The Widow's Demise

by Don Gutteridge

  Marc was brief. He said the evidence would show that someone other than the defendant committed the murder, seconds before the policeman arrived, and that there were others with stronger motives and opportunity to commit the crime.

  McBride then called the Crown’s first witness: Dr. Angus Withers.

  McBride leaned on his lectern and said, “Good afternoon, Dr. Withers. Let me begin by asking you when you arrived at the murder scene?”

  “I got there, apparently, about fifteen minutes after Constable Wilkie came upon the scene,” Withers said.

  “And what did you find, sir?”

  “I found Constable Wilkie and Constable Rossiter standing near a woman’s body lying prone on the ground. Another man was sitting nearby. Constable Rossiter was keeping the onlookers back and Constable Cobb was keeping an eye on the seated man.”

  “Do you see that man in the courtroom?”

  “I do. It was the prisoner in the dock.”

  “Did you examine the body of the woman on the ground?”

  “I did. She was dead, recently dead. She was lying on her back. Her throat had been pierced by a sharp object.”

  “And could you identify that object?”

  “Yes. There was blood on one of the sharp spikes that constituted the low fence around the front lawn of Rosewood.”

  “You know the house?”

  “Everybody does. And I recognized the woman immediately as Mrs. Cardiff-Jones, an occupant of Rosewood and widowed daughter of the Attorney-General.”

  “What else, besides the gash on the throat, did you notice about the body?”

  “The cheeks and lower jaw had been singed or eaten away by what could only have been acid thrown in her face.”

  This brought a murmuring from the galleries.

  “Could that have been the cause of death?”

  “No. While infinitely painful, it would not have killed her.”

  “Were you able to determine the type of acid?”

  “Yes. The police gave me the vial found at the scene, and in it I found traces of hydrochloric acid.”

  “What, then, was the cause and manner of her death?”

  “I can only speculate that the acid was thrown in her face by someone very close to her and that as she spun away and fell forward, she landed on the low, spiked fence and severed her jugular – causing her to bleed to death.”

  “Did she die right away?”

  “No. She was found on her back, so she must have turned and staggered forward again before collapsing for good.”

  “Did you examine the victim’s fingernails?”

  “I was asked to do so by the police.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I found blood and bits of skin.”

  “Belonging to the victim?”

  “No, sir. There were no other marks on the body except the ruined face and the slashed jugular.”

  “Were you asked by the police to examine a scratch on the accused’s face?”

  “I was.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “I found evidence of his left cheek having been recently scratched.”

  “Was it consistent with the blood and skin under the victim’s fingernails?”

  Marc was on his feet. “Milord, there is no way of Dr. Withers determining whose blood and skin was under the victim’s fingernails.”

  “Yes,” said the judge, a veteran of the Queen’s bench named Laidlaw. “That calls for an opinion the coroner is not able to substantiate. Move on, Mr. McBride.”

  “But the accused had been very recently scratched and you found foreign blood and skin under the victim’s fingernails?”

  “The blood had scarcely dried on the scratches,” Withers said.

  “We may reasonably assume a cause and effect between the two items, may we not?” McBride said smoothly.

  “Milord,” Marc said, rising, “the Crown is summing up.”

  “You know better, Mr. McBride,” said the judge, but Mc Bride had already made his point.

  “I have no more questions, Milord,” said McBride, sitting down.

  “Your witness, then,” Judge Laidlaw said to Marc.

  Marc rose to his lectern. “Would the victim have had enough strength to scratch the defendant’s face in the manner suggested by the Crown?”

  ”Only as a reflex action. Perhaps, if the perpetrator still had the vial in his hand, she thought she was under attack again and lashed out instinctively.”

  “But that is highly speculative?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You said that the acid was not the primary cause of death?”

  “Correct. Death was a result of the loss of blood.”

  “Then whoever threw the acid intended only to harm the victim, not to kill her?”

  “She might have died eventually as a result of the wound to her flesh.”

  “But that is not certain?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Strictly speaking, then, Mrs. Cardiff-Jones’s death was an accident, an unforeseen result of the acid throwing?”

  “Possibly. But only if the acid was thrown first. There could have been an initial struggle, the victim could have been pushed onto that spike, then acid thrown to disfigure her.”

  “But that is mere speculation, and, I put it to you, it is highly improbable.”

  Dr. Withers, an old pal of Marc’s, smiled wryly. “I suppose so.”

  “No more questions, Milord.”

  Next up was Constable Ewan Wilkie. He stepped nervously onto the witness-stand, where he stood drumming his fingers on the rail.

  “There is no need to be nervous,” McBride said in a somewhat patronizing tone. “Just answer my questions as best you can in plain and simple language.”

  “Yes, yer Honour,” Wilkie said.

  McBride winced, but carried on. “Constable Wilkie, tell the court exactly what you saw on the evening of the crime as you were on your patrol along Front Street.”

