’s all right, dear. Mr. Cobb was just about to leave.” She looked over at Cobb imploringly. “Weren’t you?”
“Well, ma’am, I did want to talk to Mr. McDow – ”
“I am Mr. McDowell, you impertinent fool! And I will not have a scruffy policeman barging into my home unannounced and trying to intimidate my wife.” The near-albino pallor of his skin doubled the effect of his outrage, which was already considerable.
“But I come here on police business – ” Cobb stammered.
“If you wish to speak to me or my wife about police business, whatever that may be, you will in the future arrange for an appointment – at our convenience, not yours.”
“But – ”
“I want you to take your malodorous carcase out that door this minute, or I shall send for the Governor’s guard and have you horse-whipped back to your hiding-hole!”
“Mowbray, please. There is nothing here to be concerned about. I – ”
McDowell ignored his wife’s plea. He strode to the door and yelled, “Hudson. Come in here!”
“Okay, okay, I’m leavin’,” Cobb muttered, itching to give his truncheon a workout on McDowell’s skull.
“Believe me, sirrah, you have not heard the last of this affair!” McDowell called after him as Cobb scuttled down the hallway, tripped on the rug at the back door and stumbled off the porch. He then drew himself up straight and strode with defiant dignity to the gate, where he realized he had dropped his helmet beside the porch steps. He slunk back to retrieve it, drawing a baleful stare from the aforementioned Hudson, a six-foot bruiser of a fellow occupying most of the doorway.
So much for the direct approach, Cobb thought as he made his way reluctantly towards the police quarters – and the chief constable.
***
Wilfrid Sturges was not in the least amused at Cobb’s tale, even in its most favourable form.
“You see what you’ve done,” he said, glaring at Cobb across the desk in the cubicle he called an office. “You uncovered an important lead in this case an’ then proceeded to kill it dead.”
“Well, sir, it ain’t quite – ”
“It’s dead, Cobb. You blundered into the home of the most revered Tory politician in the province an’ practically accused his wife of conspiracy in the murder of Richard Dougherty. If I’d’ve been her husband, I’d’ve beaten you silly with yer own truncheon!”
Cobb hung his head. The Sarge, as he called the chief, was a man whom he held in the highest regard. He was honest, fearless and fair. To have disappointed him was almost as hard to swallow as screwing up the case.
“But she gave him money,” he said quietly. “Epp was in that home many times.”
“I know that! An’ that’s why I’m angry. We needed to find out, without usin’ a balpeen hammer, who else in that house might’ve talked to Epp.”
“Well, that husband’s sure got a temper on him,” Cobb offered. “I could still talk to him. Or maybe he’d agree to talk to you.”
“Of course we can’t. That’s the point I been tryin’ to drive into yer thick skull. You’ve gone an’ give the game away. You’ve spooked him, given him fair warnin’ of what we’re up to. He now knows we’re lookin’ fer a direct connection with Epp an’ those Yankee dollars an’ that horrible note. The missus’ll’ve told him everythin’. So, you think he’s gonna admit he ever whispered a word to Epp or that he’s not gonna go out an’ burn every piece of fancy paper he has – even if he’s not involved. You’ve gone an’ stymied us!”
“But – ”
“Buttin’s about all you did up there, like a billy-goat at a garden party!”
“She did say she give Epp money to keep him quiet about bein’ her cousin,” Cobb persisted. “May be she decided to – ”
Sturges glowered at him, and then a bemused, slightly mocking look took hold of his expression. “You’re suggestin’ that the McDowells paid Epp to murder a man they knew nothin’ about on the off-chance he’d be caught an’ hanged – an’ thus outta their hair?”
“Now, Sarge, there’s no need to be scar-castic.”
Sturges heaved a big sigh. “What’s done is done, eh. Let’s just leave it till Marc gets back from New York. Why don’t you go an’ dictate yer notes to Gussie an’ then head back to yer patrol. The barkeeps’ll be sendin’ out a search party.”
As if responding to a cue, Augustus French popped his bantam rooster body into the doorway. His eyes were as round as a cockerel’s on the trod. “I got a message for ya, sir. Just hand-delivered by a giant fella called Hudson.” He passed a sealed envelope across the desk to Sturges, then stood back, waiting.
“Thanks, Gussie.”
Crestfallen, Gussie back-pedalled out of the office.
Cobb said quickly, “That’d be Mowbray McDowell’s bodyguard.”
Sturges sighed again, and looked wearily at his number one constable. “It didn’t take His Highness long to lodge a complaint,” he said, breaking the seal and removing a thick, white sheet of notepaper. He read its contents aloud.
Chief Constable:
This is by way of a formal complaint against Constable H. Cobb who, this very morning, entered my home on the pretext of reporting on the progress of a minor theft at St. James, and then proceeded to bully and badger my wife about some fantastical connection with the recent murder on King Street. I found the dear woman near tears when I arrived in the midst of his unlawful, unwarranted and callous interrogation. I threw him out on his ear. I trust that you will take appropriate disciplinary action immediately, and inform me in writing of its scope and consequences. Further, I shall be speaking privately with Sir George Arthur at Government House this evening, and shall be compelled to broach the entire, disgraceful episode with His Excellency.
I remain, yours truly,
Mowbray McDowell, Esq., MLA
Chief Sturges sat back in his chair. “Jesus,” he said. “Them’s the nastiest words I ever saw written in such fancy letters.” He looked up at Cobb, expecting to observe some evidence of remorse or anxiety, however poorly feigned. But all he saw was puzzlement.
