by Howard Engel
‘Look, Mr. Lowther, I hope you aren’t going to give me a hard time on this. I’ve been in divorce work for too long. Your office won’t tell me where to get in touch with you. Your phone is privately listed. All the familiar signs. So I followed you home. Your home is on Walmer Road. Same place as Honour’s. She’s listed; you’re not. You answer her bell. So please don’t protest too much. After all, she’s a very beautiful woman. We should all get so lucky.’
‘I’m not admitting anything.’
‘Oh Colin, give up. He knows, he knows, he knows!’ There was a note of exasperation in Honour’s voice.
‘Well, all right. So what?’
‘My heartiest congratulations for a start,’ I said. ‘You managed to access the wife without alienating the husband. Very deft, sir!’
‘Well, Tony was a friend,’ Lowther said, shifting nervously. ‘We’ve always been friends. And Honour and I needed more time. We needed to prepare him. We knew he wasn’t going to like it.’
‘But he found out that there was something going on. That made him angry enough to get the megillah out of the house. A private sale to Kurian, who would keep his mouth shut. And Tony covered his tracks with a fake robbery. He even brought me into the scheme just to make it look as though he was doing all he could to get the thing back again.’ Sergeant Pepper couldn’t hide his grin. He tried covering his mouth, but it was too late. ‘Sure, I was stupid enough to walk in unprepared and get taken for a ride just like the rest of you. But things began to go sour as soon as he got himself killed. First off, it became clear that Tony hadn’t reported the loss of the book to the cops. He was smart enough to know that that could get him into big trouble, so he drew the line and brought in a rent-a-cop: me.’
‘This is going around in circles,’ Lowther interrupted. ‘Why don’t you come to the point and stop wasting all of our time?’
‘I’m doing the best I can, Mr. Lowther. This is complicated stuff and I’m trying to keep it straight in my head. For instance, you were the only one to see the megillah after Tony brought it to Albany Avenue.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Don’t get excited, Mr. Lowther,’ Sergeant Pepper said. ‘You just told us a few minutes ago. Things will go better for all of us if we try to relax. This is just an informal get-together as far as I’m concerned.’ Pepper turned his smile on the faces watching him. None of the owners of the faces showed any sign of relaxing. Who believes a dentist when he says ‘This isn’t going to hurt’? Lowther shrugged when the faces turned from Pepper to him.
‘Sure, Tony showed it to me. But how did you know without my having admitted it?’
‘The book’s been buried in a private collection since 1919. All of our descriptions of it go back to a catalogue of that 1919 sale.’
‘We all know that,’ said Lowther. ‘It was the Sir Bernard Kendal sale. The catalogue is a collectors’ item itself.’
‘Good. That will save time. The description there puts the book inside a protective plain leather cover. Mr. Dalton assured me that the dull outer cover was still there six years ago when he had a private look at it in one of the stately homes of England. That cover has been removed, so that now the book appears with all its precious jewels glittering. The richly designed inner cover has become the outer cover. When you described the book to me, you made no mention of the drab outer covering, so it’s a safe inference to say that you’ve seen it recently. And where? Why not on Albany Avenue in the house of your good friend Tony Moore?’
‘Is that some sort of brilliant deduction, Mr. Cooperman? If you’d have asked me, I would have told you as much,’ Lowther said, looking around the room. ‘Yes, Tony showed it off to me. It was spectacular, really. Then it was stolen soon after that.’
‘Was that the Saturday it was supposedly stolen?’
‘It was last Saturday. I still can’t credit this invention of yours, a fake robbery. This isn’t television. Tony Moore isn’t going to walk in here and tell us it was all a grand charade. Tony’s dead. His head was bashed in and nothing any of us can do will bring him back again. Yet all of you are treating this matter as though it were a play, some kind of farce. Well, Tony was a friend of mine and I won’t buy that!’
‘A very noble speech, Mr. Lowther. I can see why you do so well in the courtroom. I hope your next appearance there will be equally effective.’
‘My next appearance?’
‘Yes, for the murder of Tony Moore.’ A silence followed my statement. And that was followed by another. Honour Griffin broke it.
‘Colin? What are they talking about?’
‘Yes,’ said Dalton. ‘Colin’s right. This farce has gone far enough.’
‘You’ve made a serious charge, Benny,’ said Sergeant Pepper. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’
‘You and me both.’ Here I turned to look at Lowther. ‘Mr. Lowther, may I ask you how it is you know the cause of the injury that led to Tony Moore’s death?’
‘Ah!’ said Sergeant Pepper, as though a light had just been turned on.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Lowther, masking a degree of confusion. ‘Everybody knows that he was killed with one of his guns.’
‘Yes, that’s right, but each of you--apart from you, Mr. Lowther--assumed that the gun was used to shoot Moore. How is it you know he was clubbed to death with the weapon?’
‘I ... In legal circles, Mr. Cooperman, in the legal circles in which I move, these things are not difficult to learn.’
