“But I was with you or my mum the whole time! You can check with my mother: we just talked. Tell them, Mr. Edwards.”
“Was he ever alone in there?” Sturges asked, his face suddenly grave. “For even a minute?”
Marc hated himself for what he was obliged to say next. “I’m afraid he was. He went into his bedroom to fetch his lucky rabbit’s foot.”
Cobb held up the talisman, as if to confirm Marc’s reluctant assertion.
“But I didn’t go in there to get poison!”
Sturges walked right up to Billy. “I ain’t happy about this, son, but I gotta put you under arrest for the murder of Caleb Coltrane.”
NINE
It was early evening, and Marc and Robert were in the latter’s office going over the calamitous events of the past few hours. Billy McNair had been formally charged with murder and returned to his cold cell. Doc Withers had confirmed strychnine in one of the two snuff boxes and in the druggist’s packet. It fell to Magistrate Thorpe to bring these tidings to Sir George Arthur. The consequent reaction—heard, it was claimed, by the officers a mile away at Fort York—was an apoplectic explosion on a par with Coltrane’s death throes. The creature who had been the centerpiece of Sir George’s scheme to bind his people to him and to the monarch he embodied had been squalidly assassinated. What was worse, he knew but could not admit that it was he who had indulged Stanhope and his quixotic notions of chivalry, hoping to keep the fool’s status as Pelee Island Patriot alive and politically useful. And it was he who had, over the mad colonel’s objections (put in writing, alas), sanctioned the disastrous visit of Billy McNair. Being lieutenant-governor, however, encouraged him to vent his initial wrath upon the hapless magistrate and any of his own staff within scolding range of his tongue. “This business is not over!” he vowed to all and sundry, hoping to divert attention away from his culpabilities and towards the guilt of others.
Marc sipped at his brandy and stared into the blazing hearth. “If I hadn’t let the lad go in to see his mother, he would be a free man now.”
“You can’t blame yourself, Marc,” Robert said, then added delicately, “You’re absolutely certain Billy didn’t do it?”
“Absolutely. I was there. I heard the tenor of that conversation. And you saw Billy before we left the station. He had just set his wedding date. He was heading off to play it humble and safe so that he could be released to his sweetheart’s arms. In order for us to accept him as a conniving killer with a packet of poison hidden in his bedroom at home, we’d have to believe him capable of an incredible deception, of a level of dissembling quite beyond his abilities. Nor was Coltrane any fool. The chances of Billy slipping strychnine powder into one of those snuff boxes, which sat on Coltrane’s side of the desk, are nil and none.”
Robert held up his hand. “You don’t need to convince me, Marc. I just wanted to be sure you felt as I did.”
“What really angers me, though, is the cavalier way in which Wilf Sturges cuffed Billy and hauled him away to be charged.”
“Well, you must admit that all the obvious evidence points to his guilt. He did have a powerful motive, however much we ourselves feel it may have evaporated. He did threaten to kill Coltrane after failing to do so in a duel. He did have the chance to obtain and secure the poison. And the near-empty packet was found in the borrowed coat.”
“But that skein is full of holes. Anyone in the day leading up to the incident could have salted the snuff. We do know who came there officially and who might have slipped in for a casual visit. Bostwick has run off with the estate keys in his pocket. I wager we’ll find that Stanhope has demoted him or drummed him out of the regiment for the fiasco over the duel. So he may well have a motive: revenge against the Yankee who duped or suborned him. Moreover, why would Billy keep strychnine cached away in his bedroom when he fully intended to shoot Coltrane on Monday morning?”
“Right. And Cobb took him straight to jail after the duel. Unfortunately, Billy won’t get a chance to testify to these matters because under our laws the accused cannot take the stand on his own behalf.”
“I’d forgotten that. Still, there are other suspects here besides Billy, aren’t there?”
“Like the Orangeman, Tierney,” Robert said. “He hated Coltrane enough to go there more than once.”
