Governing Passion (4 page)

“Did she have a gentleman friend?”

Mrs. Butts answered. “She was a beautiful
girl, Constable. She was born with those beautiful, blond curls.
She had lots of boy friends – always.”

“But she wanted to sing,” Butts said. “And so
she ended up in that place.”

“Was she seein’ anyone recently?”

Neither Butts spoke. Mrs. Butts placed her
hands on her husband’s shoulder and squeezed. He spoke at last.
“There was Mr. Kray. John Kray.”

Cobb’s antennae went up. “What about this Mr.
Kray?”

“Well, he was quite taken with her,” Mrs.
Butts said cautiously.

“He asked her to marry him.”

“She agreed, but later turned him down.”

“I see,” Cobb said. “And did he take this
news calmly?”

Some real anger showed in Butts’s face. “He
did not. He kept coming around here and pestering her and us. I had
to read him the riot act.”

“And that worked, did it?”

Another pause. Mrs. Butts said, “Sally told
me that he used to follow her to work, in Devil’s Acre. Sometimes
he’d be waiting for her when she finished work at one in the
morning.”

“Said he was worried about her safety,” Butts
added. “But it was a lot more than that.”

So, Cobb thought, Sally Butts was being
stalked by a jilted lover. Had they quarrelled a last time? Had he
taken out his anger in the most violent way possible?

Cobb obtained Kray’s address, apologized
again for disturbing the Butts in their grief, and left with a
promising lead.

***

According to Butts, John Kray lived with his mother
in a small cottage near the corner of Church and Hospital Street.
Cobb found it without difficulty. His knock was answered by an
elderly, grey-haired woman with spectacles that made her
squint.

“I’m lookin’ fer yer son, John,” Cobb
said.

“I’m lookin’ fer him, too,” Mrs. Kray
said.

“He’s not here, then?”

“He ain’t been home fer two days.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It is. He’s a good boy, but he tends to
drink and gamble a bit when he’s feelin’ down.”

“Do you know where he gambles?”

“At Ned Dowd’s dive in Devil’s Acre.”

“I’ll have a look fer him there, then.”

“Tell him to come home, will you?” Mrs. Kray
asked in a pleading tone.

“I’ll do that,” Cobb said.

***

Devil’s Acre was as quiet as a tomb during daylight
hours. It felt like a ghost town to Cobb as he walked through the
narrow alleys that served as streets. He had stopped in at the
Crooked Anchor and bearded one of his snitches, Itchy Quick,
concerning the whereabouts of Dowd’s gambling joint. It turned out
to be about a block west of LaFrance’s brothel and a block and a
half from the scene of the crime. Cobb rapped loudly on the door
until he finally roused someone inside.

The door inched open a crack. “We’re closed
fer Christ’s sake. Go away.”

“I’m the police,” Cobb said, “and I need to
talk to Ned Dowd.”

“You’re lookin’ at him,” the fellow said
grumpily. “Whaddya want?”

“I need to know if John Kray is here or
hereabouts.”

“Ah, Kray. He’s inside somewhere, sleepin’
off a mighty drunk. Do you want me to kick him awake?”

“I do. I’ll wait outside here fer him.”

Cobb stood on the snow-covered stoop and
waited. Three or four minutes later a young man with a shock of red
hair and puffed eyes came out, shivering in his overcoat.

“What’s this all about?” he said
nervously.

“I’ve come to talk to you about Sally
Butts.”

The young man’s expression softened. “My
Sally?” he said, puzzled. “Has anything happened to her?”

If he were faking his ignorance, he was doing
a good job, Cobb thought. “I’m afraid I have to tell you that she’s
dead,” he said.

“Dead? How?”

“She was murdered last night, not two blocks
from where we’re standin’.”

“Oh, my God! That’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid it is. I seen the body
myself.”

John Kray sat down on the stoop, put his head
in his hands and wept. Cobb stood beside him, much embarrassed. He
hoped Kray wasn’t putting on a good show. Or perhaps he was weeping
because of regret, not sorrow.

“Who did it?”

“We don’t know. Someone came up behind her
and slashed her throat.”

“My God, that’s terrible. I begged her to
leave that place.”

“I need to ask you, sir, where you were about
ten o’clock last evenin’.”

