Desperate Acts

by Don Gutteridge

  “Ah, yes, yes – you adorable darling!”

  While the frantic coupling continued apace, Cobb succeeded in extricating his nose from its lacy overlay, and found himself with a few moments to reflect upon the significance of what he was hearing. If Fullarton and Lady Mad were lovers, then the good banker – Anglican usher and faithful husband to an invalid wife – was surely a prime target for extortion. Figuring that the lovers, who were now nearing the high point of their mutual efforts, would quickly regroup and return to the ballroom before they were missed, Cobb decided that he had to risk opening the wardrobe door an inch or two wider in order to confirm that the male participant was indeed Fullarton. Very gingerly he pushed at it with the tips of two fingers. It emitted a loud creak.

  “Whaa was ‘at?” The male voice was understandably slurred, but nonetheless panicky.

  “A mouse! A rat! Who the fuck cares? You can’t stop now!”

  Lady Mad’s piercing and piteous shriek struck Cobb’s ears like a spray of darning needles, and he rocked backwards, dislodging several gowns and striking his skull on something wooden and sharp. But he could have rung a cowbell in the room and have gone unnoticed. Love is not only blind, it is often deaf as well. For Cobb, despite the throb beginning to hum behind his right ear, the opportunity to see for himself just who was trapped in the throes of lust had just presented itself. He slid the door open a full handspan.

  And found that he was staring straight into the face of the male as he rose and fell upon the spraddled and writhing form of Lady Mad. His eyes were open, but glazed and unseeing as his features began to contort towards the final grimace. Still, there was no mistaking who it was: Andrew Dutton.

  Cobb sagged back into Sir P.’s gowns and frocks. What a disappointment. He was sure it would be Fullarton, adulterous and open to blackmail. Dutton was a widower. Public exposure of an affair with Lady Madeleine Shuttleworth would be more like a feather in his cap than an embarrassment. Besides, this coupling – now winding down in a sequence of wheezes and sighs – seemed more like an impromptu tryst than an affair. It was possible that Lady Mad, after her spat with Sir P., had decided to take on the handsome, elderly lawyer as mate-of-the-evening. Still, if they had been having a more prolonged liaison, perhaps Duggan was blackmailing Dutton by threatening to tell Sir. P., who, cuckolded, might very well blackball and otherwise socially cripple his wife’s lover.

  This hypothesis had barely finished working its way through Cobb’s throbbing noggin when the sound of the bedroom door being flung open and striking the wall beside it stunned both Cobb and the sagging performers on the bed.

  “For Christ’s sake, Maddy, what in hell are you doing in here!”

  “I should think that obvious,” Lady Mad said sleepily, once her eyes had focussed in on Sir P. standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips. She made no effort to close her legs or pull down her rucked-up skirt. Meanwhile Dutton had rolled off her as if she were afire, and was wrestling unsuccessfully with his undershorts and trousers.

  “I’m so sorry – ” he began.

  “Shut up, Andy. It’s all right,” Lady Mad said, sitting up and stretching languidly. “Isn’t it, darling?”

  Sir Peregrine reddened. “I don’t give a damn who you screw or how often, but I deeply resent your doing it in my room and on my bed!”

  Lady Mad giggled girlishly. “We were aiming for my room – weren’t we, lover? – but we didn’t quite make it.”

  Dutton, pale and trembling, looked up pleadingly at the baronet, but was unable to get another word out.

  “I want you both on stage in five minutes!” Sir P. barked, then wheeled and stomped away down the hall.

  “Here, let me help you with those suspenders,” Lady Mad said soothingly to Dutton.

  Cobb discovered he couldn’t re-close the wardrobe door without drawing attention to it, but did manage to keep his body hidden away among its contents. If the lovers left soon, he could follow them out, pick up his paint and return to the theatre with no-one being the wiser.

  “So your husband knows – ”

  “We have an arrangement. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  “I damn near had a heart attack.”

  “So did I. You do it very well.”

  “I do?”

  “Like a stallion. And a hundred times better than that weak-kneed, whining banker out there!”

  Laughing freely, the lady led her lover out into the hall.

