Anything But Civil

by Anna Loan-Wilsey

  “Sir, as you are fully aware, the victim was killed by a shot to the chest by a .44-caliber revolver.”

  “Yes, and . . . ?” Sir Arthur said as he took his seat behind his desk again.

  “And, sir, it has come to my knowledge that you own a .44-caliber gun.”

  “A Remington ‘Army’ Model 1863 to be exact, Officer. Forty-fours aren’t unusual in this town, though Colts seem to predominate. In fact, General Starrett’s grandson owns one and it’s missing.”

  “If you are referring to the gun belonging to the boy Edward Reynard, it was in General Starrett’s backyard. According to the family, he’d been playing with it and had misplaced it.”

  “Had it been fired?”

  “We didn’t check, sir.”

  “Why the bloody hell not?” Corbett didn’t flinch at Sir Arthur’s profanity but glanced in my direction, watching for a reaction. He didn’t see one. I was accustomed to Sir Arthur’s colorful language.

  “Because, sir,” Officer Corbett said, “the boy’s gun is a LeMat and doesn’t fall under suspicion at all.” For the first time in the verbal volley between the two men, Sir Arthur hesitated.

  “A grapeshot, huh?” Sir Arthur said under his breath.

  “What’s a LeMat?” I asked. My knowledge of firearms only extended to Sir Arthur’s collection and those he mentioned in his manuscripts. General Starrett had mentioned the gun when the police were investigating the burglary and Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s death, but I didn’t think to ask then. “I don’t recognize the make.”

  “You wouldn’t, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said. “It’s a rare, unusual gun.” The faraway look in Sir Arthur’s eyes and the fact that he hadn’t noted my interruption told me he was not only contemplating how Henry Starrett came to have such a gun but also devising a way to acquire it for his own collection.

  “So why isn’t it a possible murder weapon?” I asked. Officer Corbett dropped his eyes and bit his lip and seemed hesitant to answer.

  “Because it’s a .42 or .36 caliber,” Sir Arthur said thoughtfully. “That may prove significant. Write that down.” The policeman quickly looked up at Sir Arthur and was about to protest when he saw me writing in my notebook. He had thought the command was for him. He took a deep breath before continuing.

  “Considering your confrontational past with the victim, Sir Arthur,” the policeman said, “I have to ask if you can produce your gun, sir.”

  “So I am a suspect, am I?”

  “Yes, sir, you are.”

  “What about Oscar Killian, Horace Mott, or Enoch Jamison?” I blurted out. I couldn’t stay silent while Sir Arthur was accused of this ghastly crime when I knew of at least three other possible suspects. As soon as I interrupted, however, I regretted it and waited for Sir Arthur’s reprimand. It never came.

  “Well?” Sir Arthur said to the policeman.

  “We’ve discussed these men before in connection with the poisoning, but we know now that Lieutenant Colonel Holbrook’s death was an accident.”

  “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t intentional,” I said.

  “So you’re assuming there’s a connection between the two men’s deaths?”

  “Aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Okay, assuming that’s true, you’re right. Killian and Jamison should be questioned in this matter as well.”

  “And Horace Mott?” Sir Arthur demanded, almost as if he was trying to provoke the policeman.

  “I’m afraid I know nothing more of Horace Mott,” the policeman said matter-of-factly to Sir Arthur. Corbett turned to me. “The last time his name came up, General Starrett was a bit . . . uncooperative. Would you share what you know of him now, Miss Davish?”

  I told him about the several times our paths had crossed, at General Starrett’s house, at Turner Hall at the Christmas entertainment, and the first time as Mott exited Enoch Jamison’s house. I emphasized the heated argument Mott and Henry Starrett had the day I finished General Starrett’s interview. I wanted to tell the policeman of the journal entries we found in Henry Starrett’s room, but then he would know that we’d been there before him. I had to be satisfied knowing that he would eventually find the entries himself.

  “And you know nothing of the nature of their association or where I can find this Mr. Mott?”

  “No, I’ve told you all I know.”

  “Thank you, Miss Davish,” Officer Corbett said, with an odd smile on his face. Then his countenance became grave. “You can rest assured that we will not take this investigation lightly and will look into all of these matters.”