Kray looked up, startled. “You can’t think I
had anythin’ to do with her death?”

“Well, sir, I know she had turned down yer
advances and that you were stalkin’ her right here in Devil’s
Acre.”

“You’ve been talkin’ to her parents, haven’t
you?”

“Were you or were you not followin’ her about
town?”

“I just wanted to talk to her. I wanted to
get her out of Madame LaFrance’s whorehouse. She didn’t belong
there. Now she’s dead, because of it.”

“You ain’t answered my question yet.”

“I was in this dive, from eight o’clock
onwards. I got thoroughly pissed. I just woke up a few minutes
ago.”

“I guess Ned Dowd can vouch fer that.”

“Of course he can.”

“I spoke to yer mother, son. She’s worried
sick about you. I’d advise you to go home. And stay there because I
might want to talk to you again.”

While John Kray staggered off, Cobb went
inside the foul-smelling dive and spoke to Ned Dowd, who – to
no-one’s surprise – backed up Kray’s alibi. But in the smoky
confines of this gambling den a person could slip out easily and
then slip back in again without being noticed coming or going. But
of course Cobb couldn’t prove that that’s what had happened with
Kray.

Perhaps his evening would be more
productive.

THREE

Cobb spent the early evening with Dora and the kids,
then went out again about ten o’clock. He walked to Devil’s Acre
and made his way through the fresh snow to Madame LaFrance’s place.
He did not go right up to the door, but waited in the shadows until
a well-dressed gentleman appeared out of a side-alley and ascended
the front steps. Cobb slipped up behind him. The fellow then gave a
coded knock and the door was instantly opened by Madame LaFrance
herself.

“Come in, good sir. We’ve been expecting
you,” she boomed, then spied Cobb right behind and scowled.

Cobb pushed his way past the expected
gentleman into the anteroom of the parlour.

“What is the meaning of this, sir?” Madame
cried as Cobb continued on past her.

“I’ve come to interview the three gentlemen
who left here just after Sally Butts last night. Please be kind
enough to point them out to me.”

The expected gentleman had turned to leave,
spooked no doubt by the sudden appearance of a policeman.

“Oh, don’t go, Merry Man,” Madame said. “It’s
just the Constable wanting some business with a couple of my
customers. There’s nothing to fear.
Is
there?” she added to
Cobb.

“You can go on with yer business, such as it
is,” Cobb said. “I just want to talk to those men who were here
last night.”

“What if I said they were not here?” Madame
said coyly.

“I’d say you was lyin’,” Cobb said, for he
had already spotted three likely looking gentlemen together over by
the fire.

Madame smiled rakishly. “They’re over there.
But please be tactful. I’ve got a business to run.”

Cobb made his way through the smoke and opium
haze of the parlour towards the designated customers. He went up to
the overweight fellow and said, “Sir Gawain, I presume?”

Bartholomew Pugh gave a start, then tried a
smile. “I go by that nomination in here. What do you want with me,
Constable?”

“I want to talk to you three about Sally
Butts.”

“Oh. Poor Sally. We heard all about it when
we arrived. We’ve been discussing her as a matter of fact.”

“That’s what I’d like to do,” Cobb said, “but
first I want to talk to people who’ve got names besides the knights
of the Round Table.”

With obvious reluctance, Pugh, Gardiner
Clough and Simon Whitemarsh introduced themselves, their voices
barely above a whisper.

“I understand you admired Sally Butts,” Cobb
began.

Pugh decided to be spokesperson for the
group. “Yes, we did. She sang like a warbler. We came here mainly
to hear her sing.”

“You were not attracted to her in any other
way?”

Pugh feigned umbrage despite his
surroundings, heavy with the scent of opium and tawdry sex. “Of
course not. There are other girls here for that sort of stuff.”

“None of you decided to follow her after she
left?”

“Why would we do that?” Clough said.

“I’m lookin’ fer witnesses,” Cobb said
craftily. “Some sewer rat from Devil’s Acre slit Sally’s throat,
and I need to know if any of you gentlemen, who left right after
the girl, saw anyone suspicious lurkin’ in the area.”

“I did not,” Whitemarsh said, “but then I go
south and I was told Sally was found some blocks west of here.”

