“We’re almost there, Robert.”
But where was there?
***
Just as Marc was expecting the judge to adjourn thecourt until the afternoon, when the defense would begin presentingits case, Justice Powell called the two attorneys to the bench. Itwas Neville Cambridge who spoke, however.
“Milord, some new evidence pertinent to theCrown’s case has just been handed to me. I’d like to look it overand make a decision as to whether to call another witness.”
“Is that witness available?”
“Yes, sir. It would be Dr. WilliamBaldwin.”
Marc paled. What on earth was Cambridge upto? Was he calling Dr. Baldwin deliberately to blunt Marc’sintention to use him as a character witness? But Cambridge could goat him at leisure in his cross examination. Character testimony waswide open. More importantly, what was this new evidence?
“I’d like to see this evidence,” Marcsaid.
“Of course,” Cambridge said cheerfully. “Butonly after I’ve assessed its probative value. Its precise use, I’mafraid, will only be made clear when Dr. Baldwin responds to myquestions concerning it.”
“Then, as it may affect the presentation ofmy case,” Marc said to the judge, “I’ll need extra time toprepare.”
“If you do, sir, we’ll postpone defensewitnesses until tomorrow morning.”
With that, Marc was left to fret and stewover the long, long lunch-hour.
***
Horatio Cobb was still steaming. He had had anear-sleepless night as his conscience fought with his indignationfor supremacy. To make matters worse, he had had to sit through themorning session and watch Marc Edwards further dismantle theCrown’s case. The Chief had ordered Cobb to attend the entiretrial, feeling that Cobb as a future detective ought to sit andobserve what happened to evidence when barristers got hold of it.It was not a pretty sight. The only positive thing to come out ofthe morning, though, was the fact that Marc had gone too far, hadbeen hoist on his own petard.
Still, Marc’s accusation in the wig-roomrankled, not so much the charge that he was driven by ambition(because he simply was not) but the claim that he had not done hisjob properly. After a night of arguing with himself, he had startedto accept, grudgingly, the possibility that he had indeed begun hisinvestigation with a prime suspect in mind and had set out merelyto prove or disprove that assumption. What if he had ignored JakeBroom and started with the opposite notion: that someone other thanUncle Seamus had committed the rape? Would he still not haveeliminated the six-foot Sol Clift, the slicked-down redhead, JoeMullins, and of course Jake Broom himself who was not stupid enoughto get himself hanged by going to the police and accusing aprominent gentleman of a crime no-one had reported.
Nonetheless, at noon, he returned to theChief’s office – Sturges was home ill – and sat there for half anhour going over all his interviews and the testimony he had, as washis custom, automatically memorized. When the solution came itstruck him like a tornado on a house of straw. He shouted, “I’vegot it!” so loudly that Gussie French’s pen jabbed into thedocument he was writing on and its ink spurted up onto hischin.
Cobb was now sure how the crime had beencommitted. And he knew what he had to do – quickly.
***
At three o’clock the Crown called Dr. WilliamBaldwin as its final witness. At Baldwin House there had been muchdiscussion and more speculation about what the Crown was up to. Dr.Baldwin, perhaps the city’s most illustrious and beloved citizen,seemed as puzzled as anyone else. And, Marc noticed, there lurkedin him some uncharacteristic unease, anxiety even.
Dr. Baldwin was sworn in. If it was possiblefor the onlookers to be any more riveted than they had heretoforebeen, it was now.
Cambridge began by waving a sheet of paper inthe air. “Milord, I have here a letter which I would like to enterinto evidence as Exhibit C.”
The clerk brought the letter to the judge,who had already read it. He nodded and it was returned toCambridge. Marc, too, had read it a few minutes before, and couldnot yet see its relevance. But he was certainly worried.
“This letter,” Cambridge continued, “is dateda month ago and is addressed to Bishop Strachan of this city. Itlay unopened for over a week, having got lost among the Bishop’smany papers. It was read by the Bishop only this morning. He haskindly attested to these facts.”
“Carry on, then,” said the judge.
“The letter was written by one D’Arcy Boylan,a prominent barrister in the City of Cork, Ireland.”
The Baldwin clan, including of course UncleSeamus, were from the Cork region of Ireland. Marc held hisbreath.
“It is addressed to Bishop Strachan. I wouldask the witness to read aloud only that part I have marked with apencil.”
The letter was taken to Dr. Baldwin. The lookof concern on his face had deepened. He read:
Some disturbing news, Bishop. The story aboutSeamus Baldwin
retiring because of a nervous breakdown turnsout not to be true.
It seems the fellow was entangled in somesort of scandal that
was hushed up by his law partners. I shallkeep probing for the
details, which you might find useful in thefuture.
Dr. Baldwin finished and stared hard at theprosecutor. But the letter was quivering in his hand.
***
Cobb walked up to Frederick Street and knocked atthe door of Wilfrid Sturges’ house. His wife showed Cobb through tothe little den, where the stricken man lay suffering. However, whatCobb had to tell roused him considerably. He readily approvedCobb’s absenting himself from the trial and gave him carteblanche to carry out the further investigation he had sketchedout for his mightily impressed chief.
Cobb rented a buggy from Frank’s livery anddrove straight up to Whittle’s mill. Neither the miller nor any ofhis crew had been in the courtroom this morning, so Cobb wascertain they would all have returned to work. He found Whittle inhis office. He came right to the point.
“Sir, did you ever employ Tim Thurgood,Burton’s son?”
“What’re you doin’ pokin’ about in thisbusiness now?” Whittle said, his natural cheerfulness disrupted bythis unexpected visit from the police.
“That’s fer me to decide, sir. Please answermy question.”
“That’s easy. He never worked here.”
“Where did he work, then?”
“At Getty’s farm. It’s just up the road. Youpassed it on your way here. But he ain’t there now. He run off toget married.”
“I see. And he never come back here tovisit?”
“I don’t like tellin’ tales outta school,”Whittle said, indicating that he never missed a chance to do justthat, “but father and son didn’t see eye to eye. It’s common,alas.”
“Thanks fer yer time.”
At the door, Cobb turned and said, “How’s thefishin’ up at the trout pool there above yer dam?”
Whittle looked puzzled but replied happilyenough. “Tryin’ to catch me out, are ya?” he laughed.
“Catchin’ you out at what?”
“Poachin’, of course.”
“Ya mean ya can’t use them two great troutpools no more?”
“Not since the old uncle come last summer. Ibeen forbidden on pain of losin’ my lease.”
“I always thought the Baldwins wereeasygoing?”
“Oh, they are. But that uncle loves hisanglin’ and he prefers to angle alone.”
“Well, Whittle, that uncle may not be aroundmuch longer, eh?”
Whittle gave a wary chuckle and watched Cobbhead for his buggy. Cobb had got what he had come for, and more. Heheaded off now to find the Getty farm. He found it exactly whereWhittle had directed him. A young fellow was repairing asnake-fence on the driveway into the farm. Cobb hailed him.
“What can I do for you, constable?” The ladhad a kind, generous face but looked wary just the same.
“You was a good friend of young Tim Thurgood,I hear,” Cobb said, stretching the truth a little.
“We were mates, yes. But Tim’s married nowand nobody’s seen him since.”