Governing Passion (10 page)

“I’m here to help you Mr. LeMieux. I am a
barrister and I have carried out murder investigations before. You
say you are innocent.”

“I am. And the only reason I’m in here is
that I am French.” The eyes smouldered.

“The claim is made that it was your hammer
that killed Mr. Dunham.”

“It could have been. We leave our tools on
the site. Anyone could have come along, picked it up and hit Dunham
on the head with it.”

“Someone who might want to throw suspicion on
you?”

“Of course.”

“You were heard making death threats against
Dunham.”

“I was in Bernie’s dive last night after
work. It’s a dump out near the hospital. I had too much to drink. I
may have said something I shouldn’t have, but I don’t remember. I
was too pissed. I don’t even remember walking home.”

“Well, I should be able to get more
information about that at this Bernie’s place.”

“Bunch of low-life thieves is all you’ll find
there. English bastards.”

“If you didn’t do it, who do you think might
have? Did Dunham have enemies?”

LeMieux snorted. “Everybody hated his guts.
He was the worse kind of Englishman, cruel and arrogant. My friend
Michel Jardin saw Dunham fire his brother for sticking up for
himself. Michel was very angry. But he’s no killer. And Greg Manson
was angry because he was passed over for the foreman’s job. But
Dunham treated us all badly.”

“You had no particular reason yourself for
wanting to kill him?”

LeMieux looked down. “I do, and somebody has
already told the magistrate. I expect it was Manson.”

“Why did you dislike Dunham?”

“Not dislike. Hate. Dunham was a corporal in
the militia in ‘thirty-seven.”

“And did something to you?”

“He and his troops razed my barn and
terrified my family. They burnt us out.”

“Did Dunham know this?”

“Yes. But he never let on he recognized me.
And me, drunk one night, spilled out the whole story to the other
men.”

“So you do have a powerful motive for wanting
to kill Dunham?”

“You think I’m guilty, don’t you? Just
because I’m French.”

“I don’t see how you can be convicted if
no-one can place you at the murder scene last night. The evidence
is all circumstantial.”

“But I’ll be put on trial?”

“Yes, if I don’t find the real killer.”

“Go after Manson. He’s a bitter man with a
wicked temper.”

“It could be someone else. We don’t know what
Dunham was doing out there at night. He could have been meeting
somebody.”

“He’d been out there for three nights keeping
a watch on our stock of laths. Someone, a kid likely, was stealing
them. A few every night.”

“I see. Then it’s possible he surprised the
thief and the thief picked up the nearest weapon and struck.”

“Yes, that’s quite possible,” LeMieux said
with some enthusiasm. “So you really think you can help me?”

“I’m going to try,” Marc said, rising. “Even
though I’m an Englishman.”

***

Marc rode out to the scene of the crime with
Campion, the architect. He didn’t expect to find anything, but he
wanted to see the spot for himself and search the area for clues.
Campion was very concerned about replacing his foreman and about
the loss of two men from his complement of five. Of course, Denis
Jardin, the fired brother could be brought back if he were still in
town. Meanwhile, if, as Marc had informed Campion, the accused man
was bruiting it about that he was being charged solely because he
was French, then trouble could be looming when the flooring
carpenters, French and English, came in next week. Marc and Campion
arrived about two o’clock and went immediately to the Legislative
Council chamber. The three remaining workmen were there, sitting on
a pile of laths.

“I know a fellow worker has been killed,” Campion
said, “but the work must go on. Manson, you will act as foreman for
the time being.”

The men got up reluctantly, even the newly
minted foreman. When they had begun their work attaching the laths
to the studding, Campion went over to the far side of the room and
pointed at the rough flooring. Marc saw the large, dark
bloodstain.

“So this is where it happened, eh?”

“He was struck from behind, the coroner said.
I was here when he did his initial examination. A single violent
blow. Perhaps he had dozed off and didn’t hear anyone
approaching.”

“Then the killer was not likely the thief
who’s been stealing the laths,” Marc said, looking around. “I take
it Dunham has been out here for the past three nights?”

“He has,” Campion said. “But the thief must
have spotted him and kept away. Perhaps until last night.”