“And if I see anyone suspicious in
this
place,” Clough said, “I look immediately the other way.
I go east, and I don’t recall seeing anyone at all. And it was
snowing, so you couldn’t see much anyway.”

“You go west, then?” Cobb said to Pugh.

“I do. As does Sally. But she was ten minutes
ahead of us. And we must’ve taken different routes because I didn’t
come across her body in that alley.”

“Sorry we can’t help you,” Clough said. And
it was obvious from his tone that the Cavaliers did not see
themselves as suspects.

“Did any one of you lose a glove last night?”
Cobb said abruptly.

There was a collective shaking of heads, and
Cobb thought of pulling the glove from his pocket to see if it
might prompt a startled look. But he didn’t. Instead he said, “I’d
like your home addresses, in case I need to speak to you
again.”

“Is that absolutely necessary?” Pugh
said.

“I don’t see how we could help further,”
Clough said.

“I live with my mother,” Whitemarsh said,
“and she’s very easily upset.”

“It’s just a formality,” Cobb said, enjoying
the feel of that big word rolling off his tongue. If this detective
business kept up, he’d be sounding like a gentleman soon.

“Very well, then, if you insist,” Pugh
said.

Cobb took down their addresses, then went
over to the piano, where Madame LaFrance had been standing, keeping
a close watch on him and her clients. “I’d like to speak to some of
yer girls – alone, please,” he said.

“They’re all busy but Nell,” Madame said.
“And I think I ought to be present when you speak with her.”

Sure you do, Cobb thought, so you can make
certain she doesn’t say anything to disturb the smooth running of
the business.

“Alone,” Cobb said.

“Very well. I’ll fetch her.”

Madame LaFrance went into an adjoining room
and came out with Nell, a big-haired, florid woman with too much
make-up and tired, world-weary eyes.

“Nell, this policeman would like to ask you
some questions.” Madame LaFrance gave Nell a knowing look and
drifted over to the Cavaliers.

“Sally and I were close,” Nell said, choking
up.

“Good. Then you’ll know if there was anyone
here in the house who might’ve been pesterin’ her in some way.”

“Many of the gentlemen was attracted to her,”
Nell said. “It was that pretty blond hair. And, of course, she
wasn’t available, was she?”

“That made her more attractive, did it?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Was there anyone in particular who stands
out? Who might’ve pursued her more than the others?”

“Well,” Nell said hesitantly, “I really
couldn’t say.”

“You want me to catch the man who killed yer
friend, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. I’d like to strangle him
myself.”

“Then tell me who the gentleman was, Nell,”
Cobb said bluntly.

Nell paused, then said, “Mr. Gawain over
there.”

“Did he approach her directly?”

“He’d come up to her after she finished a
song and try to get her to go upstairs with him. In a banterin’
sort of way, but I know he was serious. I can always tell.”

“And she rebuffed him?”

“She was awful nice about it, but, yes, she
did.”

“And did he keep on approachin’ her?”

“Just about every night he was in here.”

“And how often does he come here?”

“Three, sometimes four evenin’s a week. And
always with his pals, the Cavaliers.” She stifled a giggle.

“Thank you, Nell, you’ve been a big
help.”

“You won’t tell him I told on him, will
you?”

“No-one will know what you’ve told me,” Cobb
assured her.

As she turned to leave, Cobb thought of a
final question. “Did anyone come in here tonight askin’ about a
lost glove?”

Nell was taken aback for a moment. Then she
said, “Yes, they did.”

“Who?”

“It was Mr. Gawain.”

Cobb thanked her and stared over at Pugh, who
was busy chatting comfortably with his fellow knights. Cobb
realized that he had to get Pugh alone and at a disadvantage to
grill him about the glove and about his obsession with Sally Butts.
His own home, with his wife hovering, would be the ideal place. And
he had the address.

He nodded to Madame LaFrance and headed for
the anteroom. Beside the several halltrees crammed with hats and
coats sat two rows of boots – in assorted shapes and sizes. Cobb
spotted one very large pair among them and turned one of them over.
There was no design cut into the sole. Well, he thought, he
couldn’t be that lucky. But he had found out a fair amount in a
short time.

As he turned to go, Nell came up to him. “I
forgot to mention that Sally had a boy friend.”

Cobb stared at her and said, “He came
here?”