Free The Bishop's Pawn by Don Gutteridge Page A

their own lips what excitements or
challenges lay ahead for their day “out in the world,” just as he
demanded a full debriefing over supper. Brodie was getting ready to
head down to Baldwin’s when Marc and Beth pulled up in front of the
cottage.
    Marc was glad now that Rossiter had provided
no details of the crime. The mere fact of Dick’s sudden demise was
shock enough for his wards. That he had been murdered (“Some
villain trying to rob him!” Brodie had cried) was not unimportant,
but the loss of the man who had been in their lives since their
birth and had taken their father’s place was the blow that cut most
keenly. Marc was also glad that Beth had insisted on coming, for
Celia collapsed into her arms and had to be helped into the
kitchen, where the elderly cook joined Beth in fruitless attempts
at consoling the distraught girl.
    It was then decided that Brodie would go to
Dr. Withers’ surgery to claim the body and learn what he could of
the incident. Marc tried to reassure the lad that he and the police
would find the killer and bring him to justice.
    “Justice won’t bring Uncle back,” Brodie
said.
    No, Marc thought, but later on, when shock
turned to sorrow and quiet grieving, it would help.
    “I’m takin’ Celia back to our place,” Beth
said, brooking no dissent. “She c’n stay with us fer a few days if
she needs to. Brodie, too, if he wants. I’ll send Charlene to Dora
fer some sedatives.”
    Minutes later, Marc found himself
quick-stepping down Bay Street. He was certain that the body would
have been removed by now and that he was likely to learn more at
the police quarters than at the scene of the crime. He could go
there later. Feeling slightly abashed that he was already thinking
more like an investigator than a mourning friend, he swung west
onto King and headed for the Court House.
    ***
    Cobb and Wilkie left Chief Sturges and Constable
Brown to the thankless task of keeping the crowd back from the
body, and set out to interview any of the neighbouring shopkeepers
who might have been up early enough to have spotted the killer
lurking about. Some of them might well be in the crowd by now, but
most would not leave their premises unattended.
    “You take the shops on that side of the
street,” Cobb said. “I’ll do this side.”
    “What do I say?” Wilkie asked sleepily.
    “Ask them if they saw anybody
suspicious-looking hangin’ about just before seven-thirty – anyone
really that they wouldn’t expect to see hereabouts.”
    “Then what?”
    “You come an’ tell me ,” Cobb said. If
there were any lead – and that was a remote possibility – Cobb
wanted to know first, before the Chief did and, he had to admit,
before Marc Edwards.
    “But I ain’t had my breakfast,” Wilkie
complained.
    “And that poor bastard in the alley won’t
have any ever again!”
    Cobb watched Ewan Wilkie trundle across the
street and head for the little tearoom that didn’t open for
business until ten. Well, no matter. Cobb had an idea about where
he should start first: Dusty Carter’s bakery, even though it was
three doors down. Dusty was up working at five, and he was a nosy
parker.
    Dusty was behind the counter, drizzling icing
on a tray of buns. He looked up and gave Cobb a gap-toothed
greeting.
    “What’s all the commotion out there?” he
said, licking his baby finger. “Somebody into fisticuffs this early
on a Monday?”
    “Worse,” Cobb said. “That lawyer fella from
New York got himself stabbed to death in the alley between the
jeweller’s an’ the grocer’s.”
    “Ya don’t say. I woulda come out fer a
gander, but I had loaves in the oven,” the baker said, feeling he
needed to explain his lack of interest in such a calamitous
event.
    Cobb could smell the fresh bread, and heard
his stomach rumble. He briefly told Dusty as much as he felt he
ought to about the grisly slaying, then said, “What I need to know,
is whether you saw Mr. Dougherty go past here