  “Well, sir, I was walkin’ east and it was gettin’ dark, but up ahead, in front of Rosewood, I seen a man hunched over somethin’ on the ground.”

  “You didn’t see right away that it was a body?”

  “No. I just saw this fellow hunched over, with somethin’ in his hand.”

  “You weren’t alarmed at first?”

  “No, sir. Then I thought the fellow might be hurt so I started to walk faster towards him.”

  “Then what did you notice?”

  “I seen that a woman was layin’ on the ground and the man was hunched over her. He had a glass vial in one of his hands.”

  “This was the same vial that the coroner found to have contained hydrochloric acid?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When did you know that the woman was seriously hurt or perhaps dead?”

  “When I got up to the man, I saw blood all over the lady’s chest and the ground around her. Her eyes were open but she wasn’t seein’ anythin’.”

  “And what did the man with vial do then?”

  ”He looked up at me and he looked real scared.”

  “And you saw a fresh scratch on his face?”

  “Yes, sir. It was still bleedin’.”

  “What did you assume had happened?”

  Marc rose. “The question calls for a subjective opinion, Milord.”

  “This is a policeman on the stand, Mr. Edwards. I’ll allow it.”

  “Constable?”

  “I saw the scorched face on the lady, the vial in the man’s hand, and I figured he’d tossed acid or lye or somethin’ on her face and then stabbed her.”

  “But you didn’t see a knife?”

  “No, sir. But the fellow pointed to a bloody spike on the fence and said somethin’ to me in a gibberish I didn’t understand but I took to mean the lady’d fallen on the fence.”

  “Did you arrest the man on the spot?”

  “I didn’t right away. I blew my whistle fer help, and when Mr. Cardiff and his servants
came out of the house, I sent one of them to fetch the Chief and the coroner. I told the fellow to sit on the porch and wait.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “I said, ‘I think you killed this woman.’ She was certainly dead, with her eyes open and seein’ nothin’. And he kept on talkin’ gibberish, like a crazy man. ‘Speak English,’ I told him. And he seemed to calm down then and by golly he could speak English. He started to tell me some cock and bull story about – ”

  “We don’t need to hear his cock and bull story, sir. But there is no doubt in your mind that this fellow was guilty of throwing acid in Mrs. Cardiff-Jones’s face and consequently causing her death?”

  Wilkie blinked at the excessive length of the question and said, “None whatsoever. He had the vial in his hand. She’d scratched his face tryin’ to protect herself, and he was still hunched over the body.”

  “Making sure she was dead?”

  “Milord!” Marc cried, jumping to his feet.

  “That was uncalled for, Mr. McBride,” said the judge.

  McBride apologized, smirked over at Marc, and sat down. “I have no more questions, Milord.”

  “Mr. Edwards?”

  Marc looked across at Constable Wilkie, a man he had known for five years as a plodding but honest patrolman. He realized that he had a formidable challenge ahead of him. His client had been found by a policeman bending over a recently killed woman with one of the instruments of her demise in his right hand.

  “Constable Wilkie, I am interested in my client’s demeanour when you accosted him that evening. You said he looked scared.”

  “Yes. I figured he was quite startled to see a policeman come up to him just a few moments after he’d killed the lady.”

  “We don’t know that the defendant killed the lady, Constable. That is for the jury to decide,” Marc said evenly. “After his startled look, did the defendant try to flee? Did he even get up?”

  Wilkie looked puzzled. “Well, no. He just pointed at the lady and the bloody spike and spouted some gibberish.”

  “Could this gibberish have been French? Mr. Gagnon, the defendant, is French-Canadian.”

  “Could’ve been. Beats me.”

  “Didn’t you find it strange that the defendant did not try to run away, but rather appeared to be trying to explain something to you in his mother tongue?”

  “But I had him by rights, didn’t I?” Wilkie said proudly.

  “You asked him to sit on the porch and wait?”

  “I did, and he did as he was told.”

  “Could he not have run away while you were dealing with Mr. Cardiff and his servants, who had come out to see what the fuss was about?”

  “Well, I suppose he could’ve.”

  “I suggest to you that the defendant’s behaviour was not that of a guilty man.”

  “But he had the vial in his hand.”

  “Could he not have picked it up out of curiosity to see what had caused the wound to the victim’s face?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Did you find a glove near the body by any chance?”

  Marc’s abrupt shift caught Wilkie by surprise. He blinked and glanced over at McBride.

  “I did find a glove, yes,” Wilkie said.

  “You didn’t mention this in answer to Mr. McBride’s questions.”

  “He didn’t ask me about it?”

  McBride was on his feet, his jowls wobbling. “Milord, Mr. Edwards is getting at facts not in evidence.”

  “Mr. Edwards?” said the judge.

  “Milord, Mr. McBride asked the constable to describe what he saw exactly as he came upon the scene. The glove should have been mentioned in response to that question.”

  “I agree,” said the judge. “Proceed, Mr. Edwards.”

  “Did you assume the glove had been dropped by the assailant?” Marc asked.