“The laths are here, so it’s likely Dunham
was hiding behind them. But if Dunham had fallen asleep, the thief
would just take his booty and slip off undetected, wouldn’t he?
No-one kills for a pile of laths if he doesn’t have to.”

“I think you’re right. This was a
deliberately planned murder.”

“Where were the tools left?” Marc asked.

“Over near the work on the far side of the
room.”

“So I assume the killer entered the door on
this side, saw the sleeping watchman, slipped over and picked up a
hammer, then came across silently and did the deed.”

“And it doesn’t look as if he’s left anything
around.”

Marc spent several minutes making sure, but
this side of the room was uncluttered, and the killer had left
nothing but his victim behind.

“I’d like to speak to the workman one by
one,” Marc said, blowing on his hands. The room was heated by an
improvised stove under the windows, but one had to be standing next
to it to receive its benefits.

“Fine with me,” Campion said.

“I’ll talk to them over where it’s a little
warmer,” Marc said.

First up was Gregory Manson. He was a large,
florid man who possibly drank too much.

“I understand you felt cheated when you were
passed over for the foreman’s job,” Marc began.

“That’s true, sir. But I didn’t kill him. I
was home at midnight, in my bed.”

“And earlier you were at Bernie’s place
drinking?”

“And doin’ a little dice, we was. Marvin and
me.”

Marvin Leroy was the other English-speaking
workman.

“And Jacques LeMieux was there as well?”

Manson frowned. “He come in later. He’d
already been into the booze somewheres. Bernie lets the Frenchies
in if they behave themselves. But they don’t usually come at
all.”

“You don’t socialize with your French
comrades?”

“You crazy! Them bunch of rebels and
layabouts? We only work with them because we got no choice.”

“And you heard LeMeiux make threats against
Dunham?”

“Yes. And I told the magistrate straight off
when he come here this mornin’.”

“What was the specific nature of these
threats?”

“What did he say, ya mean? It was in French
and my French isn’t perfect. I can understand it mostly, but can’t
speak it.”

“So what did you hear, in French?”

“He said he was gonna get even with that
bastard Dunham if he lived to be a hundred. ‘I’ll get him, you’ll
see!’ he kept sayin’ over and over. He was very drunk and slurrin’
his words, but they were clear enough.”

“He did not use the word ‘kill’? –
‘
tuer
’?”

Manson looked confused for a moment. “Not as
such, no. But his meaning was obvious, wasn’t it?”

Marc could hear the cross-examination in the
trial to come. He had no doubt that he could get LeMieux acquitted,
but the damage could already have been done. Robert and Louis were
meeting two or three new potential members of the new Parliament
each day and laying the groundwork for the upcoming alliance in the
Assembly. Any perceived strains between French and English at this
stage could prove detrimental to these delicate negotiations.
LeMieux’s arrest on purely circumstantial evidence certainly lent
itself to misinterpretation by the French.

“Was it, though?” Marc said. “There are many
ways to get even, aren’t there?”

“Not when you hate a man as much as LeMieux
did Dunham,” Manson said stubbornly.

“He might have sabotaged the work project,
eh?” Marc continued. “That might have got Dunham fired. Or perhaps
he merely wished to give the fellow a good thrashing.”

“With his hammer?”

“Where were you after you left Bernie’s” Marc
said abruptly.

“Leroy and me walked back to Kingston about
midnight. LeMieux was still in the dive. We went to our separate
boarding-houses.”

“Did your landlady or landlord hear you come
in?”

“She may have. She’s a light sleeper.”

“Dunham was killed sometime during the night
according to what the coroner told Mr. Campion. That leaves plenty
of time for you to walk back out to the site and do the deed
yourself.”

Manson laughed. “I didn’t have to, did I?
Somebody did it for me.”

***

Marvin Leroy was a small man with bright red hair
and freckles, and a livid scar the size of an earthworm on his
right cheek.

He was nervous and did not make eye
contact.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, Mr. Leroy.
I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“I had no reason to kill Mr. Dunham,” Leroy
said quickly.

“You liked the man?”

Leroy hesitated, then said, “No, I didn’t
care for him. He was a mean bugger. So I can’t say I’m sorry he’s
dead.”