  So, it was Fullarton after all, Cobb thought. He had committed adultery with Lady Mad on some previous occasion, while Dutton had almost certainly enjoyed her favours for the first time this evening. That confirmed Fullarton as one of Duggan’s obvious victims. At the same time, however, it let Dutton off the hook, for the time being. Cobb would have much to report to Marc at Briar Cottage later. Now, if only he could stop sweating, find the green paint, and get back before anyone became overly curious about the absence of the scene-painting weaver.

  ***

  “You go first,” Marc said, far too excited by the look of satisfaction on Cobb’s face to pause and light his pipe.

  “You got news, too?” Cobb said, trying to sound enthusiastic but fearing that, somehow, his mentor had beaten him to the prize.

  “It can wait.”

  The two men were alone once again in the parlour of Briar Cottage. The fire in the grate was a crimson glow. Beth could be heard cooing to Maggie in the far bedroom.

  “Well, major, tonight I turned over two grubby secrets with one plunge of the plough,” Cobb said with justifiable pride. And he proceeded in his own anecdotal way to narrate the incredible sequence of events that took place in Sir Peregrine Shuttleworth’s boudoir, highlighting the more salacious portions with a perceptible reddening of the nose. He finished up by giving his interpretation of what he saw and the possible implications for the case.

  Marc waited a moment before saying, “Splendid work, Cobb. And I agree wholeheartedly with your conclusions. There seems little doubt that the initials ‘P.S’ which we found on Duggan’s checklist of victims referred to Sir Peregrine and that the threat to him was public exposure of his cross-dressing habits, in consequence of which he might be thought a homosexual. Either transgression would have finished him in the eyes of the people he was hoping to impress.”

  “He wouldn’t be havin’ no more Saturd’y suppers with His Bishopric.”

  “You do have a way with words.”

  “It’s too bad about Fullarton, though. Brodie’ll be crushed.”

  “It’s quite a shock to me, too. And I hope Brodie will never need to know. Still, like you, I don’t believe there is any other interpretation possible of Lady Madeleine’s remark. It appears that she and her husband do not sleep together and that the lady is driven to find physical satisfaction wherever she can.”

  “And often,” Cobb added with a rush of blood to his snout.

  “Fullarton’s reaction to Lady Madeleine during rehearsals strongly suggests that he was feeling guilty about an earlier liaison – fertile circumstance for a ruthless blackmailer. We have to assume now that those were Horace Fullarton’s initials on Duggan’s list.”

  “But how do you figure a no-good stranger to the town like Duggan could’ve dug up such dirt?”

  “Unless we’re lucky enough to find Nestor, we can only speculate.”

  “There’s been no sign of him or his pal Itchy Quick. Itchy’s hovel is as empty as his brain. Them two snitches’ve run off with Duggan’s loot, or I’ll eat Dora’s Sunday hat.”

  “And therein may lie the answer to how Duggan got his information. Brodie told me that Fullarton spent a lot of time up at Oakwood Manor this summer, advising the baronet on the reconstruction of the place. The affair with Lady Madeleine probably happened then – up there.”

  “And Itchy does handiwork from time to time, don’t he? Even a little rough gardenin’. He might’ve seen somethin’ he shouldn’t have.”

  “And passed it along
to Nestor.”

  “But Nestor’s always been honest,” Cobb said, puzzled. Then he smiled and added, “But dumb as a donkey ridin’ side-saddle! Duggan could’ve weaseled anythin’ he wanted outta Nestor. He even had him believin’ he was a long-lost cousin waitin’ fer a fortune from a de-seized relative.”

  “And I suppose Itchy could have spotted the baronet wearing a dress, though I can’t imagine Shuttleworth being foolish enough to parade around in his own garden.”

  “You ain’t said anythin’ yet about Dutton,” Cobb reminded Marc.

  “Again, I believe you got it right. Dutton had little to fear about being named as one of Lady Madeleine’s conquests, if indeed he was before tonight. It’s her husband who would be branded a cuckold, and it’s clear that the baronet doesn’t seem to mind. Even if he did, a scoundrel like Duggan would be more likely to go after the rich aristocrat than the retired barrister.”

  “So that means we’ve dug up secrets on only two of the five suspects – Fullarton an’ Shuttleworth . . . unless – ”

  “Yes, I do have news on a third.”