“Lemme see that note, if I might, Sarge,” he said, reaching over and taking it from the chief.
“Ya don’t wanta read it again, do ya?” Sturges said. “It won’t get any sweeter.”
But Cobb was not listening. He was standing beside the narrow window in the chief’s office, holding McDowell’s letter of complaint up to the light.
“What’re you lookin’ at?”
“An eagle holdin’ up an ‘M’.”
Sturges got up, took the paper from Cobb and raised it up to the light. “You’re right. This is the same kind of notepaper used by Epp in the murder. Brought in from New York, if I remember.”
Cobb’s eyes were saucers. “Don’t ya see, chief. We got the bugger by the short hairs!”
Sturges put the note on the desk. “All we done is find somebody who uses Melton bond-paper. There could be a dozen or two dozen more bigwigs in town usin’ it – an’ writin’ real fancy on it. They teach ‘em to scribble like that in school.”
At this moment, though, nothing his chief might say could dampen Cobb’s excitement. “But we got a lot more, ain’t we? We got Reuben Epp sneakin’ over to tap his rich cousin fer booze money and a husband who don’t want his good name besmirched just when he’s reached the top – an’ Reuben just happenin’ to have this Melton paper to hand an’ somebody to write on it fer him in curly-kewpie letters.”
“But the McDowells don’t even know Dougherty. Nobody does. He only come outta his cocoon in January. And if they’d been thinkin’ of killin’ anybody, it would’ve been Epp.”
“But I now got enough to go back over there an’ fire a few questions at that bugger, an’ even enough to get a warrant to tear the place apart. I’m sure we’ll find them whatchamacallit pens and a stash of Yankee banknotes.”
“Hold yer horses, Cobb. You’ll get no warrant from a Tory magistrate like James Thorpe, honest as he is. You’ve got no motive. You can show him a connection between Epp an’ the McDowells, but that’s all. The notepaper would be helpful if we had somethin’ else to tie it up with. But we don’t. You can’t ask Thorpe to believe that using Melton bond-paper is a crime or that they would plot the murder of a man they didn’t know an’ had no reason to kill.”
Cobb was stunned. He had expected his chief to back him up all the way. Was something at play here that he was missing? “Okay,” he said carefully, “I c’n see yer point about the search warrant. But I got a right to go an’ ask McDowell, real tack-ful, whether he ever knew Dougherty, don’t I? An’ whether he himself ever met Epp when he visited the missus, an’ maybe got to know him a little?”
Sturges leaned on his desk with both fists. He looked up slowly. “If it was anybody else but Mowbray McDowell, I’d say yes – in a blink.”
Cobb couldn’t believe his ears. “You’re not afraid of the Governor, are ya?”
Sturges grinned ruefully. “We’re all afraid of the Governor, Cobb. But that ain’t what I’m sayin’ here. You know me better’n that. McDowell ain’t just any bigwig or Tory. Right now he’s seen as the leader of the party fightin’ against Lord Durham an’ this business of responsible government. If we go bargin’ in makin’ wild accusations against their chosen one, they’ll be labelled political, not legal. And we’ll be the ones accused: of takin’ up with the Reformers an’ tryin’ to bring down a Tory leader fer our own gain. You’ve got to realize, ol’ chum, everythin’s political right now. We’re only the city’s police, not the province’s. We gotta walk on eggs here or we’ll soon be nobody’s police.”
Cobb had sagged somewhat under the force, and logic, of this speech, but he recovered sufficiently to ask, “So you’re sayin’ the investigation’s got to stop? I’m to stay clear of the McDowells?”
“That’s right. Unless you come up with more evidence – without direct contact.”
“But we might only have a few more days before the inquest is – ” Cobb stopped. Sturges was examining his fingernails. “The inquest’s already on, ain’t it?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say. I just got word that the coroner has set it fer ten o’clock Monday mornin’.”
“But that just gives me three days. An’ Marc won’t be back till Saturd’y at the earliest.”
“I realize that. And I’m sorry. I really am. But there it is.”
Politics, Cobb thought, grinding his teeth.
***
Cobb was still seething when he reached Bay Street and marched south towards Baldwin House. He definitely wanted a second opinion. Robert Baldwin greeted him warmly, asked for news about the new baby, and sat the constable in a comfortable chair until some of the steam went out of his anger. Then he listened respectfully to Cobb’s tale of discovery, frustration and betrayal. And it was with considerable reluctance that he told Cobb he had to agree with Wilfrid Sturges, on both legal and expedient grounds. Legally, a warrant could not, and should not, be granted in the circumstances. Practically, any forceful interrogation of Mowbray McDowell, given the initial confrontation and its unfortunate aftermath, was bound to be seen as a form of intimidation prompted by supporters of the Reform cause and Lord Durham’s proposals, the constabulary being adjudged de facto members of the left-wing party.
Cobb gave Robert a curt thank-you and stomped out, grabbing a handful of macaroons from the bottomless bowl on Robert’s desk in order to calm his nerves. He now found himself completely stymied. He was certain he had flushed out an accomplice to murder. But he had no motive, and now no means of discovering one. It was possible that Marc would be back by late Saturday or early Sunday. But even the major, with all his sophisticated skills, would be able to do nothing. Once the inquest began on Monday morning, the investigation would be over. Period.
Cobb headed for The Cock and Bull.