‘If I may interrupt, Mr. Lowther,’ said Pepper. ‘No one knew that the gun-butt was used to kill Moore. No one. The cause of his death was kept quiet. Only the coroner knows. And he is not given to loose talk-even to the esteemed members of the bar.’
‘Perhaps you can tell us how you know Moore was bludgeoned to death with the butt of a gun?’
‘I don’t have to explain anything to you, Cooperman!’
‘Will you explain it to me, Lowther? It’s a question of doing it here or down at the station. Suit yourself.’ Pepper even gave him a polite smile as he said this.
‘You could only have known this in two ways, either you were yourself the murderer, or you visited the scene of the crime after Moore was dead. Which was it?’
‘You can’t prove any of this. You have no grounds!’
‘You killed Moore or you were on the scene after he was dead! Which was it, Mr. Lowther? You’re either a killer or an accessory!’
‘I didn’t kill anybody!’ Lowther yelled. ‘I didn’t kill him.’
‘Then you know who did,’ I persisted. ‘Who was it? You know who did it!’
‘Who are you covering for?’ Pepper’s face was close to Lowther’s, which had coloured. He was sweating.
‘Shut up, both of you!’ It was Honour Griffin. ‘Leave him alone! He doesn’t know anything about this.’ We were now all looking at Moore’s widow. Her knuckles were white and the muscles of her neck betrayed the tension she was feeling. ‘I’m the one you want. I killed Tony! I killed him. Leave Colin alone. I’m the one you want.’
Having said that, she began to cry quietly. Dalton crossed the room and gave her his pocket handkerchief--a big concession, considering how much he disliked the woman. With her face no longer visible, she continued to sob, with her shoulders heaving. Sergeant Pepper put his arm on her shoulder and said something like: ‘There, there. There, there.’
I was still reeling from the sudden change of direction things had taken. I was quite willing to believe in the guilt of my client after he’d made his gaffe, but this was different. Honour Griffin, who had driven her first husband to an early grave--if Dalton was to be believed--killed Tony Moore and had the presence of mind not to fall into the trap Sergeant Pepper had set for her in keeping the cause of death a secret. I remembered when she mentioned the gun, remembered feeling relieved when she passed the test without my even having to lead her through it.
After a few minutes, Honour wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She a
voided looking at any of us. ‘Is there any of that coffee left?’ she asked, and one of the uniforms near the cookbooks moved down the stairs. When he came back, less than three minutes later, it was with a full silex and a stack of styrofoam cups. He’d forgotten the cream and sugar, but who can blame him. Pepper took the silex and poured a cup for Honour, who accepted it from him without a word. She attempted to look him in the face, by way of thanks, but she couldn’t get her head that high. As she sipped, Pepper poured out the rest of the round. We all watched him, as though we’d never seen coffee poured before.
‘That feels better,’ Honour said in a voice that showed her courage was returning. It was an even, cello-like voice most of the time. Occasionally it failed her, just as the corners of her mouth gave her away. Her mouth twitched into a grimace as she spoke. Her hands turned the handkerchief in her grip like a twisted rag.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t say anything,’ she said. ‘But I feel I have to.’
Here Sergeant Pepper quietly and clearly warned her as he was required to by law. He asked her if she understood and she nodded assent. Lowther moved over to sit with her. He was already the defending attorney, but no one objected. He didn’t even caution her to be still. We could all see how important it was for her to be rid of what she had been keeping within her since last Thursday night.
‘I didn’t intend to kill him, you know. I didn’t go there with that intention. We started arguing, that’s all. He told me about how he’d got rid of the megillah and how I would never be able to share in any of the thousands he’d got for it. I lost my head. I’m a greedy woman, I guess. He made me lose control. I told him about Colin and me. It was the only weapon I had. I knew it would hurt him and that’s what I wanted to do. Once he heard, he lost all sense of reason. He ran around calling me "slut" and "whore." He picked up a piece from the coffee table. It was a handle from an antique printing press. He was coming at me with it. I had to do something. He was lashing out at me with the handle. I felt my back hit the gun rack. I reached one of his rifles. But he was so close to me I wasn’t sure I could defend myself with it. Even in that state, I knew it wouldn’t be loaded, but I slung it at him. Right from the rack. The gun-butt was stuck at first, but it came free and hit Tony. Without looking, I knew it was a terrible blow. He dropped the handle, which was all I cared about, and then fell on top of it. He never moved.
‘I just ran. I had to get away. I don’t think I even closed the front door. When I got home, Colin saw the state I was in. He got me calmed down, gave me something to make me sleep. Then I guess he went back.’ Lowther was nodding at her words, perhaps more in time with the cadence of her words than with their meaning.
‘I found the door open. Tony was dead.’ His voice had become hoarse and tired. The courtroom was gone from his manner. ‘I did what I could about fingerprints. I put the printing-press handle back on the table. I don’t know why. The room was a mess, but I didn’t throw open any cupboards or drawers. Some were open already. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I took the ashtray and the glasses they’d been drinking from with me. I wasn’t there more than five minutes. Leaving, I locked the front door. Then I kicked in the french window from the garden and left that open so that it would look like a break-in. When I got back to Walmer Road, I put the glasses and ashtray into the incinerator. Then I poured myself a stiff drink. I forced myself to watch the video I’d rented just so I’d have an alibi that would stand up. God, I hated watching that film!’