“You were in Bernie’s dive last night?”

“I was. With Greg Manson.”

“Did you hear Jacques LeMieux making threats
against Dunham?”

Again, some hesitation before the response.
“I heard him mumbling to himself in French. But I don’t speak
French at all. But he really sounded very angry.”

So, Marc thought, it was only Manson’s
testimony so far as to the threats made by LeMieux. LeMieux himself
didn’t remember much. Marc would have to go to Bernie’s and try to
sort this out. Without the threats, the magistrate, beyond motive,
had only the hammer, and that was thin evidence indeed.

“You didn’t hear the word ‘
tuer
’?”

“No, sir. If I did it went over my head. Greg
an’ me walked home.”

“You went straight to your own
boarding-house?”

“Yes.”

“Did your landlady or landlord hear you come
in?”

“My landlady usually does. I’m afraid I made
quite a noise.”

“I’ll check it out. I want all the addresses
of you men before I leave this morning.”

“I’ll help if I can.”

“That’s all for now,” Marc said, releasing
the man and wincing once again at the sight of that scar. Someone’s
knife had sliced open that right cheek.

***

Michel Jardin looked as if he had a permanent chip
on his shoulder. He slouched over to Marc, resentment and
irritation writ large in his face.

“You were upset when Mr. Dunham fired your
brother?” Marc began.

“So what?”

They were speaking in French but the contempt
was clear in any language.

“So it gives you a reason to dislike your
foreman.”

“I didn’t need a reason like that. I hated
him after the first day on the job. He was a very cruel man.”

“In what way?”

“He looked down on us French. He gave us the
dirtiest jobs. He chewed us out for no reason at all, always
worrying that we weren’t working fast enough. Anything to lick the
ass of his boss.”

“He was anti-French?”

“He was in the English militia in the
rebellion. He burned barns and killed cattle and scared
children.”

“But he was only doing his duty, surely,”
Marc said lamely, remembering his own compunction about
barn-burning.

“He was an animal. An English bastard.”

Marc had been present for some of the
reprisals taken after the rebellion in Lower Canada, and had known
then, as now, how difficult it was going to be for the two races
and cultures to live side by side, let alone unite in a single
state.

“Where were you last night, say, from nine
o’clock onwards?”

“You think I killed Dunham?”

“Please answer the question.”

Jardin looked across at Bert Campion
supervising the work, as if his boss might relent and allow him to
say no to Marc’s questions. But the architect had been adamant in
ordering his men to cooperate with Marc.

“I got home from work at eight o’clock. I had
supper at my boarding-house. I went for a long walk around ten
o’clock. When I got back everyone was asleep. No-one saw me until
morning.”

So, Jardin had no alibi, but also no real
motive other than a general dislike of his foreman, a dislike
shared by his colleagues.

“You men all used your own tools?” Marc
thought to ask.

“Yes, we do. And our hammers are all
different.”

“Except that Jacques’ hammer has got blood
and brains on it,” Marc said.

“That means nothing,” Jardin said. “Anyone
could have used it. You people are picking on us because we’re
French!”

“Was anything stolen last night?” Marc said,
ignoring Jardin’s agitation.

The question startled Jardin, but he
recovered to say, “Yes, there was. Another bundle of laths.”

So, the thief
had
been here. Still, it
was difficult to believe he had done it. However, it would serve
LeMieux’s lawyer well if a trial ever came about. (One of Marc’s
ploys in the courtroom was to offer the jury alternative views of
the crime.) And the way things were going, he himself might end up
being that lawyer.

Marc dismissed Jardin. He got the address of
each worker from Campion, then joined the architect for the ride
back to Kingston. Marc went immediately to Robert and Hincks. Louis
joined them, and Marc briefed them on everything he had discovered
so far.

Robert was first to speak. “Marc, we’re going
to have to settle this matter quickly. We need definite proof of
LeMieux’s innocence or guilt. If the business hangs fire, up in the
air, we could be in for trouble here with our negotiations. I’m
going to go to Magistrate Wilson and get his permission for you to
continue your investigation – officially – if you’re willing to do
so.”