  Again I was struck by the difference in investigation styles between Officer Corbett and others I’d encountered. Archibald Corbett was a professional and didn’t let personal biases and emotion interfere with his work. Maybe I had wrongly misjudged police in general by basing my opinion on only one incident. I’d done the same with physicians and been proved terribly wrong. Walter was nothing like the doctors Terry and Hillman who treated my father. I vowed to be careful not to pass judgment so quickly again.

  “May I see your Remington revolver, sir?” Officer Corbett asked Sir Arthur, as if he had never been interrupted.

  “No, you may not.” Sir Arthur said. The policeman obviously didn’t expect no for an answer and stood silently taken aback by this response.

  “Why not? Before you answer, may I remind you this is a murder investigation. Your weapon may have in fact been the murder weapon.”

  “You may not because I don’t have it,” Sir Arthur said.

  “Are you saying it has been stolen, sir?”

  “That or merely misplaced as Master Edward’s had been. Either way, I’ve had my entire household staff looking for it and it hasn’t resurfaced.” The two men stood staring at one another for a moment.

  “Can you tell me where you were between six and seven this morning, Sir Arthur?”

  “I was asleep in my room.” The policeman wrote something in his notebook.

  “Can anyone corroborate that?”

  “No, most certainly not,” Sir Arthur said, his eyebrows raised. “My wife is in Virginia.”

  “Did a maid start a fire? Did your butler bring you breakfast?”

  “Is that what you meant? Well, no, I ask that the staff not disturb me before nine,” Sir Arthur said.

  “Does that include you, Miss Davish?” I looked up, startled that the question was directed at me. The policeman was looking at his notebook and wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  “Yes, of course,” I said.

  “Though this morning was an exception, wasn’t it? You contacted Sir Arthur when you found Henry Starrett’s body?”

  “Yes, this morning was an exception. And may I say that Sir Arthur was here, available to take my call. William Finch can attest to that if you’d like.” It was the closest thing to an alibi Sir Arthur would probably get.

  “Thank you, sir,” Officer Corbett said abruptly. “I will let you know if I have any more questions.”

  “Of course,” Sir Arthur said dismissively. The policeman turned to me.

  “And thank you, Miss Davish, you’ve done some of my work for me. I promise I will follow up on the other possible suspects you mentioned.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Corbett,” I said, sincerely grateful that I’d been able to help and that the interview was over.

  “I’d like to speak to Lieutenant and Mrs. Triggs and Mr. and Mrs. Baines, if I may.”

  Sir Arthur looked like he was about to object but instead reached for the velvet bellpull. William appeared a few moments later. “Would you mind letting our guests know that Officer Corbett would like to have a word with them in the parlor in five minutes?”

  “Yes, of course, sir,” William said, bowing and then backing out of the room.

  “Thank you, Sir Arthur,” Officer Corbett said, “for your cooperation. Miss Davish.” He tipped his hat at me and left the room.

  “That man is dangerous, Hattie,” Sir Arthur said, to my surpr
ise. I’d been thinking quite the opposite. “Almost as much as the man who killed Henry Starrett.”

  “Do you mind?” I said, holding up my notebook and sitting unobtrusively in the corner.

  “Yes, I mind,” Rachel Baines said. I had addressed my question to Officer Corbett, as Sir Arthur had insisted I take detailed notes at this “interrogation,” as he called it.

  “I don’t see why I have to answer any questions from you,” she said, indicating the policeman with her chin, “or be recorded in that notebook by that girl,” Rachel Baines added, indicating me with a wave of her hand.

  “Rachel, a man is dead,” her husband said. “The police are merely trying to find out who did it.”

  “But why question me? I didn’t kill him!” she said.

  “But you were acquainted with the deceased,” the policeman said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Rachel Baines demanded.

  “Simply that you knew Henry Starrett, ma’am,” Officer Corbett said.

  “Well, yes,” she conceded. “I met Captain Starrett the other night at Mrs. Reynard’s dinner party.”

  She lied again, I thought. And Mr. Corbett ought to know. But should I tell him?