“Nor can we discount the Stanhopes. The daughter was enamoured of Coltrane, I’m sure. She and her mother were feuding over it. If Stanhope found out, he may have taken matters into his own hands.”
“Though I really doubt he would kill the man he had sworn, on his soldier’s sword, to protect—at least not until after his coronation at the ball on Saturday.”
“The point is that Sturges has gone ahead with the charge and let Sir George know about it. Getting it reversed will be almost impossible.”
“I agree,” Robert said, reaching for a macaroon and then resisting its temptation.
“I begged Wilf to interrogate everybody immediately—a necessity in any attempt to investigate a murder. He refused. I pointed out that the only substantial incriminating evidence he had was the packet in the greatcoat. He saw that. Then I asked him how he thought Billy poured the strychnine out of it into the snuff box and subsequently managed to sequester it in a coat hanging upstairs on a hall tree. He reminded me that Billy had rushed out and past me, then raced up the stairs crying havoc. Cobb says there was so much hollering and confusion that Billy could easily have slipped the empty paper into the pocket, though he himself didn’t see him do so. When I asked Sturges why Billy would do so, he said to keep us from finding it.”
“That makes rough sense, I suppose.”
“By the same token, in the confusion up there, anyone could have done it. Cobb was at the door, he swears, all during the interview, but after that it was instant mayhem. Anyway, that alone should have warranted more investigation before charging Billy.”
“If the killer did plant it to cast blame on Billy, then that would seem to eliminate any of the earlier outside visitors from suspicion.”
“True, but I never rule out conspiracy or collusion.”
“I see: one person to set the poison in place and another to secure the frame-up.”
“I even asked Wilf, and then Cobb, if I could just speak briefly to the Stanhopes, to give them some details they might find helpful, but I was forbidden to do so. I really just wanted to get a look at the colonel and the women, to study their faces in the immediate aftermath. But they refused.”
“You must understand why the police, despite your helpfulness to them in the past, had to behave as they did.”
Marc looked puzzled.
“Well, you are one of the accused’s advocates, aren’t you?”
Marc instantly understood. “Of course! We’re on different sides now, aren’t we? I mustn’t be too hard on Cobb, especially. He’s a good man, and I consider him a friend.”
“Don’t worry, that’s allowed in the colonies,” Robert responded, then asked, “Is there any possibility that an outsider could have come in through the garden in the night?”
“I thought of that. I took a good look around in the prison chamber, even poked into the curtained-off sleeping area and the water closet. Then I checked the back door and the bars on the window. I found nothing suspicious.” Marc paused, recalling something from his first visit to Chepstow. “Come to think of it, I did spy a suspicious person skulking about the rear gate yesterday morning. I spooked him and he ran off. Still, even though the sentries back there are unreliable, when that back door is locked, the prison chamber itself is like a fortress.”
Robert drained his brandy. “Well, it looks as if we began as defense counsel for a man accused of attempted murder and inherited one charged with the real thing.”
“You’ll stay on the case, then?”
“If Billy is innocent, and I believe he is, he’ll need all the help he can get.”
“Beth and I will foot the bill. She’s devoted to Dolly. They’ll both be devasta
ted by the news.” Marc waved off the brandy decanter. “I’ve got to go. Beth will be worried. But tell me quickly what I can do to assist you.”
“I’ve already thought of that. It occurred to me that you are an apprentice barrister but a seasoned and successful investigator of homicides.”
Marc was half expecting this turn of events and tried not to reveal his disappointment. “You want me to find the real murderer, then?”
“I do. In the circumstances, I think it is our best hope. You just said yourself that the police believe they have their man and enough evidence to convict him. They will look no further. And remember, this case won’t go to trial until the spring assizes begin in April. That gives you almost three months.”
“I trust I won’t need that long.”
“We should be able to get Billy released on bail shortly. But he may have to put his wedding on hold.”
The door opened and Dr. William Baldwin took two steps into the room. He waved a sheet of paper at his son.