  “Budge?” Cobb said hopefully, knowing that this was the weak spot in their strategy.

  “No, alas. It’s Crenshaw.”

  “He been servicin’ the lady?” Cobb said, incredulous.

  “If he has, it’s a minor indiscretion compared to what Beth found out about the skeleton in the Crenshaw family closet.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I haven’t told Beth yet what I’m planning for Brodie’s defense, but she has read our notes on the case and knows you went up to Oakwood to ferret out secrets that might have been used by Duggan.”

  “And?”

  “And this morning when she went to Crenshaw’s place to deliver a costume to Clementine, she found her in a semi-drugged state. Mistaking Beth for her husband or just not conscious enough to know where she was, she muttered aloud that her husband’s father was not only not a hero at the Battle of Moraviantown in 1813, he was a deserter, who was subsequently caught, and put to death – by a firing squad, no doubt.”

  Cobb whistled through his teeth. “An’ that’s somethin’ you couldn’t paste up on the Crenshaw coat-of-arms! Jesus, but he’d give half his candle-plant to keep the lid on that news.”

  “I agree, though I can’t for the life of me imagine how Duggan could have found out about something that happened twenty-six years ago and was kept secret all that time.”

  Marc poked at the fire. The cooing noises had subsided.

  “So, major, we now got three of the five blackmailin’ secrets. Are you gonna tell me how you’re fixin’ to use them?”

  “I promised I would, didn’t I? And even though the trial opens on Thursday, I now have enough information, and reason to believe it is true, to build an effective defense for Brodie.”

  “You’re thinkin’ of puttin’ the blame elsewhere?”

  Marc smiled. “That I am. Here’s what I have in mind. Even though I don’t see the Crown’s witness-list until tomorrow morning, I’m certain they’ll call Sir Peregrine, Crenshaw and Tobias Budge, each of whom will testify to the damning actions they observed in the alley as they departed the Shakespeare Club. Fullarton is also a possible, and Dutton less likely. However, both Fullarton and Dutton have volunteered to be character witnesses for Brodie, who, as you know, is forbidden to testify in his own defense. I’ve placed those two on my witness-list.”

  “Me and the Chief are sure to be on the Crown’s list, too.”

  “I know. They’ll use you two to verify the circumstances and substance of Brodie’s foolish confession, which will be read into evidence to further substantiate the eye-witness accounts. So this must be the last conversation you and I have until after you testify, probably on Thursday. I don’t want you or the case compromised.”

  “That’s what I figured. The Thursday night rehearsal’s been cancelled on account of most of the play-actors likely havin’ to be in the witness-room all day Thursday. But we’re supposed to get back at it Saturd’y. Do I haveta keep goin’?”

  “I’d like you to, at least on Saturday. My defense won’t start until Monday because Justice Powell will be away on Friday afternoon for a special meeting at Government House and then out of town on the weekend. I need to have our suspects at Oakwood relaxed and unsuspicious before I begin.”

  Cobb’s eyes widened. “What’re you plannin’ to do?”

  “When the eye-witnesses appear for the Crown, I’ll cross-examine them in routine fashion, with respect and politeness. I’ll then ask the judge for permission to recall them later.”

  “Durin’ yer defense?”

  “Exactly. So, if Dutton and Fullarton are not called by the Crown, I’ll still be able to present them as my character-witnesses. They too will step into the witness-box unaware of what is going to hit them broadside.”

  “What the hell are you plannin’?”

  “As soon as the witness is relaxed enough, I’m going to say, in as abrupt and intimidating a manner as I can muster, ‘Is it not true, sir, that, like Mr. Langford, you too were being blackmailed every week by Albert Duggan?’ And I’ll name the day of the week and the amount here to show them how much detail I already know about the arrangements.”

  Cobb was slack-jawed. “You might surprise ‘em, major, but they’ll deny it, won’t they?”

  “I’m sure they’ll try to. But I’ll press them hard: ‘Are you denying under oath that on X-evening you took a bundle of X-pound notes, wrapped in brown paper, to a spot in town designated by the blackmailer?’ Then I’ll stare the fellow right in the face with a knowing look in my eye and say, ‘In order to keep from public exposure a secret so embarrassing to you and your family that you would willingly pay and pay and pay!’”