  “Milord,” McBride said, “the question calls for speculation.”

  “The constable may answer truthfully what he thought at the time,” said the judge.

  “Mr. Wilkie?” said Marc.

  “I thought that, yes. The glove had blood on it.”

  “Blood from the victim?”

  “It was fresh blood.”

  “Did you subsequently try the glove on the defendant to see if it fit?”

  Wilkie gulped, looked helplessly at McBride, and said, “I did. At the police quarters.”

  “Did it fit?”

  “No, sir. It was too small.”

  “So it didn’t belong to the defendant?”

  “No, sir.”

  “So there may have been a third party at the scene, perhaps there before the defendant, perhaps the real killer?”

  “Milord!”

  “Go easy, Mr. Edwards. You can sum up later,” said the judge.

  “Now, Constable Wilkie, I want to get to this story you said the defendant told you – ”

  McBride was on his feet so quickly his jowls waddled. “That story was not explored on direct, Milord.”

  “But it was introduced,” the judge said. “Continue, Mr. Edwards.”

  “You said it was a cock and bull story. How so?”

  “Well, Mr. Gagnon begun speakin’ English, and he said he’d seen the murder happen. He’d been walkin’ towards Rosewood, expectin’ to talk with Mr. Cardiff about the election, when he saw a man throw somethin’ liquid in a woman’s face just outside the fence at Rosewood.”

  “And what did he do then?”

  “He said he shouted and run towards them. The man dropped the vial in his hand and run off around the east side of Rosewood. He said he heard the lady moan and bent over her to see what was the matter with her. She scratched him and collapsed. He said he just picked up the vial to see what had caused the terrible wound on her face when I come along. He said he didn’t cause the lady’s death.”

  “But you didn’t believe this story?”

  “No sir. It sounded far-fetched to me. It was him with the vial and scratch on his face.”

  And, thought Marc, if he couldn’t come up with a viable third party those two facts alone could convict his client. But at least he had got Gagnon’s own defense out in open court. McBride’s witness had accidentally allowed the defendant, as it were, to testify on his own behalf, a practice strictly forbidden in English law.

  “You didn’t try to pursue this other man?” said Marc.

  “No, sir. I didn’t believe there was one.”

  “Did the accused describe this other man? This third party?”

  “He said he was short and slight. He wore an overcoat and a hat. That’s all.”

  “And most likely left one of his bloody gloves at the scene?”

  Wilkie blinked, but said nothing.

  “I have no more questions,” Marc said.

  “Mr. McBride, redirect?”

  “Yes, Milord,” said McBride. “Constable, about this glove. At first you assumed it had been dropped there by the accused?”

  “That’s right.”

  “But when it didn’t fit, what did you conclude?”

  “We decided it was just a stray glove layin’ there on the walk, and some of the lady’s blood got spilled on it.”

  “And the accused had no gloves on at the time of his arrest?”

  “No, sir. That’s why we thought it must’ve been layin’ there all along.”

  “Now, about this cock and bull story. Why didn’t you believe it?”

  “Well, sir, I know from my experience that criminals always have some story they dream up to try and escape our clutches. And I thought since I was patollin’ from the east, I would’ve seen this so-called slight man runnin’ away.”

  “As you know, it is because a defendant is assumed to be tempted to lie on his behalf that he is not allowed to testify in his defense. So you conclude that this was just such testimony?”

  “I did. And I gotta believe my own eyes and ears, don’t I?”

  “You do indeed. No more questions, Mi
lord.”

  Constable Wilkie was excused. Marc had done all he could. The presence of a small glove that might have belonged to the slight man whom Gagnon had seen running away from the scene did point to the third party that Marc was at pains to establish, as did Gagnon’s story, though it had been materially weakened by McBride’s redirect. Still, there was plenty to come. But not until the morning. Court was adjourned for the day.

  ***

  Constable Cobb made his way to The Crooked Anchor. An urgent message had been sent to him at the police quarters that Itchy Quick wanted to see him right away. Cobb found him at his favourite table, looking famished.

  “Hello, Itchy. Why the big hurry?” Cobb said, sitting down opposite him.

  “I got some news.”

  “Then spit it out. I’m a busy man.”

  “I talk better on a full stomach,” Itchy said coyly.

  “You want me to stand you a meal before you tell me somethin’ that may or may not be worth a dinner?”

  “Oh, it’s worth a dinner. And you know you can trust me, Mr. Cobb.”

  “About as far as I could throw you – and that ain’t far.” Cobb said. “But if that’s what it takes, what the hell, I can always have you arrested fer loiterin’.”

  Itchy blanched before he realized Cobb was kidding. “I’ll have liver and onions and a slab of apple pie,” he said, “washed down with an ale.”

  The meal was ordered, and while they were waiting, Cobb said, “This has to do with the Gagnon murder charge, I take it?”

  “It does, in a way.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “It’ll help Mr. Gagnon, I’m sure.”