“News, sir?”
“Could be. It’s a note just received from James Thorpe.”
“Then it can’t be good news.”
Baldwin senior began perusing the letter, while Marc and Robert waited impatiently.
“It looks as if Sir George has decided upon the means of saving his face,” William said.
Robert got up and stood beside Marc.
“Since he’s been robbed of his trial and its star performer, then by God he’s going to show the world—meaning, of course, the skeptical Yankees—that British justice is fair and evenhanded and not the product of tyranny. Or something like that.”
“He’s going after Billy?” Robert asked.
“I’m afraid so. He’s ordered the chief justice to conduct McNair’s trial here in the Court of Queen’s Bench a week from tomorrow.”
“But that’s madness,” Marc said. “Billy is not only innocent, he’s a local hero. We’ll have riots in the streets.”
“I believe the governor has concluded that that risk is the lesser of two evils. The cold-blooded assassination of an American ‘liberator’ is bound to ignite the anger of the Hunters’ Lodges, just when things were beginning to quiet down there. A quick public trial of the culprit is Sir George’s response. In the least it will make it easier for President Van Buren to clamp down on the renegades’ border activities.”
“But that gives us only eight days to find the real assassin and prepare a defense for Billy,” Marc said.
Robert, however, did not look overly concerned. In fact, he was smiling. “Well, if Sir George wants a fancy trial, then I propose we give him one. Let’s invite onto our defense team a lawyer who has never lost a capital case.”
Dr. Baldwin laughed out loud, invigorating the laugh lines around his lips and eyes. “By God, Robbie, won’t that give the old Tory the dry heaves!”
“Richard Dougherty?” Marc said.
“He’s got a license to practise here until the benchers convene next month, doesn’t he?” Robert said.
“We’ll wait until Sir George has made his tactics public,” Dr. Baldwin said with a mischievous grin, “then we’ll announce our own. By then, it’ll be too late for the old bugger to renege on Dougherty.”
“In the meantime, Marc here is going to catch the real villain, aren’t you?”
Marc nodded with what he hoped was convincing confidence.
• • •
Beth was waiting anxiously for Marc when he arrived home about nine o’clock. Robert had suggested that the legal aspects of Billy’s case be left entirely in his hands (and Doubtful Dick’s, if he chose to join him). Marc would be the investigator, working on his own and reporting in only when he had important information to relay. As was his custom, Marc filled Beth in on the salient developments of the day, a process that allowed him to sift and sort matters as he narrated them to his wife. Beth, as was her custom, listened carefully and said little.
“How can I help?” she asked, when he had finished.
“By not working so hard.”
Beth yawned. “You’ll want to get started right after breakfast tomorrow. You drop me at the shop and I’ll tell Dolly what she needs to know about Billy’s situation.”
Marc pinched out the candle and leaned over to kiss her. She was asleep.
• • •
Marc did begin first thing Friday morning, driving the cutter from Smallman’s to Chepstow. Unlike in his previous investigations, he would be carrying out this inquiry with neither executive authority or the police. And given the kind of people involved, all prominent in the community, he would be hard-pressed to find a killer among them in seven days. “You’ll just have to use your charm,” Robert had declared.
The news of Billy’s rearrest had begun to spread. Driving by the Court House, Marc encountered three or four grim-faced marchers wielding placards: “Free the Hero of Windsor!” and “Who’s the Tyrant Now?” Some faint hope arose in him that perhaps Sir George would call off his misguided scheme before it was too late.
Absalom Shad opened the door at Chepstow. If he was surprised to see Marc, he did not show it. “You’ll wanta see the colonel,” he said.
“If he’ll be gracious enough to see me so early in the morning,” Marc said.
“He’s always gracious, ain’t he?”
Marc was shown into the colonel’s study at the far end of the central hall. The doors along the way were firmly shut.
“Good morning, Lieutenant.” Stanhope turned from the fire to greet his guest. The buttons on his tunic glittered. “What brings you here again so soon?”