‘I’ll have to ask you both to come down to the station with me,’ Pepper said. He told Dalton that he would speak further to him in the morning. When they were gone, I was alone in the room with Wells Dalton. Neither of us said anything. We went back out on Bloor Street just as the store was closing and into the first place we came to that served strong drink. I don’t remember what I ordered. Whatever it was, it wasn’t strong enough. Dalton paid and I let him. It wasn’t until I was walking up the steps of my brother’s Brunswick Street house that I remembered that I’d forgotten to pick up the Gerson Soncino Megillah at the check-out counter at Book City. It was an uneasy night, but I was pretty sure they’d still have it for me in the morning.
Chapter Twelve
I’d been expecting a call from Sergeant Pepper for a few days when it finally came the following Wednesday night. He asked me to meet him at the doughnut shop at the corner of Walmer and Bloor. With coffee and a kreuller in front of me, I was ready for Pepper and the last installment of the story.
‘Well?’ I asked as soon as he’d taken a first sip from his cup.
‘Well, what?’ he said. ‘Nothing gets tidied away quickly. Honour is out on bail. Lowther is on the street too. That’s middle-class crime for you; nobody spends any time in the lock-up. Oh, when it comes to trial, we’ll hear a lot about manslaughter. Lowther’s in more trouble as an accessory than she is. Even Dalton could do more time for having had Kurian beaten up. It’s not a case that leaves me with a satisfied feeling of a job well done. You know what I mean?’
‘Would it be better if it had been cold-blooded murder?’
‘That’s cleaner. Fewer loose ends. Not so much worrying.’
‘Crime doesn’t come in black and white any more. You have to get used to seeing everything in all the colours. Nobody wears white hats any more. There are no black hats for the bad guys. You just have to take things as you find them.’
‘I reckon,’ he said. ‘I reckon. Too bad about Lowther, though. He had a brilliant career. Now he’ll be lucky to keep his shingle to practise law anywhere.’
‘He was a man in love, Sergeant. You know what it’s like?’
‘I reckon.’
‘”I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more."‘
‘Huh?’ Pepper said.
‘Let it pass,’ I said. ‘A far-away echo of a high-school English class. Let it pass. Want to do some browsing over at Book City? They’ve got some new mysteries in.’
‘Sure,’ Pepper said. ‘Why not?’ So we did that.
Half an hour after Pepper had bought four paperbacks, I was sitting with Anna at her place on Prince Arthur. ‘What are you going to do with your time now?’ she wanted to know.
‘Hell, Anna, I’ve got responsibilities on Brunswick Avenue.’
‘A few plants and a couple of gerbils?’
‘Sam didn’t tell me that his grass was drying out. It needs to be watered. August is a killer month for gardens, Anna. And I’ve got all the day lilies to do.’
‘Are you two timing me with some lilies?’
‘I’ve got to pinch off the seed pods from the dead blooms,’ I said. ‘Then there’s a lot to be done in the clippings. There’s a whole world to be discovered in compost, Anna, a whole world.’ That’s when she threw a pillow at me and I learned to shut up.
About the Author
The appearance of Howard Engel’s lovable sleuth Benny Cooperman in 1980 is a landmark in detective fiction. For the first time, there was a Canadian private detective from a small town, and a member of an ethnic minority, who took its place in international literary scene. Engel’s books were hailed by such writers as Ruth Rendell and Julian Symons, translated into more than a dozen languages and were adapted for two TV movies. Engel’s graceful, witty prose also garnered literary prizes which made him remark that he now felt he could “sit at the grownups table.”
The Whole Megillah, a Benny Cooperman novella, was never published commercially. It was commissioned by leading Toronto bookseller Frans Donker to celebrate the 15th anniversary of his Book City stores.
Benny Cooperman Mysteries by Howard Engel
The Suicide Murders
The Ransom Game
Murder on Location
Murder Sees the Light
A City Called July
A Victim Must Be Found
Dead and Buried
There Was An Old Woman
Getting Away with Murder
The Cooperman Variations
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br /> Memory Book
East of Suez
Also by Howard Engel
The Man Who Forgot How to Read: a Memoir
Mr. Doyle and Dr. Bell
Murder in Montparnasse
Praise for Howard Engel
"Mr Engel is a born writer, a natural stylist...This is a writer who can bring a character to life in a few lines."
--Ruth Rendell
"Engel can turn a phrase as neatly as Chandler...Benny Cooperman novels [are] first-class entertainment, stylishly written, the work of an original, distinctive, and distinctively Canadian talent.”
--Julian Symons
"Benny Cooperman is a lot of fun to hang out. I'm delighted to see him getting into trouble again."
--Donald E. Westlake
"The great Canadian detective did not exist until Howard Engel invented Benny Cooperman."
--Andrew Ryan
Globe and Mail