  “Christ! You’re scarin’ me!”

  Marc had actually begun to add gestures and volume to his mock performance. “Sorry about that,” he said quickly. “But if I’m going to shake the real killer up right there on the stand, I’ve got to be cruel and unrelenting.”

  “You expect to get a confession in the court?”

  “That’s my real hope. Our killer is not a seasoned criminal, just an ordinary citizen driven to desperation. I could well break him in the witness-box.”

  “And if ya don’t?”

  “Then I’ll have thrown out to the jury as many as three alternative versions of the crime.”

  “You’re gonna out an’ out accuse them?”

  “I am. As they sputter their denials, I’ll say, ‘Is it not conceivable that you had the perfect opportunity to kill blackmailer Duggan?’ And I’ll quickly sketch out exactly how that particular witness could have done so – using their own earlier testimony and the scenarios that you and I have already hypothesized.”

  “But you’re bound to be inter-ruptured by the judge. What if he stops you early on an’ asks if you got any proof of them bein’ blackmailed?”

  “I expect he will. And I’ll produce the envelope with the list on it, the one we found in Duggan’s room.”

  Cobb paled. “But I was there when we found it. I shoulda taken the envelope to Sturges as evidence.”

  “Why? First of all, it was me who guessed at its possible significance. It looked like hen-scratching to you, remember. And it was evidence of blackmailing, not murder. Brodie admitted in his confession to being blackmailed by Duggan, so the list itself was superfluous to the case against him.”

  “But you could be accused of hidin’ it fer yer own benefit.”

  Marc smiled. “It’s all right, old friend. I did keep my promise to Wilf. I showed him the envelope, told him where we found it, and suggested it might be the blackmailer’s record of his activities. He shrugged and said he was under orders not to investigate further, and certainly was not keen to poke needlessly about in the private lives of any worthies who might be mentioned there.”

  “Even if it meant helpin’ to find the real killer?”

  “Wilf believes Brodie
is innocent but, remember, he’s not a lawyer. With no sanction to keep on investigating, he really didn’t see how a vague and ambiguous list of initials and figures could be useful. And at that time I wasn’t sure myself what we could make of it.”

  “Jesus, major, I’d sure like you on my side in any courtroom.” Cobb hesitated, then added, “But once you try this sideways attack on the first witness, McGonigle’ll be ready for the next one, if ya try it again, won’t he?”

  “Probably. And if the trial spills over to the next Tuesday, word about my tactics will leak out to the witnesses as well. But that’ll give them time to stew and worry, eh? They’ll suspect that I know their secret, and that it could spill out at any moment during my interrogation.”

  “But you ain’t gonna do no spillin’, are ya?”

  “Don’t worry. I’d never put you in a position where you’d be vulnerable. You’ve done me and Brodie yeoman’s service already, and taken considerable risk, seeing that you have been warned off investigating the crime. But I had to know with reasonable certainty that blackmail was actually being carried out on our suspects. Otherwise my stratagem would be indefensibly cruel, and ineffective as well.”

  “So you’re gonna do all this accusin’ without any of the secrets leakin’ out?”

  “I am. There’s no need to do so, as I see things now.”

  Cobb looked very much relieved. “But we ain’t got the goods on Budge or Dutton yet,” he pointed out.

  “True. Though we’ve still got five days before my defense begins. If we don’t succeed by then, I’ll use the altercation between Budge and Duggan in the taproom of The Sailor’s Arms as a pretext to develop an alternative theory of the crime involving the barkeep. I’ll leave Dutton till last anyway, as he is the least likely suspect, given the tight time-frame of that fatal evening.”

  “Still, the judge could find that list just a whole lot of spectacle-atin’.”

  “I’ll argue that it’s substantial enough to warrant at least my asking them if they were being blackmailed.” Marc smiled grimly. “He may order me to do it more politely, mind you. But if I can make it through the first suspect, I’ll have shown him that the sequence of events in the cloakroom and the alley does put the eye-witnesses in the picture as potential killers. That should be enough to warrant my continuing – politely.”