Free The Widow's Demise by Don Gutteridge Page B

this
case.”
    The police quarters contained a small
holding-cell. The main jail was only a block or so away on the
corner of Church and King. Cobb did as he was told. He locked up
Gagnon, still protesting his innocence. Gagnon said to Cobb as he
turned to leave. “Will you send a message to Marc Edwards for
me?”
    “You want him fer yer lawyer?”
    “I do. And he’ll let LaFontaine and Baldwin
know what’s happened.”
    “You’ve got some in-flew-ential friends, I see.”
    “It looks like I’m going to need them,”
Gagnon said.
    ***
    Cobb went outside the police quarters where, as
usual, he found a street urchin lurking.
    “Hey, Nosy, I want you to take a message to
Mr. Marc Edwards. You know where he lives?”
    “In Briar Cottage,” Nosy said, snuffling in
the manner that had given him his nickname.
    “That’s right. Tell him he’s wanted here
right away.”
    “You’ll pay me now?”
    “I will, but you better not bugger off. It’d
be worth yer life.”
    Nosy stuck out his hand and Cobb put a
half-penny into it. Nosy then scampered away as if the money might
dissolve were he not to dash off..
    Cobb went back inside and stepped into his
office. He opened his notebook and began to write up the details of
the crime and his interrogation of Gilles Gagnon. He was his usual
thorough self. Although he found writing painful and mainly relied
on his prodigious memory to recall details, Cobb nevertheless
realized that note-making and report-writing were important aspects
of his work. His thoroughness made it easy to get the necessary
warrants for search and seizure and for arrests from Magistrate
Thorpe. And, of course, Cyril Bagshaw was a stickler for details.
Bagshaw had never really approved of having a plainclothes
detective on the force (unless it were he himself and that was not
possible), and Cobb had to be painstaking in order to convince the
Chief of his theories and conclusions. When he had finished the
report, he took it in and placed it on Bagshaw’s desk. Bagshaw
acknowledged the gesture with a grunt.
    Ten minutes later Bagshaw shouted out Cobb’s
name – once. Cobb immediately went next door, braced for the
worst.
    Bagshaw’s pop-eyes pounced on the open report
and then pounced on Cobb.
    “What is the meaning of this drivel?” he
snapped.
    “It’s what I heard and seen, sir.”
    “I’m talking about your conclusions, and you
know it!”
    “What’s the matter with them?”
    “You say here that there’s a good possibility
that Gagnon’s preposterous story may be true and that he may not be
the killer!”
    “But surely that is an obvious conclusion,
sir.”
    “The fellow was caught in the act! What else
is he going to do but make up a cock-and-bull story to save his own
skin?”
    “But he has no motive. And Marc Edwards
always taught me to start with the motive.”
    “We don’t need a motive. Gagnon had the vial
of acid in his hand, spotted by a policeman !”
    “In court, we’ll need a motive. Mr. Gagnon is
an important fellow. A gentleman, even if he is French. Gentlemen
don’t go around tossin’ acid at women they hardly know.”
    “We’ve only got his word for that. I expect
you to talk to people at that Ball and find out just what went on
there. And talk to friends of Mrs. Cardiff-Jones to find out how
well she might have known him.”
    “I was plannin’ on doin’ that, sir. I didn’t
say in my report that he wasn’t guilty. I just said there was
questions that needed answerin’ before we charged him.”
    “You raise the business of the glove.”
    “Right. Gagnon wasn’t wearin’ any, so where
did a single glove come from? A glove that didn’t fit Gagnon.”
    “Surely the answer is obvious. It was dropped
there sometime before the crime. It must’ve been.”
    “Unless there was a third person about, sir.
The one Gagnon says he seen.”
    “Nonsense. You take this detective business
too seriously. You see things that aren’t really there and ask sill
questions