  Officer Corbett took out his notebook. “And you, Mr. Baines, did you know Henry Starrett?”

  “Like my wife, I met the man for the first time the other day,” John Baines said. “Of course, we interacted several times over the past few days, but that’s all.”

  “And Lieutenant and Mrs. Triggs? Did either of you know the deceased previously to arriving in Galena?”

  “No,” Morgan Triggs said for both of them. I hadn’t seen much of Mrs. Triggs lately and she was as cheerless as ever. She held her hands in her lap and stared down at them, never once lifting her face to meet anyone’s eyes. Not even mine when I greeted her. To me, she had always shown at least a modicum of pleasure. I’d witnessed her recovery from her melancholy and after the joy I’d seen radiate from her at the Christmas entertainment I’d thought her gloom behind her. I was wrong.

  What had happened to distress her so? I wondered. Surely not Captain Starrett’s death?

  “Thank you. Now I have a few routine questions for all of you,” Officer Corbett said. “Could you each tell me where you were between six and seven this morning?”

  “No, I will not,” Rachel Baines said. “That implies that I’m a suspect and I will not abide such a baseless accusation.”

  “I’d have to agree with my wife, Officer,” John Baines said. “If we are not suspects, why do you have to know our whereabouts?”

  “It’s routine, Mr. Baines,” Officer Corbett said. “But you are not obligated to tell me, of course.”

  “Then I’m not telling you anything,” Rachel Baines said. “But you tell me this, have you discovered who poisoned us?”

  “We are looking into the matter, ma’am,” Officer Corbett said.

  “My husband and I were in our rooms here, Mr. Corbett,” Priscilla Triggs said, the first words she had uttered all morning.

  “Yes, yes, that’s right,” Lieutenant Triggs said, looking at his wife in surprise. I couldn’t tell if it was because she had actually spoken or because of what she’d said.

  “Thank you for your cooperation,” Officer Corbett said. “I have only one more question. Did any of you see Sir Arthur’s Remington ‘Army’ Model revolver, either in the display case with the other weapons or anywhere else?”

  “Sir Arthur’s revolver?” Rachel Baines cried. “Are you saying Sir Arthur did this? If so, you’re completely off track.”

  “I’d have to agree, Officer,” Morgan Triggs said. “Sir Arthur didn’t dislike the fellow enough to want Henry Starrett dead, but I’m sure others did. That ‘copperhead’ fellow for one. Seems their hatred for each other goes back to the war.”

  “Enoch Jamison,” Officer Corbett said, glancing at me. “Yes, we will be talking with Mr. Jamison too. No, I’m afraid we believe that Sir Arthur’s gun, which he claims has gone missing, may be the murder weapon.”

  “Well, if he claims it’s missing, it’s missing,” John Baines said.

  “Then I will ask again,” Officer Corbett said, “have any of you seen it?”

  “I don’t think I like what you’re implying,” John said. “Are you saying that one of us took the gun? Are we suspects again?” Rachel Baines stood up abruptly.

  “I won’t stay here another minute being interrogated like this,” she said. “Come on, John.” Her husband stood, and without another word the couple left the room.

  The policeman seemed unperturbed by the Baineses’ abrupt departure. He turned to the only other couple in the room. “Lieutenant Triggs, Mrs. Triggs, have either of you any knowledge of this gun?”

  “I can honestly say I have no idea where Sir Arthur’s revolver is, Officer,” Lieutenant Triggs said. Priscilla wrung her hands in her lap and stared out the window.

  “This is all so dreadful,” she said with a hollowness in her voice that sent shivers up my back. Her husband took her hands in his. “So, so dreadful.” And then she would say no more.

  CHAPTER 25

  “Hattie!” Ida cried as the door flew open.

  I had returned from luncheon with Walter a few hours ago and was finishing typing the few manuscript pages Sir Arthur had dictated to me last night. She startled me so that I typed an x for a c.

  “Oh, Ida, now I’ll have to start over with this page,” I said, pulling it out of the typewriter and crumbling it up in frustration.

