Murdoch untied the shoelace that secured the cardboard box, removed the lid, and took out the papers, spreading them across the top of his desk. They were indeed bills, many of them months old and, by the looks of it, none yet paid. He skimmed through them, but they seemed the normal transactions for a small livery. Bills for hay, oats, bran; one from a veterinarian who’d disposed of a horse afflicted with glanders. A small sum owing to a carpenter for repair of one of the carriages. The sheets he’d taken from the spike were more recent but more demanding. The veterinarian was now threatening legal action if his bill wasn’t paid within five days of receipt. On top was a handwritten piece of paper requesting the payment of three weeks’ back wages in the amount of eighteen dollars. The note was signed by Elijah Green. Murdoch removed that paper and put it in his inside pocket. The other tradesmen’s names he wrote down to check later.
According to Mrs. Cooke, her husband had kept four hundred dollars in his safe. That was a lot of money and would easily cover his debts. Murdoch wondered if the racing forms he’d found were a tipoff as to what that money might be earmarked for. He was about to gather up the papers and return them to the box when he saw he’d almost overlooked a side pocket. He fished inside and took out a cloth wallet tied with ribbon. Inside was a creased piece of paper. He smoothed it out.
Purchased from Thomas Talbert, Esquire, for the sum of 200 dollars. The Livery, 27 Mutual Street. Including the six horses and three carriages and all the tack presently in use. Also the present feed as noted.
Signed. Daniel Cooke
Eleventh day of October 1863. at Toronto. Acknowledged as stated, Thomas Talbert.
Elijah Green had referred to a man named Talbert who spelled him a couple of days of the week taking care of the stables. Were these two men related? If it was the same man, he’d be quite elderly by now.
He restored everything to the box and put it in his drawer.
There was a tap on the wall outside his cubicle, and Constable Crabtree’s large shape appeared behind the reed curtain that made do as a door.
“Come in, George.”
The constable shoved through the curtain that clacked noisily in his wake.
“Good morning, sir. I’ve come to report on the search me and Constable Fyfer did of the livery barn this morning.”
“Did you find anything?”
“I’d say so.”
He was carrying a lumpy-looking bundle wrapped in sacking and looked around for somewhere to put it.
“The desk is fine, George, what’ve you got? Not money, is it? There’s quite a large sum missing, according to Mrs. Cooke.”
“No, sir. No money, I’m afraid, but treasure, if I may put it that way.”
Crabtree unwrapped his prize as carefully, as if it contained a glass piece. Inside was another scrap of bleached-out sacking, a length of rope, two Indian clubs, and a sheet of grubby, crumpled notepaper.
“There’s a little space in the loft, not much bigger than a wardrobe, but the darkie has a cot there. There’s a packing box next to it and I found these articles in there.” He shook out the piece of sackcloth. “There’s a stain on this one that looks like fresh blood to me.”
Murdoch examined it. “It does, indeed. We’ll have to get Dr. Ogden to take a look at it. Where was it exactly?”
“At the bottom of the crate. Green claims he had to bleed one of the horses, but if that’s true, why take it up to the loft? Why not leave it in the barn?” Crabtree picked up one of the Indian clubs, held it in one hand, then slammed it into his open palm. “Mr. Cooke had been hit on the head. I’ll wager this was the weapon used.”
Murdoch focused a magnifying glass on the club. “I don’t see any evidence of blood, George. Let’s have a look at the other one. No, nothing on this either.”
“He would have made sure to wipe them clean though, wouldn’t he, sir?”
“I suppose so. What did he say about them?”
“That he used them for exercise.”
“That could be true. I have a pair myself.”
“It doesn’t mean he didn’t use one of them to bash Mr. Cooke on the head.”
“True. What else have you got?”
“This rope. He would have used it to tie up Cooke before he strung him up to the rafters. It was coiled in the bottom of the crate under a piece of newspaper. Green said he used it as a lead for the horses, but if that’s the case, why not keep it in the tack room with the other equipment?”
“Good point, George.”
Murdoch examined the rope, which was about an inch in diameter and knotted at each end. He thought that was odd, but he couldn’t find any sign of blood along its entire length, or traces of horsehair for that matter, which he thought was also odd. He decided for the moment to keep these doubts to himself. George didn’t need any further convincing that they had their culprit.
“What’s the paper all about?”
“Ah, yes, sir. That’s the clincher, as far as I’m concerned. Have a look at what’s written on it. Green was just in front of me and he actually snatched this out of my hand. Said it was private property and nothing to do with the murder. He was about to tear it up, but I got to it first. He was quite surly, so of course that got my dander up immediately. I told him what for and snaffled it, but for a minute I truly thought he’d be willing to fight me for it.”
Murdoch picked up the piece of notepaper. Somebody, he presumed Green, had printed in a bold clear hand: The Master. Advance Retreat Bar Bottom Chop Hit Mark Fall.
The words were in a column on the left side of the page. The rest of the sheet was blank.
“It doesn’t make much sense to me, George, does it you?”
“I think it’s a plan of attack. See, it starts with the Master, which I assume is his employer, Mr. Cooke. Then it’s hit, mark, fall. Mr. Cooke was marked all right.”
“What about the other words?”
“He was probably planning how to do it.”
“Did he have an explanation?”
“No, he did not. He admitted it was his and his hand, but he kept saying it had nothing to do with Cooke’s death and it was private. Like I said, he was highly disturbed. Most I’ve seen from him yet.”
Murdoch folded the paper again.
“Why would Green commit such a vicious act? What’s his motivation?”
“I can’t say, sir. Maybe he got it into his head that Mr. Cooke had slighted him somehow and he wanted his revenge.”
“That’s possible. I don’t know about slighting him, but Cooke did owe him for three weeks’ wages.”
“There you go then.” Crabtree had an expectant look on his face, and Murdoch had the impression the constable was disappointed with his lack of enthusiasm for his findings. “Are you going to arrest him?”
“Not immediately, George. We don’t have quite enough to go on. But that was good work. I’ll follow it up.”
Crabtree fished in his pocket and took out some sheets of paper. “Constable Fyfer wanted me to pass this along to you, sir. He’s relieving Burley at the livery. When we arrived the cabbies were waiting because they hadn’t heard what had happened. Fyfer decided to question them and save you the trouble. He wrote out everything for you.”
“Did he indeed? He’s a diligent fellow, I must say. In the meantime, George, I’d like you to start doing the usual rounds. Check out all the houses up and down the street. Find out if anybody saw the coloured man who came to the Cooke house and apparently so upset Daniel Cooke. Here, I’ve written out the names and addresses of all the tradesmen that Cooke owed money to. Talk to them as well.”
“I’ll look over what Fyfer has written, then I’m going to have a chat with Green’s helper, Mr. Talbert.”
Crabtree left. Murdoch pushed the little treasure trove to one side, took out his pipe and tobacco, lit up, and unfolded Fyfer’s report.