Marc summoned all the geniality he could muster so soon after breakfast. “First of all, I wanted to offer you my personal apology for what happened here yesterday.”
Stanhope pursed his lips and raised his brow. “Oh? But it wasn’t you who slaughtered an unarmed officer under my protection, it was that ungrateful wretch of a sergeant.” Marc expected venom to spurt from the colonel’s eyes. “It was I who turned him from a lowly carpenter into a soldier. And look how he chose to repay me.”
“But it was I, sir, who negotiated his meeting with the major. I had hoped for an amicable resolution to the duelling matter.”
“That’s big of you to admit it,” Stanhope said. “But it’s young Billy who will have to pay for his sins.”
“I am told that you objected to the visit in writing.”
Stanhope grinned like a ferret that’s caught the rabbit out of his hole. “I did indeed. And that is my only solace in regard to this sorry business. It is Sir George who must accept ultimate responsibility for what happened. And I shall enjoy watching him squirm at the charity ball tomorrow night.”
Marc feigned surprise. “You’re still planning to attend?”
“Of course. My wife, my daughter, and I are the guests of honour at the governor’s table. He is to present me with a medal.”
“For your heroic action at Windsor?”
“And Pelee last March.”
“It is unfortunate, is it not, that Major Coltrane’s death has, through no fault of your own, compromised your honour?”
Stanhope frowned, but it was forced and brief. “It has, sir. But that is not the source of my anger at Billy McNair. It is his betrayal, his perfidy, his disservice to me who treated him like a son. Of course, I will suffer some embarrassment tomorrow night. But I will hold my head high, like a true British officer.”
“And it won’t hurt, will it, that ninety out of a hundred citizens are secretly or overtly pleased that someone did away with a man who was going to be hanged anyway?”
Stanhope’s grin was closer to a smirk, suggesting that he too had had such a thought. “Well, sir, you’ll be happy to know that I accept your apology. Your reputation as an officer and a gentleman precedes you, and you do not disappoint.”
The man’s vanity was unquenchable, Marc thought, and he pressed his advantage. “I must now tell you, sir, that I have been engaged by Baldwin and Sulliv
an to discover whether Billy McNair really did poison Major Coltrane.”
For the first time Stanhope looked flustered. “But there can be no doubt, can there? I spoke at length with Chief Sturges last night. They caught him red-handed.”
“Not quite. I sat in the anteroom down there with the cell door ajar and listened to the entire conversation between Billy and the major. It was not only amicable but, by the end of it, the major had signed an affidavit exonerating Billy for his role in the duel. I believe I was about to be called in to sign as witness when the major took the pinch of snuff that poisoned him.”
“But surely all that was a charade by Billy to cover his tracks?”
Marc paused. “Sir, no one besides his mother knows Billy as well as you do. Lacking a father of his own, he looked to you for guidance and moral authority. I realize that you are angry about the duel and the murder, but do you think that Billy—tempestuous as he is, being a man of spirit—do you really believe he is capable of arranging and executing such a subtle scheme?”
Stanhope said nothing for some time. Marc could see emotions contending in his face. “The lad never wavered under fire. I’m sure he’s capable of sudden and decisive action—the farcical duel didn’t surprise me in the least—and I suppose it’s more likely he’d’ve leapt across the desk and throttled Major Coltrane than he’d’ve slipped poison into his snuff like a sneak thief.”
“That’s my reading of his character, sir.”
“But the empty packet of poison was found in his coat.”
“I know. And what I need to do to help Billy is to determine whether or not someone else put strychnine in the snuff box and then planted the empty packet to incriminate him.”
The colonel took this in. “You mean one of the persons who visited the major?”
“That seems most likely.”
“Or someone in this household?”
Marc hesitated, knowing matters were getting close to the bone. “I wouldn’t rule that out, I’m afraid.”
“You’re thinking of Bostwick?”
“Exactly. He seems to have vanished.”
Death of a Patriot Page 12