  “But die Polizei, they are taking him away, ja?” I could barely understand the maid, who, from her lack of breath, must have run up both flights of stairs. “And it’s all my fault!”

  “The police are taking who away, Ida?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Him! Komm mit! Come, come, you must come,” she said, grabbing my arm and attempting to physically pull me from my chair. I stood of my own accord, straightened the pages I’d been working on, and followed Ida downstairs. We were in time to see Officer Corbett and two other policeman escorting Sir Arthur out the front door.

  “Oh, Gott, oh, Gott, oh, Gott,” Ida said hysterically from behind me.

  “Sir?” I said, noticing out of the corner of my eye that Ida ran crying back to the kitchen.

  “Oh, Hattie, good,” Sir Arthur said as if I’d brought him his morning papers. “I’m going to need your help, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course,” I said, looking at Officer Corbett for an explanation that was not forthcoming. The man wouldn’t even look at me. “Anything to be of service, sir.” I regretted the words before I finished saying them. I knew what Sir Arthur wanted me to do. I wanted to turn around and run back upstairs. Instead, I stood there stoically waiting for my fate to be decided.

  I’m a secretary, I thought. I don’t want to play detective again.

  “I’m going to need you to put your detective skills to work.” There it was, the request I couldn’t but desperately wanted to refuse. “They’re arresting me for Henry Starrett’s murder. My revolver’s turned up, in the river near a break in the ice where the murderer threw it from the bridge. You’re the only one I can trust to do this thoroughly. You’ve caught a killer before after all, haven’t you?” He chuckled, not noticing as the blood drained from my face. The police had arrested him for murder. How could he be so calm?

  “Did you identify the gun or could it be another like it?” I asked.

  “No, it’s mine,” Sir Arthur said. “Call Hedgeman, my solicitor in Chicago, but under no circumstances are you or anyone to notify Lady Philippa, at least not until after Christmas.”

  Christmas? I thought. Did he expect to spend Christmas in jail? I couldn’t let that happen.

  “And, of course, explain the situation to my guests.”

  “Yes, sir, of course,” I said. “And the manuscript?” A feeble question, I knew, but it was all I could think of to say to avoid the question I desperately wanted to ask: Did you kill Henry
Starrett?

  “Set that aside for now, though bring me what you’ve finished,” Sir Arthur said. “I’ll expect a visit and an update from you first thing in the morning.”

  “Are you ready, sir?” Officer Corbett said. Sir Arthur merely nodded and followed the other two policemen to the patrol wagon. “I’m sorry, Miss Davish,” Officer Corbett said as if he could read my mind. “I don’t like this any more than you do.”

  “Does this mean you’ve completed your investigation and have ruled out other suspects?” I asked.

  The policeman shrugged his shoulders. “He’s the best suspect we’ve got. It was his gun after all.”

  “Which could’ve been used by a number of people,” I said. “Sir Arthur said it’d been stolen. Did you have an opportunity to talk to Mr. Jamison or Mr. Killian? Did you find Mr. Mott?”

  “No. I haven’t been able to locate Mr. Mott, and of the other two, neither was available. As you know, Oscar Killian closed his store and supposedly left to visit relatives. I spoke with Mrs. Jamison, Enoch’s mother, briefly. Mr. Jamison wasn’t there. She wouldn’t tell us if he’d left town or not.” Officer Corbett looked down at his hands, strangely empty of his ubiquitous notebook. “But tell me, if not Sir Arthur, who of those others had access to Sir Arthur’s gun?”

  “Any one of them. Two of them weren’t at the entertainment. They could’ve come into the house and stolen the gun while everyone was out.”

  “But would they’ve even known about Sir Arthur’s gun?”

  “Sir Arthur is an avid gun collector, Mr. Corbett. It’s general knowledge that he’s acquired guns for his collection since arriving in Galena.”

  “I’m sorry. We have our suspect.”

  “What if I do as Sir Arthur asks and investigate this myself? What would you say?”

  “I’d say good luck to you, Miss Davish.” I looked at him, trying to determine if he was mocking me or was genuinely wishing me well, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead he nodded and put his policeman’s cap on his head. “Good day, Miss Davish.”