Free The Widow's Demise by Don Gutteridge Page A

manufactured for pouncing.
    “Rossiter tells me you found the perpetrator
on the scene,” Bagshaw said to Wilkie as they came into the
reception area.
    “I caught him red-handed, sir. With a scratch
on his face and weapon in hand,” Wilkie said as he shoved Gagnon
farther into the room.
    “You’ve questioned this fellow?” Bagshaw said
to Cobb.
    “I have, sir, and I’m not certain we have the
right fellow.”
    “What’s your name?” Bagshaw said to
Gagnon.
    “I am Gilles Gagnon,” Gagnon said. “I am an
associate of Louis LaFontaine. I am helping him with his election
campaign, and I am innocent of any wrongdoing.”
    “You’re French, then?” Bagshaw said.
    “I am from Montreal. Monsieur LaFontaine is
running in the fourth riding of York.”
    “I know who Mr. LaFontaine is, sir, and I
know where and why he’s trying to get elected. But right now I’m
interested in what happened up at Rosewood. I suggest we go into
that off ice and discuss the matter.” He pointed to the office
shared by the constables and used by Cobb to store his files and
papers.
    Bagshaw, Cobb, Wilkie and Gagnon went into
the office and arranged themselves around the table inside.
    “Wilkie, you were the first one on the scene,
I take it?” Bagshaw said.
    “Yeah,” Wilkie said. “And I seen this man
bendin’ over the dead woman – ”
    “Who is?”
    “Mrs. Cardiff-Jones,” Cobb said. “The
daughter of the Attorney-General.”
    Bagshaw’s eyebrows shot up and quivered. “Oh,
my. This is a calamity!”
    “It happened on her own front walk, in broad
daylight,” Wilkie said.
    “Go on, then, Wilkie.”
    “I come up to this man and see him holdin’ a
vial of some sort, and I notice that scratch on his face.”
    “Given by the lady?” Bagshaw said.
    “Yes,” Gagnon interrupted. “I admit she
scratched me. I was bending down to see if she was still breathing
and she must have mistaken me for her attacker because she lashed
out. I didn’t jump back in time.”
    “So you admit what Wilkie saw?” Bagshaw
said.
    “I cannot deny it, but I did not harm the
lady.”
    “How did the lady die?” Bagshaw said to
Cobb.
    Cobb gave the Chief a brief summary of Dr.
Withers’ examination at the scene.
    “She had her throat cut open by a spike on
the fence?” Bagshaw said, incredulous.
    “Dr. Withers thinks she was reacting to the
acid thrown in her face,” Cobb explained.
    “And I caught Mr. Gagnon red-handed,” Wilkie
said. “And he started babblin’ like a madman.”
    “He was speakin’ French,” Cobb said.
    “The evidence is all against you, sir,”
Bagshaw said to Gagnon.
    “But I actually saw the real killer,” Gagnon
said. “I saw him commit the crime. I saw him toss the acid and then
run off around the far side of Rosewood. He was a short, slight
fellow, dressed in gentleman’s clothes.”
    “A convenient story, I’m sure,” Bagshaw said.
“I’m going to lock you in our holding cell until I can get an
arrest warrant from the magistrate.”
    “You’re charging me with murder?”
    “I am.”
    “But I hardly knew the lady. Why would I kill
her?”
    “You met her at the Ball,” Wilkie chimed
in.
    “I danced with our hostess. That’s the only
contact I’ve had with the woman,” Gagnon protested.
    Bagshaw made a mental note to question
witnesses to this dance at the Charity Ball. Perhaps there had been
something more than a simple dance. “I don’t know why you would
want to throw acid in the lady’s face and cause her death, and I
don’t really care. You were caught standing over the body of a
person who had just been killed.”
    “That’s what the doc said,” Wilkie added.
“She was still warm.”
    “But I’m innocent! I want a lawyer!”
    “In due course,” Bagshaw said. “You’ll
certainly need one.” He turned to Cobb. “Put Mr. Gagnon in our
cell, then go and write out a complete investigative report for me.
It looks like we won’t need a lot of fancy detective work on